#but I had to give it a break because of the old 'rona | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hansolmates · 3 years

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g.p.s - god, parents suck | m

summary; seokjin just wants to enjoy the disney treatment and you are more than happy to deliver pairing; dilf!jin x hotelier!reader genre/warnings; crack, humor, gets a lil emotional, teenage daughter issues, one very minor allusion to a daddy kink LOL, a very vaguely implied sex scene, so CHEESY w.c; est. 5.1k a/n; wee my first jin fic! this is for @btsghostiewritersnet #DynamiteDads event! I was supposed to go to disney this year but sadly miss rona had to cancel our plans so this is just pure self indulgence. as always thank u to @eerieedits/ @chillingtae for the disney dream fic banner!

if you like it give it a bippity-boppity-boop on the like and share buttons! ✨✨✨

“Left, left!” Seokjin cries, holding onto the emergency break for dear life, “not my left, your left!”

“We’re facing the same way! We have the same lefts!”

“Clearly not if we’re going right, Sweetheart.”

“But the GPS says to go right!”

“In four-hundred feet, keep left at the fork,” Google Maps interrupts pleasantly.

“That’s it. Kim Yeji, pull over!”

“But Daaaaaaaaad,” yet his daughter complies, sadly pulling over at the edge of the road. She doesn’t even have to step on the gas, just turns the wheel slightly so she can land slowly, pathetically on the gravel.

“Angel,” Seokjin says levelly, reaching over to unclick the seatbelt. “I will drive the rest of the way, I gave you time to practice for you have to drive to college but we can’t get on the highway like this.”

“You never let me do anything.”

“What, I do! Who let you go to prom in that sequined excuse for a dress?”

“Uncle Namjoon!”

“Fine, I’ll give him that! Who let you dye your hair to a crisp—”

“Uncle Hoseok!”

“Uncle–” Seokjin is affronted, jabbing the seatbelt in it’s locked position when he gets in the front seat. “Forget it, let’s just have a peaceful drive for the next few hours until we get to the hotel,” he removes Yeji’s phone from the holder, placing it in her lap.

“Dad,” she waves her phone around, pointing to Google Maps, “you need the GPS to get there.”

He scoffs, “No, I don’t. We’ve been to Disney plenty of times. I know where we’re going.”

“Oh yeah? When’s the last time we went to Disney?”

“When you were two? Three?”

Yeji relaxes in her seat, not ready to argue with her dad once more. “Alright, lead the way,” she gestures vaguely to the empty parkway, devoid of life for miles.

Seokjin is undeterred, reaching over the console to pat Yeji’s blonde hair. He turns on the radio, only to be met with the sound of crunchy static and terrible country music. Cutting the radio, he immediately switches to an old Disney CD, telling Yeji to let it go as he pulls into the open road. Reddish dust clouds around the car briefly, ripping against the tires as they drive off to their hotel.

“Is this the Princess Hotel?”

“Nope, this is the Prince S Hotel.”

You can’t help but grin at the way your current customer’s face falls. He’s a handsome thing, all plush and pillowy in the cheeks and lips. Despite his daughter hanging off his arm like a limp noodle—after all it’s past 2AM and they’ve probably been driving for hours—he still manages to look somewhat put-together despite you telling him they’ve got the wrong place.

“Told you, use the GPS,” her daughter chastises weakly, tucking her cheek in his shoulder.

His kid’s a pretty girl, kind of reminds you of when you were a teenager. “The Princess Hotel is about an hour away on the other side of the Disney resorts,” you say slowly, noting from the way the girl is swaying on her feet that her father must be equally as tired, “although, I would suggest staying here for the night. Your daughter’s about to fall asleep on my counter.”

At the pointed look you’re giving the teen, Seokjin puts a protective hand on her slim shoulders. “Yeji-bear, why don’t you lie down for a bit,” he leads her over to a spare couch. “We’ll call our booked hotel,” he says shortly, looking over his shoulder to give you a forced smile.

Ah, you’ve seen this scene one or two times in your days working at Prince S. A father too prideful to admit he may have messed up just a little with the directions, and a child that probably argued or simmered so hard on the way they’re passed into a stupor on your lobby couch. Tonight, or your early morning is a little special though, you’ve never seen a father as handsome as the one in front of you, exasperatedly calling up their real hotel reservations.

“What? My reservation has been revoked?” her daughter groans when he jostles around his lap, knocking her head, “how can you do that? Past the time? I thought this was Disney!”

You drum your nails against the counter, using your other hand to pull up your guest list for the night on the computer. The father, now furrowed in the face, walks up to you and leaves his daughter on the plush couch.

“One double bedroom for the weekend, please,” the father pulls his cards out, flicking it to your side of the counter. He places down his car keys in the available holder, “I parked out front, you do valet right?”

With a nod, you get to work. “Take it they weren’t very accommodating?”

“They gave our hotel room to some Make-A-Wish Foundation kid!” he cries exasperatedly, hands in the air as you patiently book the room. Your eyes linger longer than usual on his driver’s license and ID: Kim Seokjin. Even his driver’s license mugshot looks handsome. He rests his arms against your counter, despondent. “Is it terrible for me to hate on some kid with a terminal illness?”

“A little,” you shrug, slipping his keycard under his elbow, “but I mean according to your, Yeji-bear,” you can’t help but giggle at the nickname, “if you used the GPS you’d be at the correct hotel.”

“Don’t remind me,” Seokjin glares, hauling his and Yeji’s luggage in one hand, “baby, let’s go upstairs c’mon.”

You watch the small family trudge to the elevators, sleepily walking forward like zombies. No one spares you a second glance, they never do, so it gives you ample courage to take a look at Kim Seokjin’s toned body. Broad shoulders, a Dorito-trimmed waistline, and long legs that you want to climb up on.

Oh, daddy.

“Hey,” Yeji pops up on your counter, looking much perkier than she did hours before, “do you have my dad’s car keys?”

Trying not to raise your brows at your young guest, you give her a smirk, leaning over the counter. A spunky thing, with sharp eyes with a pretty cat-tipped eyeliner shape that has her looking well put-together. You wish you had your shit together as a teenager, you barely have it together now.

“I do,” you quip, “why?”

“I wanna get Starbucks,” she says simply, “the pineapple matcha is to die for, and I want to drink as many summer specials as I can before it’s over.”

“Valid,” you reply, going into your master key to retrieve all the guests’ keys. Taking Seokjin’s from its holder, you note the expensive make. Peering up from your desk, you look at Yeji’s innocent features. Before you place the key in her waiting palm, you snatch it away, “Why do I have the feeling you’re doing something that you’re not supposed to be doing?”

Yeji tilts her head, “I don’t think it’s any of your business,”

Sassy. You like it. “Get me a grande matcha frappe and your secret’s safe with me.”

“Deal.”

Watching Yeji drive off in the large Hyundai Palisade gives you a little twinge of worry, but you quickly tamp it down to motherly instinct. If you were Yeji’s mom—which you’re definitely not, you’d be worried. Naturally, you feel similarly.

The hotel phone rings, the red light from 921 blinking on your switchboard. Flipping down the room number you pick up the receiver, “Prince S Hotel, how can I help you?”

“You do booking, valet, and housekeeping?” Seokjin’s exasperated voice says in your ears, “who would I call if I want breakfast?”

“That would also be me,” you reply wryly, twisting the curly wire between your fingers, “we advertise ourselves as a hotel for the quality, although we are much smaller with only thirty rooms. Sort of like a bed n’breakfast, getting the true royal treatment.”

“Would the royal treatment consist of some extra towels and a continental breakfast?”

“You got it.”

A little cliché of you to do the whole “whistle while you work” segment—a lacy apron to make sure your uniform doesn’t get dirty, a spot of coffee to keep you peppy and setting everything up on a gold trimmed cart. You didn’t think you’d see Seokjin again, especially after how upset he was about his room.

With a little rap on his door, Seokjin invites you inside to set up. Their room overlooks the valley as opposed to the busy roads, so it’s a perfect way to rise with the sun. He immediately reaches for the coffee as you drag your little cart in, completely ignoring the cream and sugar on the side. After a long sip, he moans in pleasure.

“Ah,” he exhales, a sound that has you teeming. You grip the handlebars a little tighter than usual, “Maybe it was fate that we ended up here.”

“Maybe,” you fight the urge to bite your lip, because Seokjin has no idea how cliché of a line that is. He isn’t even speaking directly at you, talking in front of the sun like it’s his morning routine. “Say, have you seen Yeji around?”

“Ah,” you shug, pretending to be oblivious, “I think she went out for a walk.”

He turns to you, giving you a quivering brow, “She hates walking. Probably calling her friends in Korea or something.”

Of course she doesn’t like walking, you think, that’s why she took your car for some overpriced drinks.

Instead, you place the fresh pancakes and sides on the guest table, making sure everything is organized and in order. You place the towels atop the haphazardly made bed, making sure to put two mints on top. It isn’t customary to include mints, but you think the mints your hotel has taste great and deserve to be shared around more often than not.

“So, it looks like you’re ready for Disney,” you remark, taking note of his outfit. He has on blush mid-thigh shorts, stretchy and made from a canvas fabric that looks airy and comfortable. Around his neck is a little portable fan, and on his head is an old Mickey baseball cap.

“Ah, just for today and tomorrow! Sunday is my ‘me’ day,” Seokjin says, dashing across the room at the sight of fresh food, “Yeji is meeting with some cousins and will be spending the rest of the weekend with them.”

“Sounds like a fun weekend,” you remark, turning to leave.

“Will you be working the rest of the weekend?”

This is supposed to be small talk. You try to convince yourself that Seokjin is just being polite, wondering if his service is going to be impacted by you being around or not. There must be nothing sexual, or just mere attraction, going on between the two of you. Well, maybe on your side of things. The pink shorts and the baseball cap are doing things to your body that you barely understand. Unfortunately, the eager apples of his cheeks and the innocent upturn of his lips lets you know that any possibility of returned affections is virtually nonexistent.

“It’s my weekend off,” you fight the twinge of excitement when you see Seokjin pout, “but Park Jimin relieves me, and he’s definitely a much better host than I am. He’ll make sure everything’s taken care of.”

“Does he make better pancakes than you?” Seokjin asks, swirling a bite in a ribbon of maple syrup.

“I’m afraid not,” you smile, “he makes a mean breakfast burrito though.”

He shrugs listlessly, eating slower. He takes his time to make sure every pancake is cut in equal two-centimeter pieces, taking his time as if he’s savoring the last of your home-cooked meal. “Not sure if I’ll be completely satisfied then.”

With a firm smile, you wheel your cart out as fast as you can. You can’t keep up the facade now, not with your trashy mind and your dampening panties ruining your sense of self. Quietly slamming the door behind you, you’re met with Seokjin’s spitting image.

Yeji tilts her head at you, eating you alive with her dead-on stare. She places the keys and your matcha beverage on your cart.

“Did my dad confuse you or something?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“He’s like that,” Yeji shrugs, taking a long sip of her drink, “don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

A good word? With an uneasy smile you wheel away, ignoring the burn in your cheeks.

“Can I have the keys?” Yeji asks the next morning, minutes before your shift ends.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You’re sure Yeji is a wonderful kid and has a good heart, but she’s seriously putting your five-star Yelp review on the line. Cocking one eyebrow you say, “What, need your Starbucks fix?”

“Do you know how to parallel park?”

“Why, need a teacher?”

“It’d be better to have someone nearby to make sure I don’t park into a guard rail.”

“Does Seokjin approve?”

“You obviously know the answer to that,” Yeji replies, “and you and my dad are on a first-name basis, huh?”

Fighting the heat in your cheeks, you busy yourself by locking up the money box and key tin, but not before grabbing the keys to the Palisades. “I’m doing this for you because I have impeccable customer service skills,” you feign haughtiness, leaving your front desk and scanning your ID to clock out.

“Not because you think my dad is hot?” she follows you out the door.

“Do you always talk about your dad like that?”

Yeji is silent as she takes the keys from your grip, and you follow her in the passenger seat. A scent that’s fruity yet musky fills your nostrils, and you hug your arms for comfort. This is painfully awkward, at least in your point of view, but Yeji pays no mind as she connects to her Spotify playlist and turns on the air conditioner.

“I’m not one of those prissy daughters that try their damn hardest to make sure their dad doesn’t date,” Yeji murmurs, adjusting the mirrors, “anyone my dad dates will be better than Hyehwa. He deserves to be happy for all that he’s done for me.”

“Hyehwa?”

“The biological carrier for nine months,” Yeji replies dryly.

Your heart pinches, squeezing against your ribcage as you put two and two together. Hyewha, who you’re assuming is, or was Yeji’s mother, is definitely out of the picture. Yet seeing how confident Yeji is with herself, and how much he loves her father and wants him to be happy, is clear in your eyes.

“You are one cool kid,” is the only thing you can say, hoping you don’t have that silly heartened look in your gaze.

It seems that you do, because all she does is roll her eyes and put the car in drive.

It’s nearly one in the morning when you get the call.

You’re off the clock, but it’s graveyard hours and you and Jimin are craving pizza. So while Jimin tends to the last minute guests, you pick up a cheesy pie and hide behind the desk while Jimin does his job.

You’ve polished off half the pie when the main phone rings, and Jimin sighs heavily. Late night and early morning calls are the absolute worst.

“Get the hospital on speed dial,” Jimin jokes, but not really because the last time someone called at one, you really did wish you had an ambulance on-site.

“Prince S hotel,” Jimin spins the cord between his fingers, looking like a dreamy teen heartthrob as he leans against the counter. He immediately swings the phone over to your greasy fingers, “it’s a personal call.”

Wiping your hands on the box, you raise a brow. “Hello?” you ask, wholly confused.

“Mm, it’s Yeji,” the voice slurs on the other line, “I need help.”

“A-are you drunk?” you say, incredulous.

“Yeah, me and my cousin snuck a bottle downtown,” Yeji sounds nervous, and you unconsciously grip the phone tighter, “can you pick us up? I can drop you my location if you give me your number, please. My dad trusted me with the Palisade this weekend, I can’t let him know what happened. I know I’m always trying to get under my dad’s skin and whatever but I don’t want him to lose my trust, what we did is a dumb mistake.”

A part of you feels for Yeji, you’ve done dumb shit like this when you were young. All those fond memories are nothing but memories, and definitely not reflective of your current life now.

The rational, intelligent part of you knows that you should probably call Seokjin right now and tell him what’s going on. You don’t really want to get involved in their family matters, especially when as of late you’ve been inserting yourself in Yeji’s antics.

With a sigh, you pull up your Lyft app, already knowing whose side you’re on.

It takes no more than fifteen minutes for you to arrive at the scene, Yeji and what you assume is her older cousin sitting on the curb of a dilapidated Krispy Kreme, sadly polishing off a whole box of glazed donuts, Well, her cousin is polishing off the box, Yeji is taking nibbles at her proffered donut.

You sigh, pulling Yeji up. You see tear-streaks, her previously perfect cat-eye smudged off and running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, sounding not as inhiberated as she did before, “I bothered you.”

“Not at all,” you soothe, running a hand down her braids. You try not to melt when Yeji nearly leans into your warmth, but backs up at the last second, “I’m happy that you called. Would rather know that you’re safe now than later, yeah? I’m not mad at you,” you assure, pulling a crumpled brown napkin from the pizzeria to dab at her ruddied cheeks.

“Hi, I’m Jungkook,” you turn your head dangerously slowly towards the cute muscle pig who’s still sitting on the curb, “Ya deserve a five-star Yelp review for this service—”

“But I’m mad at you,” you pointedly ignore his drunken charm. He looks old enough to drink, which only further annoys you because he should be the one taking care of Yeji, “get in the damn car, Youngkook.”

“It’s Jungkook—”

“Get in.”

He swallows his tongue, and you notice Yeji stifling a giggle at your attitude. She wordlessly hands you the keys, clamoring in the front seat while Jungkook takes the whole back row. Yeji tiredly informs you the address to her cousin’s hotel, and you drive off into the night.

“Did I ruin my dad’s chances with you?” you think that Yeji has no clue what she’s saying, but there’s a little sliver of heart in her tone. Her face is pressed against the window, the cold glass on the verge of keeping her awake as she stumbles in and out of consciousness.

“You could never do that,” you mumble, and you smile when her eyes willingly flutter shut.

“Hey, babe,” you practically hear desperation in Jimin’s voice.

“Jimin, no,” you already know that his request is sitting prettily on the tip of his tongue, “it’s my weekend off. I’m not getting out.”

“But someone requested your pancakes,” he whines, and you can practically feel his pout on the other line, “and he said and I quote ‘I’ll be able to tell that you made them.’ I feel threatened!”

“Did they offer to pay in diamonds?”

“N-no. But he said it’s his daughter’s special weekend and he’d be really thankful if you’d come by and make your breakfast for him.”

Daughter? Yeji. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. You have your own room separate from the hotel, a deal that has you living rent free in exchange for your hard labor five days a week. “Heat up the stove for me and crisp the bacon,” you mutter, hanging up and throwing the phone under the covers.

Tugging your hair back and throwing on a large hoodie, you put on your slippers and pad down the little sidewalk that leads to the hotel. The sun beats down on you immediately, willing you to go back to your air-conditioned room to fall back asleep. Swimming through the soup that is the Californian air, you shuffle inside Prince S and make a beeline for the kitchens. You brush through busy employees, flashing a quick smile and “good morning” as you get to your station.

Jimin is already there, sitting at your workspace. All your ingredients are sitting out: flour, eggs, butter, vanilla, baking powder, baking soda, buttermilk, and fresh berries. However, Jimin makes no moves to attempt cooking, instead looking at you with pursed lips and waiting for you to get a move on.

“Get your butt off my counter,” you slap his thigh disapprovingly, pulling your sleeves up to start mixing the ingredients, “you’re dirty.”

“I embrace being dirty,” Jimin replies majestically, kicking his legs back and forth. His Doc Marten creepers wave in your vision, “thank you for swinging by. He said that it was really really important that you come in and make them. Daughter’s request.”

“They’re lucky they’re a cute family,” you mutter under your breath, although the words aren’t laced with malice.

The batter is fluffy and puffy, rising with the scent of melted butter and caramelized sugar. You take careful fingers towards the berries, creating a smiley face in the uncooked pancakes.

“Is your maternal side kicking in?” Jimin says in your ear, and you swing at him with your spatula.

“Leave me alone, art is being made.”

“Sure,” Jimin hops off the table, patting your shoulder, “I got a date with room 69,” you roll your eyes, there is no such thing as room 69. “So please continue to be awesome and finish off this favor by delivering it to Mr. Kim’s room.”

“Jimin, no!” you don’t care that half the staff is staring at you amusedly, the other half uncaring because they’re so used to the two co-managers. “I’m not wearing—I’m not wearing pants.”

You gesture to the obscene amount of bare legs out in the open. California’s hot as hell, you try to wear as little layers as possible. However, in the workplace you like to keep a modicum of decency. Even though Kim Seokjin is fine fine fine, you have decorum.

But Jimin’s already off to visit the guest in room 69 and you’re stuck with a pile of fresh hotcakes and none of the workers want to get involved in your shenanigans. Typical. Begrudgingly, you force your Hallmark-esque smile and arrange the gold trimmed cart, taking care to put extra berries in the fruit dish.

