#the shelter I got the other 3 from last year emailed to ask if I could take a girl who's about to lose her friend | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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The Bachelor

A birthday gift for @bellafarallones. Part 3 of the TAZ Amnesty Bachelor AU (sternclay and indruck were the first two) AKA what Vincent was up to. Apollo is from my Amnesty Super Hero fic

The entire United States to choose from and this is the best the producers could find? He’s going to win this thing with his eyes closed. Then it’s a hop, skip, and jump to some endorsement deals, his own spin-off, and then a prime time hosting slot.

Oh, and a marriage. But that should be easy; any guy would count themselves lucky to have him.

God, that pool will be great for Instagram shots. Luckily the producers knew their biggest draw when they saw him and agreed to let Indrid continue his work as Apollo’s personal photographer and assistant. He may be a disappointment to the Cold name, but he’s good with a camera and has no interest in being recorded for the show. And if, god forbid, Apollo comes down with a cold during filming, someone will be there to bring him Day-Quil. After all, if he lets anyone see Apollo in a vulnerable state, Apollo will just have to send their father an email about Indrid’s latest failure.

“It’s times like this we should be grateful for our genes. I know I am.” He glances at his twin, pausing his gaze on his silver hair and tattoos.

“You dye yours too. And I think there are more than a few handsome men here, so don’t get cocky.” His attention shifts for a moment as a man dressed like Smokey the Bear passes them.

“Oh come on, even with those pretentious glasses you can see I’m a cut above.”

“If you say so. And if you want to do shots of you in your suit, we need to start soon, so kindly find your room so we can get on with it.”

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Not only is this easy, it’s fun. The cameras love him, and most of his fellow contestants yield to him after one remark. He’s been watching Vincent, the bachelor for this season, closely during group interactions, and it’s clear he’s already developing favorites. Annoyingly, two in particular--Joseph and Duck--are more inclined to push back at him. But it doesn’t matter; everyone has weaknesses. He’ll find theirs soon.

Tonight is his first formal date with Vincent. They’re at an Italian place with good lighting, and Vincent is perfectly nice to look at in his lavender dress shirt and silver tie. Apollo’s done his research; Vincent is ten years his senior, took an early retirement from a position in the department of defense and now runs two consulting businesses; one for banks and museums and one for domestic violence shelters, health clinics, and other places where doing good draws enemies. The first business subsidizes the second. Vincent enjoys tennis and running, has no Instagram presence, and is an only child.

Apollo has his plan of attack; the trouble is, Vincent isn’t interested in sitting there and being flattered (though he does blush when Apollo says the tie makes the grey in his hair look all the more distinguished). He wants to know about Apollo.

“When you’re not taking photos, what do you like to do?”

He doesn’t correct him about who takes the pictures, smiles, “I, ah, I go to the gym.”

“I have to say it shows.” Vincent winks. It’s so corny, but Apollo can’t find it in him to hate it, “any sports, or just things like weights and cardio?”

‘

“No, but I played football in high school. I was star running back.”

“I played my freshman year, but baseball suited me better. So when you're not ‘pumping iron’, what do you do for fun?”

There is no answer that won’t make him look too shallow or too...no, he can’t even think about that option. Damn it, he must have a normal hobby. He hedges with the truth and hopes the editors cut it for time.

“I like movies. I, ah, I’ve been working my way through the Criterion Collection of the birth of cinema and it’s fascinating. Did you know there was a silent film heartthrob who predates Valentino?”

“Sessue Hayakawa?”

“You know about him?” He leans forward.

“I read a biography of him last year that was riveting. I still have it if you’d like to borrow it.”

“Yes, yes absolutely. We, we could even watch some of his films together, and the ones they inspired, you know they, they…”

Fuck, he’s acting like Indrid, bumping the table and yammering about things that will get him nowhere. He sits back, grabs his wine and sips to cover his error.

“I’d like that.” Is all Vincent says as they’re entrees arrive.

“Enough about me. I was reading about your business and, ah, well, how do you even do something like that?”

Vincent describes his process, how he picks clients and what he considers when evaluating a space. Apollo fully intends to zone out with a smile.

He hangs on every word. All too soon, Vincent is asking for dessert.

“Is your meal okay?”

Apollo looks at the plate of spaghetti carbonara he’s been poking at, not wanting to be caught in an ugly expression while eating, “Yes, it’s delicious.”

Dessert arrives in the shape of a chocolate lava cake with sparklers, a detail which delights Vincent. It’s such a ridiculous thing to smile over. Apollo smiles back, and let’s his date feed him a bite of cake.

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Was the beach trip self-serving on Vincent’s part? Indeed. Has it also given him valuable intel? Yes, yes it has.

He now knows who’s going home next; Nico is such a fraternity-bred asshole that he should have sent him packing weeks ago. Honestly, all his comments about Barclay this morning were awful. Barclay is masculine and sweet in a way Vincent adores. He even helped Joseph during the cliff dive, which bumps him even higher in Vincent’s eyes.

Joseph stealthily knocking Nico’s hat from his head with a frisbee was also a high point; goodness, Joseph reminds him of men he used to work with who he never, ever, admitted his feelings for (they were often his subordinates, and he prided himself on keeping a safe department).

Then there’s Duck. Vincent would like an award for not spending the morning asking to rub sunblock on those arms. He’s been treated to a closer view of them the last half-hour, Duck sitting next to him in a Hawaiin shirt that shows off his biceps. The ranger just now excused himself (“gotta give the other fellas a chance to impress”) to go keep Indrid company during dinner. Polite and friendly to the core, that’s his favorite bear.

And then there’s-

“Hiiii Vincent.” Apollo slides into the spot closest to him on the restaurant deck.

Were Vincent choosing for an evening, Apollo would edge out even Duck. He suspects getting the younger man under some comfortable sheets to praise and fuss over him would be very nice indeed. Apollo may posture and insist to the others that he’s the dominant one in the bedroom, but this isn’t Vincent’s first go around; he knows someone who longs to be spoiled and submissive when he sees one.

But he’s here to choose his husband, not a hook-up.

He initially assumed he’d send Apollo home after their first formal date. He knows these shows sometimes attract people who want their fifteen minutes of fame, and Apollo is one of them. But then his meticulously built image cracked, just a little, as they talked, and Vincent is so taken by what he saw that he can’t bring himself to send him home yet.

The older man slides the younger one an oyster, “try one, they’re local.”

There’s no appealing way to eat an oyster on camera, but Apollo lifts a shell and downs one. He does an excellent job masking his grimace.

“Another? Or would you like one of the grilled scallops instead?”

He watches him run a calculus. Then he slides his sunglasses down, “Scallop, please.”

Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

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“Indrid, Vincent hates me!”

Indrid blinks at him.

“One of the other contestants got them to show him a bunch of footage of me putting the other men in their place and now he hates me.” Genuine panic rises in his chest as Indrid gives him absolutely no expression to work from.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to him, tell him that I’m not-”

“What you actually are? Vincent is here to choose a spouse; he has a right to not choose you.”

“Fix. It.” Apollo snarls.

His twin stands, regarding him from across the rug, “I will speak to Vincent, on one condition; you do not go after Duck ever again.”

“Traitor, you should be on my side, not his.”

Indrid shrugs, sits back down and picks up his book.

“I’ll, I’ll tell father you’re sabotaging me.”

“You think he’ll like to hear you’re being out done by his inferior son?”

“....Damn it. Fine, fine. I’ll leave Newton alone. Now go.”

His brother has the audacity to grin at him, “I will, right after I finish this chapter.”

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He’s sitting with Duck and Joseph, asking their opinion, when Indrid enters the living room.

“Did Apollo send you?” Vincent picks lint from his cardigan.

“Yes. He’s asking me to intercede on his behalf since he thinks you hate him.”

“Oh dear, I don’t hate him. I just said I was disappointed in him.”

“Ah” Indrid perches on the arm of Duck’s chair, “That’s our father’s code for ‘I hate you.”

“Jesus.” Duck mutters.

“I suspected he was exaggerating. That’s why I agreed to talk to you; I’ve learned it’s best to verify anything he tells me. In truth, I can’t do much for him. If it’s not obvious, he takes after our father and our father is...not a good man. We each survive him in our own way; Apollo chose to mold himself into what he demanded we be. That does not excuse him. But perhaps it puts him into perspective.”

Vincent knows he’s not sending Apollo home this week; it’s still Nico’s turn. And his heart that taps his chest to ask, “Do you think he could change?”

Indrid says nothing. Duck is keeping his mouth shut, but his frown suggests his answer.

“This is not to defend him but” Joseph looks at Indrid, “you grew up under the same conditions and chose not to replicate them. That suggests it’s possible.”

“I just didn’t want to end up like him.” Indrid murmurs.

“And ‘possible’ don’t mean probable.” Duck adds.

Vincent rubs his temples, “You’re right. All of you. I...I think I need some time to decide how many chances to be the person I think he can be I ought to give him.”

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Apollo isn’t sure what to expect. The last time Vincent asked to see him, it was to scold him. Three guys have gone home since then, and he’s been fighting back his impulses to torment and gloat, focusing instead on making Vincent like him instead of undermining the competition.

The door opens on a room with a bed, lots of candles, and…

“Is that whale song?”

“Yes. I picked a ‘soothing’ playlist to fit the mood.” Vincent is in linen pants and a button up short sleeve, pats the bed with a smile, “I thought a nice massage might do you good. Non-sexual, of course” he tips his head at the camera.

Apollo isn’t shy. His thirst traps are legendary. But he lays on his stomach the instant he’s down to his underwear. Vincent hums as he starts on his shoulders, checking in now and then about pressure. It would be nice if Apollo’s skin weren’t starving for gentle touches. He keeps letting out pathetic sounds, almost like chirps, as Vincent rubs him down.

Then the worst thing happens; he gets hard. At first he tries just keeping his hips still but no, just Vincent’s touch is enough. So he tenses in hopes of not giving it away.

“Is it too hard?”

“No, I’m fine.”

The hands leave his skin and he whines like a kicked dog.

“Would you gentlemen let us do the rest in private? I’m sure the viewers get the point.”

There’s shuffling feet and shutting doors, and then a gentle hand rolling him onto his back.

“Apollo, what’s really--oh. That explains it.”