It’s a simple transaction. Get in, drop off the food, accept the tip if Seokjin feels generous, and get out. The door to room 921 looks larger than life, intimidating like the gates to heaven. You knock firmly, but gingerly. “Room service?” the voice that escapes your lips is your sugary professional voice, one that makes you wince immediately.

A muffled “coming!” has you bristling at the door. You curse yourself, looking at your bunny-clad feet and your legs disappearing under your hoodie.

As soon as Seokjin pops his head open you blurt, “I swear, I’m wearing shorts underneath this.”

“Uh,” and that forces him to look at your legs. Dammit, it was a good intention but the wrong way to go. “Good to know,” he coughs, opening his door wider.

The room is much messier on Seokjin’s side of the room, now filled with Eeyore and Baymax memorabilia. A large, white Baymax plush sits innocently at one side of his untouched bed. You crack a smile at that.

“Where’s Yeji?” you ask lightly, putting both stacks of pancakes down on the available table. You absently wipe the crumbs off, leading the little pile of food-crust to the garbage can.

“Yeji?” Seokjin asks, “why would Yeji be here?”

The way you put the cutlery down instantly slows, “You called Jimin this morning saying you needed pancakes specifically made by me to give to Yeji.”

“Who?”

“Jimin?” you raise a brow, losing your high-pitched commercial tone. “Tiny, annoying blond guy?”

Seokjin stares.

You stare back.

“Yeji’s at her cousin’s townhouse,” Seokjin states plainly.

“No, you called and said Yeji wanted pancakes—” No.

Yeji, or Jimin, or both called you and set it up.

“Oh, Jimin’s an idiot,” you tap your head lightly, wanting to bop out any potential embarrassing memory that has burned in your brain, “must’ve misheard. Or is hearing ghosts! Honestly he isn’t the right mind I’m so sorry I reallygottaneedto—”

You can’t even breathe let alone exhale the rest of your sentence, so you instead do the only thing you can do—run away. You don’t bother to exude grace as you plop any trash on the cart from yesterday’s room service, whipping the cart around so fast that the side wheels fly off and pop a wheelie.

“We don’t have to let the food go to waste,” Seokjin says pointedly, probably watching you like he’s watching a comic show as you try to bolt out of the room.

The door is closed, and the little hallway is too small for you to put your body and the cart between the walls. You’ve trapped yourself. Maybe you could just leave the cart and dip? You’re sure there’s at least two extras downstairs.

“It won’t,” you reply dumbly, “I can eat it in the breakroom or something, I haven’t made breakfast for myself yet. I mean, I was kinda craving an avo-toast this morning, but pancakes are always a classic.”

Seokjin snorts at your incessant rambling, carding a hand through his chocolate locks, “I’m trying to ask you to stay for breakfast.”

“You’re trying to—oh,” you mirror his expression, running a hand over your hair so it pulls out of its already messy style. You haven’t done much physical activity this morning, but you feel absolutely breathless as you’re glued to the cheap carpet, taking in Seokjin’s wide glassy eyes

“And if you stay for dessert, I’d like to thank you properly,”

“I didn’t bake dessert,” you hide the shudder in your throat when he steps closer, pinning you against the cart. Your knuckles must be transparent by now due to how hard you’re gripping the cart.

“You didn’t,” Seokjin agrees, “but you definitely brought it.”

You yelp, actually, a whole little dolphin-squeal escapes your lips as Seokjin puts his hand against the wall. You’re actually living a Disney-esque scenario that you do not want to be in. Seokjin’s either trying to give you the Eugene-Signature-Smoulder, or the Prince Naveen charm that isn’t very charming.

“You’re a cheeseball,” you try to snap back, but it only comes out as a small reply, fitting of your cramped situation.

His buttery brown eyes are clear and warm, and his sweet scent envelopes your form. You feel impossibly small, sinking deeper and deeper into your hoodie until you feel the heat of his voice sinking deep into your skin.

It’s then that he leans in and whispers in your ear, his voice a simple request, “Please tell me that you’re interested in me too.”

Something clutches softly in your heart, tethering you to Seokjin’s gaze. You wonder how many times Seokjin goes through this scenario. You wonder if he’s happy being a bachelor. You figure that many partners must have doubts being tethered by a teenage daughter, or if Seokjin is used to fleeting hook-ups.

“Have been since check-in,” you reply smoothly, finding your breath and looking up from your eyelashes.

Seokjin’s lips find yours, and you swear you’re lip-locking with Cloud Nine. They’re soft and supple and taste a little like maple syrup as they mingle with yours, and you can’t help but weave your hands through his equally silky strands, tugging him closer as he hooks his arms under your bare thighs.

He gives your bottom an experimental squeeze, leading you to the unmade bed.

Needless to say, breakfast has to wait.

“So, I’m going to throw a cliché.”

“Sure, we’re in Disney.”

“Why me?” you slap his bare chest when Seokjin laughs, pouting, “I mean it! All I did was look cute and give you pancakes!”

“So you admit you’re cute,” Seokjin smirks.

“C’mon don’t change the subject, tell me!”

Even though this hotel is partially yours, you’re still amazed at the softness of the Egyptian cotton as it engulfs both your bodies. Maybe it’s because you’re warm and bathing in the noon afterglow, maybe it’s your bed partner. Still, it feels divine as you lounge in bed, sipping champagne (left by the door, courtesy of Jimin.)

“Mm, caught you driving around with Yeji in my car.”

You sit up straighter, clutching the sheets to your chest, “You saw us last night?”

“You were also out last night?” Seokjin tilts his head, “I meant when you taught her how to parallel park.”

“Oh fuck—I mean,” you slap your forehead, knowing you can’t get away with this one, “Let’s just say I helped her out of a sticky situation. Don’t blame Yeji, blame Yeji’s bunny-headed cousin.”

“Noted,” Seokjin throws an arm around you, snuggling closer. You relax into his hold, melting between the sheets and his soft skin, “Knowing you’re pulling through for her. Let’s just say I’m a little soft for my daughter, no matter how old.”

“She’s wonderful,” you say genuinely, taking slow sips of your bubbly drink.

“Wanna go visit her for lunch? I’m supposed to be meeting her in an hour.”

You don’t feel deterred or nervous to see Yeji, or even the possibility of meeting Seokjin’s extended family. So you agree, run back to your room quickly to throw on a reasonable summer outfit that doesn’t consist of hooded sweatshirts and booty shorts.

Seokjin offers to drive your sedan, and since you feel a little princess-ish today you decide to let him take the wheel. After a few minutes attempting to drive in the direction of the townhouse however, you lower the volume on the radio.

“Jin? I think you’re going the wrong way,” not only do you live here, but you went to the townhouse last night and you’re sure it’s in the opposite fork, “do you want me to plug it in the G.P.S?”

“I know my way, hon,” Seokjin waves you off, confidently streaming through the oncoming traffic. You smile nervously, you have a feeling this situation has happened once or twice.

“Oh, is that why you ended up in my hotel?” you tease, “because you’re so good at directions?”

“Duh,” Seokjin reaches for your hand atop the console, “after all, my intuition led me to you.”

#jin x reader #jin crack #seokjin x reader #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #seokjin fluff #seokjin crack #bts smut #bts fic

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tempobaekh · 3 years

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Rating Penthouse: War In Life characters

I asked my followers on Instagram to give me Penthouse characters to rate and my thoughts about them so I thought to post it here as well. Now this is my personal opinion about how I feel about the characters and how much I will rate them

⚠️⚠️THIS CONTAINS A FEW SPOILERS⚠️⚠️

My Instagram: Tempobaek

Logan Lee

10/10

Lemme just say I love him SO MUCH

LOGAN LEE BEST BOY

I absolutely loved his character and the fact that he was one of the few people who wants justice and is honest made me love him even more

Him playing Go Hu Dong was amazing as well and I didn't recognize him at all at first like he played it so well with the accent, costume and wig and everything

His accent and language switch in between English and the Busan accent Korean was so fucking sexy🥵

✨Mr. Joo✨

My man was also smart with his revenge

He was also serving amazing LOOKS every episode in the two seasons and I loved every single one of them

And I'm going to be honest here, after watching the preview for S2 ep13 his laugh was creepy in one of the clips and after reading a few theories I lowkey thought that he would be the next villian

I regret suspecting him now

But instead of that they gave us a bigger plot twist and blew up our man with a bomb😩

He literally went ✨LiGhT iT Up LiKe DyNaMiTe✨ (I'm so sorry)

I would've rather have him be a villian than die in the bomb

I MISS HIM ALREADY AND LOVE HIM SO MUCH😭

DID I MENTION THAT I LOVE HIM

Joo Seok Kyung

7/10

Another one that annoyed me angered me so much🙄

Like she was ruthless and had no mercy when it came to bullying and putting people down that she thought were a rival or putting people down in general

She didn't change even when Rona died

She also went as far as to like cheat her way to win the Cheong Ah Art High School trophy and blackmailed Cheon Seojin to win the trophy

But there were times where she would show emotions and those would be often her break down and weak moments

And those moments would really show how she is broken inside and puts up a careless and brave image, she is someone who needs healing even though healing takes time

I also saw someone saying like 'oh Seok Kyung hates her mom so much'

Yeah she hated her mom but she didn't hate her to death like she didn't wish death upon her

Seok Kyung was heart broken when she heard Suryeon's death and that showed that she still loved her mom even though Suryeon didn't give birth to them

I was heart broken when I saw that she cut her hair because here was no one there to tie it for her bc Suryeon loved Seok Kyungs long hair and that's why she didn't cut it but after he mothers death no one was there to tie her hair for her

I started seeing her in a different light after a while bc again it showed that he character was very broken emotionally and needed healing

I'm interested about seeing more of her character development after the last ep where she defended Rona

Also my girl is so hot, another one that was serving amazing looks

Joo Seok Hoon

8/10

He was lowkey annoying at first ngl

Like my man was just🧍🏻‍♂️

It annoyed me so much how he defended his sister so much, fell for her tricks, covered up for her and did anything she said EVEN though its wrong

But after some time I understood that he cared for and that she was the only family left to him

I mean Seok Hoon hate Joo Dan Tae so he doesn't counts and Suryeon was dead at the moment

I will still not forgive him for bullying Seol A even though he regrets it

It also annoyed me how he didn't stood up for Rona at all in the first season even though he liked her

By he got so much better in S2, he was even part in the revenge plan

He is literally the human CCTV camera in Hera Palace like he knows more than even the viewers know

The way he was protective of Rona when he found out she was alive was so aDORABLE

And my man was amazing in the last episodes

I love him

Cheon Seo Jin

4/10

THIS WOMAN MAKES MY BLOOD FUCKING BOIL

Like I sometimes just was to 🤜🏻👩🏻

But sometimes I wanna hug her😩

Idk I feel like she became a horrible person bc of greed and that he father and mother placed too high expectations for her

Instead of praising her for her accomplishments her parents wanted her to do more

Maybe that's why she was desperate for love and affection and found that in Joo Dan Tae even though he pretended to like her

But that definitely does not dismiss her horrible actions

But also the harsh past made her the could hearted person, like she left her father to die

She felt more care towards her daughter after she almost lost her because Eunbyeol tried to commit suicide

She was in alot of pain and you could see it in her cries and when she was on the phone with the person

Soyeon's acting was amazing in that scene

She started to care more about her ex husband and daughter when she saw how much Eunbyeol was suffering and she realized that she genuinely liked Ha Yoon Chul hwen she saw how horrible Joo Dan Tae was

I did feel bad for her sometimes but after seeing that she didn't change I really didn't feel any sympathy for her

She needs therapy

Girlie was shocked when the doctor said she is losing her voice like bestie you are screaming every episode

She was also serving amazing looks every episode

Ha Yoon Chul

5/10

The first male character I simped for

Like I am not going to deny it but he is hot🥵

But the first few episodes he was an absolute asshole and greedy

But I never expected him to be Yoonhee's ex boyfriend

I did like him a tiny bit when he saved Yoon Hee from Kyu Jin

His entrance in S2 with the helicopter was damn hot

And I WAS SO SHOCKED WHEN HE SAID MEET MY WIFE OH YOON HE

LIKE YAY MY SHIP IS SAILING

I spoke too soon

His character development and fighting skills were hot as well

He was ADORABLE with Rona and Yoonhee

I seriously thought that Rona was his daughter

BUT THAN AT THE CHEONG AH FESTIVLE OOF SIR I WANTED TO PUNCH HIM

I WAS SO MAD WHEN HE SABOTAGED RONA'S PERFORMANCE

I began hating him after that💀

Like he went 📈📉 with his character development

AND THEN HE CLEANED EUNBYEOL'S MEMORY FROM THAT NIGHT LIKE SIR SKSHSKSHKS SHE DID HAT TO YOUR DAUGHTER

I actually asked my dad what he thought about what Yoon Chul did and this was his reponse:

"If you look at it from a parents perspective they would want to do anything if they saw their child in pain like he did but I would've also scolded her and had a conversation with her about why she did it instead of wiping her memory from that night like he did. "

So that's that

I LOVED IT WHEN YOON HEE CAME WITH THAT BLOW AND TOLD HIM RONA WAS HER DAUGHTER

Jonghoon's acting was chef's kiss in that scene

I was going to rate him a 4 but I gave him that 5 when I saw how he was at court, he admitted to his wrong doings but also still had feelings for Yoon Hee

I wanna see his reaction in s3 to Rona now bc now that he got to know that is his daughter I wonder how he will be

Lee Kyu Jin

1/10

AN ASSHOLE

USELESS

WHY IS HE HERE

Like I have nothing to say about him rather than I hate him and that he useless just like his wife and son

HE IS LITERALLY NOTHING WITHOUT HIS MOM

I'm only giving him that one bc he was funny in the episodes

THATS THE ONLY REASON HE IS THERE JUST FOR COMEDY PURPOSES

Go Sang Ah

0.5/10

ANNOYING 2.0

USELESS 2.0

ALL SHE DOES IS SPEND HER HUSBAND AND MOTHER IN LAW'S MONEY

LIKE SHE AIN'T EVEN WORKS

UNLIKE KANG MARI

The only thing she does is gossip

And spills the tea☕

SHE IS LITERALLY NOTHING WITHPUT HER HUSBAND AND HIS FAMILY

Giving her a 0.5 bc she is kinda funny eh

Lee Minhyuk

0/10

ANNOYING 3.0

USELESS 3.0

ASSHOLE 2.0

Idk if it runs in the family but again he is useless

And a dumbass

He also nothing without his parents

Why is he there tho like you ain't even funny

All he can do is cause trouble

And bullied Jenny

His dumbass slipped and broke his own arm and blamed it on Rona smh🤦🏻‍♀️

Sometimes I just wanna 🤜🏻👦🏻

Also my dude was trying to sound all intimidating by saying

"Oh Jenny's father is a scary man, yOuR dEaD BaE rOnA"

Like dude worry about yourself bitch you are dead first for bullying Jenny

But like I hate the character but LOVE THE ACTOR HE IS SO HOT OMFG

Joo Dan Tae

0/10

ANOTHER ONE THAT PISSES ME OFF SO MUCH AND MAKES MY BLOOD BOIL

SOMETIMES I DONT WANNA 🤜🏻 I WANNA 🔪

LIKE I HATE HIM WITH A FUCKING PASSION

I DONT CARE ABOUT HIS PAST OR ANYTHING HE IS A GREASY, GREEDY, PSYCHO, OBSESSIVE MANIPULATIVE, POSSESSIVE PSYCHO

Like I legit thought he was nice in he first ep and then I saw him kiss Seojin and-

Me: 🤨😧😃🤮 MY EMOTIONS WENT LIKE THAT

LIKE HE IS SO FUCKING POSSESSIVE OVER SURYEON, AEGYO AND SEOJIN LIKE ITS DISGUSTING

I WAS GETTING YANDERE BEHAVIOUR FROM THAT OLD MAN

PURE TRASH

Bae Rona

9/10

I LOVE HER NOW

RONA BEST GIRL

She was also annoying at first and was very ungrateful

But over time she got better, still a tiny bit annoying sometimes but better

When she came back from the US I WAS LIKE GIRL NO YOU FINNA RUIN THE PLAN

I do feel bad for her bc she went through alot with bullying, her mom going to jail not only once but twice, her getting to know that Yoonchul who she started liking sabotaged her performance, and also literally almost dying

My girl has been through a lot

AND WHEN SHE RUNNED TOWARDS THE STAIRS OUTSIDE WHEN EUNBYEOL WAS CHASING HER I WAS LIKE GIRL RUN TO THE HALL YOU RUNNIN OUTSIDE

I am excited to see her reaction to getting to know that Yoon Chul is her dad

Part 2 is also posted!

147 notes · View notes

bungou-stray-dingus · 4 years

Note

I’ve just read the head cannons of Chuuya and Dazai’s bebes and I love it 🥰 can you write how they’ll react when someone kidnapped their babies and how they would get them back? QwQ

A/N : I've been gone for so long and I'm so sorry. This request and many others have laid dormant in my ask box for many many months and I'm so sorry. I went through big depression kick, and I didn't write for a while. I ended up getting laid off from my job because of the rona, and everything just felt uncertain for a while and I honestly didn't really know what to do. I slowly got back into writing, starting off with my fanfiction just to get back into the swing of it, and now I'm ready to make y'all proud and finish all the requests! I'm sorry for making you all wait so long, and I want this request and all other requests that I answer to be amazing for all of you. So, here we go! -Hopefully (still) Your Favorite Dingus

T/W : angst; kidnapping; slight mention of blood;

Osamu Dazai

Kazue was the literal light of his life, aside from you... obviously. You and his son were the center of his entire universe, he would do anything for you and his son. He made that quite known, considering how spoiled your son was already. At three years old, Dazai had already managed to buy your son everything he did, and sometimes didn't need.

Your son was a lot like his dad in the way that he liked to run off often, having you worried sick in the middle of the grocery store of mall. Dazai would often find him at the gumball machines or the tiny change eating rides in the middle of the mall. Your son hated to be confined in his stroller, and Dazai agreed that strollers were awful contraptions and that your son should be allowed to walk around.

His views quickly changed when you were out shopping for groceries one afternoon. Dazai was at work, and trying to keep your son in the shopping cart proved to be impossible, so you had agreed to let him out of the cart as long as he stayed close to you and hold your hand. You promised to get him candy if he followed those two simple rules, but thanks to Dazais relaxed parenting, your son just assumed he'd get candy no matter what. (Thanks Dazai)

You had only let go of his hand for a second, kneeling down to grab something from the bottom shelf. The last thing you heard was the small cry of "Momma!" and when you shot up and turned around he was gone. Your heart sank as you dropped the item in your hand and ran to the front of the store, asking the employees if they had seen your son, showing them the pictures in your wallet, and all of them shook their head, only able to offer their sympathies to you.

Calling your husband was the hardest part, trying to keep your voice and your hands steady as you held your phone up to your ear. The employees had already called the police for you, and they were scouring the entire store trying to look for any clue as to where your son could be.

When you had managed to tell Dazai what happened, he was on his way to the store, he didn't waste any time at all. He was furious, and at first he took his anger out on you. "I thought you were watching him!" "How could you let this happen?!" "Why would you let him go!?" He was angry and he wasn't thinking straight, but as soon as he saw how his words affected you, he quickly pulled you into a hug, peppering the top of your head with kisses. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, darling. It's not your fault."