He scrambles to sit up, tucking his knees to his chest, “I’m sorry, you said you didn’t want it to be sexual, I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear-”

The bed squeaks along with him as Vincent sits, “Sweetheart, I’m not going to get angry with you for this. If, um, if it helps to know, the feeling is very much mutual.”

It should feel like a triumph, but his cheeks burn and he hides his face against his knees.

“Does that bother you?”

“No! No, not at all. I wouldn’t be wooing you on T.V if I didn’t think you were attractive. Blech, I sound like one of Indrid’s romance novels. Not, not that there’s anything wrong with Indrid...liking...silly things.”

Vincent cups his face and he leans into it, wants to glue his cheek there, “Apollo, I’ve noticed you’re trying to be less...unkind since our little talk.”

“I’m trying. It’s just so very, very hard.”

“I’ve also noticed you’re letting your persona go now and then. That means a lot to me. I’m not interested in the man you think you should be; I’m interested in the man you might become, the man you are when you stop trying to be better than everyone. I like that man, I’d like to get to know him more.”

Apollo shivers as Vincent kisses his forehead, “I’ll do my best.”

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“The nerve of Joseph to say things like that to me!”

Indrid doesn’t look up, “It’s a genuine concern; Vincent is older, there will likely come a time when you’ll be the one caring for him. Are you certain you’ll have the patience for that? Be willing to put your needs and wants on hold for the sake of someone else?”

That’s really what would happen? He, he could do it for Vincent, he’s certain. But could he? What if it’s hard, without glory or gain, does that make it foolish?

He chases those thoughts in dizzying circles for fifteen minutes until they crash into the solution.

“I solved it! I don't have to worry about taking care of Vincent as he ages because he'll divorce me once I reach thirty-two.”

“That is the bleakest possible conclusion.” Indrid flips his sketchbook closed.

“Just let me have this!”

“I hate that I even have to say this but Vincent is not our father.”

“Father said he was doing what any sensible man would do.”

Indrid levels him with an unusually firm stare, “Do you not want Vincent just because he’s over thirty-two?”

“Of course not! He’s great! I, brother for goodness sake just tell me how to care for him.”

“I literally cannot do that. You have to figure it out for yourself what care looks like for you.”

He’s about to repeat his demand when his phone rings.

“Hi, Vincent.”

“I'm so sorry, but I have to break our date tonight. I was out for a run and twisted my ankle. I just got back from the doctor; he says I sprained it, so I might be on bed rest a few days.”

Perfect.

“Oh no, I’m glad it’s not too serious. Would, ah, would it be alright if I came to see you?”

They agree on a time. Then he remembers the problem that preceded the phone call.

“What do I do?”

“What do you want to do for him? Or, if your positions were reversed, him to do for you?” Indrid asks flatly.

“Call you so he doesn’t see me looking frail.”

“assume I am dead and thus no longer dealing with your nonsense”

“That’s not fair.”

Indrid flops on the bed, “I'm dead, Vincent is the only one who is coming to take care of you, what do you want him to do?”

“Tell me it’s okay and spend time with me and…”

Indrid grins, “And?”

“And watch PBS in bed.”

“It’s a start. Now please get out of my room.”

An hour later he pokes his head into Vincent’s bedroom; the older man is reclining, reading a John Grisham paperback in a robe that makes him look very suave

“How are you feeling?” He sits next to him, rubs his knee. .

“Oh, I'm fine, just feel a little silly. It used to be I could twist an ankle and come up fine. Aging is quite the adventure.”

“I, um, I'm glad it wasn't too bad. I, I don't like the thought of you getting hurt. Bot that you'd be bad if you did! I accept that we are all very fragile beings trying not to die.

(Too dark, Cold, pull it back).

“I mean, um, is there anything I can do to help?”

“I'd be happy to have you stay awhile.” Vincent takes his hand, let’s him lean on his shoulder as they talk. They’re midway through a discussion of famous film disasters when a small burst of black and red lands on the windowsill. He doesn’t catch his excitement in time and Vincent asks him what made him perk up.

With a courage he did not know he possessed, he points to the bird.

“Oh! How beautiful. What kind is it?”

“Scarlet Tanager” he mumbles, “they’re not common here.”

“Do you know a lot about birds?”

He nods.

“There are some feeders just on that balcony. And I think the binoculars a friend gave me last Christmas are still in the closet, if you’d like to use them.”

“I would” he stands, heart bubbling with terrifying warmth, “thank you, da--ah, dear.”

Mischief sweeps across Vincent’s face, “Is this where you tell me you’ve had lots of older boyfriends?”

“No. I, ah, I’ve made out some but I never dated.”

“Not even a highschool sweetheart?”

“My father made it so no teenager wanted to go near our house. Or us.” The binoculars are magnificent, the best money can buy, “I always wished I had a date to homecoming. It looked so fun, asking someone or getting asked and then having matching outfits and going out to dinner and taking pictures together. I even picked out an outfit just in case someone asked. I think Indrid snuck out to meet his burnout--, um, meet his friends. I just sat in my room.”

“You could have asked someone yourself, couldn’t you?” Vincent makes room for him on the bed once more.

“And risk getting rejected in front of the whole school? No thank you.” He stares at the binoculars, afraid of what he might see if he turns, “I'm sorry, you don't need to hear all this. I’m supposed to be here taking care of you.”

Vincent opens his arms, pulling Apollo into a hug, “You know care can go two ways at once, right?”

“Not really” he mumbles into silver silk.

“Oh, sweetheart.” A kiss on his cheek, hands running soothingly up his sides, and those weak, silly noises slipping from his mouth.

“I want it to be, I’ll be so good, I’ll take care of you, just please...please say you’d do the same?”

“Of course. That’s what love is.”

He tucks his face against Vincent’s neck, “Will you make fun of me if I say I’m frightened?”

“Never.”

“I don’t know how to do so much of this. I don’t know how much of me can change.”

“Are you willing to try?” Vincent kisses the shell of his ear.

“For you? Yes.”

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“I choose…” Vincent looks between Apollo and Jonathan. Apollo cannot wait to spring into his arms.

“I choose neither.”

“What!” Ned yells off camera.

“I’m sorry to both of you but I simply can’t. Jonathan, you’re a very nice man, but our connection is ultimately lacking. Apollo” Vincent meets his eyes and he forces his gaze to stay placid, “I care for you more than words can say. I know you’ve worked so very hard to change. I also know that people can easily revert to their old, cruel ways under pressure or difficulty. Marriage often involves those things, and I’m not sure you can be the man I need you to be. With those misgivings, it wouldn’t be fair to propose to either of you. I hope you understand.”

They both say the do, shake hands, give hugs. And he does, he truly does understand. He understands that Vincent made the choice he had to, that even though he got better he is still a rotten, cruel creature who doesn’t deserve him. He was taught he deserved the world; some good that did him. It lost him the only person who might make the world a less miserable place.

“Apollo!” Vincent jogs after him, catches up to him in an empty hall, “Apollo I-”

His heart is breaking; his old ways twine like vipers around it, “I, I’m glad you didn’t choose me you, you boring, pathetic man. No wonder you have to pay people to go on dates with you! I don’t need anyone, least of all you!”

Vincent steps back, face falling as Apollo storms off. The last thing he hears is, “And here I thought I made the wrong choice.”

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He deletes his Instagram. Gets a job as a personal shopper. Goes to therapy because he will not let Indrid outshine him when it comes to unlearning how they were raised.

It helps. Three months after the disastrous finale (for him, not for the network) he’s feeling, if not better, like he might actually try dating someone soon. He also writes two apology letters; one to Indrid and one to Vincent. Then he tears them both up and just tells Indrid that he’s trying to be less of an asshole and that he’s sorry for all the time he was one. He leaves Vincent alone; if he doesn’t want to see him, the least he can do is respect that.

It’s migration season, so he’s hiding in his favorite, super-secret birdwatching spot. It’s near a pond, so lots of birds come to drink and bathe, and he’s seen several on his list.

Branches crack, sending nearby jays into a flap. Damn it, he’s never seen someone else here; the only person he ever told about it was-

“Hi, Apollo.”

“Vincent!” He almost falls off his stump, “how, why?”

“I’d been meaning to explore this spot ever since you spoke about it. But I, um, was also hoping I might see you in the process. Pathetic, as you might say.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Apollo stares up at him, clutching his binoculars so hard they might become disparate spyglasses, “Vincent, I am so, so, so very sorry for how I acted when we last saw each other. I was hurt, all I want is to make someone else hurt more so I stop feeling so vulnerable and powerless. I, I’ve been working on it in, in” he winces “therapy. You said once that you wanted to meet the man I might be. I realized I wanted to meet him to, to be him, not to win some show or even to get you to like me but just because I don’t want to be the other Apollo anymore.”

Vincent sits next to him, “You don’t give up, do you?”

“I, I just want to un-fuck what I can. I, how have you been?”

“Doing lots of thinking. I still know I made the right call not proposing during the finale. And that I’m ready to start dating again.”

“I hope whoever you go out with knows how lucky they are.” He says without any motive but the truth.

Vincent plucks a late-blooming wildflower and offers it to him, “It’s not a rose, but then again, this isn’t a proposal. It’s just a date, if you still want one.”

“So badly.”

The older man leans in, kissing him softly as his spine turns to soup, “I’m looking forward to meeting the, um, latest version of you.” He snickers at his own phrasing.

Apollo pulls him into a second kiss, “Me too.”

#bachelor au

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daydream-hobii · 4 years

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Flowers & Weeds | Prequel to Roses & Thorns | Chapter 6

Genre: Prequel to Roses & Thorns; Poly!AU; Hybrid!AU; Fluff & Angst

Pairing: BTS x Female!Reader; Alpaca!Seokjin, Panther!Yoongi, Fox!Hoseok, Wolf!Namjoon, Bear!Jimin, Tiger!Taehyung, Bunny!Jungkook

Summary: Before Y/n rehabilitated hybrids, she was just an average rich daughter of a well-known hybrid breeder. She was also someone who didn’t want hybrids in her life, she didn’t like how they had to have an owner when really, they were more human than animals. When the government starts threatening her, she decides to get one to make them start. That’s what changes everything.

Warning: Mentions of Mental & Physical Abuse, Depression, Anxiety, and Suicidal Thoughts; High Suggestions of Smut; Future Mentions of Attempted Suicides; Read with Caution~ <3 This Chapter in Particular has Strong Mentions of Abuse, Parental Abuse, Trauma, Screaming; Please Read with Caution!

Word Count: 1,425

Connected Series: Roses & Thorns

// Previous // Next //

Author’s Note: Welcome to Chapter 6! I hope you like it!! ^_^

A month since Namjoon had joined us, he was a different person entirely. He was so bubbly and sweet, it was intoxicating. There were some things that would still trigger him, but it’s to be expected. Shortly after everyone had left, we began a relationship, and not even a week into it, Taehyung wanted in.

So, here we were, a throuple just taking it day by day. Since Namjoon was such a large purchase, and so risky, my bosses told me I had to go underground for a while. I tried to argue, but they were right, it would’ve been too risky. So, we all just decided to enjoy each other’s presence and learn more about each other.

It was dinner, and we were sitting outside eating. The sun had begun to set, but we all had lanterns on around us so it was dark. I listened to Taehyung and Namjoon joke around, laughing and having a good time.

“You know,” Namjoon said, taking a drink of his water before continuing. “I feel I should tell you about my past, what happened to me.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, concerned. He nodded.

“I want to be an open book with you two,” He responded. “So, I’ll begin at the beginning, I guess…. My first owner wasn’t all that bad, he let me off on a lot of things… but he had passed away…. That’s when it got bad.” He got quiet, as did we. “Each owner seemed to be worse than the last…. The scars are from all of them.”

“Joonie,” I whispered, reaching across and holding his hand.

“One in particular actually liked to use different things… experiment,” Namjoon said, sighing. “I finally ran away, as far as I could…. I ended up here, and got caught. That’s when you found me. I won’t go into detail, it’s too… gruesome.”

“We won’t force you,” I replied with a soft smile.

“No matter how many times I’d give my owners love, they wouldn’t give it to me…” Taehyung whispered, making me look at him and frown. I still didn’t know a lot about his story. “They’d just… use me. Neglect me. Anything to hurt my soul…. It worked. The last owner I had just got bored and tired of me, and I really thought she’d be the last one. She was kind of nice… but I was wrong. She took me to the shelter.” Namjoon grabbed his hand. They both continued to compare their stories, and I felt my heart sink. I looked down at my lap, biting my lip.

“My dad was abusive,” I mumbled, making them stop talking. I looked up to show a small smile at them as they stared. “He… was a hybrid breeder. He’d sell them off, that’s how I have so much money. My mom stopped him a lot, but when she died, he got really mean….” They were silent, so I continued. “It was only when I became older that he decided he didn’t want me to have his money, but it was too late with the account he made. As I grew older, the more I got. I haven’t talked to my dad in years….” We all sat in silence, and I leaned forward, grabbing my drink and lifting it up to them. “We all are broken people.” I took a drink as they nodded, taking drinks of their own.

“That’s why you’re so understanding,” Taehyung whispered, making me nod. “You’ve been through similar situations.”

“I like to think I’m helping people like I helped myself,” I responded. “Honestly, if you would’ve told me five years ago I’d be saving hybrids and dating two incredibly handsome ones, I’d say you were lying.” They smiled at me as I leaned over, pecking their lips. My phone began to ring, and I looked down with a furrowed brow. It was a partner I had here, one that was doing the same thing as me.

“Hello?” I questioned, putting it to my ear. I flinched at some screaming, ones that weren’t his own.

“Y/n, thank god, listen, I messed up,” He said loudly.

“What?” I questioned again, standing up and walking a little further away as Namjoon and Taehyung looked at each other in concern.

“Look, I saved a hybrid because I couldn’t just leave him, but I have too many, and, Jesus, Y/n, he won’t stop screaming! I don’t know what to do,” He said.

“Alright, alright. I’m on my way,” I said, hanging up. I turned back to the two boys who were now standing in front of me. “Sorry, boys, but it seems I’ve got an emergency case.” I began walking to the front as they followed me. I grabbed my keys and put on my shoes.

“Want us to come?” Namjoon asked, protectively. I shook my head, flashing a small smile.

“It’s alright, baby,” I replied, leaning up and kissing his cheek before doing the same to Taehyung. “Go to bed, I’ll be home as soon as I can.” With that, I walked out the door and to my car, getting in and driving off.

When I pulled up to the large house located in the middle of the woods, I saw some hybrids outside, covering their ears with panicked looks on their faces. I got out, running over as they all flinched, looking up at me.

“Is everyone alright?” I asked. They nodded, and I listened to the screams. I ran inside, following the screams to the basement. When I walked in, I saw my partner kneeling down, trying to calm the hybrid down.

I was shocked to see this new hybrid. He was beaten badly, and topless. I saw gashes across his chest, ones that bleed a lot, his entire front red. It looked like he was an Alpaca hybrid and, from his screams, he was traumatized. He covered his ears, cowering in the corner.

“I don’t know what to do, I…” My partner said, standing and looking at me.

“Alright, go upstairs, take care of your hybrids,” I said, pushing him gently towards the door. He looked at me, eyes wide with panic.

“What do you think is wrong?” He asked.

“I think it’s because you’re a human man,” I replied, eyes wide and nerves frazzled from the loud noise. “Now go.” With that, he left. I kept the door open, as to show him I wasn’t closing him off. He continued to scream, not looking at me.

I went a little closer, sitting on the floor. He caught my eyes and his screams abruptly stopped. His eyes were wide, tears rolling down them as he stared. His ears twitched curiously, his body trembling as he stared at me.

“Alright, you’re a bit calmer,” I said in a quiet, gentle voice. “My name is Y/n, are you okay?” The boy stared at me, shaking his head and gulping. “Alright, I’m not here to hurt you…. What’s your name?” Again, he shook his head quickly, making me nod. “Okay, okay, I won’t press you…. Listen, I know you’re scared here, would you like to come home with me?” The boy paused, moving his hands slightly so I saw his entire face. I watched him nod slowly, making me nod my own head.

He stood up, and I carefully went over, watching him flinch and step back. I put my hands up in defense, showing him I was no enemy. He still trembled, but he allowed me to help him keep his head down. I quickly took him upstairs and out, avoiding all hybrids as well as my partner. I put him into the backseat of my car, watching him curl up the furthest away from me.

“Alright, we’ll leave in just a few minutes, I have to talk to my partner really quick, I’ll be right back,” I said. He watched me, nodding his head. I shut the door as quietly as I could, turning around and walking to where my partner stood in his doorway.

“You okay?” He asked.

“I should ask you that,” I replied, flashing a small smile. “What’s his name?”

“Seokjin,” He replied. “I bought him at the slave trade, I didn’t know he’d freak out so much….”

“Email me his files, I’ll send you the money you paid for him,” I said, watching him nod. “I’ll let you know how his progress is. Stay safe.”

“You too,” He replied. I turned around, walking to my car and hopping in before driving away, heading towards my house.

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chandelier-s-notebook · 3 years

Text

I'm using @crowfootwrites' June List Day 5: Pride

Look. I used a different definition of pride. Not the one associated with this month.

Set in a Villain AU created by @olde-scratch ao3 link

If anyone wants to be part of a taglist of the Villain AU, feel free to message me/send an ask.

Taglist: @sleepysnails @causeimfabulous

-----------------------------

Time: 11:24, June 1st, 2021

Wilbur was aware that he was a shit villain. He knew that for a fact. He knew that objectively and he knew that subjectively. Techno was a little better. Phil was a lot worse.

Wilbur has no fucking clue how Braidingston Hero Central has deemed them the most wanted criminals in the city. He’s heard about it. The stuff ‘they’ve’ done. Like last night.

Time: 3:45, May 29th, 2021

New Email (3:33), OPEN?

*click*

Dear SBI, We have received your ransom note. We will meet your demands. We will leave 1mill in a briefcase in the Braidingston Homeless Shelter Food Stores’ at 0:00 June 1st. Nightmare will be the only hero present. Once you grab the money, Nightmare will be given the go ahead to apprehend you, but not before. We understand that the terms of your ransom were that you wouldn’t be selling off the information, but we ask that you refrain from your backdoor accessing to our records. Regards, BHC

New Email (3:34), OPEN?

*click*

Hello Burr, I’m sure you received the email from BHC. I’m sure you understand that that was meant for us. We will be taking our cut. The briefcase will have 250k by the time you reach it. We have found the plan for the night. 404 will be leaving the case earlier. Nightmare will arrive at 23:15. We recommend you arrive a few minutes before then. You should disperse the money between you. When Nightmare arrives, run with the briefcase. Don’t drop it unless he grabs the briefcase. Yours, Big Man

- - -

Time: 11:30, June 1st, 2021

Reputation gets you clout. Clout gets you reverence. Reverence means people won’t fight you and can’t see how shit you are. This was Phil’s motto. This is why he didn’t really care about Big Man, and why he wanted to frame them.

The first time they were framed was a year ago. That one was an accident. It was a simple case of wrong place wrong time. Then it happened again, and again. Then they got communication from someone named Big Man, who claimed to be the person framing them. He gave them info on how to deal with the heroes that would be after them. Phil often wonders who Big Man is.

Phil turns on the TV. And the news anchor is still talking about them and their run in with Nightmare last night. Phil wonders what Big Man is gonna do with the rest of the million the Braidingston Hero Centre at sent them. He wonders what kind of information he got to receive a ransom that big.

“Last night the SBI were spotted here in an altercation with Nightmare. The BHC has not released many details about it, but it was apparently a ransom payment. The BHC has taken one of Burr’s signature throwing cards into their records for testing.”

Phil stopped listening to the TV. Wilbur didn’t have any throwing cards. Perhaps Big Man was there. It was a little insulting that Big Man didn’t think them capable enough to get away without interference, but it was a little nice knowing that the guy framing them for crimes had their back.

He just hoped other people had his back. The doorbell rang; a customer. Ah yes, one of the regulars coming in for birdseed.

- - -

Time: 2:36, June 1st, 2021

Techno did not know how the teacher did this. He was at teacher’s college, and was in his placement. He did not understand how this high school teacher wasn’t snapping. They were reading Romeo and Juliet, and the kid playing Romeo had committed to a Kermit the Frog accent. This was torture.