An officer brought over Kazue's stuffed kitty cat which was a gift from Fukuzawa. He had gotten it on his first birthday and refused to part with it, he brought it with him everywhere. The sight of the kitty cat not being held by Kazue made you throw up immediately, your mind jumping to the worst possible scenario. You heard Dazai grit his teeth, his arm was wrapped around you tightly, and his grip on your shirt tightened.

The two of you race to the Agency, every other case that they had been working on is dropped instantly. Desks are cleared and pushed together to draw out a map of the entirety of Yokohama. You're sitting on one of the couches in the office, Kazue's kitten clutched against your chest, your tears soaking the top of the plushy. The light in Dazais eyes has disappeared completely, he's stern, on edge. His voice is hard but you can hear it break occasionally at the end of his sentences, especially when he says his sons name.

Ranpo and Atsushi are the main people Dazai communicates with, his voice is mixed with the constant slamming of his fists on the desk when his emotions take over completely. "Where the hell is my son!?" He shouts as he drops his head into his hands. That's the only time he'll cry, his body shaking violently. You walk over and wrap your arms around him from behind, your chin resting on his shoulder as you both sob.

Everyone had been sitting around the office quietly watching you and Dazai have your moment. They all felt hopeless, especially when Dazai had initially went to Ranpo and he didn't seem to have a clue as to where Kazue was or who had taken him. "Why... Why would anyone take him? What's the reason? I want to know a reason!" Dazai shouted, his fists once again coming down on the desk. You pulled away quickly, giving him his space to lash out. He threw everything off the desk, his head dropping into his arms that were folded against the desk and letting out a scream.

His strength was being tested, he was breaking. It killed you to see him like this, you knew that there was nothing you could do to calm him. There was nothing worse that could ever happen to him, his son was everything to him. Kazue was the reason he had stopped attempting suicide, Kazue gave him a reason to stay alive, Kazue was his life line. Dazai loved his son with every fiber of his being, and right now he not only lost his son, he lost his reason for living. If anything were to happen to your son, if the worst case scenario was the actual case, you were sure that you would lose your husband as well.

All hope had seemed lost, the sun was quickly setting over the city. Everyone was emotionally exhausted. You were curled up on the couch, your head resting on Dazai's lap, his fingers massaging your scalp. "Please, get some rest darling. You need it." He whispered to you when he saw you slowly drift to sleep only to have your eyes open quickly. You felt bad for falling asleep, knowing that your son was out there somewhere without you or his father.

You handed Dazai the stuffed kitten before rolling over and trying to get comfortable. "Here, if anything comes up.. he's gonna need his Fuwa." You said sleepily, and you heard Dazai's chuckle, it sounded like he was being choked. He sniffled as he grabbed the kitten and brought it up to his face, silently crying into it.

Ranpo stood up from his chair and made his way over to the desk, pulling the map up off the floor and laying it flat on the desk. His eyes were wide open, the soft emerald green had long since turned as hard as the gem itself. Dazai shifted you off his lap and made his way over to Ranpo, stuffing Fuwa into his coat pocket. Atsushi followed him over and they both peered over Ranpo's shoulder, looking down at the map, following where Ranpo pointed with his fingers.

"The warehouse... next to the Port. Whoever it was quick enough to be gone before Y/N could notice, but he was still able to drop his cat. That means the person was on foot, so this person would have to be somewhere close to the store so a scene wouldn't be made, but somewhere they could hide him. They're most likely expecting us to show up, they want something in return, this is a ransom kidnapping." Ranpo said and Dazai nodded, trusting him with 100% of his being. He had to be right, but Dazai also knew how some ransom situations worked out. If it took too long...

"We have to go now." Dazai growled, and Ranpo nodded, Atsushi "hmph"ing in agreement. Kunikida stood up from his chair, joining the three of them by the door.

"None of you know how to drive. Let's go." Kunikida had a soft spot for Kazue, he wanted your son home safe as much as everyone else. (Even if he thought his father was a complete dunce.)

Everyone in the office agreed to stay with you just in case you woke up before the four of them got back, and with that they all ran out the door, hopping into Kunikida's car and speeding off towards the warehouse.

When they got there, they snuck up to the doors of the warehouse. Dazai leaned his head against the door, hoping to hear something, anything that would indicate that his son was in there. His heart was beating fast, and as much as he wanted to murder someone for stealing his son in the first place, he wanted to bring Kazue home with him, bring him back to you safe and sound more than anything else.

"Momma... Daddy..." He heard the soft whimpers of his son coming from the inside of the warehouse. It sounded like he was crying and Dazai to control his urge to kick down the door right then and there. He needed to be careful so that no harm would come to his son, but the sounds of his son softly crying had him seeing red. "Pwease..." He heard his son again and his heart shattered, the sound of his son pleading with his captor had him on the verge of an anger induced emotional breakdown.

Kunikida pulled the gun from the back of his pants and silently counted down from three before they pulled the door open. All four of them had guns, refusing to let Atsushi use his ability out of fear of hurting Kazue. There was one man in the corner of the room, a gun pointed at the head of your son as he smirked up at the four men. They all stopped dead in their tracks, dropping their guns to the ground and holding their hands up in the air. "Please, don't hurt him..." Dazai choked out, his eyes locking with his son in the corner.

"Took you all long enough to show up, thought you guys were detectives. He was becoming a pain in my ass, constantly crying, asking for his mommy and daddy and his Fuwa." The man chuckled as he cocked the gun back and pointed it back at your son. "Do you know why I'm doing this? Do you know?!" The guy shouted and Kazue cried out, his arms outstretched for Dazai.

He felt like he was going to collapse, the room was spinning, he had to compose himself though, he had to stay focused. He looked to Kunikida and Atsushi, hoping the plan would work out how they had said.

Kunikida quickly bent down and grabbed his gun off the floor, firing one shot at the arm of the man, making him drop the gun. Kazue let out a shrill scream and Dazai took this moment to run over and scoop him up off the floor, holding him close against his chest. The other three ran over to the man, Atsushi and Kunikida pinned him down on the ground as Ranpo cuffed his arms behind his back.

After the police took the man away they all made their way back to the Agency building, Dazai was in the back of the car holding Kazue on his lap, rocking him back and forth as his son fell asleep in his arms. The man had been one of the criminals they had captured before Kazue was even born. He had held an entire bank and its customers hostage, but had never actually killed someone, so he was let out on good behavior recently. He had been stalking Dazai, and he found out about you and Kazue and decided that he would have his revenge for the Agency ruining his life. None of them ever found out if the man would have actually hurt Kazue, and honestly, they didn't want to know, they were all just happy that he was unharmed.

When they walked through the door and you saw Kazue being cradled in Dazais arms you fell to your knees and cried. Tanizaki and Yosano had to help you stand up, and as soon as you found your footing you ran over to Dazai. "Hi Momma!"

Dazai now sternly enforced the stroller rule, he didn't want to go through anything like that ever again.

Chuuya Nakahara

Asa was his princess and you were his queen. But his daughter, oof, if anyone even looked at his daughter wrong for crying he would kill someone. Do not test Chuuya when it comes to his child. He would kiss the ground that she crawls on, he loves her so much.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think his office was a shrine dedicated to her and you. There were framed pictures of you and her, and sometimes the three of you hung on his wall, propped up on his desk and coffee table, pretty much any surface that could have pictures, they were covered.

She had just celebrated her first birthday, she was learning how to walk which Chuuya would not shut up about. If there was ever a moment to talk about his daughter he would. The Mafia members had all learned to just deal with it, knowing that if they looked agitated about the constant talk of his daughter they would either be demoted or have their asses kicked.

"Does she really have to start sleeping in her own room? She's got a crib in our room, I don't see the problem." Chuuya whispered to you from the couch as you made your way into the room opposite of yours and his. She had an entire nursery that was practically unused due to protective parenting. He really didn't see a reason in having her in a completely different room when it was so much easier to have her in yours and his room. If she woke up, he could get her immediately and get her back to sleep in the bed between the two of you.

When you came out of the bedroom you sat with him on the couch, his arm habitually wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer. He turned down the television so he could hear the monitor clearly. "If she gets too used to sleeping with us in our room, she'll never want to sleep in her own room. She's not that much further. You're spoiling her, honey." He groaned and you stifled your laughter, propping yourself up to press a quick peck to his cheek. "We should try to get some rest while she's sleeping. Come on."

The two of you laid in your bed, he held you close against his chest while you traced hearts against his bare chest with your finger. "I don't know why she has to sleep in her own room now though. She's only a year old. She's still my baby. I feel better having her close." He sighed, adjusting his free hand behind his head as he turned to look over at the video monitor, the corner of his lips twitching up slightly as he watched his daughter sleep peacefully in her crib.

"You're scared of her growing up. She's turned you into a big softy. You know, she's gonna keep growing."

"Don't say that. She's only one." He pulled his arm out from underneath you and ran his hands over his face. He hated thinking of her getting bigger, growing older. The thought of her not being the adorable, babbling baby that waddled over to the door whenever he walked in with open arms was enough to make him almost cry. ALMOST.

"You know... we can have more..." You said almost too seductively as you peppered kisses across his shoulders. It was supposed to be a joke, but he didn't take it as such. He wouldn't mind one or two more little princesses or princes teetering around the house.

The two of you thoroughly tired each other out, the night seemed to be going perfectly. Asa hadn't woken up yet, and this was the first time the two of you had been able to be intimate in that way since she had reached the eight month mark. You fully blamed Chuuya for that though, he had spoiled her so much, but he didn't seem to mind it at the time. Now he seemed to be convinced that having her in a separate room wasn't such a bad thing.

Everything was silent, the only sound was the crickets chirping outside and the occasional sound of a car passing by in the distance. That would shortly come to an end though, the sound of glass breaking and Asa's blood curdling scream coming from both the monitor and the room across the hall had jolted you and Chuuya from your peaceful slumber. You grabbed the monitor off the nightstand and Chuuya ordered you to stay in bed as he ran out of the room and into Asa's room. You knew though, it was too late as you saw the cloaked man who was holding your daughter jump out of the window just as the door flew open and Chuuya came into view on the screen.

"NO! Son of a BITCH!" His screeching voice was just as loud as your daughters cries had been and you dropped the monitor into your lap on the bed as the realization hit you. This wouldn't have happened if you had just listened to Chuuya, if you had let her sleep in your bedroom as she always had. He ran back into the room, flicking the lights on as he went over to the closet and quickly got dressed.

"This... this is my fault... if I would have listened..." You said, not able to face your him at all. He turned to face you, sighing as he tried to calm his nerves. He was already fully dressed, ready to hunt down and murder the asshole who had the nerve to take HIS daughter. He made his way around the bed to the side you were on, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you softly.

"Don't you even dare blame yourself. I'm gonna get her back. I need you to stay here though, I can't have you getting hurt." You knew what he meant. The way that he felt right now, this would probably turn into an all out war, and if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time you could end up injured. You nodded slowly, kissing him one last time before he ran out of the room and out the front door.

He barely gave the car time to start up before slamming his foot down on the gas pedal, peeling out of the parking spot and speeding down the street. His vision was blurry as the tears started to stream out of his eyes, he was only able to keep his composure long enough to hopefully make you feel better. Now that he was alone he had hurdled the thin line between lashing out and having a complete mental and emotional breakdown.

The only thing keeping him from getting into a severe car accident was knowing that he had to stay alive to save Asa. Although he couldn't see where he was going through his clouded vision, he had dedicated the route to muscle memory, and he could luckily see faint streaks of red and green lights indicating braking cars and traffic lights.

When he got to the headquarters he got some questionable stares from the guards, it was three o'clock in the morning, considerably late, or maybe early, to be coming into work. When they attempted to speak to him he couldn't even mumble out a "fuck off" through his sobs. He raced up the stairs, not having the patience to deal with waiting for the elevator to get him up to the floor he needed to be on.

He stormed into Mori's office, and, not unlike his boss, he found him sitting at his desk, his hands folded under his chin as he stared down at the papers in front of him. "They said you'd be on your way up. What's wrong Chuuya?" Mori asked, motioning to the armchair in front of his desk. Chuuya didn't want to sit though, so he strode over to the desk, slamming the note that had been left in Asa's room down in front of Mori. "What is this?" Mori asked, grabbing the note between his gloved fingers and unfolding it.

"He got my Asa. I'm gonna fucking kill him!" Chuuya screamed, remembering the words that had been carefully scripted out on the thick note paper.

"For the beautiful woman who was murdered by one of your own. I shall avenge her. An eye for an eye. -H"

He knew exactly who "H" was, and he knew exactly who the beautiful woman was that he was speaking of. What he didn't understand was why he would target his family, his daughter to get back at the Mafia for what had happened. Chuuya hadn't even taken part in the situation that had sparked this outcome, so it made absolutely no sense to him.

"Chuuya, you need to stay calm. Asa is loved dearly by everyone here, I will get together everyone needed to find her." Chuuya found his bosses strange sense of composure to be infuriatingly irritating.

"How could I possibly stay calm!?" Chuuya shouted, he wanted to lash out, he wanted to go off on someone, anyone.

"I would feel the same way if it was my darling Elise who had been taken." Mori said, but that was a mistake. Chuuya sighed, exasperated. He was pacing the floor, but when Mori had the audacity to utter those words, he punched the wall that he was closest to, leaving a large hole.

"She's your god damn ability! You wouldn't understand half of what I was feeling because this is my actual fucking DAUGHTER! So don't tell me I need to stay calm!" Chuuya screamed, the tears seemed to flow endlessly, staining his cheeks as they ran down to his chin, hanging on for only a second before splashing down onto the hard wood floors. Mori didn't argue back, he knew that Chuuya was emotionally unstable right now, so he just nodded in agreement.

"So what is it that you need me to do?" He asked, the phone already in his hand as his fingers hovered over the dial.

"Get everyone here..." Chuuya muttered before finally crashing down in the armchair. His sobs had eventually become choked off, and he was left shaking in the chair, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest as he tried to hold himself together.

Everyone had filed into the office, some of them looked agitated, others looked tired and pissed off that they had been woken up, but when they saw Chuuya's current state they knew that something was wrong. His usual smug, cocky smirk seemed to have been erased, the only emotion that was left to be read on his face was pain.

Chuuya didn't need to say much, no one needed a thorough explanation to jump into action. Asa was the one beacon of light that graced the walls of the Mafia headquarters whenever Chuuya brought her in. She had even managed to make Akutagawa crack a small smile when she had burped in Chuuya's face and then spit up on his freshly laundered coat.

Around five o'clock in the morning he got a call from you. He answered it quickly, and it broke his heart to hear how distraught you were. "H-Hi honey... It's almost time for her bottle. She'll need to eat soon, and she'll need to be changed, and and and... god, please tell me you've found her..." You were a mess, and he could only imagine how much harder it was for you to be there in your home, surrounded by all of her things but not her.

"Not yet... but I swear, I'm gonna bring her home to you, okay? Trust me." He needed you to trust him, because right now all hope seemed lost. There was no possible leads as to where the jackass could be keeping her, nobody knew where to find the guy.

"It's... It's so quiet... please bring her home." You whispered out between broken sobs, he heard you try to swallow back the lump that had been building in your throat. He could only nod, giving you a small hum as an answer.

After you had hung up, whispering out a solemn "I love you." Before ending the call he was right back at it. He was dead set on catching this guy today. Not only had he stolen away his daughter, but he had destroyed his wife, his love... This man had crossed a line and he was going to pay for it.

"Oi, Chuuya. Look, at the bottom of the note." Tachihara said, he had the note close up to his face, his eyes squinting as he focused on the tiny scrawling at the bottom of the page. Chuuya ran over and snatched the paper out of his hands, walking over to the large window to try to shine some light onto the paper and see the writing clearer.

"For fucks sake, they're coordinates! They were here the entire time!" Chuuya was seething now, this must have been a sick game to that man. Chuuya grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and headed for the door, but he was stopped by Mori who placed a hand on his chest.

"This might be a trap, how do you know it's not?" Mori said and there was a soft murmur of agreement from the group of people that were standing around.

"Does it matter!? She could be there and that's all that matters!" Chuuya screamed, the tears that threatened to spill were stinging his eyes. The fact that they thought he cared about his own safety as this moment was almost laughable, he would have laughed if his throat didn't feel like it was closing in on itself. "If you're so fucking worried than I'll take Akutagawa..." This is all his fault anyway, isn't it? Akutagawa was the one who had murdered the woman who he was avenging, so he might as well come along.

Chuuya pulled the coordinates up on his phone and it pinpointed a building that seemed on the map to be rundown and abandoned. A princess like Asa didn't belong in a place like that, it made him sick to even imagine his beautiful, precious daughter in such a desolate area. He growled as the directions read that it would take an hour and a half, maybe two hours to get there.

He would make it in half the time though. He could give a shit less about traffic rules, and if the cops even dared to try to stop him on his mission, the wrath of Hell and Chuuya would be brought down upon them. He sped down the streets, winding through traffic like it was nothing. He didn't speak a word to Akutagawa, and Akutagawa knew not to talk to him right now either. Chuuyas mind was a frenzy, a whirlwind of emotions. A mixture of anger, depression, rage, and heartache, and all of those emotions were just simmering.

The devil himself wouldn't be able to stomach what Chuuya planned on doing to the man who took his daughter from him.

He made it there in record time, the drive only took fifty five minutes, an hour tops to get there. The entire drive, Chuuya's eyes would glance in the windshield mirror, looking back at the empty car seat, hoping that it would soon be filled with his perfect little bundle of joy to be brought home.

Chuuya kicked the door in and his eyes immediately zeroed in on the trail of blood droplets on the floor. His heart sank while his stomach rose, he tried to control his dry heaving as horrid images and scenes filled his mind. "Remember his ability, it uses blood." Akutagawa said sternly, trying to keep Chuuya from losing it completely already.

They followed the trail up a case of stairs that seemed like a safety hazard, and Chuuya hated to think that his daughter was in this place at all. It wasn't safe enough for her to be in, she could get hurt at any point. This place needed to be demolished as soon as he got her out of here. He would do it himself if the city didn't want to.

The blood stopped in front of a door, and as soon as Chuuya heard the soft whimpering of his daughter behind the door he kicked it in. She was sitting in a small dingy playpen in the corner of the room, and Akutagawa had to hold Chuuya back to keep him from running straight for her.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!? SHE'S RIGHT THERE!" Chuuya shouted, alerting his daughter to his presence. She pulled herself up on the rails of the playpen, stomping her feet to show him that she was becoming impatient.

"This might be the trap. We need to be careful." Akutagawa hissed, and Chuuya knew he was right. He sighed and peaked into the room, scanning it entirely to make sure it was empty before stepping in. Akutagawa followed close behind, Rashomon creating a shield around himself and Chuuya as they made their way over to Asa.

As soon as Chuuya got close enough he pulled her out of the playpen, holding her tight against his chest. He breathed her in, finding instant comfort in the smell of the all too familiar baby lotion and lavender shampoo that you used for her nightly baths. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, princess. My beautiful baby girl, daddy loves you so much." He cooed to her, but just as things seemed to be going flawlessly, a loud scream escaped her tiny rose petal lips.

A hail of what seemed like bullets were fired across the room, and one of them managed to hit her leg. Chuuya held onto his composure long enough to check her leg, it had just skimmed by, but it was enough to make her bleed and to make her cry. He was trembling, all of his emotions had formed into one cluster fuck of pure, unfiltered rage. He passed Asa over to Akutagawa and ordered him to leave the room through his teeth. Akutagawa didn't bother to argue, instead wrapping Rashomon around himself and Asa completely and running out of the room and down the stairs.