Techno knew he really should get the students pay attention, but he’s bored. And if this blond kid is willing to play chopsticks with him then he’s not complaining. Besides, the kid never listens, and it’s Romeo and Juliet. The kid can cheat.

“Just loose already,” Tommy muttered.

“No.”

“Why does he have to talk like that?”

“No idea.”

- - -

Time: 2:38, June 1st, 2021

It amused Tommy to no end that he was playing chopsticks with the Blade in his English class. He knew that Techno Craft had no idea who he was. Like at all. The man didn’t know what Tommy was Theseus, or Big Man, or one of the guys that ran BSBG.

Tommy wondered what would happen once Techno found it. Class would be so awkward.

He put it out of his mind, and continued the everlasting stalemate that was this game of chopsticks.

He hoped Ranboo’s volleyball game had a less close game this afternoon.

“Ahem.”

Tommy glanced up. “Sorry Sir.”

“Pay attention Tommy.”

“I am.”

The teacher gave him an unamused look. He gestured back to Kermit the Annoyance, “Continue, please.”

He turned back to Techno. “Tie?”

Techno nodded.

#Wilbur Soot #Philza #Technoblade #TommyInnit #Villain AU #Crowfoot List

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steves-on-a-plane · 3 years

Text

New Year’s Eve

for @thefanficfaerie‘s OTP Challenge (2020) Words: 984 Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Prompt: Winter Wonderland: Day 31- New Year’s Eve Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve and thanks to the craziness that was 2020, Reader and Steve almost miss it! Tony Stark, not one to pass on the biggest party night of the year, finds a way to bring the Avengers together without having everyone together. After a night of games and fun, Reader and Steve share a New Year's kiss, and Steve slips in a quality dad joke.

“Is it over yet?” You asked before sitting on the couch. You drew your legs up close and cradled a bowl of popcorn.

“No, the episode just started.” Steve said reaching for the remote. He was talking about the rerun episode of NCIS currently playing on TV. “I can change it.”

“I’m not talking about the show. I’m talking about the year.” You huffed before scooping up a handful of popcorn and tossing it into your mouth.

“We’ve still got a little way to go, Darling. We just had Christmas.” Steve laughed.

“If by a little way you mean five hours.” You handed your cellphone to him so he could see the date. Steve squinted at the screen, not quite believing what he was seeing.

“No kidding.” He exclaimed, putting your phone in the coffee table. “I didn’t have a good sense of time to begin with. Clearly our sheltering in place hasn’t helped that much. Should I switch to the ball drop?”

“TV coverage doesn’t usually start to get good until at least 9. Though I don’t think they’ll be much to cover this year.” You sighed. You continued to eat your popcorn and watched the show for a little while. You saw your phone light up and looked down to see a new notification. You swapped your popcorn bowl for the phone. “Tony’s invited us to his New Year’s Eve party.”

“He’s still having a party?” Steve frowned. “Is he insane?” Steve reached for his phone to start chastising his friend.

“It’s a virtual party, Honey.” You assured him, touching him on the elbow. You accepted the invite from Tony. A Video chat opened up. You positioned your phone so that you and Steve were visible to Tony whose face was taking up the entire frame.

“Hey Rogers, Future Mrs. Rogers! Glad you could join us.” Tony beamed as he greeted you both. “I’m gonna patch you in with the others.” You watched the screen fill with familiar faces as Sam, Bucky and Thor were added to your conversation. Clint had positioned a tablet in his living room so his whole family could be seen in frame. Tony stepped back and you could see Pepper, Nat, Rhodey and Bruce and everyone else who’d been sheltering in place at the compound mingling in the background. “Ok, now that everyone’s here.” Tony rubbed his hands together with excitement. FRIDAY release the troops.”

You heard your doorbell ring. You looked to Steve who only shrugged. Neither of you were expecting company and most of your friends were in the video chat. You passed your phone off to him and went to check the front door. You reached the door just in time to see one of Tony’s Iron legionnaires flying off. You picked the basket up and carried it inside, inspecting the contents as you went. There were two bottles of champagne, a pair of flutes, some party poppers, a two pairs of plastic 2021 glasses, it was everything you would need for a New Year’s Eve at home.

“Since we can’t all be together and we can’t all be in New York, I knew I had to find a way to bring everyone together.” Tony explained as you returned to the living room and placed the basket on the coffee table.

“It’s a good idea Tony.” Steve approved.

“Yeah well, all of my ideas are good ideas.” Tony shrugged. “Okay now everyone check your email because there’s something special in there.” Steve did as Tony instructed and checked his email. He showed you the file attachment, it was a 2020 Bingo card. “Everyone had their own card, Laura, [Y/N] there’s one for each of you too. First one to fill out their card and yell BINGO gets a hundred dollars.”

“That’s why you mailed those to us?” Bruce exclaimed in the background. You watched him frantically tapping on his phone. “I thought that was just like a meme or something. I deleted that thing…”

“What is the thing? What do I yell?” Thor shouted through his phone.

“BINGO! I’ve Got BINGO!” Laura Barton announced. She excitedly jumped up from the couch.

“Alright, $100 to the lovely Mrs. Barton.” Tony nodded. “So for our next game…”

For the next three hours, Tony kept everyone entertained. There were a few more games with cash prizes. You and Steve won a special version of the Newlywed game For the Avengers couples that was designed to see who knew each other best. There was Karaoke and a trivia contest full of questions about the year’s biggest events. It was almost enough of a distraction to make all of you forget the party was happening virtually.

At ten minutes to midnight Tony made sure everyone had their TVs set to the same channel. The group turned their attention to the final moments of the ball drop countdown. You held a champagne flute in one hand and Steve’s hand in the other. As you listened to your friends’ chatting and held hands with the love of your life, you realized that for all the bad things that 2020 brought with it, you had still been incredibly blessed.

There was a new year around the corner and with the support from your friends and the love you and Steve had for each other, there was no obstacle you could not face together. Steve gave your hand a gentle squeeze as the final count down began. You and Steve shouted along with your friends and the rest of the world.

“10...9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1! Happy New Year!” As the ball began to drop and the clock changed to midnight, you and Steve pressed your lips together.

“Happy New Year.” You pulled back long enough to mumble. You lips tickling his as you spoke.

“Happy New Year.” Steve whispered back. “I haven’t kissed you since last year.” He added before moving back in for another kiss.

#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve Rogers Reader Insert #Steve Rogers Fan Fiction #Steve Rogers FF #Steve Rogers Fan Fic #OTP Challenge #OTP Challenge 2020 #Winter Wonderland #Winter Wonderland 2020 #New Years #New Year's

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cagestark · 5 years

Text

-Defender-

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: homelessness, poor!peter. Adult!Peter. Mean!Avengers. Not Steve Rogers friendly. Also, in this AU I’ve taken it upon myself to change some aspects of Spider-Man (not too many, no worries). Enjoy.

The first time he meets the spider-kid, it is after hours on the eighty-second floor of the main building of Stark Tower.

But the kid is on the wrong side of the glass.

“FRIDAY, run that by me again,” Tony says. He’s in his pajamas—a pair of hastily pulled on pants with not even boxers underneath, donned only when FRI sounded the alarm. The holographic video plays in front of him, but what it shows him makes no sense. It isn’t even possible. “What exactly am I seeing?”

“Fifteen minutes ago sensors on the first floor were triggered, suggesting a human presence. On closer examination, the intruder seems to be scaling the side of the building using grip enhancements that I can’t identify.”

“Okay, but is he doing what I think he’s doing?”

“Do you think he appears to be washing the windows, boss? Because all signs point to such.”

As they speak, the figure (barefoot—barefoot and more than eighty floors above Manhattan) dressed head-to-toe in black including a dark balaclava that obscures their features, pulls a squeegee from where it is secured to a multi-purpose belt around their waist. They wipe the glass clean in long, smooth strokes, flicking the water and soap off behind them. The way they move across the glass gives him goosebumps, makes him shiver with terror and awe.

He takes the elevator down from the Penthouse, passing the Avengers’ floor where the others are sleeping peacefully (God knows he doesn’t want to wake any of them up). There’s no indication that this person is a threat—and if they were a threat, this is hardly a dastardly plan.

The eighty-third floor is dark and quiet. It’s an accounting floor where they work to manage his assets and the company’s assets. He passes cubicles on his left and right, and though he visits this floor maybe once a month or less, he feels at home here. The entire building is home to him, and he knows it the way Steve and Bucky knew their tiny homes in Brooklyn, the way Clint knows the farm his wife maintains.

The south wall is entirely glass. Tony stands back in the shadows to watch as the dark figure crawls from east to west. They become preoccupied when they realize that their bare feet are leaving smudges on the glass, and their floundering is—well, it’s almost cute.

Tony approaches that glass cautiously, unwilling to startle person and send them plummeting to their death. When they pass by, squeegee pressed to the glass, the freeze with their face just inches from Tony’s. The balaclava has goggles on over it to obscure the person’s eyes, but Tony doesn’t need to see those eyes to know they are wide with alarm.

Grabbing a paper and pen from a nearby cubicle, he writes a quick message and presses it to the glass.

MEET ME ON THE ROOF.

They stare at the paper for so long that Tony begins to question their literacy. But then they attach the squeegee back to their belt and lift the bottom half of the balaclava. They reveal a cut, angular jaw and thin lips. Leaning in, they come so close to the glass that Tony thinks they’re going to kiss right where Tony’s mouth is—but instead they heave a silent breath, and in the fog of it, write with one bare finger: NO.

“Are you kidding me, right now?” Tony mutters. He uncaps the pen again, holding it in his teeth, and writes on the other side of the paper. TRESPASSING!

They breathe again, write: BUSY. Then they squeegee over the words and continue on like they aren’t dangling 1200 feet above Manhattan.

“Boss?” FRIDAY says. “I believe I’ve pegged the identity of our intruder. It wasn’t until he wrote on the glass that I was able to get a decent map of his fingerprints; all other readings keep coming back inconclusive. His name is Peter Parker. He was hired by Stark Industries in early August as a member of the maintenance department. Twenty years old, native of Queens, emergency contact is one May Parker, also of Queens—”

“Thank you for solving the mystery, Velma, any ideas on why he’s acting like an oversized microfiber cloth on my building’s glass at the devil’s hour?