Chuuyas teeth were barred as the man stepped out from the darkest shadow of the room. He didn't have time to speak before Chuuya charged at him, tackling him to the ground and pummeling him with his bare hands, the force of his ability behind each and every punch would leave the man unrecognizable. He was going to kill him, he wanted to kill him, but the vibration of his phone in his pocket made him stop. He pulled his phone out and when he saw it was you it brought him back to reality, the reality that his daughter was waiting for him, and you were still at home waiting for him to bring her home.

He answered it, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder as he wiped the blood of the man off his hands. "Did you find her? Tell me you found her!" Your voice was hoarse, he knew that you hadn't stopped crying. He couldn't keep you waiting any longer, you deserved to hold Asa in your arms as well.

"We'll be home in an hour or two." He said, and it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders when he heard your sigh of relief at his words.

Two Months Later

Chuuya was propped up on the floor, his head resting in his open palm as he bounced Asa's plush horse across the floor, making the horse noises as he did so. The sound of Asa's laughter was music to his ears, and her wide smile was just as beautiful as she flaunted her newly sprouted bottom two teeth. She crawled across the floor towards Chuuya who quickly lifted her up in the air. "Airplane Asa coming in for the landing!" He said playfully as he lowered her down to her his face and pressed a quick kiss to her nose.

His head shot up as he heard the bedroom door open. You had your hands behind your back, and the wide smile that spread across your face when you saw him made his heart flutter. He sat up, his back against the couch now, Asa on his lap attempting to imitate her fathers horse sounds as she bounced the plush horse across her lap. "What's up, baby?" Chuuya asked, wondering what could possibly be behind your back.

You moved your hands to the front, holding the white stick between two fingers and smiling down at him. "Congratulations, daddy."

a/n : I hope you enjoyed my first request after my ridiculously long hiatus. Again, I apologize for being gone so long, but I can't wait to start working on all the requests that are in my inbox. I love you all!

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #bsd headcanons #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #chuuya nakahara x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya headcanons #dazai headcanons

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solistair · 3 years

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Happy New Year! ♥

It’s the time of year to make this post again, there might be some sad but there’s plenty of good as well, promise!

In short I want to wish you all the most wonderful transition into a new year, and that you will all have the strengthened mindset to make 2021 a better year despite the hardships that you may or may not go through. With all of my heart, Happy New Year, my loves, and the biggest of hugs and well wishes to you and your loved ones! ♥

This year has been kind of hell, other than the obvious entré of Miss Rona. My friend and I got fucked over by an old friend, lost our flat, I lost all my savings saving my credit, and then I moved in with my partner. I am beyond thankful for the support and love this man has given me, and though the lockdowns and have forced us to be in the same room 24/7 without work or school to go to, I think we’ve made a great job in keeping our sanity. ♥ In a stressful period of not knowing where to live he stepped up and helped me, and for this I will be forever grateful. As I worked through double workload of university assignments, work shifts, then job loss, then the most anti-climactic graduation in the world, he has been by my side. But as the year ends, so does my relationship after just over two years. Second time breaking up around holidays... I don’t recommend it, no fun! Jokes aside though...

I’m once again in a position of looking for a new home, although now as an unemployed person supported only by the government. Being stressed is an understatement, feeling heartbroken is too simple, though being lost feels right on point. I might be going back home to Sweden for a while, while things are slowly stablising, continuing my job search while there. I’ve met my sister and nephews only once in the past year and half, same with my mother. Dad I was lucky to see three times because he came to London for work. I miss my family. My heart really goes out to you who have been forced to distance yourself because of the circumstances.

Because of my current situation I started a patreon for my creations, offering Early Access to my CC. I was so worried about this because when I left the community over a year ago, patreon had a horrendous reputation here! I’m glad there’s a bit of a shift lately. A massive thank you goes out to my patreons, both current and old, for helping me receive a little something for what I love doing. It’s so exciting to see you want to support me and to gain access to my content earlier! It helps me greatly, in so many ways. Creating gives me so much joy and truly is an escape, creatively and mentally.

Through the hardships and annoyances, this year granted me an amazing gift - you all. I decided to come back to the TS4 community as a refreshed creator, reconnecting with a lost hobby, and I was truly welcomed back so warmly. Many, to whom I was previously close, have either become inactive or left the community altogether which made me feel a bit alone. In my want to find new friends I joined Planet Mari, a discord server led by one of the kindest persons I’ve met on here. Through this discord I’ve met likeminded people, oddballs, clowns, creators, storytellers, and artists - all whom I hold SO very dearly today! You all have made my life so much brighter with all the laughs, memes, music, edits, art, stories, helping, joking, etc... it’s nuts how much I love this server. And to all of the community who interact with me and/or my content, you really brighten up my days so much!

It’s a tough time, but I try to hold on tightly to the small joys while chasing a bigger one. Life’s a journey for sure and not always an exciting one! But hey, 2020 brought an enormous amount of change and trials and I for one am stepping into 2021 with a weak smile and small steps, something I am very proud of. You don’t need grand resolutions, a clear focus, high goals, or have everything figured out. Taking it one step at a time is an amazing thing alone after what year we’ve all had.

I wish you all the best, and here’s to another year I hope to fill with fun conversations, loving relations, warm memories, new creations, and exciting adventures - big and small!

Happy new year, my loves! ♥

#ts4 #personal #but still it's counted as #non sims #as well so tagging that too #happy new year #happy new year 2021 #i write one of these all years so i'm continuing that #little tradition #both positive and negative #but a nice way to look back

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helvetica12point · 3 years

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Hi the corona lockdown is getting to me. Could help me to talk. Please do not leave me all alone. Not in the darkness on my own...

Lockdown getting to you is 150% understandable and hella normal. Like, this shit has been going on for a year, everyone has been freaking out and for a lot of us we're within the 1 year anniversary (give or take a few weeks) of everything hitting the fan, which just adds to the stress.

The social isolation that has happened as a result of the pandemic has been crippling, even for people who are usually okay by themselves. Humans are social creatures, we have a psychological need to interact with other humans outside of our family unit or we get really weird at best, and incredibly depressed at worst. So, what you're feeling is not necessarily an unreasonable reaction. Like, the whole pandemic has been pretty darned depressing, you know?

So first off, you are not alone. Whether you've been stuck at home all this time, you've been an essential worker and had to go out in public this whole time, or if you're actually down with the Rona and quarantining, you are not alone.

But as you also know, just because you're reaching out, giving in to the depression-however sane a response it may be-isn't safe either. Like so many of the ways our brains try to protect us, letting depression hang around too long is just as bad as the stuff that causes it. I've been at the bottom of that pit, it is a horrible place to be. And finding the way back out isn't easy, either. But the good news is that there are multiple ways to get out of that dark pit, because we all find our own way that works for us.

If it's not presumptuous, I'd like to just give a list of some things that might help. I don't know your personal situation, so some of them may be useless. Others you may have already tried. So just ignore anything like that and focus on whatever will help you most here.

Since it's lockdown getting to you the most right now, think about how many people are getting vaccinated right now, and how many are already fully vaccinated! Vaccination is how we're going to get out of this, and the fact that it's going fairly well is a light at the end of the tunnel. The media and your brain will say, "yes, but-" and my advice in that case is to just say no and don't let your brain finish that thought. Focus on the good bit, you can worry about the rest later when you're in a better head space. Or maybe never, your choice.

The standard advice of drink a glass of water, make sure you've eaten recently, and make sure you're getting enough (but not too much) sleep. It's all stuff that's easy to forget but that will make a ridiculous difference in your mood.

If you are able, go for a walk or a bike ride (obviously not if you're in quarantine if you're going to be around people). Standard advice, I know, but it can help sometimes.

Go outside in the sun and experience something green and alive. You get a bit of free vitamin D that way, and plants make really nice friends, even if it's just grass and weeds. Apologies if you live in an area that still has snow; bundle up and find an evergreen tree (don't get frostbite).

Create something. This always helps me, but I'm also an artist. It does not matter if it's a brilliant work of art, a batch of cookies, or looks like something a five year old made. Take existing things, combine them in some manner, and create a new and different thing. It does not matter what, as long as the thing you make did not previously exist (please avoid making explosives or biological weapons). Look at the fingers us humans have! Look at how creative a species we are! Humans are designed to make things. If nothing else, it's a good distraction.

Watch a positive movie/show. There can be some leeway here cause what we find comforting is different for everyone, but try to avoid the grimdark post apocalypse stuff. Try to find something that has a bit of hope for humanity. If you want a totally random suggestion, I've been watching Rookie Historian Goo Hae-Ryung on netflix lately. It's a light hearted historical k-drama and it's honestly just cute and light and fun. My husband says it's a soap opera and I'm just like, who cares, it's fun.

Listen to some good music. If you'd like a couple of recommendations, nothing calms me down when I feel squicky like The Glitch Mob, they are my go to "I'm anxious as fuck and need to calm down" music. Delain is another good band, very positive (seriously, if you can listen to Delain and not feel at least a little inspired and like the world has some magic in it you have no soul), and I recommend Icon For Hire to anyone who has struggled with mental illness because, well, they get it. Like, I was in a bad patch when I got their latest album and I legit started crying a little on the first couple of songs because the lyrics were that spot on. Hella empowering for the song along, whether you sing on key or off.

Learn something new. Whether it's going down the rabbit hole on wikipedia, khan academy, or even just listening to a good podcast, find a topic that sounds vaguely interesting and get a little obsessed. This can even be wierd mysteries! My personal favorite wierd mysteries are Dyatlov Pass (which has arguably, if boringly been solved but it's still tragically fascinating) and Oak Island (people have been digging for over 200 years and I applaud the current group for chronicling their futile efforts via TV, which I suspect it's how they're funding it; it's adorable how they think they'll find something, although I really need to catch up).

I hope something in this list helps, and I'm sorry it took so long to get a response back to you. I'm somehow considered an essential worker and was at work all day (I can only access my phone on breaks).

I genuinely hope things get better for you. I know it's not much, but I hope something in this wall of text helps to ease things a little.

#coronavirus 2020 #depression #tw depression #asks answered

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meliapasthika · 3 years

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My life after work resigned and quarantine.

Oh man, where do I even start? te he.

So my mental health been a little bit all over the place the past couple weeks ever since the big decisions of resigning and rona started getting higher. I feel like I'd been through the seven stages of grief except it's the seven stages of a worldwide pandemic.

First, I really trying to stay calm and not panic too much. I was like, you know whatever happens happens. I can't control it. It's like that saying if you worry you suffer twice. Then when I started to feel super high pressure in working like every single thing in this work circumstances really put a lay and depends on me. I mean if you done everything so well doesn't mean you're ready to many many more things on your shoulders. I resigned from this company like so difficult stages, like they're tried to hold me back so many many times with put on so many advantages on me but never break down the way they worked. It will be takes too long if I tell you all. But yes I started freaking out.

Moreover, I would like read a lot of the news and I felt like simultaneously anxious and paralyzed, you know like I had this anguish of energy but I felt like I couldn't do anything. I didn't know what the fuck to do. Even with my job I just felt like the whole thing was so pointless. And then I went through that phase where everybody use this time productively, use all your time continue to turn the wheel of capitalism's. That is freaked me out even more because then I was really harsh on my self for feeling paralyzed to begin with I was like 'Can't I just get back to work and do something productive like everybody else?', Then everybody on social media is like 'No that is bullshit you have to take time for yourself', I still think is a good perspective so I took time to process.

I stopped working an entire week, which was good because I had wanted a break a really long time. I hadn't taken time to just like enjoy my own time in such a long time ( I said time too many times in that sentence lol ). I was dedicated my time to other people until now like study, work, bake, whatever it is. I took a little bit too much time off though because title by the end of the week I was feeling really... lumpy? hehe.

Honestly, I had this phase where I work really really really hard and then I have other days where I just completely like fall off the rails, I get out of a work hole, I start watching a bunch of movies I just crawl into bed and like burn time and those can be correlated with like depressive episodes for me, so like seven days into not doing anything with my self not talking to anybody, not going outside, I really just felt fucking awful about my self so this past week I got myself back to work again. I just trying to balances everything. Even for a week of not working it like jolted me back to reality and made me realize like 'I don't want to not work' I thrive having real purpose in my life and explore something meaningful. Still feeling a little bit confusing but I am slowly kind of finding my stride in this whole tough time. I watch or read so many videos or books of people in qurantine or off to work and somehow that is making me calm. I hope this writtings does the same to you.

Anyways I still living alone sometimes in 230 foot studio and it is just fucking lonely somehow. It's corona virus my boyfriend doesn't spend a happy time always because of social ditancing, but we're totally good and still sweet but, sometimes when I go to the laundry I tried to look around hoping there's a cute boy under any of the mask, it wasn't a sins though to making an eye contact. Please give eye contact. Eye contact will do it for me at this point. Erghhh :(

Ooh, I also painting anything these days. You know what is good about it, is, you can enter the online classes for everything, that is keeping me productive at least.

Caught up with friends sometimes by phone or drink like one time mostly in a month (question mark).

Eating cold chicken nugget at 2:16 am.

Listening to old playlist and sing it badly.

I've been thinking about the past a lot. Sometimes I lose my zest for life and I'm trying to get it back.

#Spotify

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brokebuckkmountain · 3 years

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Today was the worst

(long rant ahead, mostly about workplace politics with irl problems sprinkled in for flavor)

So. I’ve already been in my feelings lately due to like: life sucking, it’s the plague times, I am struggling to find a psychiatrist despite being told it was imperative I get help immediately, it’s winter and winter makes me sad, I’m losing friendships left and right thx to Miss Rona, I hate my job, yesterday was the one year anniversary of my breakup, there’s tons of gossip about me at work for things I genuinely did not say, and some of my work buddies are ignoring me for no apparent reason (including my best friend who has been ignoring me since my literal birthday a month ago? It’s all her friends that are ignoring me to it’s hard not to think it’s something related to that). Also, those PMS mood swings are a bitch.

I wanted today to be a good day. I wanted to get up early. I wore my new clothes and new perfume and was excited to train a coworker I genuinely like who was never trained when she was hired a year ago and struggles to get through her shifts. I mean I volunteered to do it for free because she deserves the help. But no no. Today was not a good one.

-I was woken up at 3 am to a litany of text messages from an ex asking to hook up again. Promptly fell back asleep and missed my later alarm, causing me to have to skip my workout this am and rush my shower.

-My boss didn’t assign my trainee online learning or make a schedule, told me I was a “strong enough trainer” to just do what I felt needed to be done. That was all he said to me, no further instruction. This is important later. Trainers and trainees are considered non-coverage and I run into an issue with this everytime I train- shifts want us on the floor doing different tasks than what I’m actually teaching. I personally think being a little backed up for 30 minutes is preferable to new hires not knowing how to do things because they never got one on one time, but most supervisors think otherwise.

-My trainee and I had about 25 minutes until our joint lunch break. She had expressed to me that knowing more about the mechanics of coffee- what is the body of a shot, why does it expire, what’s the difference between blonde and regular- was helping her, so I decided 25 minutes whizzing through that part of training before lunch was fine. I was immediately chastised by someone we’ll call Manager 1 because that “isn’t part of the training”. It very much is, and is available on every training resource, it just never gets taught because of time constraints and corporate not really caring about coffee quality. Manager 1 has consistently made a scene every time I train a new hire over us doing training and not just whatever she wants to get done. Manager 1 is also known for berating almost every one, and has lied about altercations that never happened between me and customers before to our manager. So she’s not exactly a fan favorite of mine. I maintained that the coffee basics was part of training and returned to the back, planning to use that time to do coffee basics and more memory games for drink recipes.

-After about 5 minutes, my coworker came to the back and told me the two managers wanted us out there helping. I went out alone to tell Manager 2 (who was technically in charge and generally less awful) what we were working on and asked if they really needed us or if they’d be okay. She said they needed us and Manager 2 began snapping that we were floor coverage, that my trainee was supposed to be on the floor all day, and that she had no business in the back “staring at a computer screen” (which we were not doing, but I digress). Since this is about the fourth time I’ve had this issue with this particular manager, I responded that we were supposed to be doing whatever I felt needed to be done, not working the floor. When they maintained that they were “under the impression” from our boss that my trainee and I were to remain on the floor all day, and we were coverage, I said “I guess I got confused by the dashed lines on the schedule that signify non-coverage as us being non-coverage” and went to get my trainee.

-My trainee knew the situation because she had overheard, got super nervous, and started making drinks wrong that she had been making correctly all day. During this time I overheard Manager 1 and Manager 2 not-quietly discussing them both texting our boss to complain about me. Fair, I guess, since I planned on doing the same when I was on my lunch. At one point they both left the bar area to send their texts and squat by the safe while waiting for it to unlock (it’s on a timer and beeps when it’s ready, no need to hover) which only infuriated me more- they moved us to bar so they could leave it. When it was finally our lunch time I sent my trainee and was pulled aside by Manager 2. I tried to move the conversation to the break room (something I have always been adamant about- not publicly berating coworkers in front of others) but she stayed on the floor where multiple people were and reprimanded me for my bad attitude. I told her I was never instructed to stay on the floor, had a schedule, and would’ve been more flexible if they had actually spoken to me rather than yelling and demanding. She maintained that I had a bad attitude and needed to follow orders. I said, once again, “mutual respect goes both ways, if you want me to incorporate things into my training schedule then you need to have an actual conversation with me about it and not demand it at random”. She said that as my superior I wasn’t allowed to “talk back” (ignoring my point that they had both, indeed, begun yelling at me) and told me my bad attitude “wasn’t a good look” and that she didn’t feel I was understanding. I said I understood perfectly that I shouldn’t be rude, but that they shouldn’t yell at me either, and I wasn’t going to take unprofessional yelling to pull me off my job as a trainer. Manager 2 didn’t listen to a word I said and kept going “you can’t have an attitude, do you understand?” so after a period of staring at her silently I said “Can I clock out for my lunch now and proceed with training?” and walked away.

-After lunch I was able to continue training, only because that part of the training constituted us being on the floor helping. I apologized profusely to my trainee for putting her in that situation, reassuring her that regardless of who was in the “right” or the personal issues of the people on the floor, my first priority was her being able to successfully learn and feel comfortable. She told me she had a hard time focusing on drinks and was anxious after the scene, and that she felt the public reprimanding I received was far out of line and unprofessional. I told her I knew that, but being as it was two managers against one me, I would probably still receive a write up tomorrow morning and not to let it worry her when it did go down (tomorrow is our final day of training and my last day before a long break from work, so I know it’s going to happen in front of her). She said she would talk to my boss on my behalf and I told her not to worry, I didn’t want her pulled into workplace drama, but she insisted it wasn’t right (she is considerably older than everyone in the workplace and I think a little protective of me since we volunteered together and I’m the only one who doesn’t chastise her for small mistakes). We’ll see if she says anything tomorrow but I don’t want her to feel like she has to “go to bat” for me and involve herself in unnecessary drama against people who will lash out at her.