“Jinkies, Shaggy, I’m an intelligent digital assistant, not a mind reader.”

“Shaggy? You’re grounded, baby. I’m a Fred guy all the way.”

“If anything, boss, you’re most similar to Daphne. But according to Mr. Parker’s recently opened emails, the maintenance department was mandated just yesterday to wash the windows on the main, north, and south towers. It appears Mr. Parker is getting a head—and unorthodox—start.”

“This maniac works for me?” Tony mutters. He follows along the window while the kid cleans, though he loses him when Parker crosses around the corner of the building and disappears onto the west side. “How the hell is he sticking to the window, FRI?”

“I can’t tell, boss. Diagnostics can’t find anything between his hands and the windows, but whenever he is sticking, the characteristics of his fingerprints change. It appears he grows scopulae.”

“Scopulae? As in, spider hair?” Tony stands at the window for several long minutes, lost in thought. At last, he heads back towards the elevator, shivering in the air conditioning. Instead of asking FRIDAY to take him to the floor Parker is currently cleaning (Floor 69, as of now), he tells her to take him back up to the penthouse. If the kid’s enhanced, then he’s safer on climbing the walls than anyone else Tony knows.

Not to mention, the windows are fucking spotless.

Peter is up to his eyes in the HVAC unit of zone 3 in the Stark Tower main building when his ears pick up the sound of the elevator door opening on the other side of the floor. With a building as tall as Stark Tower, heating and cooling takes division of the building into several zones with their own separate units. Zone three is for floors twenty-four through thirty-six—and twenty-four in particular, where the HVAC home base is, is a marketing floor. People here come and go without noticing him, walking briskly and talking on their phones. The elevators open and close all day long, but something about this particular incoming occupant has the office going silent.

The hairs raise all over Peter’s arms and legs. Danger? he wonders. But then he hears the murmuring of voices, a name said over and over in reverence: Mr. Stark. Tony Stark.

Tony Stark. The man who had caught Peter scaling the side of his supertall last night. Emblazoned in Peter’s memory is the image of the man coming out of the darkness on the other side of the glass, wearing nothing but some low-slung pajama pants. And who knew that Tony Stark, forty-plus years old still had the remnants of a six pack? Peter had been distracted for the rest of the night, even almost losing his grip around floor 21. Which wouldn’t have killed him (probably) but would have been very shocking to anyone walking down below on the street.

And now the man is on Peter’s floor? Well. It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s coming.

“Fuck,” Peter mutters. He immediately starts packing away his tools, tucking his hat down lower on his forehead to obscure his brow. His senses activate accidentally and suddenly a wrench is stuck to his hand and he shakes and shakes but for the life of him, it won’t come off—

“Well, hello.”

The wrench goes flying out of Peter’s hand, and Tony Stark barely manages to dodge it as it careens by him, hitting the wall and denting the plaster. They stare at each other, eyes wide, neither of them expecting such a thing to have happened and not being entirely sure how to proceed. The man is even more handsome in the light, eyes like the whiskey he drinks, hair immaculate and threaded with grays around the temples, lips full and curving into a smile. Fuck, Peter has had a crush on this guy since his Uncle Ben took him to a Stark Expo more than a decade ago. Seeing him in the flesh is almost too much to handle.

“Sorry,” Peter mutters, going to pick up the wrench.

“Don’t be. You’d be surprised how often I get that reaction.” He sticks out a hand, and Peter’s got no fucking clue what Tony wants him to do with it until the older man wiggles his fingers. For a business guy by day (and a suited superhero by night), Stark’s hands are calloused and strong. He looks Peter in the eye, gaze soft and unassuming, like he isn’t the most powerful man in the business world, like Peter isn’t some gum he’s tracked in on his shoe.

“I’m sorry for the wall, too,” Peter says. “I’ll fix that.”

“No, you won’t.”

Peter’s shoulders hunch. Of course, he won’t. Stark’s going to fire him. Peter will be back to shelter hopping and picking pockets until he finds another job. At least now he might have some references from coworkers who all seem to have taken to Peter, the youngest of their troop. The quiet woman Sam saves him a seat every lunch hour in the breakroom, and Carlito has started asking his wife to pack him two sandwiches so he can give one to Peter. Everyone has been so nice.

Peter should have known it wouldn’t last.

“You’ll be much too busy, I imagine,” Stark says. He takes the toolbox from Peter, like Peter is some dainty girl who can’t carry her own books to class, or something. Like a gentleman might. Peter is keenly aware of everyone’s gaze on them while the older man escorts him to the elevator. It must look ridiculous: Peter in his dirty work clothes, sneakers taped together, walking beside Tony Stark.

“Are you calling the cops on me?” Peter asks when the elevator door closes. He can tell that it’s moving upwards and not downwards, though—

“Why would I do that?” Stark asks. He’s wearing tinted glasses, and it’s a crime, because he’s so fucking pretty Peter would kill to see his face without them.

“Because of last night.”

Stark’s face smooths out. “I wasn’t sure if we were going to pretend like I didn’t know it was you—but I guess this makes it all a lot easier on my part. No, I’m not calling the cops on you.”

The elevator opens on the most lux penthouse Peter has ever seen: modern decore with glass tables and marble countertops and windows that show Manhattan below them like a toy city that Peter could step out and crush if he so felt like. The wood floors are polished and gleaming under Peter’s disgusting tennis shoes, and he’s never felt more out of place and more at home all at once.

“Thirsty? Hungry? I’ve got leftovers, if you don’t mind my germs. If you do mind my germs, I can order in for you. What do you like? Any food allergies?” Stark’s head pops up from where it had disappeared into the refrigerator. With narrowed eyes, he assesses Peter’s silence.

“Water would be—that’d be cool.”

“Sparkling? Distilled? Alkaline?”

“Uh—tap?”

“Excuse me, tap?” Stark shuts the door with a thud. “Now I am calling the cops. Seriously. You? Sit.”

Peter sits at the stool tucked beneath the island countertop. The marble cools his heated palms when he presses them against it. Despite his words, the man does not make any move to call anyone. He moves a Styrofoam dish to the microwave and heats up something that smells lovely, like marinara and basil. He cracks open a bottle of water and places it in front of Peter. It’s the crispest, most tasteless water he’s ever had. Probably harvested from mountainous glaciers or something.

At last Stark joins him on the other side of the island, sitting the dish of—yes, pasta—between them. He hands Peter a fork. “Dig in, kid,” he says. “I don’t have cooties.”

What the fuck, Peter thinks as he shares pasta with Tony Stark. Unbidden to his mind comes a scene from some Disney movie, when the two dogs share the piece of spaghetti and it makes them kiss. Just the idea of it has Peter staring resolutely at the wall of cabinets, chewing mechanically, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Shall we talk shop while we eat?” Stark asks, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

Peter shrugs. He has no idea why he’s here. No idea what shop this man could possibly have to talk about with the likes of him.

“You’ve got mad skills,” he says at last. Stark lays his phone flat on the table and from it comes a holographic projection. Peter watches himself in 3-D scale the side of Stark Tower. Yeah, he looks pretty cool—except for the squeegee. That’s kind of dorky. “How are you doing that?”

“It’s—a long story,” Peter says, rubbing his thumb against the prongs of his fork. Society has made a lot of advancements regarding its treatment of enhanced humans, but there’s still a minority of people who are afraid in their ignorance. It was on the news last week when Peter was killing time in a McDonalds before he could arrive at work to Stark Tower: an enhanced teenager was murdered by some concerned townsfolk who believed she was destroying the crops with her weather-controlling capabilities.

He can feel Stark’s gaze on him. It makes him bristle, makes his shoulders hunch. Peter doesn’t do well with authority—that is, most authority seems to just use and abuse Peter. He’s suddenly keenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now: a twenty-year-old with no family, no friends to come looking for him, in the penthouse of the most powerful man in the world who has perfect blackmail material on him. Peter’s palms start to sweat, and he wipes them on his pants.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Peter asks, voice low and quiet. He can’t look. But he has to know—has to prepare himself.

Stark stands, abruptly. “No—Parker. Peter. Look at me.”

Peter does, his jaw clenched and eyes flat. He might be scared, but he’s no coward. Only, Stark doesn’t look anything like a man who is about to hurt him. His mouth is downturned in the softest expression of tragedy that Peter’s ever seen. “I’ve just realized,” Stark says. “This won’t do. I need Burger King.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Burger King. Don’t you know that I’m an eccentric billionaire, doomed to give in to my every whim? And my whims want a Whopper. Come on. Grab your metaphorical coat—or your literal coat. Should we stop by the maintenance floor?” Stark strolls to a closet and rifles through it, pulling out a long, dark, very expensive looking coat. Peter can almost feel it under his fingers, it must be so soft. “Kid? Are you hearing me?”

“I don’t have a coat.”

“Alright, take one of mine. Let’s go. My stomach waits for no one.”

When Peter tries to step onto the elevator behind Stark without grabbing a coat, the man insists on going back in and finding one for him. The billionaire puts him in a half dozen coats made of the soften Italian wools and genuine cashmeres, before settling on one that’s very similar to Mr. Stark’s, only with a collar that Peter can pulls up around his throat to keep the wind away. It smells clean, but faintly of cologne, like the man has worn it out recently and put it away without washing it. Thank God the coat is thick enough to hide the semi he sports.

They end up hiding in a booth in the back of a Burger King two blocks away, both of them with Whoppers and Large Fries and Cokes. Peter inhales his—an enhanced appetite, not to mention the general lack of food he suffers from on a typical day’s basis—but Tony keeps up, holding his own. He takes out his phone and sits it on the table again, tapping several buttons, and suddenly Peter’s head throbs a little, senses spiking.

“Is that bothering you? I’m using it to scramble anything we say from being overheard by anyone around us, but we can do it the old-fashioned way if we must—you know. Whispering.”

“It’s fine—that’s, that’s amazing.”

Stark blinks. “I—thanks. I made it.”

“I figured—how does it work? Can you tell me?”