-While trying to clock out, I overheard Manager 2 trying to get other coworkers of mine to give accounts against our boss to his superior over not liking their scheduling. Perhaps I’m biased, because I am friends with my boss and literally vacationed with him this summer, but he is the type to listen to concerns and always give people the benefit of the doubt. I’ve never seen him give a write up and he bends over backwards to accommodate people. So whatever their issues are, something tells me they haven’t brought it up to him. Manager 2 frequently breaks safety protocols because she “doesn’t care if she gets Covid” and has vacationed out of state many times resulting in us not allowing her to come back to work and being short staffed. Despite this, I’ve never given my boss her name when he asks who is breaking safety protocols. Manager 2 is well known for being deeply unpleasant, her and my boss have been at odds for years from working together at another location, and has frequently tried to egg on other employees to get our boss in trouble while refusing to make any formal complaints herself. If you’ve been following for a while, she’s the same ass-kisser who used to say my old boss could break any rules she wanted and allowed herself to be constantly demeaned in hopes of a promotion (10 years without a promotion and she thinks it’s unfair rather than realizing she’s mean and unpleasant, chooses to attack the people who do get the promotions she wants). I know there’s a way to spin those two plotting against my boss as a way to cast some doubt on their accounts of me, but no way to do it without being a blatant shit disturber who’s just retaliating. Which is not how I want to live my life. But he deserves a heads up.

-Now I’m sitting at home with an arts and craft project I came up with to give my coworkers all a gift before the New Year and no desire to do it. Like, fuck these people, why should I do something nice for them? Even though I know the majority are good people, just not the ones in management. No energy, completely lethargic (yay depressive episode and still no antidepressants because I can’t get ahold of a goddamn psychiatrist even though my GP okayed the antidepressants herself), wishing I just could get a better job but I need the insurance at mine. It’s one thing to be constantly belittled and insulted by customers (and a very big thing, at that), but to get it from coworkers too just makes me feel awful, day in and day out. I know I’ve hated my job for the entire 3 and a half years I’ve been there and bemoaned how much less interwork drama I’ve had at every other job I’ve had (so I don’t think it’s all me, many agree it’s a toxic environment likened to a high school), but quitting a job you’re great at, passionate about (at times), live super close to, that gives you insurance, during a pandemic? Harder than it looks.

Life sux. Super anxious for tomorrow. Thanks for reading. Pls don’t reblog.

#i should text my boss since i KNOW he's gonna wanna talk tomorrow and my anxious ass will forget half of what i want to say #but thats also nerve wracking i guess #personal

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madzilla84 · 4 years

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new month update/ramble

i’m sorry to say this, but some weirdos are going around saying it’s july?? obviously that’s impossible, we haven’t even had may yet. sadly another example of how fake news can spread quickly on social media. :c

no but the year is half over, cool cool cool. I remember last year being *delighted* that 2019 was coming to an end, but as bad as this year has been so far, I don’t think I’ll feel like that this time around … because I was actually optimistic for 2020 (fool! idiot!!). but maybe the second half of the year will surprise me! (in a good way, i mean, as opposed to the terrifying near-daily ‘surprises’ 2020 has been delivering so far.)

though, speaking of good surprises, phil’s video!! what a sweetheart he is. i admit when i got the notif i was a bit *internal terror* but i guess that’s just how i’ve been conditioned these days. i bought the print - i love the border! i put a holographic border around the pic of phil from vidcon last year, so it’ll be a nice match. i’m going to put it over the tv, i think - maybe if i look at it enough, one day i might start to believe it. i certainly don’t right now.

i need a second hand now to count the number of times they’ve insisted in the last year that the future is bright and hopeful and - quite aside from the virus, though that obviously hasn’t helped - that hasn’t been the case for me. it must be for them, though, so, that’s good, at least, i guess. (i would like to see it.)

I definitely wanted to hug Phil afterwards, and was glad I at least had the memory of doing so to fall back on. (…though. I always kind of don’t like talking about it a little bit? Because I feel bad for those who would love to meet him but haven’t had the chance, or had it and it got ripped away *again*, thanks miss rona. Feels like rubbing it in. I know it hurts *me* to see people’s old M&G pics and vids everywhere on twitter, but I am an Oversensitive and Jealous Fool as we know. It does feel like I missed/lost the only chances I might have had to meet Dan, too, especially now he seems to have retired from internet/youtuber life. So seeing the pics of people hugging him, it hurts man. So I’ve been a bit reticent to post my own with phil; it was my profile pic for a while on twitter but I took it off. I dunno. Probably just me being an idiot. I printed it and put it above my desk instead)

Back in 2019 I ordered a gay corgi pin and stickers for Phil - to give to him at Vidcon - but by the time they were due to ship out they got delayed due to the rona, and didn’t end up arriving until 2 weeks after the event. I hope I can give them to him one day; I feel like he’ll still do appearances once this is all over, so here’s hoping.

At the beginning of June I started using an app called moodpath as a mood tracker; sort of out of vague interest really, but it’s actually been really useful. It generates a result for you every 2 weeks, and it generated likely ‘severe depressive episode’ for the first 2 weeks of june and ‘moderate depressive episode’ for the second 2. (Progress? yay?) It’s interesting though; it generates stats and even generates a letter for you to give to a doctor or therapist as a jumping off point if you might find that helpful. Eh, it’s just an app, not a professional, but I thought it was interesting. (Also, yeah, the first half of June fully sucked)

youtube was a bit of a rollercoaster yesterday lmao. started off with finishing up the last of us 2 (no spoilers, I loved it; I kept waiting for the moment that seemingly had gamers in a frothing rage and it never came, so i assume it was simply the presence of gay and trans people), then i started watching tati’s vid, then phil’s went up, then back to tati’s. Re dramageddon 2 … I - don’t really have any investment in any of these people - the only vids of any of theirs I’ve ever watched was shane’s series on tanacon when I wanted to know what that was all about. It’s kind of like watching a soap opera, except that obviously real people have been affected… who knows how it’ll go down this time, they all walked away with their careers intact last time and i suspect, for J* at least, any publicity is still publicity, so. *shrug*

animal crossing is still great, always fun when it’s a new month. i’ll miss my pride month decorations. maybe i’ll put a permanent rainbow flower patch somewhere. i hope we get an update on pickle island some time, even as i have a sneaking suspicion it might be an abandoned wasteland. who knows, maybe it’s a thriving metropolis and that’s why phil was so quiet in june.

anyway. whenever i find myself particularly struggling i often come back to playing mass effect, and i started doing that again yesterday, so yeah. decided to give myself a break over feeling guilty about not writing or whatever - the ideas will come when they come, or they won’t, and I can’t force the issue. so i might as well enjoy doing something else.

#mad.txt #long post #update #tw shane #??#lol

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sols-actual-main-blog · 3 years

Note

2, 3, 5, 10, 15 for Rona/Petyr, Ramsay/Erynne, and Ray/Erynne?

2. how would fake dating go with them?

Petyr/Rona: Petyr would hate it. He hates the idea and in no way is he in on this voluntarily. Rona greatly enjoys teasing him and overdoing it a little with the suggestive remarks and the kisses and subtle inappropriate touching... eventually their "fake dating" turns into a very real affair, but they both are the same stubborn idiots that straight out refuse to deal with the very real feelings they suddenly developed for each other. [hey wait that's just the plot of the The Americans AU]

Ray/Erynne: Erynne tries very hard to keep this whole fake dating situation professional. Ray actually wouldn't mind if they made out a little for real, because hey, Erynne would be really cute if only she loosened up a little. I don't know exactly what happens, but There Was Only One Bed and they wake up in each others' arms and it just feels so good Erynne doesn't want it to end but lots of complicated feelings and maybe they get a little drunk and make out and what about this is fake anymore?

Ramsay/Erynne: Erynne really needs a guy she can introduce to her parents because she used a date as an excuse to not visit them some weeks ago. Ramsay is a colleague from work she secretly had a crush on for a long time. What can go wrong? A lot actually. Rona asks a lot of questions that are totally inappropriate for a family dinner and Ramsay and Erynne have to come up with more lies, and each casual touch from him and each little kiss on the cheek "for show" feels just so good... to keep it that way, Erynne just makes up more occasions for fake dates and this whole web of lies gets deeper and deeper... until they finally kiss while alone for a moment and she confesses her feelings for him and he also has feelings for her it's very sweet.

3. which one of them is the heat source?

Petyr/Rona: Rona.

Ray/Erynne: Ray.

Ramsay/Erynne: Ramsay.

[either it's genetics that Petyr and Erynne are both always cold, or, more likely, your characters are warm because you are warm. we will never know]

5. which one is 80% of the other’s impulse control?

Petyr/Rona: They take turns. Sometimes Petyr has to keep Rona from breaking someone's spine when she's really angry, sometimes Rona has to save Petyr from dying a really stupid death because he feels like being dramatic to express his complicated emotions. It's even.

Ray/Erynne: Erynne. Ray just needs someone to keep her from spending too much money on fancy shoes, or reckless driving, or stabbing people.

Ramsay/Erynne: It may seem like it's Erynne, too, because Ramsay can be reckless at times, but in reality it's Ramsay who makes sure Erynne cares about herself enough and doesn't go completely beserk when upset. She might be small, but she's fierce when she's angry.

10. which one steals the other’s clothes?

Petyr/Rona: Neither? They dress very differently, and are happy with their respective styles, also their sizes don't match up. Sometimes Petyr snatches one of Rona's scarves, though, because it smells so nicely like her perfume.

Ray/Erynne: Erynne loves dressing a little to light on purpose so Ray gives her her jacket or coat and she can wrap herself into it.

Ramsay/Erynne: Erynne steals all of Ramsay's stuff which is adorably oversized for her. His dress shirts go down to almost her knees and she can comfortably snuggle up in his hoodies. He thinks it's incredibly sweet.

15. where do they like to go for dates?

Petyr/Rona: They are classy bastards. They go for upscale dining and tango classes and opera performances together.

Ray/Erynne: Museum dates, going for a walk in the park or on the beach, a picnic, a good old-fashioned coffee date. All of the good stuff.

Ramsay/Erynne: They go out for dinner or cook together at home, or he takes her for a motorcycle ride.

#thanks for asking!💕💖#i love our babies so much #sol writes #sol answers

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

Text

FBI AU: Flashback

Previous: Rescue / Interrogation / Awkward / Painkillers / Father

...oh yeah... this is probably a good time to mention the Coven is, you know. A vampire cult

@whumpitywhumpwhump

TW for: referenced/non-explicit drug use; forced nudity; Scalpels

On the night before the end of the world, Karim Mun fell asleep with Art’s head resting on his chest, his fuzzy haircut tickling Karim’s chin, and slept without nightmares for the first time in nine years, and he really, actually believed that it was the start of many more dreamless nights to come. In actuality, of course, it wasn’t the first, it was the only.

Here is what happened, as Karim Mun remembers it. He has explained it to three different officials, now, in as much detail as he can— once to a duty officer, once to Rona Cowl, and once, staring straight ahead and speaking tonelessly without stopping, to his mother. Even if he had not recounted it he already knows he will remember it for as long as he lives.

It goes like this.

Karim falls asleep wrapped in warm sheets with Art’s comforting weight on his chest. He wakes up freezing cold, still only the boxers he had fallen asleep in, but now his hands are bound behind his back. Later he will know that Tenor was the one holding him, but in the moment Micah’s bodyguard exists only as a huge arm across his bare chest and a button-down shirt pressed against his bare back. He is kneeling on a concrete floor, and the room is lit by a single dangling lamp, which lights up the tableau Micah has carefully arranged.

Micah is kneeling too, and he is in his usual suit, though he has removed the jacket for the occasion. Art, halfway in Micah’s lap, is naked. Micah has one arm wrapped around Art’s waist, and one hand tangled in his hair. Art’s eyes are cloudy and there is duct tape over his mouth.

It’s this that makes Karim jolt upright in Tenor’s arms and try unsuccessfully to get his legs under him. Words have always been Art’s only defense, he has always been proud of how well and sharply he can speak. Micah cannot take that from him.

“There you are,” Micah says, when he sees Karim lift his head. “Karim, what is the number one rule I gave you, when I invited you into my Coven?”

“No,” Karim says. “Micah— Father— please don’t hurt him, I’ll— Father, anything— “

Art looks up at the sound of his voice. When he sees Karim his eyes clear, and he struggles against Micah’s hold, and Karim remembers that this is the first time in years that Art doesn’t want to die.

Micah doesn’t look at Art, and doesn’t have to readjust his grip— Karim can see that Art’s throat and ribs are bruised, that his left leg sits at a terrible angle; his struggles must be weaker than a child’s.

Micah frowns at Karim. “I thought you might say that,” he says. “I want you to know, I’m not angry with you, my Karim. I’m disappointed.”

“Father,” Karim says, straining against the rope around his wrists and against Tenor’s unbreakable grip on his arm and shoulder. “Father I’m— you’re right, I should never have left, I’ll— if you let him go, I’ll never— “

“Yes, my Karim, I anticipated all of this,” Micah says, impatient. Art aims an elbow at his stomach, and Micah catches his arm easily; his hand wraps almost entirely around Art’s bicep; Karim throws himself hard against Tenor’s arms but Tenor doesn’t flinch. “That’s why I’ve set up this little object lesson, so that you won’t forget the rules again.” Micah looks at Tenor over Karim’s shoulder. “Make sure he watches, please.”

Then Micah pulls his scalpel from his shirt pocket and makes a shallow cut on the side of Art’s throat. Art jerks in his arms, and makes a startled noise under the gag. Micah pulls Art’s head to one side by the hair and covers the cut with his mouth, his arm wrapping more securely around Art’s waist like a parody of a loving embrace.

“No!” Karim writhes in Tenor’s grip, but the big man’s arm only tightens around Karim’s chest until he can barely breathe. “Father— Please— “

Micah lifts his head from Art’s throat, running his tongue languidly over the cut he has made— Art twitches in his arms, tries to push Micah’s face away, and Micah takes a firm hold of Art’s narrow wrist, stretches his arm out as though Art is not fighting his grip at all, and makes a small cut over the veins in his wrist. Then he looks up into the darkness to his left, smiling with wet red lips, and Karim sees, in the darkness, the shifting shapes of his sisters, who are watching Micah murder Art.

“Charity,” Micah says warmly. “Will you join me?”

Charity steps demurely into the light and kneels beside Micah. Her eyes are already cloudy; everyone must have dosed up while they were watching Tenor tie his hands behind his back. She takes Art’s wrist in her small hands when Micah offers it to her and laps delicately at Art’s veins.

When Micah calls Venita, she slices open Art’s opposite inner elbow— Art makes a desperate harsh whine under his gag— and sucks at the wound as though she can’t hear Karim screaming at her at all, as though he isn’t there and this is a normal one of Micah’s “family dinners”-- which it is, from her perspective. The only difference is that for the first time in nine years Karim is completely sober, watching Micah give up on the first cut he made in Art’s throat and starting another, listening to Charity moan quietly with pleasure as her mouth fills with Art’s blood.

When Diana pulls Art’s legs apart to get at the vein in his inner thigh, Karim screams, kicking at Tenor wildly, and Tenor growls in his ear and seizes Karim’s chin in a bruising grip, as though Karim could ever have looked away from what his family is doing to Art, from Art’s wide eyes and bruised bare ribs.

When Venita cuts his arm for the fourth time Art’s head falls limply back against Micah’s shoulder. None of Karim’s family seem to notice.

Micah raises his head, his mouth and chin bloody, and smiles at the last of Karim’s sister, and Karim believes, believes, for a long desperate moment that Selina, at least, will see, will know that it is wrong and they have all been monsters for not seeing it, drugs or no, that they are killing him—

But Selina’s pupils are already blown wide and the scent of the blood and Micah’s soft inviting voice are making her short of breath. Venita holds out Art’s unbroken wrist and Selina takes it in her hand and cuts it open.

Karim’s sisters pull back one by one, melting back into the shadows as if grateful to have escaped Micah’s attention. Later Karim will remember the times he has done so himself— the lives he has helped take in Micah’s name— but now there is room in his head for nothing outside of Art, whose struggles slow and then stop, whose eyes go dull in Micah’s arms.

When Art is empty and still Micah finally looks back at Karim— Karim can’t breathe— and then he kisses Art on the lips, staining Art’s mouth red, and lets Art fall. Art sprawls on his side on the floor, his eyes half-lidded.

For a moment Tenor’s grip on him slackens and Karim wrenches himself free and throws himself over Art, hands still bound behind his back, screams Art’s name in his torn-up voice, but no amount of howls and tears and apologies make Art stop being dead.

“Honestly,” Micah says, getting to his feet and wiping dust from the knees of his trousers. “Tenor, get him out of here before he embarrasses himself any further.”

Tenor carries him bodily from the room, thrashing and kicking, and throws him in his old quarters without a word, slamming the door before Karim can get to his feet.

That is what Karim remembers. That is why he wasted three days refusing food and shaking through withdrawal as the final dose of Micah’s drugs left his system. Why he let himself grow so weak that he couldn’t do anything to Micah by the time he finally deigned to come to Karim’s room.

He believed it— a month out of the compound, drug-free, he still trusted Micah’s “object lesson” enough to believe that Art was dead— and left Micah three more days alone with Art by believing it.

He tells the police everything— from sneaking into the club where he met Micah nine years ago to agreeing to kill Art when he met him at the docks. He says it all, over and over; he doesn’t refuse to eat or flinch back from the doctors’ needles. He doesn’t ask for anything at all, except to see Art, because Art is sleeping two floors away, and Karim needs to see him.

Then Art wakes up, and he stops asking. It would be crazy to assume Art needs to see him.

——

Karim Mun is staring at the TV without watching it when Rona enters his room. His hands are resting loosely in his lap and the circles under his eyes are dark as bruises, and Rona can practically hear the empty static in his brain.

“Good, your awake,” she says, ignoring his immediate flinch away from her voice. “I have a proposal for you.”

Karim Mun blinks up at her, and recognition takes its sweet time to filter into his eyes. “Oh. Agent Cowl,” he says vaguely. “You’re back.”

“I’m back,” Rona agrees, leaning in the doorway to look at him. He looks shell-shocked enough to be innocent, but Rona’s met some actors in her time. It still bears a little testing. “Your doc says you’re clear for a little walk, as long as you got a spotter. Whaddaya say— “ she jerks her head toward the hallway. “You wanna take a turn with me?”

Karim Mun blinks again, clearly startled. “You— want to walk me around the hall? Don’t you— have more important work to be doing?”

“Nah,” Rona lies easily. “I could use a break. C’mon,” she says, smiling at him, always a little bit sly. “There’s somebody who’s been begging to see you.”

#whump #fbi au #original whump #blood drinking #Forced To Watch #guilt #forced nudity #(no they are not real vampires)#(…..at least not in this au)

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apairofcrepeswiththerarestape · 4 years

Text

The New York Review of The New Yorker for April 6th 2020

Hello! This week was surprisingly busy! As we move into the part of life when you have scheduled video calls with other humans so you don't feel like you live on an island which is your apartment and the laundry suddenly needs to be done and that requires a bucket and now there is less time to read The New Yorker! I apologize for the delay. Also we got Animal Crossing and it's simulacrum of the regular world is soothing, horrifying, and addictive. ANYWAY, let's talk about this issue!

COVER

I was pretty down on Chris Ware for his work last week and guess what? I THOUGHT THIS COVER WAS FINE. You probably shouldn't be handing your phone with gloves in a hospital though.