And the man humors him. Actually humors him, explaining in laymen’s terms even though he might be surprised at the level of conversation Peter could keep up with. When Peter asks a question, the other man grins showing neat, white teeth that Peter would give anything to run his tongue along.

“You’ve been really nice,” Peter says when their food is gone and cups nothing but ice. It’s an understatement, because this is the nicest anyone has treated Peter in a long, long time, and the way Stark talks and looks at him isn’t condescending or pitying. It’s like he sees Peter as a human. “But why am I here? So, you know. About me. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Stark says. “It’s not illegal to be enhanced. And while it is illegal to trespass, mostly it’s very unsafe to do it more than a quarter mile above the ground, so I do ask that anymore night time adventures aren’t spent scaling my building.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees. “I just wanted to make it easier for the other guys. They really look out for me. I didn’t want to make them have to work so hard, when I could do it so easily.”

“That’s very generous of you, Peter. May I call you Peter?”

Peter shrugs.

“I’ll take that as a yes—and you can call me Tony, okay kid? I’m not here to call the cops or to fire you. As a matter of fact, I want to offer you a job. Tentatively.”

“You want to promote me?” Peter asks, brow furrowing.

“It’s hardly a promotion. The hours are longer. The pay is—well, under the table. There’s danger too. Potentially mortal peril.

“Tell me, Peter, what do you know about the Avengers?”

#starker #homelessness #adult!peter #mean!avengers #badass!peter

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Arranged {3}

Yahya Abdul Mateen II x OFC Nyorie Kane

Warning: Plot, Cursing

Words: 1.4k

Summary: Yahya is thirty-three, and his friends and family all seem to believe that it is long overdue for him to have a wife. He’s been set up more times than he can count and with his busy schedule and rising Hollywood star, it is becoming even more difficult to meet people, well people who aren’t looking for a come up. In the beginning, he said he didn’t want anything serious; his motto was “I’m was here for a good time not a long time.” Then it became he didn’t want anything that would distract him from where he wanted to go and what he wanted to accomplish. Now that his fame is rising and he’s approaching a sweet spot in his career he decides what the hell the time might be right.

In comes “A Match”, an exclusive matchmaking company run by his best friend Ramel’s wife Tamika. He gives Tamika and Ramel free rein and all his trust to find him, someone, he’d mesh well with. Instead of going through her clientele Tamika has just the right woman in mind, her best friend, Nyorie. Things are done a little unorthodox at “A Match” though. This unconventional route is credited for a near-perfect success rate.

Note: I’ve only tagged those who have expressed to be on a forever tag list.

****Also, please keep an open mind.

**Loosely Proofread/Edited**

✧*.。:。✧*.:。✧*✧*.。:。✧*.:。✧*✧*.。:。✧*.:。✧*

-Chapter Three-

When he got to Tameka’s company it was close to nine. This was the only time he could squeeze the meeting in. His days were getting busier and busier with each movie he completed. Tipping his hat down low and securing his hoodie so it hid his face he walked around to the back entrance of “A Match.” The floral scents of the interior office took over. the scent matched the décor, it was lite, feminine and modern. Just as he was about to sit down Tameka walked out.

As always her outfit was on point. She dressed like the boss and sure as hell acted like one. She smiled warmly and held out her arms for him.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show.” He pulled her into a hug with a laugh.

“Time is money and I said I’d be here.”

“Hm, just by you being here makes me think you might be ready. We’ll see though. Come on.”

Tameka nudged her head for him to follow her. They walked down the long hall of the white oak floor then made a right. Tameka stretched her arms out signaling for him to go first. When he walked into her office he took one of the seats in front of her glass desk. She didn’t sit down automatically, instead, she walked to a wide four drawer file cabinet, used a key around her neck and opened it to take out a binder and a folder. When she sat down she plopped the materials down before her.

“The hell is all that?” A smirk slipped and she pinched her lips to wipe it away.

“This is A Match boo, I take my job serious which is why I get the results I do. So.” Tameka pulled out a pink legal pad from her top drawer and grabbed one of her pens and looked to him.

“Why are you here, Ya?”

Giving her a blank look, he scrunched up his nose. “I thought we’ve been through this,” he began.

“Let’s go over it again. Before we can begin I need to know why. I ask everyone this question, so it’s not just you.”

He took a long sip from his blended green juice mix and thought about the question for a few seconds.

“I figured finding people for other people is what you do, and I know you’re good at it. So here I am.”

“Why now? You’ve known me for years; you’ve known this is what I did for years. Why are you here now as opposed to last month?”

Another long sip from his juice gave him reprieve to think. He knew what she wanted him to say. He slumped slightly in the chair and took a deep breath then spoke.

“I think I’m finally ready to let someone in, given it’s the right one.”

Tameka smiled, nodded and wrote something on the legal pad.

“What are your expectations? Some people come in here and expect me and mine to find them someone in a week so they can ride off in the sunset. Some don’t really want something serious, so they use it as a hookup service. What are your expectations?”

“If I wanted to just hook up I could do that easily. I’m not into the hookup culture and I’m not looking to get caught up. I’m thirty-three, it’s time for something meaningful,” he explained.

“Meaningful. I like that. Most would say serious, you chose meaningful. Okay.” She wrote again and he was more curious. He felt like he was sitting with a shrink instead of a matchmaker.

“All right. Let me explain what A Match is and how we work. We find like-minded individuals to put together. There are a variety of ways we accomplish this, questionnaires, quizzes, scenario testing, personality testing, emotional IQ testing, values, morals; the whole shebang. I like to take a traditional route which means not relying so heavily on electronics or social media. Remember back in the day how our mamas and daddies got to know each other? Phone calls not texts, handwritten letters, not emails, thoughtful outings, things of that such. Do you understand so far?”

He nodded.

“As a disclaimer; there is no quick route to getting matched. Marriage is my goal here because it is I don’t have my clients linger too long on the dating stage. After lengthy compatibility testing to ensure I am not wasting anyone’s time the first step is sheltered communication. Sheltered communication comes in one form—letters. Good old-fashioned handwritten letters. At this stage which is two weeks, you write to each other saying whatever you want. I have suggestions of what those letters should consist of and some guidelines but for the most part, you are free here. After those two weeks of sheltered communication, a decision is made if you want to continue. If both of you choose to continue the next stage is controlled communication, this consists of phone calls. Again this lasts for two weeks, then another decision is made. At stage three we move on to a date, but this is not a normal date. It is blind, you don’t see her, she doesn’t see you.”

“What?! How does that work?”

“Easy, you have a meal together where both of you are in the dark. You’ve heard of dining in the dark, this is the same concept, except you will be wearing glasses that give you the ability to see your food, and drink, utensils and what not just not each other. This is done to have you rely on your other senses, vibes, auras. You’d be surprised what you can feel for someone when your eyes are taken out of the equation.”

He was intrigued. It sounded interesting, to say the least.

“If date one is successful according to you both then we do it again, the goal is six dates over the course of five weeks, and they are all just like that. After all of this, you’ve spent nine weeks together, a little over two months. From here we repeat stages one to three for the next three weeks. This is where it gets simple. You shit or get off the pot.”

“What does that mean?”

“You tackle things backward, engagement, wedding, then you date your wife.”

His jaw dropped. “What!? You expect me to marry someone I’ve never seen?”

“Yes. I believe everyone knows what they feel or don’t feel for someone after four weeks. After six you know if you’re compatible, by ten weeks you know if there is something between you that can be sustained and by twelve you begin to feel like this is a routine with this person. My guarantee is I can find you the right one in twelve weeks.”

He sat there and tried to let the information sink in.

“So this is blind dating for twelve weeks then marry a stranger.”

“She’s not a stranger if you’ve spent twelve weeks being your authentic self.”

“What happens if you go through all this and four weeks into marriage you see it’s not working out. what then?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been doing this for years and I’ve never had it happen. My success rate is perfect once two individuals go through the stages.” Tameka slid the binder to him. “Look.”

He began flipping through the pages of pictures of couples from their wedding with the date they were matched and the date they were married and how long they’d been married. He went through page after page of many different couples, husbands and wives, wives and wives, husbands and husbands and even more ambiguous orientations. It was impressive, they all looked happy. All of them were still together. He didn’t know what to think. This was huge and quite possibly more than he’d expected or was ready for.

“Like I said, are you sure?”

He snorted and laughed. She was serious.

“Damn Tameka, you couldn’t just do things like normal matchmakers?”

“No, normal matchmaking is mundane, and the rate of failure is quite high. This way—my way, I haven’t failed yet. I have a waiting list that is months long of people who are dying to sign up. What’s your hesitation?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe marrying someone after twelve weeks, someone I’ve never seen or touched. Someone my family has never met. That sounds extreme.

“I never said your family wouldn’t get to meet her. there are many steps at each stage Yahya. If both parties choose to continue a marriage offer is extended. Once accepted there is a day each of your families meet each other and your families meet the chosen partner,” Tameka explained.

“When do we meet, like see each other meet?”

“At the altar,” Tameka broke. Again, he laughed, this time it was louder than the first. This was wild.

“I feel like you’re more hung up on seeing the person. You shouldn’t be. The extensiveness of the compatibility screening is so intricate that your preferences and tastes are always upheld. A woman will not be picked unless every parameter has been met to ninety-eight percent or higher in each and every parameter.”

Hearing that was only a slight reassurance. He couldn’t believe he was here listening to all this. He couldn’t believe people actually wanted to do this. His eyes dropped to the binder again and scanned the faces of the couples.

“Here’s what we’ll do, take some time, think it over, go through the reading for the process and how each stage works. Take whatever time you need, then let me know whatever you decide.”

He took the brochure, and packets she offered and skimmed them before he nodded. This was not something to just jump into. There were so many variables to consider and he needed to consider them all.

“What kind of women agree to this?”

“Women like you, busy, jaded, tired of the current dating culture. I take all of the uncertainty out and support it with science, psychology, and sociology. Everything is on the up and up and everyone is vetted so deeply the CIA wishes they could be this invasive.”

Again, he laughed and nodded. “All right, I hear you.”

“So, think about it, let me know.”

He stood and nodded. “Thanks, Meeka.”

“Thank me when I find you the right one.”