TABLES FOR TWO

Woof, this one really caused a lot of consternation in the old brain pan. Hannah Goldfield writes about the restaurants that are trying to make do with delivery in this age o tha rona. On one hand, I love restaurants and want them to stay open and for the people who work there to get paid and be able to live (as a former and hopefully future food service worker I have a bit of skin in the game), but reading about the lush meals that are being delivered/picked up makes me feel a little queasy! Like if you have the money to be ordering in all the time why not just give that money to people and learn to fucking cook something every now and then. The number of people put at risk every time these people want take out from Carbone or whatever is insane. Maybe if you love a restaurant so much just give them money and tell them to make food for people that have a little bit more need than you? I don't know, I ordered wine delivery last week so maybe I should be measuring my own neck for the guillotine.

TALK OF THE TOWN

We lead off with the traditional Trump is bad/stupid/doing terrible things articlet (this is not a typo, I'm trying to make articlet a thing), it was fine.

Next a thingee about people trying to find ways to make a cheap ventilator which was only depressing because the government paid people to try to do this and then those people had their work basically thrown in the trash. There was a whole ProPublica article about it which I just tried to google but about 6 other articles about how fudged the whole ventilator world is came out and I was too bummed.

Then a jammer about Alex Jones who is only worth attention when he's going on a strange nonsensical rant about how he's a man filled with blood or whatever. He's apparently scamming people with bs supplements to prevent the corona virus which is NOT A SURPRISE.

After that something about how people are buying guns, EVEN LIBERALS! How fudging shocking! Everybody in this little thing sounds like a moron.

Finally, something about how theaters are trying to stay open through streaming content, which is admirable. Unfortunately the performer featured in this piece plays the ukulele, hands down the worst instrument in human history. If you'd like to hear a good song played in a way that makes you go "hmmmmm, I like this song but for some reason this version is only making me angry" then the fucking uke (as it is often referred to by people who I immediately try to leave the vicinity of) is for you! Anyway, I hope that Caveat (the club featured in the thing, a place where I have not seen many people I know perform because I am lazy) stays in business but that ukulele mentioned in it is smashed against a wall or rock.

CORONA VIRUS CHRONICLES

I read this article but could not remember anything about it.

COMIC STRIP

This was fine if kind of boring. Again a cartoonist talks about how terrible they are. I swear I like comics, maybe just not New Yorker comics?

SHOUTS & MURMURS

Did not read.

ANNALS OF MEDICINE

Well this was pretty miserable to read, Eyal Press writes about the consequences of Alabama not expanding medicare funding. This article is filled with heartbreaking stories of people who lack means falling ill and dying and it pretty much seems like it was Alabama's fault. THE WORLD IS REAL COOL RIGHT NOW. This was a very good if extremely sad piece.

A REPORTER AT LARGE

This was not a real rainbow of a follow up! Rachel Aviv tells the tale of Sharon (or Sharoni) Stern, a sad person who thought they had found something in the world of Butoh dance but eventually killed herself. JESUS NEW YORKER EDITORS! CAN YOU GIVE ME A BREAK! Anyway, this story is very sad even without me really knowing what Butoh dancing really is (though someone once told me about how moving it was and then I looked up a video of it and it left no impression (even though I know many dancers I have little to know facility for speaking about it), I do remember telling that person that it looked "cool" because I think I was trying to impress them? I'm pretty sure my trenchant analysis failed that mission). The two other main people in the article, Katsura Kan (the Butoh instructor who Sharon fell under the influence of) and Tibor Stern (Sharon's dad), seem like real jerks!

LETTER FROM YANGQUAN

Did not read.

FICTION

Oh man do I love George Saunders. His ability to tell stories that illustrate the ills of our current reality by showing us ones that are slightly shifted never fail to get my brain working.The stories combined with the challenge of his linguistic tricks that somehow make the stories more emotional (rather than the usual linguistic trick reaction, which make me say "wow, what a cool linguistic trick") also blows my mind. This story is no different, though it is less weird than the usual fare. Presented as a letter from a grandparent to his grandson dated sometime in the near future, it tells the tale of a world who's apathy towards the slow slide to authoritarianism (which, uh duh, we're in the middle of right now!) went unchecked and how those who were/are not directly affected by it will allow it to continue. It made me sad!

A CRITIC AT LARGE

Elizabeth Kolbert talks about how pandemics shaped human history (this was the subhead of the article so you can probably figure that I do not have a lot to say about it). I don't remember a lot of the article but I DO remember thinking "oooooh, this is INTERESTING" while I read it, so there's that.

BOOKS

Jill Lepore Jill Lepores the hell out of life living alone during our modern emergency and it made me sad (man, this issue made me sad A LOT). Lots of sad stuff about chimpanzees in here if that's your thing (and I hope it isn't you sick FREAK).

BOOKS

Sheila Heti on the letters of Tove Jansson. I never really got into Moomin as stories but Jansson's lines were always really fantastic to look at. I always feel like a real dummy when a book of letters is reviewed because if I ever become famous a collection of my emails will consist of so many of them that read like "look at this video of Kelsey Grammer falling off a stage!" or "here's another version of this comedy bit, I changed the word fuck to fudge, what do you think?" Anyway, Tove sounds cool but I will not be reading a book of her letters.

BOOKS

Did not read.

THE THEATER

Did not read.

MUSICAL EVENTS

Did not read.

POP MUSIC

I had not heard of Yaeji (I rarely hear of good new music. I've definitely entered the age of my life where I'm mostly listening to reissues to stave off the possibility of outwardly liking something current that turns out to be ultra corny) but Hua Hsu made me interested enough to check out her record and it's pretty great so far! Thanks Hua Hsu!

THAT'S IT! A real bummer of an issue for this bummer of a time! Hopefully next week will be more fun! Probably not though! See you next weeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkk!

#the new york review of the new yorker #the new yorker #SAD #george saunders is great #dumb projects

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lostandwonlove · 4 years

Text

In a Lonely Place

Some Rafa ramblings courtesy of the ‘Rona. Hope you like.

On paper, there was no way she would ever be interested in someone like you.

You, the mature, meticulous, ADA. She, the prodigious detective recently transferred to Manhattan SVU from some Podunk police department upstate.

Really, Liv? You had asked her as she walked you to her office to discuss the new serial rapist case they’d just caught. There was no one experienced enough in any of the other five boroughs to take this job? Or has Carisi put you off that for life?

Just wait until you meet her, Rafa. She’s done some pretty incredible stuff up there, and I think she’ll be a great addition to the team.

You’d harrumphed. Do they even have juries up there or do is it just a farmer and his 11 sheep?

Just ten actually, you heard a voice say and it made you jump.

I’m sorry?

The owner of the voice, a dark-haired woman in a leather jacket perched on the edge of Liv’s desk, got up and walked towards you. Just ten sheep actually. One of them got caught by the big bad wolf. Real shame. Farmer’s sheepdog makes up the twelve, but honestly, his attention span is poor.

You smirked. So in that sense maybe not all that different from a New York City juror.

Her eyes flicked over you, appraising the candy-cane shirt and tie combo you’d opted for that morning. Well I can see why if you’re wearing that outfit in court.

You’d do well to take a leaf out of my book. Biker-chic doesn’t play well with a jury here.

Play nice, Liv had interjected before taking you through the case they’d built so far.

Your eyes met behind Liv’s head and she smiled at you, mouthed touché, and you felt a sort of uncomfortable lurch in your stomach that you hadn’t really felt since Lauren Sullivan in 11th Grade.

Best to ignore it. No way she would ever be interested in someone like you.

ii.

- or might she? The way she caught your eye and held it for just a second too long in meetings; the way her eyes flicked over you before she made some comment about the tie you’d taken far too long to choose that morning; the way she always managed to end up sandwiched next to you in the booth at Forlini’s after a big case.

The way she told Amanda ‘all my boyfriends have been older than me’ in response to a drunken conversation about silver foxes, her eyes resting square on you as you felt your heart leap before she burst out laughing and took a sip of her drink.

So what’s your type counsellor, Carisi had asked you, and uncharacteristically relaxed after a big win and two scotches, you’d told him it was girls who wear hoop earrings. You can take the boy out of the Bronx you’d said while the squad hollered around you, so loudly that you almost missed when she leant forward, tucked her hair behind her right ear and pointed at a scar on her earlobe. Learned the hard way that hoop earrings and chasing down perps really don’t mix, she whispered and her warm breath in your ear made your stomach lurch again –

iii.

Alarm goes off at 6.00am. First cup of coffee ten minutes later. You check your emails while you brush your teeth and shave.

Three times a week you jog, just enough to get the doctor off your back about your cholesterol.

Get dressed. Cufflinks, pocket square, tie.

You don’t eat breakfast, never have, even though you can always hear your mother’s voice telling you it’s the most important meal of the day.

Briefcase, packed the night before, by the door. Second cup of coffee on your way to the subway. In the office by 7.30, saying good morning to the night-time security guards who are just about to come off shift.

It’s been that way ever since you can remember.

It’s the same single-mindedness and determination that got you out of Jerome Avenue and to where you are now.

She is no less determined, but where you are all clean lines and black and white, she is hazy, mixed up and all different shades of grey. She always seems to be running late for something, has a messenger bag full of scrunched up old receipts and crumbs and hair ties, leaves the squad car filled with empty soda cans and takeaway boxes.

You find yourself compiling facts about her life. Two brothers, one older one younger, a roommate who works in the mayor’s office, a landlord who was taking forever to fix a dripping faucet in the bathroom. One date that went badly, one date that went realllly well as you overheard her tell Amanda in the break room, and one date that didn’t happen at all.

I need to get off those apps, you heard her tell Fin one day as she fiddled with her phone, waiting outside the court room for a verdict, and you found yourself silently agreeing.

iv.

- all this before you knew that she slept on the right hand side of the bed; hated coffee but drank gallons of diet coke; could do a killer impersonation of Chief Dodds; loved nothing more than classic movie marathons on TCM, your neighbour’s Labrador puppy which reminded her of her childhood dog, Dex, sleeping past noon at the weekend, the crusts of pizza dipped into hot sauce–

Home. Sometimes 9pm, sometimes later.

You pick up dinner along the way. Sushi, salad, noodles. Or leftovers wrapped in foil from Sunday lunch with your mother.

You eat at the dining table, case files spread out in front of you. One scotch, maybe two.

Bed. Sleep, when it comes, is fitful.

More and more you find yourself joining in for squad drinks – ignoring Fin’s raised eyebrows – or taking the slightly longer route past the bar on your way to the subway just in case they’re there – although really you’re doing it for the extra exercise and the fresh air, and it takes you past one of the better bodegas, anyway…

One night in January you run into her on the courthouse steps after a particularly gruesome first trial day and you fall into step.

Is it always like that? She asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the courthouse.

With Buchanan as defence counsel? Pretty much. You did a great job with your testimony though; you have nothing to worry about.

She gave a half smile. Only because I have a really good ADA.

You reach the bottom of the steps in companionable silence and as you think about the leftover Pad Thai and empty silence waiting for you back at your apartment, you find yourself doing something you haven’t done for a while.

Do you want to grab a drink? You blurt out, and already regret it. I mean, I was going to with Liv but she had to bail to go pick up Noah and it’s been a long day and…

Sloppy seconds, huh? She raises an eyebrow at you.

No, I just mean…

She smiles. Lucky for you, I have no objections to that. But I’m picking.

vi.

- when you told her later, much later, that you hadn’t asked Liv for a drink, never had any intention of doing so, she’d just laughed, told you she’d waited on the steps for half an hour in the hope she’d run into you –

vii.

The place she picks is some dingy, basement dive bar, Dempsey’s, Kelly’s, Dennehy’s, something like that – a place you must have walked past hundreds of times but never really noticed.

This feels like the type of place where my defendants would hang out. You feel out of place in your three-piece suit and cashmere scarf, and can’t ignore the stares of some of the other patrons who were clearly confused as to why you were there, and with her no less. Judging from the bottles behind the bar, you were going to have to find something other than Scotch to drink.

Yeah, your defendants and me. She pulls off her coat and jumps up onto a stool at the bar, where the tattooed bartender places two bottles of generic lager in front of her.

Thank you Stan, she smiles sweetly. And…? She gestures throwing back a shot and he laughs and nods, pouring tequila into two shot glasses and placing them besides the beer. He gives you a perfunctory nod, clearly puzzled as to why she’s with you.

So this is where you hide then. You take a sip of the beer and try not to wince. You can’t remember the last time you drank beer.

Does that mean you’ve been looking for me then, Mr Barba? She smiles at you over the top of her beer and you feel yourself flush.

Only when I’m trying to track you down and reprimand you for illegal search and seizures. You emphasise illegal, and take another sip of beer. It’s beginning to grow on you.

That was one time, she says, in mock dismay, eyes opening wide. And it cracked that case, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.

Me? Complain? Never.

She rolls her eyes. Ha. Well I’d rather have you on my side than anyone else.

I’m far too modest to respond to that.

She laughs and rolls her eyes. Modest and Rafael Barba in the same sentence is an oxymoron. It’s the first time you’ve heard her use your first name and you’re embarrassed that it gives you such a jolt of pleasure.

It’s true though, she continues. I’ve worked with some really dismal prosecutors in my time. Guys who turn up, collect a paycheck, go home again. I feel like you live and breathe this. Like you were always supposed to do it.

That’s weird, you quip. When I was younger I always wanted to be Hawkeye Pierce when I grew up.

She looks puzzled.

You groan and take another sip of your beer. No! You cry in mock dismay. You cannot be so young that you don’t know who Hawkeye is. MASH? Alan Alda?

She shakes her head and wrinkles her nose. When I was younger, I wanted to be Hannah Montana, she offers by way of consolation.

Oh Good God, you say as you rest your head in your hands. How old are you? But when you turn to look at her she’s smiling, her tongue between her teeth, and you can tell she’s messing with you.

Just kidding, she says. For me, it was the Pink Power Ranger.

Thank God. I was worried I was going to have to prosecute you for under-age drinking.

You both laugh at this, and then she stops suddenly. She leans closer to you and you wonder whether this is it, whether she’s going to kiss you. What she does feels much more intimate. She reaches over and grabs your tie, loosening the knot. You’re not in court now, Rafael. She clinks her shot glass to yours, tosses it back before she runs her hand through her hair and smiles at you. You notice, not for the first time, just how pretty she is.

viii.

- when you wake the next morning you realise you’ve slept through your alarm and two missed calls. Your head is pounding and your mouth feels like a cotton wool pad, but you realise, as you frantically splash water on your face that you can’t stop smiling like a maniac –

ix.

Nothing happened that time. Or the time after. Or the time after that.

When it did happen, it wasn’t at all how you imagined. In your head, you were cooler, calmer, way more collected. It was you who initiated it, you who would open up and tell her how you felt at the bar after a couple of drinks. You would ask her out, set a date, pick somewhere nice, dress up.

In reality, the bar rang last call and she signalled for two shots.

No, not again, you laughed. I’m still having to grovel after turning up later after the last time.

Who said one of these was for you? She knocked both of them back herself, one after the other.

Dutch courage she told you and your puzzled expression as she placed one hand on each of your knees, jumping down for the bar stool to stand in between your legs, so that you were eye level. I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re never going to act on anything, so I’ve got to do it myself.

Your heart quickened. What…

But she cut you off as she covered your mouth with hers, her breath warm and sickly sweet from the shot. You felt her mouth curve into a smile as you kissed her back. Good, she murmured. It wasn’t just my imagination.

- God, you were like a horny teenager or something, hands all over her at the bar, continuing outside in the street after you were finally kicked out. You weren’t thinking straight, weren’t thinking anything at all really. Only a bunch of drunk Wall Street bros wolf-whistling broke you out of your reverie, and you stood, staring at each other, panting, lips parted. She pulled at the bottom of your jacket and pressed her body into yours. Well Rafael, I’d invite you back to mine but I have a roommate so –

xi.

In the end, you never really had that date you had planned. She just went from not being in your life to – well, being there.

Now you sleep until 7.30, wake rested, satiated, ready for the day. You drink your coffee in bed, gag in mock horror when she makes you eat breakfast, get dressed while she sings loudly in the shower.

You whistle on your way to the subway, say hi to the morning security team who you don’t recognise, buy coffee for Carmen and the other assistants on the corridor.

She splashes colour right across the black and white of your life.

She leaves coins that she empties out of her pockets on every available surface. She never puts the top back on the toothpaste, leaves the tube snarled and twisted because of her insistence on squeezing from the top and not from the bottom like a normal person. She folds down the corner of pages in books that you’ve kept pristine for years, chews on the end of your pens while she does the crossword, leaves the bed sheets in a crumpled mess, when she wakes up late than you, her damp towel on the bathroom floor.

You leave work on time. She cooks dinner. You work while she stretches out on her stomach on your L-shaped sofa watching black and white movies, while you pretend not to notice the red wine she spills on your cushions.

xii.

- without telling anyone, everyone else seems to know too. Amanda raises her eyebrows knowingly at you when you leave the precinct one night together. I’ve never seen you so relaxed, Liv says, it looks good on you. Most mortifyingly of all you run into Nick at a pharmacy, when he comes up behind you as you’re picking up a box of condoms. Evening counsellor, he says, smirking as he strides past you, turning to wink at you -

xiii.

We’re a bit like them, she had said one night, gesturing to the flickering screen in your apartment where some old black and white movie was playing.

Hmmm, you responded, barely paying attention as your eyes scanned a case file at the dining table behind the sofa where she lounged in shorts and a vest top.

Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart, she said. He was the older, debonair man. She was the sultry younger woman. She paused stretching her legs up in the air seductively, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You laugh half-heartedly. I always thought of myself more as a Gary Cooper.

She looks at you appraisingly. No, definitely a Bogie.

Oh, great, you say. The guy who was so much older than his partner that he died about ten years after they got married.

But he drank and smoked like a sailor.

You raised your glass of scotch to her, tapping it with your index finger. One out of two ain’t bad.

Yeah you need to cut down on those.

And who was it I had to put to bed last week because she drank too much red wine and fell asleep in the taxi home?

She stuck her middle finger up at you. I’m not an old man though.

You grimaced, your exaggerated facial expression only just masking the real pang that shot through you with her words.

She rolled over and jumped off the sofa, stretching and arching her back so that her vest top lifted and you could see the smooth, pale skin of her stomach.

Careful, you’ll give this old man a heart attack.

She turned towards him and grinned. Right on cue, on screen Lauren Bacall turned to Humphrey Bogart.

You know how to whistle, don’t you Rafa? You just put your lips together and blow. She purred as she pushed your papers to one side and straddled you, just before showing you what else her lips could do.

xiv.

- but then all of a sudden it’s sloppy mistakes, uncrossed t’s and undotted i's. It’s McCoy in your office, eyebrows raised in surprise that he’s even having to pull you up on these things. I don’t know what’s got you distracted he says, but I need you to sort it out before we really blunder, the DA’s office can’t afford another mistake –

xv.

On weekends you sleep in, go out for brunch. You walk round the park, laugh as she refuses to accept your help with the crossword. You make plans to try that new French place that’s opened across the street from your apartment, to help her paint her room, to take her skiing.

One weekend you barely even leave the bedroom. After the third time you ask her to slow down, I’m an old man, I’m not like the young studs you’re used to.

She grins and rolls to splay on top of you, her face fitting into the crook of your neck where she says you smell most like you. And where can I find these young studs of which you speak she murmurs, biting your earlobe causing you both to start convulsing with laughter until you’re both on top of each other again and your laughter is replaced by something else entirely.

xvi.