With that, he walked out of her office and out the back entrance he’d come in almost an hour ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#arranged fic #yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya abdul mateen ii fanfiction #Yahya Abdul Mateen ii x reader #Yahya Abdul Mateen ii x you #Yahya Abdul Mateen ii x black reader #slow burn fanfic #black fanfiction

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antifaintl · 5 years

Note

What kind of experience would you say is needed to be a street medic? Do you think a lifeguard qualification would suffice?

We’re not sure what kind of first aid is required for life guard certification so we can’t call it but we’d strongly recommend people take wilderness first aid courses, since they are designed to give you the skills you’ll need if an ambulance/hospital is not immediately accessible, which can happen if you’re in a bad street situation/political action. We had a bunch of street medic tips on our previous blog before tumblr arbitrarily deleted it without reason or explanation (thanks tumblr!), but we’ve dug it up and here is what we said when asked last year: By Popular Demand - Street Medic Tips! OK, y’all asked for it so here are some tips we got from one of our street medic pals: 1) Well, first off, for buying supplies, always go with generics. they do the same damn thing and you get more of them for the cost. Buy tampons and pads alongside regular gauze bandages, they’re excellent for dealing w puncture wounds. carry duct tape and plastic bags. the plastic bags will help w sucking chest wounds, tape three sides to the skin to prevent the wound from sucking air in the wrong way. but you won’t encounter much of that. 2) Carry sunscreen, pref. in a spray bottle. in fact, combating fatigue and sunstroke should be a priority (this changes seasonally). I recommend looking up switchel and making a bit of that, and recommending each person take a little glug of it after they’ve come to see you for water a couple times. loss of electrolytes from sweat is no joke. switchell is just a mix of vinegar, lemon juice, honey, boiled and steeped ginger, water, and add a healthy pinch of iodized salt. Kept farmers alive so… 3) Keep your things in easy access containers. so, have bandages be in a fairly waterproof container that you can access, wound prep stuff in another, cleaners in another, etc. you don’t need to have everything in one case. Also, if you plan on doctoring, you’re sitting out any scraps for the day, tbh. Your effectiveness is reliant on not being arrested or being kept from helping people. so, depending on the situ, no face covering beyond surgical masks, making oneself visible, not clobbering fash..which believe me, it’s a pain in the ass to not be in the thick of it, but your job is to stabilize people enough that they can make it home/ to the hospital. 4) Take as many first aid classes as possible. absorb as much information from as many sources as possible. and make it clear you’re not a licensed professional so you don’t get sued for trying to help anyone (note that in some areas you provided medical assistance is protected by “good Samaritan” laws). Especially useful are wilderness first aid classes, which train you about what to do in any situation where medical aid is not immediately accessible. 5) Look into those simple water bottle gasmasks for people your stabilizing in case of residual teargas on the wind. Those sorts of makeshift gasmasks/respirators aren’t going to do a lot to protect you in the thick of it, but it makes your job easier if the person isn’t inhaling an irritant. 6) Assess the situation. if the person can be moved, get them to somewhere sheltered and away from the action. preferably, you have people with you to facilitate this, then you can have a few ppl in a row that you’re working on, having volunteers applying pressure to wounds for the requisite 15 minutes or so. 7) Having a few people to help limp folks over to a central area is super useful in theory, then you can maximize effectiveness in helping folks. Superglue is also useful for closing seriously bad wounds, but only in dire circumstances. Stuff’s a bit toxic. Only use it if the person seems like they’re gonna die. Saline wound wash is great, btw. Get it in a spray bottle. Aloe vera gel is good for minor burns so you can smack it on and bolt. 8) If you absolutely positively HAVE to put a tourniquet on, make sure that the time (with AM or PM and date) is clearly labeled in sharpie in several places so when the poor sod gets handed off to a professional they know what’s up. don’t want them to lose an arm. MAKE SURE IT’S IN MULTIPLE PLACES, AND INCLUDE AM OR PM AND MAYBE EVEN THE DATE. Also, don’t try to cauterize wounds. it never works. as tempting as it is to carry rum for numbing, don’t. it’s just an easy arrest for the pigs.9) It’s honestly not too worth it to dispense actual medicines, but that’s mostly my opinion. the most you can get away with is aspirin and other over the counter pain meds. maybe some allergy stuff just in case. Speaking of, make sure you ask the person about any allergies a couple times as you get started, they’re likely in a bit of shock, and you need to be sure you don’t accidentally kill someone through some obscure allergy. Always use non latex, just to be safe. I know it’s a pain.10) Seriously though, can’t emphasize enough that besides the medical stuff, bandages, bandage scissors, cleaning stuff etc. Some of the most important essentials you can bring are duct tape, pads, tampons, water and sunscreen. Wear a hat. The sun can and will kill you dead. And on electrolytes again, sports drinks should be avoided. they suck donkey dick and don’t really work. They’ll just dry you out. switchel or similar stuff if you can make it. recipes pretty loose, so just go for it. 11) Please get trained/ certified in as much stuff as possible. try to get folks to help you out as well. Here’s an organization that does wilderness medical training in North America. Obv. the more the better. every person carrying a bit of water. thirst is a shite indicator of need 4 water. Once your thirsty, omae wa mou shindeiru. Take a sip of room temp water every twenty mins or so. also, don’t drink cold water if you’ve been out bashing fash. you’ll puke because your body’s fucked up like that. SUNSCREEN! 12) If anyone wants to get free training to get started as a street medic, google search “stop the bleed.” Every major U.S. hospital has funding for this. Even if you can’t make it to trainings, THEY WILL COME TO YOU. Just get a group of friends, email the instructor and set up a time and location. After you take the course, you can register to teach it yourself! Spread the knowledge, spread the skill! 13) Two first aid manuals you might want to look at: -Wilderness & Rescue Medicine (Jeffrey E. Isaac, PA-C & David E. Johnson, MD; 2013, Jones & Bartlet Learning) -The Field Guide Of Wilderness & Rescue Medicine (Jim Morrissey, EMT-P, WEMT, with David Johnson, MD; 2017, Wilderness Medical Associates) (Spanish version here!) 14) Want to know more? Google “street medic training.” You might be surprised with what you come up with!

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kny111 · 5 years

Photo

The David Prize, Animation, Comics, and Storytelling from Forgotten New Yorkers

Hey everyone, I’ve got exciting news for those of you keeping track of the creation of my working title comic book ‘Story of 27′. For starters, as some might remember I didn’t get to reach the intended goal to really get the ball rolling and thus, life and the finances of living in New York city as an Afro-Indigenous low income citizen had me needing these resources in dire time of having to move. So fast forward to now, I’m still trying to get this book out to yall, digitally or otherwise. By all the circumstances I should really be trying to secure some long term finances for my new born child (10 months now) and generational wealth. So in that regard I hope that this following venture might help pave that.. with your help. What I’m attempting to create is not just an inclusive animation studio but a place that can set those in need on the right career path of art, media and being able to sell the products of their labor without having to cater to oppressive systems of abuse like the kind that frequent POC communties and the LGBTQ communities within. Wait Ken but how does an animation studio fit into a story your were gonna tell through comic books? I’m still creating the comic book in its originally thought of medium but the animation studio would be the next step since the story itself was supposed to be an animated film in the likeness of Daft Punk’s Interstella 5555: The 5tory of the 5ecret 5tar 5ystem (in that there was very little dialogue if any but heavily based on speaking through music). I’d likely create the comic book through this studio, publish it, then use the comic book as storyboard for the film I wanted to make which is what a lot of studios are doing to help facilitate the process. My hope is that the comic book can build a readership into viewership with the help of ‘The David Prize’, which I’ll explain further.

So think of the comic book as a storyboard we’ll all get to read about and then if all goes as planned, an animated film using voices of all types of New Yorkers even folks who would have otherwise not have that chance (like homeless New Yorkers or folks in shelters who would like to give their voice for that cause and in return or in general we’d create toons and media for the poor at low to no cost - and considering how making a few seconds of animation will run hundreds if not thousands of dollars it admittedly wont be an easy feat).

As I had also mentioned I want to first publish a free digital comic book prelude to ‘Story of 27’ called ‘Tail of The Unlikely’ for those who have been waiting so patiently for me to publish something. Trust, I want me to get this done too but life stay slowing things down on that for the better. The more you wait the better the story is cause I’m always learning from yesterday and include that into my stories. Enter ‘The David Prize’, it’s a fairly new prize of $200k to 5 New Yorkers with a vision to help make New York a better place. The prerequisite is having a focus for New York’s growth as a city. I figured this was up my alley and I’ve yet to get to where I’d like to be in terms of production movement on my comic book with the newest member to the family among other life duties. I’m now somewhere I have more cultural knowledge and historical awareness of some factors that make me feel glad I hadn’t created the book sooner in how awesome these inclusions will be.

This makes me excited about this prize because I know with your help as well as suggestions and hands on assistance we can make our own all inclusive animation power house in New York. One where everyone, especially the poor, disabled, POC communities and their LGBTQ equals are welcome and given a chance to work on some media that truly exemplifies a decolonized art movement by way of animation. I’ve never seen this here or much elsewhere so it would be worth trying this in NYC. If this sounds interesting at all to yall, feel free to nominate me for the prize so I can make this a reality for us. With this place made, I might even be able to provide emergency housing assistance (if the city allows it - this likely requires extra licensing and time) to homeless LGTBQ folks which sadly are far too many in the city that many times ignores them.

I’d also like yall to know that my sister has been searching for years now on the housing market to own her own place, a building, to leave some generational wealth to her daughters which I respect. With her current knowledge of the housing market I really think if we brainstormed with some appointed folks that I can trust or work in social justice we can figure out how to use our knowledge and resources to provide for people in need.

Similarly through that space, we can have multifunctionality by also providing a space where the future and present of art and media can flourish through animation. Am I being too hopeful with tryina create this? I think with enough support we can make this a realty. And yall know I won’t deny folks in need if this was made. * I’m still working on the comic book even if I don’t win. To nominate me for the prize click here. Some info you’ll need for the prize are: 1. My email: [email protected] 2. My first and last name are on my email in the order its shown. 3. They’ll ask you to describe me, if you forgot me my archive be here. 4. They have a super short questionnaire on me, yourself and why you think I can make NYC a better place through this initiative. Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this. -Ken, your neighborhood science journalist.