- you seen Barba’s new piece? You hear a male voice, one you don’t recognise, come into the restroom. Whoever he’s with laughs. Yeah, who would have thought? Must be some real Daddy issues going on there. Then there’s a crude joke about what you’re like in bed. You feel your face burn with anger, but also shame, and you wait until they’re gone before you unlock the cubicle and come out to wash your hands –

xvii.

One Sunday you take her to lunch with your mom. When you pick her up she’s wearing a dress, carrying a bottle of red wine. Is this OK? She asks. Do you think she’ll like it? She fusses with her hair as you knock on the door and wait and you squeeze her hand in reassurance.

You eat your mother’s ropa vieja and hide your embarrassment by drinking your wine while your mother tells the story of how she knew you were going to be a lawyer after you’d argued you, Eddie and Alex out of detention for breaking up a fight on the school bus.

She compliments your mother on her home, asks to see photos of you as a child, clears the table without being asked and gets to work washing up in the kitchen.

Your mother eyes you over the table. You look happy, she says finally.

Why do I feel like that’s not a compliment, you ask.

She takes a sip of her wine. She’s much younger than I was expecting, mijo. Just be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.

You make some joke about not being as fit as you once were, but that you weren’t that worried about your cardiac health while she fixed you with a pointed look.

xviii.

- she carries home a Tupperware container filled with leftovers on the subway, asks you how she did, if your mom liked her. She tells you that her big brother is going to be in New York for work next month, that maybe you can all go for dinner at that Thai place you tried last week. You kiss her on the lips and tell her that sounds great, not without noticing the looks you get from the two women sitting across from you who whisper something to one another, the man standing by the door with headphones on who smirks at you –

xix.

You start to doubt yourself.

You notice how the eyes of younger men, better looking men, men with biceps and triceps and god knows what other else-ceps, linger on her when she walks by. The unis in the squad room, the court officers, the barista in the coffee shop by your apartment.

You become ever more aware of the grey hairs creeping into your sideburns, of the way your shirt stretches across your stomach.

You don’t miss the glances her friends exchange with one another when you’re the first to leave drinks to head home.

Jailbait, you hear. Cradle robber. Mid-life crisis. Barba? Thought he was gay. Must be rich, huh.

It starts to feel wrong, illicit. You lie and tell her you need to stay late at work, that maybe it’s best if she doesn’t come over tonight, you’ll see her at the weekend.

xx.

- you don’t tell her how much it hurts when she sends you a selfie of her and Carisi and Amaro later that night. Her eyes are scrunched up in a smile and she has one arm draped lazily over Nick’s shoulder, while Sonny’s hand grabs her waist. Hope work going ok, she texts with a winky face emoji. You lock your phone and place it face down on the coffee table at home where you’ve been all evening, drinking scotch and watching CSPAN –

xxi.

You’ve never really broken up with someone before. It’s strange for someone who’s normally so assertive, so intentional about their life and their work, but you’ve either just let things fizzle out slowly or pull back long enough for the other person to break up with you.

That doesn’t work this time.

We need to talk, she says as you open your front door to you one night. You’re caught off guard, expecting the delivery driver with your Chinese, and she marches straight past you, arms folded, mouth in a line.

What the hell is going on with you?

Nothing, you say. I’ve just been busy. I keep meaning to call you.

Seriously? She says. That’s what you’re going with?

Unusually, you find yourself lost for words, stunned into silence by her eyes that are shiny with rage. You try to think of something clever to say but find yourself only able to shrug half-heartedly.

Because from my point of view you’re behaving like a frat boy asshole, and I’m way too old to have to deal with that shit anymore. I don’t understand… She tails off, as if she’s tired herself out. She collapses on the sofa and you realise that her eyes are not shining with rage, but with something else entirely. Hurt.

What did I do, Raf?

You didn’t do anything you want to say. You’re beautiful and perfect and incredible and deserve so much more than me and what everyone else says about us. You’re better off without me and I wish things were different. You don’t say any of that, throat so thick with emotion that you barely trust yourself to speak at all.

I just don’t see this working out, you say instead.

She stares at you wordlessly, apparently waiting for you to continue. When you don’t, she stands, winds the scarf she’s been holding in her hand around her neck and moves to leave. She stops at the door, looks back at you. God, I’ve been such a fucking idiot, haven’t I.

You move towards her, reaching a handout to touch your shoulder. I still really want us to be frie…

She recoils like you just slapped here. Don’t even say it, she had snapped suddenly, pulling away from you, eyes flashing. Fuck you.

And then she’s gone, door slamming behind her, leaving you stunned into silence until its broken by the door buzzer going again. Your Chinese food has arrived.

xxii.

- only to have that thrown back in your face months later when you joined the squad for drinks, Amanda asking what had happened to you guys, oh we decided that we’re better off as FRIENDS, she said, but you couldn’t miss the hard edge in her voice, the split second when she made direct eye contact with you –

xxiii.

Your alarm goes off at 6.00am. Coffee, emails, shower and shave.

You get dressed. Cufflinks, pocket square, tie, avoiding the yellow and black striped one she said made you look like a bumblebee.

Briefcase, coffee shop, subway. You ignore the security guards gossiping as they finish their shift, head straight to your office.

It’s always Nick or Amanda who come to collect the warrants or to drop off files now. When you’re forced to go down to the precinct for a line-up or to meet with Liv, she’s conspicuously absent, always out on a job or on a coffee run.

You think you catch a glimpse of her in a packed courtroom one day, but she leaves right as its adjourned, takes the stairs and doesn’t linger out on the courthouse steps.

Excellent job, says McCoy, fantastic work on the Barker case. The folks at City Hall are really taking notice. Rumours of a judicial appointment are circulating.

You go home late, when it’s already dark. It’s quiet. Your bed is perfectly made, the dishwasher stacked exactly how you like it, the towels are hung up. You turn on the lights, unpack your take-out and eat it alone at the dining room table in silence.

You like it better like this, you tell yourself. Everything back to the way it was.

xxiv.

- but sometimes you ran Turner Classic Movies while you worked late at night, until you caught a snippet of Humphrey Bogart speaking to a woman in a car. I was born when she kissed me, I died when she left me, I lived a few weeks while she loved me, he said. You turned it off and worked in silence for the rest of the month –

xxv.

She calls you once. It’s Thursday night, you’re still in the office.

Hey, she says, long and slow and you can tell she’s be drinking, can tell from the background noise that she’s probably still out somewhere. Her voice is warm and syrupy and you feel your stomach tighten.

I miss you, she says.

Please don’t do this, you ask.

Do what, she says. I just wanted to phone to speak to you. Like friends do. Her voice turns sharp and bitter then before she bursts out laughing.

I think you should go home.

There’s nothing on the end of the line then, just shouting and static.

Hello? You say.

Sorry, she slurs. I dropped the phone. What did you say?

I said I think you should hang up this call and go home. I think you’re going to regret this tomorrow morning.

OK Dad. She starts laughing again. Dad, that’s what everyone said to me when we were dating, like I had some sort of Electro complex.

Electra, you correct.

Yeah that’s the one. Which is ridiculous, because I just liked you so much.

She pauses. So so much.

You sigh. I’m going to hang up now, you tell her.

Not if I hang up first, she responds and then the line goes dead. You put your phone on silent and bury it at the bottom of your desk drawer but she doesn’t call back.

xxvi.

- she’s running late the next morning, Liv tells you as you sit in her office. Something about a broken shower. You see her walk in two hours later, sunglasses on, dumping her coat and her bag on the floor beside her desk, avoiding eye contact with anybody. When you leave Liv’s office she bolts from her desk, mutters something about needing some fresh air and she’s gone before you can say anything -

xxvii.

It’s a cold, overcast March Monday the next time you see her.

We need you up at Green Haven, Liv tells you over the phone. A low-level trafficker offering to spill on the rest of the organisation in exchange for a few years off a sentence. I’ll send someone up with you, I seem to remember Uber doesn’t go that far.

You roll your eyes at the joke that you’ve heard too many times for it to be funny. Just send anyone but Carisi, you say. That guy insisted on listening to Journey the whole way there and back.

When you head out to meet the car a couple of hours later, it’s not Carisi in the driver’s seat. It’s her, staring straight ahead, hands clutching the steering wheel, sunglasses on despite the clouds.

Save it, she says. I was all for inflicting Carisi’s one man Journey tribute act on you, but according to Liv I’m the only one who has a rapport with this guy.

xxviii.

- it’s not until you check your phone at a rest stop that you see the message from Liv with just the winky face emoji –

xxix.

The silence is excruciating. She fiddles with the radio as you head of the city but the reception keeps dropping in and out until the only station you can pick up is some call-in show about vegetable gardening that even she can’t stand listening to. She turns it off and you continue in silence.

The visit itself goes smoothly, the trafficker spills without any encouragement. You agree three years off the sentence if the information turns out to be true.

Then you’re back out again, her striding towards the card ahead of you. Hey, you say. Come on. I really don’t want to spend another 2 hours with you in complete silence. Can we talk?

She stops and turns to look at you. You know I’ve always thought Greenhaven Correctional Facility had the perfect ambience for difficult discussions with ex-lovers.

You laugh despite yourself. I didn’t mean here. Look, what was that place we passed on the turn-off on our way here? Ray’s? Jay’s?

As it turns out, it was Sal’s, and that’s where you found yourself sitting next to her on the hood of the car, drinking one of the worst cups of coffee you’ve ever had in your life. You’re both quiet for what seems like an age, the low hum of the cars passing on the highway the only sound.

I feel like I owe you an apology, you finally start.

She snorts derisively.

I treated you like a – what were the words you used again – ah yes, a fratboy asshole. That gets a weak laugh out of her. I’m sorry.

She shrugs in a way that seems defeated. I just don’t understand what happened, Rafa. I thought things were going great, I met your mom – which, you should know, is not something I do with every guy – and then next minute you’re just gone.

She takes off her sunglasses and looks at you dead in the eye for what’s probably the first time that day. I just want to know why.

You take a deep breath. Honestly? You ask.

Honestly, she says.

I got sick of people making comments about us. I’m what, 20 years older than you? And I look it too. It felt like everyone was judging me, making me feel like I was some sort of perv. I started to believe it; maybe it was disgusting, maybe you were better off without me.

She laughs outright at that. Seriously? Don’t you think I get to have a say in whether I’m better off without you? She says. Because I don’t think I am. People can say whatever they want to, I only care about what me and you say.

She pauses. Also, you are a bit of a perv.

That makes you laugh softly too. You know, I wish I’d had a girlfriend as mature as you when I was your age. I’d probably be in a lot better shape than I am now.

She purses her lips and moves her head from side to side as if she’s considering something. Yeah well, maybe you’d be married to them and you wouldn’t even have noticed me. And I’d probably be dating some fratboy asshole who could never make me nearly as happy as I was when I was with you.

You sit in silence briefly. Then you slide your hand over to cover hers laying on the hood. Was, you ask? Past tense.

She just takes a sip of energy drink from some luminescent can and makes a face. Ugh, she says. If I’m going to date you, maybe it’s finally time I learn to like coffee.

xxx.

When you open your eyes the next morning, its light and for the first time in a long time, you don’t remember having wakened in the night.

You can see a pile of change and scrunched up receipts on your bedside table. A pair of jeans thrown on the chair in the corner. You can hear the shower running and her voice as she sings along to the radio.

You smile.

#law and order svu #law and order: special victims unit #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #svu #rafael barba imagine

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indifferent-century · 5 years

Text

Today in 1845, James Fitzjames began his Arctic journal on HMS Erebus off the coast of Greenland, in the form of a letter to his adoptive brother and sister-in-law.

I’ve decided to do a day-by-day posting of his journal entries (he didn’t write every day, but almost!), so follow along for a real time account of the goings-on of the early days of Franklin’s Expedition, 174 years on.

Full-text transcription below the break.

[June 4th, 1845] —— You appeared to be very anxious that I should keep a journal for your especial perusal. Now, I do keep a journal, such as it is, which will be given to the Admiralty;; but, to please you, I shall note down from time to time such things as may strike me, either in the form of a letter, or in any other form that may at the time suit my fancy. I shall probably never read over what I may have written, so you will excuse inaccuracies.

I commence to night because I am in good humour. Every one is shaking hands with himself. We have a fair wind, actually going seven knots, sea tolerably smooth, though we do roll a little; but this ship has the happy facility of being very steady below, while on deck she appears to be plunging and rolling greatly. Our lat. Is now about 60* 0’, long. 9* 30’, so you will find out our “whereabouts.” The steamers Ratler and Blazer left us at noon yesterday, near the Island of Rona, seventy or eighty miles from Stromness. Their captains came on board and took our letters; one from me will have told you of our doings up to that time. There was a heavy swell and wind from the north-west; but it began veering to west and south-west, which is fair. The steamers then ranged alongside us, one on each side, as close as possible without touching, and with the whole force of lungs of officers and men, gave us (not three, but) a prolongation of cheers, to which, of course, we responded. Having done the same to the Terror, away they went, and in an hour or two were out of sight, leaving us with an old gull or two and the rocky Rona to look at; and then was the time to see if any one flinched from the undertaking. Every one’s cry was, “Now we are off at last!” No lingering look was cast behind. We drank Lady Franklin’s health at the old gentleman’s table, and, it being his daughter’s birth-day, hers too. But the wind, which had become fair as the steamers left (as if to give the latest, best news of us), in the evening became foul from north-west, and we were going northward instead of westward. The sky was clear, the air bracing and exhilarating. I had a slight attack of aguish headache the evening before, but am now clear-headed, and I went to bed thinking of you and dear-----, whose portrait is now looking at me; for I am writing at the little table you will see in the Illustrated News—only you must imagine that the said table is three feet long, or from the bed to the door, and the picture just looking down at me.

This morning we began to have a fair wind; before us the day was half over it was right at. The Terror is coming after us, the transport sailing close to us with as little sail possible, for she could run us out of sight if she chose; they fear the ice, doubtless, not being built to shake it away. In our mess we have the following, whom I shall probably from time to time give you descriptions of:--First Lieutenant, Gore; second, Le Viscomte; third, Fairholme; purser, Osmar; surgeon, Stanley; assistant-surgeon, Goodsir; ice-master, (so called), Reid; mates,--Sargent, Des Voeux, Couch; second master, Collins, commander you know better than he does himself.

The most original character of all—rough, intelligent, unpolished, with a broad north-country accent, but not vulgar, good humoured, and honest hearted—is Reid, a Greenland whaler, native of Aberdeen, who has commanded whaling vessels, and amuses us with his quaint remarks and descriptions of the ice, catching whales, &c. For instance, he just said to me, on my saying we should soon be off Cape Farewell, at this rate, and asking if one might not generally expect a gale off it (Cape Farewell being the south point of Greenland), “Ah! now, Mister Jems, we’ll be having the weather fine, Sir! fine! No ice at arl about it, Sir, unless it be the bergs—arl the ice ‘ll be gone, Sir, only the bergs, which I like to see. Let it come on to blow, look out for a big ‘un. Get under his lee, and hold on to him fast, Sir, fast. If he drifts hear the land, why, he grounds afore you do.” The idea of all the ice being gone, except the icebergs, is racy beyond description. I have just had a game of chess with the purser Osmar, who is delightful. He was with Beechey in the Blossom, when they went to Berhing Straits to look out for Franklin, at the time he surveyed the north coast of America, and got within 150 miles of him; he was at Petro Paulowski, in Kamschatka, where I hope to go, and served since on the lakes of Canada. I was at first inclined to think he was a stupid old man because he had a chin and took snuff; but he is as merry hearted as any young man, full of quaint dry sayings, always good humoured, always laughing, never a bore, takes his “pinch after dinner,” plays a “rubber,” and beats me at chess—and, he is a gentleman.

The second master Collins is the very essence of good nature, and I may say good humour. And now, good night, it is past eleven o’clock. I have written without stopping, all with the porcupine quill. God bless you!

#franklin expedition #james fitzjames #fitzjames journal #on this day #arctic exploration

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emmerrr · 6 years

Note

"I think I’m in love with you and that scares the hell out of me" or "I dreamt about you last night" for pynch :)

why not both tbh. also these are supposed to be short drabbles I don’t know what happened :/

(thank you for prompting me!

Adam wakes with a start, jolting upright, heart racing.

He looks to his right to find the other side of the bed empty, and when he reaches out a hand, it’s cold.

Ronan sleeps odd hours and often likes to get chores done early, so it’s not completely out of the ordinary for him not to be there, but Adam can’t deny that he prefers not to wake up alone.

He can’t help the unease as he drags himself out of bed and pulls on a discarded pair of sweats and the nearest hoodie, both of which are Ronan’s. He pads down the stairs but everything is quiet, which means Ronan and Opal are somewhere outside.

Adam stands in the kitchen for a moment and shivers slightly. It’s Saturday morning, and it’s not quite seven; he normally wouldn’t be up for at least another couple of hours. So it’s not particularly fair of him to be annoyed that Ronan wasn’t in bed, and that he’s not in the house, and that he’s not in Adam’s eyeline right this second.

It was the dream. And that’s all it was. A dream.

Adam drags a hand down his face and, still on edge, tracks down an old pair of Ronan’s wellies. It rained a lot the night before, so they’re definitely needed, and Adam makes his way outside, feeling a small amount of satisfaction at the sound of squelching mud beneath his feet as he begins his search for Ronan.

Admittedly, it doesn’t take long.

He spots them over by one of the back fields; Ronan fixing a broken part of the fence with a toolbox at his feet, Opal running up and down the length of the fence, jumping in every puddle she finds. She’s absolutely covered in mud, and Adam spots Chainsaw perched on the roof of one of the old barns, watching from a safe distance.

Opal spots him first and tears off towards him with an almost birdlike screech. Ronan looks up at her noise, but makes no move towards Adam, and Adam can’t even really tell what his expression is doing yet, he’s not close enough.

It only takes a few seconds for Opal to reach him, and she barrels into him like a miniature battering ram before grabbing his hand and leading him onwards towards Ronan.

“Good morning, Opal,” Adam says, and she gives him a feral grin, all teeth.

She lets go of his hand for the last few feet and starts running along the fence again, her energy boundless. Ronan had been crouched down by the fence but he stands up when Adam gets close enough and gives him a quick once over.

“Parrish. You’re up early.”

Adam shrugs. He’s still tired, so maybe he should have tried to get back to sleep, but he couldn’t help it. He feels unsettled, and he wants comfort, but he doesn’t want to ask for it, and he wants to talk about it but he doesn’t know how to bring it up. He’s upset at Ronan, which he knows isn’t fair.

It was just a dream.

“I woke up and you were gone,” he says at last, and he can’t quite keep the slight accusation out of his tone.

Ronan narrows his eyes for a second, trying to gauge Adam’s mood; trying to figure out if something has happened or if Adam is just cranky because it’s the morning.

His expression quickly evens out. “I’m nearly done here, I was going to come back up when I was finished. Didn’t think you’d miss me.”

Adam crosses his arms. “Well I did.”

Ronan tilts his head to the side in question, asking without actually asking. Adam juts his chin out, defiant, not wanting to give an inch first.

After a moment, Ronan lets out a small, frustrated huff. “What’s wrong?”

Something in Adam’s heart melts a little. Communication remains a thorn in their side, but they’re working on it, and it means the world to Adam that Ronan’s taken the first step this morning. It makes it easier to take the next one.

He moves closer, and Ronan lifts a hand halfway towards Adam’s face before dropping it again, because he’s not sure if they’re in a fight. He never takes anything for granted with Adam.

“It’s stupid,” Adam says. “ But I had a—I dreamt about you last night.”

Ronan’s mouth curves in a salacious smile. “Oh really?”

Adam scowls. “Mind out of the gutter, Lynch, it wasn’t that kind of dream.”

Immediately, Ronan’s expression sobers, and this time he commits to reaching out, cupping Adam’s cheek with a gentle hand. Adam leans into it, breathing in Ronan’s familiar scent. Moss and mist and rain, or something; something unnameable and yet indisputably Ronan.

Ronan knows all about bad dreams.

“What happened? You don’t have to tell me. But if I was in it—”

“It’s okay, I’ll…” Adam reaches up to lightly grip Ronan’s wrist, and together they turn and lean against the sturdier part of the fence, side by side. He lets the silence dangle for a minute while he gathers his thoughts, and Ronan doesn’t push him; he simply waits until Adam is ready.

“It was—it felt real, that’s all, but it was…it was next year.” He swallows. “At college. And you never called. You never visited. And in the break when I came back here…”

“…We fought?” Ronan guesses.

“No,” Adam says, and he’s speaking so quietly now he’s surprised Ronan can still hear him. “It was like you didn’t even care enough to fight. You were right there, and I was right there, and you weren’t angry or sad or anything. You just told me that this—you and me—wasn’t worth your time and you didn’t see the point anymore. And then you asked me to leave.”

Adam’s still looking forward, so he doesn’t exactly see Ronan inch closer, but he’s aware of it.

“Adam,” Ronan starts.

“Don’t apologise,” Adam interrupts, and he lifts his head finally to look at Ronan.

Ronan shakes his head. “I wasn’t gonna.”

“Good. I know that it was just a dream, it wasn’t you. It’s just that it was one of those dreams where I couldn’t tell I was dreaming until I woke up.”

“Love those,” Ronan says dryly, and Adam manages a small smile.

Opal rockets back up to them and she tugs at Adam’s sleeve, holding out a pretty pebble she’s found.

“That’s beautiful,” he tells her, and she beams up at him. There’s bark between her teeth.

“Opal,” Ronan says. “Go and find me five snails.” She growls at him, and more sternly, he says, “Go.”

And she does go, because Opal likes games like this; it’s just that her need to be difficult at all times sometimes gets in the way.

Once she’s out of sight, off in the undergrowth, Ronan takes Adam’s hand and pulls him into his arms.

There is nothing more comforting than this; being utterly surrounded by Ronan, cocooned and warm and safe. Adam pushes his face into Ronan’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Ronan, hands clutching desperately in the back of Ronan’s hoodie.

“Adam, I know that you know that was only a dream, and so yeah, obviously I’m not gonna fucking apologise for what dream-me said to you, even though I wanna go into your dreamscape and punch him in the nuts for it. But I do want to say this, because I think it’s important.”

Adam loosens his hold a little and steps back, but stays in Ronan’s orbit. Ronan kisses him on the tip of his nose before he says his piece.

“I hate my phone, but I’m gonna fucking use it, every day, when you go to college. I will visit whenever you fucking want me to, and Adam, please believe me when I say that you will always, always have a home here. With me. Wherever I am.”

And the thing is that Adam really does believe that. It’s such an unfamiliar feeling that it makes him shiver, for reasons that have nothing to do with the early morning chill.

“Ronan,” he says hoarsely, and it’s almost a plea. Ronan presses a kiss to his temple and then smooths some of the hair back out of Adam’s face where it’s still a bit matted from sleep.

“Adam, what? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Adam says. “It’s just that I think I’m in love with you and that scares the hell out of me.”

This isn’t entirely true; Adam doesn’t think, he knows. And this wasn’t how he was supposed to say it.

“I love you,” he says, firmer this time. Fiercely. He looks Ronan in the eyes when he says it and sees them widen.

Ronan’s expression does something very complicated, and his breath catches in his throat. When he finally finds his voice, it’s to say, “Why does that scare you?”

“Because I know it’s going to hurt when I leave.”

It’s the simplest, most unavoidable reason, and Ronan nods slowly. “Yeah.”

In a few short months, Adam leaves for college. He’s beyond excited, but hot on the tails of that, he’s terrified, because he keeps imagining it, and in his imagination, he misses Ronan already.

If it hurts now, it’ll undoubtedly hurt more later. The leaving was never supposed to hurt.

But he’s also going to come back again, and that never used to be part of the plan. Now it’s an important part, and it doesn’t frighten Adam like he thought it might.

So yeah, it’ll hurt, but in a good way. Because it’s a privilege to love and be loved and Ronan is always going to be worth the effort.

“I’m coming back, though, Ronan. You know that, right? I’m coming back, if you’ll have me.”

“You fucking know I will,” Ronan says, but there’s a relief there now. “And fuck, I love you, Adam. You already knew that. But I do.”

Knowing it already doesn’t mean hearing it means any less. The words settle, warm, somewhere in Adam’s chest. He’s going to keep them there, and replay them anytime he wants.

He smiles and leans back into Ronan, tilting his head up in search of the kiss that he knows will taste all the sweeter in the wake of their little confessions.

When they finally stop kissing, minutes or hours or days later, Adam grins. “I’m sorry I was mad at you because of what fake dream-Ronan said.”

“What you should be sorry for is getting mud all over my clothes,” Ronan says with a raised eyebrow.

Adam looks down at his borrowed clothes to see mud smeared all over his front from where Opal crashed into him, and it’s mirrored on the hoodie Ronan’s wearing from where they’ve been clutched together.

“Uh…oops,” Adam says.

“‘S’okay,” Ronan says with a shrug. “It’s laundry day anyway.”

Adam smiles. “So it is.”

#the raven cycle #pynch #tumblr prompts #trc #gonna put this on ao3 as well i think

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navpike · 5 years

Text

cry out what you need to: chapter 2

“Okay, so, you know my partner, Amy Rohrbach? She died, on Sunday. And she had a daughter. She’s five years old and she had no other family and they were going to put her in the system and I just felt so--” “Dick, did you adopt the kid?” “I adopted the kid.”

Or, the one where Dick adopts a child, learns to balance parenting and superheroing, and falls in love, not necessarily in that order.

Chapter Two: pulling your last thread [on ao3]

Friday rolls around faster than Dick expected it too. For all that Thursday seemed to drag, it seems like it passed far too quickly at the same time.

Rona seems to be settling in to living with him fairly well, though she’s still having trouble sleeping at night. Wednesday night, after the funeral, Rona hadn’t been ready to sleep even after Dick had read through three different books with her. Every time he’d gone to leave, she’d panic and her lip would tremble like she was going to cry. Finally, Dick, utterly exhausted from the day, had come up with an idea. He’d darted back to his room and come back with a battered stuffed elephant that hadn’t left his side since he was a child.

“This is Zitka the Elephant,” Dick had told Rona in a soft voice. “Do you remember when your mommy told you that I grew up in a circus?”

“It was just a joke,” Rona had said, her nose wrinkling in disbelief.

“But it wasn’t!” Dick had replied in his best storytelling voice. “I grew up in a circus until I was ten years old, and my mommy and daddy and I used to fly! We’d go sailing through the air, but we would never fall, because we were the best at what we did. The best trapeze artists ever! The Flying Graysons! And when I was in the circus, there was an elephant, and her name was Zitka, and she was my best friend in the whole world. When I was about your age, I got this little stuffed version of Zitka, so she could be with me even when I wasn’t around her. She was always there to look out for me. But I’m big and grown up now, so I’m a little better at looking out for myself. Maybe, Zitka can hang out with you and look out for you for a little while, instead? She’s real good at keeping away all the spooky things at night.”

Rona had nodded, a little reluctantly, and taken the stuffed elephant, and when Dick had gone to leave that time, she’d let him go without complaint, but that didn’t stop her from waking up with nightmares that night and the next. This whole parenting thing is turning out to be just as tiring as being Nightwing is.

Which is why late Friday morning has him yawning as he drives through midday Gotham traffic, hoping that Alfred will make him a strong cup of coffee when they get to the manor. Maybe he can dip into the stash of really strong stuff that Tim keeps around for when he’s pulling an all nighter or two. He’s sure Tim won’t mind.

Rona’s quiet the whole ride there, up until they reach the manor grounds.

“Hey, Dick, is this a palace?” she asks, squishing her face up against the window, her expression morphing into something like awe.

“It’s not a palace,” he says through another yawn. “This is Wayne Manor. This is where I grew up after I left the circus.”

“So your parents live here? You’re like a prince!”

Dick laughs. “I only have a dad, and an Alfred. Alfred kinda like my grandpa. You’ll like him. He makes the best cookies and hot chocolate. I bet if you ask him really nicely, he’ll make you some today.”

“Hey if you’re a prince, does that mean that your dad’s a king?”

“I’m not a prince. It’s not a castle. Just a big old house,” he says, and Rona crosses her arms and pouts.

“That’s not as fun.”

“There’s still a couple suits of armor in the hallways. I’ll show them to you if you’re good.”

Rona’s face lights up. “Really? That’s so cool! This place is definitely a castle!”

Dick shakes his head a little exasperatedly, and a lot fondly. This is that happiest Rona’s looked all week. He can indulge this. “You’re right, kiddo. It’s kinda like a castle.”

“Then you’re definitely a prince.”

He stops the car at the end of the manor’s long driveway, and notes the car parked next to him, and then Rona gets tangled in her seatbelt and he’s distracted by needing to help her out.

Alfred answers the door before they even need to knock.

“Ah, Master Dick, and this must be the lovely Miss Rona,” he greets as he ushers them inside. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young miss.”

“Hi Alf. Rona this is Alfred. I told you about him in the car.”

“You make the cookies!” Rona exclaims, and Dick smacks a palm to his forehead.

Alfred chuckles. “I do, indeed. In fact, I’ve got a batch fresh from the oven. I’m sure a taste of one won’t spoil your lunch.” He gives Dick a look, and even without it, he would have gotten that something was up. Alfred never allows sweets before a meal.

“I trust your judgement.”

“I know you do, my boy. I’ll take Miss Rona down to the kitchen, if she’s alright with that.” Rona nods, enthusiastically. “Master Dick, you’ll find your father and your brother and sister in the den. We’ll be there shortly.”

Ah. That’s it. Jason and Cass are home from Star City early.

Shit.

Well, at least Damian and Tim aren’t there, so there’s no one for anyone to start fights with. Jason and Cass are a fairly tame pair of siblings, when they need to be. This’ll be fine.

He hopes.

Jason and Cass are in the den with Bruce as Alfred said, and Jason wastes no time commenting on how tired Dick looks.

“You look like shit, dude.”

“Language,” Bruce chastises half-heartedly. Jason plows right through that.

“And what are you doing here? Don’t you have a real job to be doing?”

Dick slumps into an armchair and lets out a long groan.

“Being a parent is hard, Bruce, why did you decide to do it five times?”

Jason chokes on a sip of water, and nearly spews it all over the room.

“Excuse me?”

Dick sits up very abruptly.

Cass and Jason are both staring at him with wide eyes, and Bruce is very obviously enjoying this. It occurs to Dick then that maybe he should have eased his siblings into this a little better.

He flaps his mouth like a fish for a second, trying to figure out how best to explain this, before Bruce takes pity on him.

“Dick has taken it upon himself to adopt a child.”

Okay, maybe he doesn’t take that much pity on him. Maybe he’s just trying to make things worse for Dick, because he’s just like that.

Cass furrows her eyebrows, and signs What?

Jason voices the same sentiment.

Dick sighs and covers his face with his hands. “My partner was killed in the line of duty last weekend. Her kid was gonna go into the system and I just couldn’t let that happen. I already had my foster license, and she already knew me, and I just thought it’d be best for her, instead of being tossed into some random foster home. So I adopted her. Or a judge awarded me custody of her. I have to talk to her and file paperwork and-- that’s not the point. Point is, she’s my kid now, for all intents and purposes.”

Jason’s eyebrows creep towards his hairline.

Cass breaks out in a grin, and signs, Can we meet our niece?

Dick lets out a breath he wasn’t really aware he was holding. He knew, logically, that none of his siblings would reject Rona. She’s just like all of them, after all. But there was still a lingering fear that something would go wrong. He supposes he’s just been a little stressed out lately.

“She’s in the kitchen with Alfred. They’ll be up soon.”

As if on cue, as soon as Dick says that, Alfred steps into the den, Rona clutching his hand, half a cookie in the other. She’s standing half behind Alfred, like she’s nervous about all the people in the room, so Dick stands and crosses the room to her.

“Is it cool if I pick you up, kid?” he asks, and she nods once, and shoves the rest of the cookie into her mouth, and lets Dick pick her up and carry her to a couch with room for them both. She tucks herself into the corner of the couch when Dick lets her go, and flits her eyes nervously around the room. “Everyone, this is Rona. Rona, this is my dad, Bruce,” Bruce smiles and gives her a little wave, which she returns hesitantly, “and my sister, Cass.” Cass swipes her hand from her ear out in front of her to say hello, and Rona does something like a half salute to try to return the gesture. Cass signs almost back at her, and Rona’s brow furrows in confusion.

She leans in close to Dick and whispers, not at all quietly, “What is she doing?”

Dick stifles a laugh, not wanting Rona to feel bad for asking questions. “Cass speaks in sign language, not with words, like we do.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means, that Cass doesn’t like to talk too much, so when she needs to tell us something, she uses her hands to say it. Each sign has a meaning, and when you put a bunch of them together it makes a sentence. It’s just like talking, you just use your hands. See?” he says, and then finger spells her name for her. “That’s how to spell your name in sign language!”

Rona cocks her head to the side and tries, and mostly fails, to replicate Dick’s gestures.

“I like that! It’s cool,” she declares and Cass beams.

Dick breathes a sigh of relief, for what feels like the billionth time in the past week. He was worried when they met that Rona wouldn’t understand Cass’s need to use sign language. Seems like Amy did a pretty good job with her kid.

He shoves that thought to the side and gestures to Jason.

“And this is my brother Jason. I have two more brothers too, but you’ll meet them later, okay?” Rona looks a little relieved at that, and tries to replicate Cass’s greeting at Jason too.

Jason actually smiles, a genuine smile, not the kind he forces when he needs to, and Dick is reminded, rather surprisingly, how much his brother really likes children, and how good he is with them.

“You’re almost there, pipsqueak,” Jason says, and Dick almost takes back the kind thoughts he had about him. But then he continues, “You’ve gotta tuck your thumb in to your palm a little more, almost like you’re trying to hold your own thumb, and then you put your hand by your ear, and swing it on forward.” He demonstrates, a little slower than Cass had, and Rona mimics him, and his smile only widens. Dick watches the whole thing in disbelief.

He hasn’t seen Jason look so laid back since before he died. Maybe this whole situation will be good for more than just Rona. Dick doesn’t want to get his hopes up too high, but he indulges a little. A tiny bit of hope never hurt anyone.

Rona giggles a little when Bruce and Jason both praise her for getting the sign correct, and though she’s still tucked into Dick’s side, like she’s too scared to part from him, she looks the happiest she’s been all week. Alfred comes back into the room then-- Dick hadn’t even seen him leave-- to call them all to the dining room for lunch, and Rona seems pretty enthusiastic about that too. Dick’s going to count today as a win. Whatever else happens will happen, and it may be bad, but this, right here, is enough to call today a good day.

Lunch goes by without incident, and Dick thinks that this is the longest he’s been in a room with more than one of his siblings without it devolving into some form of argument, which only adds to the ‘positives’ tally for the day. Rona does tell Jason and Cass that Dick is a prince, because his dad lives in a castle, and that makes them both crack up, and that isn’t a really a positive. But then, Rona says that since Jason and Cass are Dick’s siblings, that means they must be a prince and a princess too, and they get very serious, very fast. Cass spends the rest of the meal drinking with her pinky up, snickering all the while, and Jason tries to put on a really terrible British accent for a second before Rona makes a face at him that has him breaking out in a grin again.

It’s right then that the universe decides that it’s had enough of them having a good day, of course.

As soon as Alfred clears the dishes away, Rona turns to Dick with a miserable look on her face, and tells him she has a stomach ache. She didn’t eat much of anything, which is pretty on par with how she’s been acting the past week, so it’s not lunch disagreeing with her, and he’d read that physical complaints are common in children going through the loss of a loved one. So he decides that it’s probably time for them to call it a day and head back to the penthouse.

He thanks Alfred for the meal, and tells Bruce and his siblings he’ll talk to them later, and tucks Rona into the back seat of the car-- which Bruce teases him for taking-- and he takes them home.

It’s still strange to think of it as home for him and Rona, Dick thinks as he carries Rona into her room and settles her under the covers on her bed. She’s his kid, now, but he’s definitely not her parent yet, for all that he is the one parenting her now. He feels like he’s walking a fine line between being a good parental figure and replacing her mother and he doesn’t want to tip the balance the wrong way. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to appear distant to her, just because he’s a little paranoid about how he’s taking care of her. He wants to be there for her in every way she needs, but he doesn’t want to be overbearing to her.

He has no idea how Bruce managed to find that balance for five very different kids, who each came to him at a different age, from different familial situations.

He thinks he should buy Bruce a gift, just for being a halfway competent parent. He deserves it.

Dick’s startled out of his thoughts as he boils water to put in a hot water bottle by his phone ringing. He answers without checking the caller ID, because to be honest, he’s a little out of it.

“Grayson.”

“West,” comes the reply, and Dick can actually feel the tension leave his body at the sound of Wally’s voice. He didn’t know who he was expecting on the other end of the line, but the fact that it’s Wally relieves him to no end.

“Hey, Wall, how’s it going?”

“I was gonna ask you the same. You’ve been kinda radio silent in the groupchat, even though Roy was telling us a bunch of ridiculous stories about your siblings. I just wanted to check up on you. Everyone was asking after you.”

Right. The groupchat they were in with the rest of the original six members of the Titans. Dick had turned off the notifications for it, because he didn’t want the constant buzzing while he was trying to establish some kind of real relationship with Rona, and a little because he didn’t think he could handle their antics at the moment.

“It’s been a crazy week. Even by Gotham standards.”

“You want me to come over tonight? I’ll bring a six pack and pretend to get tipsy with you and we can talk about it?”

It takes every ounce of willpower in Dick’s entire body for him to decline the offer. There is nothing he wants more than to have his best friend there right then. Wally always knows how to make him feel better, he knows Dick better than even his family does. But Rona doesn’t need another new person today, doesn’t need yet another change right now.

“Sorry, Wally, it’s probably not a good idea.”

“Dick, come on. Tell me what’s up. You’re kinda worrying me.”

Dick tells him everything, about Amy and Rona and how terrified he is about the fact that he has a kid now, the words leaving him in such a rush that he’s done explaining by the time the kettle goes off. He sets it to the side to cool to a more reasonable temperature, and heaves a deep breath. Fuck, it felt good to get that off his chest.

“Jesus, dude. That’s intense,” Wally says, when Dick’s finally done. “Definitely not whelming.”

The use of that word is what finally breaks Dick, and he bursts into peals of hysterical laughter. It’s right then and there that he decides that everything will be okay. He has his family and he has his friends and he has Wally. If he has them all, then Rona has them too.

It’s all going to be okay.

#dickwally #dick grayson #wally west #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #jason todd #cass cain #dc #dc comics #nightwing #batman #fic #mine

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