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mascaratearsnlipsticksmears · 3 years

Text

1..Who was the last person you held hands with? Probably My son

2. Are you outgoing or shy? Shy until I’m

Comfortable

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? My surgeon

4. Are you easy to get along with? I try to Be. Don’t give me a reason to not Like you 😉

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? Never had someone take care of me from drinking .....I’m usually taking care of everyone else

6. What kind of people are you attracted to? Loyal. Chill. Down to earth .

7. Are you married? No.

8. Do you want to get married? Eventually . I do , but I need it to be for the right reason.

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? Makes me feel Lonely lately believe it or not.... 😔

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? Steve

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? “Oh cool 😎”

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now?

lil peep- star shopper

Brand new-Jesus Christ

Bebe rexha- I’m a mess

Anything Billie eillish

Doja cat -rules

Ashnikko-daisy

That’s more than 5, Idc

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? Only certain people

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? I don’t know anymore

15. What good thing happened this summer? Got a tan and not covid 👌🏼👌🏼

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? My little guy? I will kiss him when ever I can cause one day he’s not gonna want me to and I’ll be sad

17. Do you think there is life on other planets? Absolutely

18. Do you still talk to your first crush? Yes

19. Do you like bubble baths? 110%

20. Do you like your neighbors? Yea

21. What are you bad habits? Overthinking, caring to much.

22. Where would you like to travel? Anywhere

23. Do you have trust issues? No, people that scumbag me Normally get cut off so I only keep ppl around I trust.

24. Favorite part of your daily routine? Coffee & a bowl

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? Uhhh everything from the chin down 😔

26. What do you do when you wake up? Set gage up for class in the living room

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker?darker

28. Who are you most comfortable around? Lauren Rayza

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? They don’t get the chance, yes a few tried to contact me but my mentality is fuck them.... one even tried emailing my friends to reach me 🙄🙄🖕🏼

30. Do you ever want to get married? I do, one day. Didn’t I just answer this

31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail? Yes

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with? Idk I’d have to think about it

33. Spell your name with your chin. The fuck?

34. Do you play sports? What sports? Bought a bike yesterday Lol. I used to be on the swim team and I played soccer~ also took dance for 7 years.

35. Would you rather live without TV or music? Depends on my mood

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? Absolutely.

37. What do you say during awkward silences? Try to avoid them at all Costs

38. Describe your dream girl/guy? No.

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? Sephora Ulta Victoria secret

40. What do you want to do after high school? Lol I think that bridge has been crosses already

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? Not everyone , no.

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? Normally bad anxiety and hurting , or extremely chill

43. Do you smile at strangers?

Yea I do.... but now I forget I have a mask on and look like a retard

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean? Can I just going fishing ?

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? My son.

46. What are you paranoid about? Money

47. Have you ever been high? There’s a joint in my hand.

48. Have you ever been drunk? Who writes these things??

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? No.

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? Navy

51. Ever wished you were someone else? Eh wish I was still me with more $$$

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? I don’t have to wish, I’m doing it.

53. Favourite makeup brand? Tarte, morphs, fenty

54. Favourite store? Didn’t I answer this?

55. Favourite blog? My own💚

56. Favourite colour? Black, Periwinkle , light lavender ,pink

57. Favourite food? Japanese

58. Last thing you ate? 8 hours slow cooked ribs

59. First thing you ate this morning? Coffee

60. Ever won a competition? For what? Probably & Idr

61. Been suspended/expelled? Started a food fight in the science lab and they suspended the wrong Angela ~Womp womp...I did get detention a lot cause my shirt was too low in the front tho.

62. Been arrested? No

63. Ever been in love? Yea I think so

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? No. ☺️

65. Are you hungry right now? I could eat.

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? Meh

67. Facebook or Twitter? Fb

68. Twitter or Tumblr? Tumblr

69. Are you watching tv right now?yes

70. Names of your bestfriends? Stephanie Lauren Rayza Kat Christina

71. Craving something? A simple hand hold...😔.... compliment here or there . To not have to do everything myself... I crave the help I constantly ask for and never get. I crave dick, I just don’t understand this shit anymore.... damnit tumblr u struck a nerve .

72. What colour are your towels? Mixed

72. How many pillows do you sleep with? 1

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? No

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have?idk

75. Favourite animal? So many..... tigers maybe? & Lynx. Sharks.

76. What colour is your underwear? Not wearing any 😬

77. Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate

78. Favourite ice cream flavour? Mint chocolate chip

79. What colour shirt are you wearing? Olive green

80. What colour pants? None on.

81. Favourite tv show? In the dark

82. Favourite movie? All 50 shades.

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? First one

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? How do these compare

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? The Lebanese chick

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? Turtles

87. First person you talked to today? Gage

88. Last person you talked to today? Myself

89. Name a person you hate? Hate is a strong word.

90. Name a person you love? Gage

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? Lol Geoff

92. In a fight with someone? No

93. How many sweatpants do you have? No idea

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have?Too many

95. Last movie you watched? “What if”

96. Favourite actress? Perry Mattfeld

97. Favourite actor? Hmmmm

98. Do you tan a lot?yassss

99. Have any pets? A zoo

100. How are you feeling? Confused, tired burning out ..

101. Do you type fast? I try

102. Do you regret anything from your past? Yes

103. Can you spell well? Eh

104. Do you miss anyone from your past? Yes

105. Ever been to a bonfire party? Yes

106. Ever broken someone’s heart? Yes

107. Have you ever been on a horse? Yes

108. What should you be doing? Listing stuff on Etsy

109. Is something irritating you right now? No

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? Absolutely

111. Do you have trust issues? No, just don’t give me a reason too.

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? Ohhhh I don’t cry in front of ppl,cause then there’s a witness... did cry today tho, but you couldn’t see me.

113. What was your childhood nickname? Angiefur

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? Yes

115. Do you play the Wii?not really

116. Are you listening to music right now? No

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? Yes

118. Do you like Chinese food? Yes

119. Favourite book? Crank

120. Are you afraid of the dark?some times

121. Are you mean? Don’t cross me 😘

122. Do you believe in “the one that got away”? Yes.

123. Can you keep white shoes clean? I try

124. Do you believe in love at first sight? Idk

125. Do you believe in true love? Yes

126. Are you currently bored? Yes

127. What makes you happy? Attention lol romance? I think romance is dead tho...

128. Would you change your name? My last name? If I were getting married, yes

129. What your zodiac sign? Leo

130. Do you like subway? Food yes, smelly train no....

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? All my besties have vaginas, nothing to worry about.

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? Steve

133. Favourite lyrics right now? Brand new : Jesus Christ

134. Can you count to one million? Yea but why

135. Dumbest lie you ever told? I don’t lie so I don’t have that problem

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? Closed Cause only 1 Of my 4 asshole cats I allowed in my room

137. How tall are you? Oh how short am I? 5’1

138. Curly or Straight hair? Straight

139. Brunette or Blonde? Right now black

140. Summer or Winter?summer

141. Night or Day? Summer nights

142. Favourite month? August

143. Are you a vegetarian? Keto

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? Dark

145. Tea or Coffee? Coffee

146. Was today a good day? I think so

147. Mars or Snickers? Dark chocolate Milky Way

148. What’s your favourite quote? I’d have to think about it

149. Do you believe in ghosts? Yes

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page?

“His thumb brushes my lower lip, and his breath hitches. He’s staring into my eyes, and I hold his anxious, burning gaze for a moment, or maybe it’s forever…but eventually, my attention is drawn to his beautiful mouth. And for the first time in twenty-one years, I want to be kissed.”

Excerpt From

Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed

E L James

This material may be protected by copyright.

#Spotify

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anonsally · 4 years

Text

Days 4-5 of COVID-19 shelter-in-place

I’ve noticed that I am having trouble regulating my blood sugar. I just don’t seem to know when to eat, because my usual markers of time in my daily routine are no longer happening...

Thursday had been a reasonably good day, but Friday was not. I think Friday was the day the whole state of California got a shelter-in-place order. It looks like it will go on for a pretty long time. Our university said they would completely close campus buildings because some people were going in to work despite everything, so keycard access was going to stop on Sunday. But it also sounded like we could go in to retrieve things before then to help us work at home.

That was also the day the Department of State told us not to leave the country. I wonder how long that order will last.

My mom (who is an environmental epidemiologist [i.e., not the kind who studies infectious diseases]) has been obsessing about the pandemic and sending lots of articles, so I suggested she might consider limiting herself to one hour of that per day... Anyway, things are sounding pretty good on the developing treatments front, though I don’t know whether availability of a cure would affect shelter-in-place orders. A vaccine takes longer to develop.

Anyway, I went grocery shopping for my dad. I was shocked at how many people over 60 were in the produce market, which is a bit cramped, making it impossible to stay 6ft apart from people at all times. I dropped my dad’s vegetables off on his porch, standing back before he opened the door. I was glad nice to see him, even briefly, and relieved to hear that he has been going for bike rides to keep getting some exercise now that his gym has closed.

By the time I got home, it was 3:30pm and I hadn’t eaten lunch. I got through my work emails but didn’t manage to accomplish much else. I did have a virtual coffee break with @llamapunk, though.

The cats kept fighting. At one point they managed to pull their cardboard box onto the cat bed as collateral damage! Usually they just move the beds. I gave them a stern talking-to about fighting, but I don’t think they really listened.

I ate takeout pizza from a nearby restaurant for dinner, which was great. But my mood wasn’t very good, and I felt like the day kind of got away from me.

Today has been better. I got up pretty early, and did outdoor qigong with a few neighbors (staying 6 feet apart). Doing a physical movement practice with other people was good, though it was chilly out and thus took me a while to warm up. (My dance studio is trying to organise some online dance classes. I’m not sure how that will work but I’m looking forward to finding out!)

Wife and I went to the farmers’ market, which was less crowded than usual and had adapted for the pandemic: customers couldn’t handle the food, so we had to ask the vendors to select the items we wanted for us. Separate people were handling the money. I was delighted to buy my first strawberries of the year! Also, the stand that sells the nice curried fish was there (they weren’t last week), so we were able to buy lunch, though we had to eat it in the car!

Afterwards I went to my office to pick up my work computer (and all of its cables and other pieces), plus my office plants. Other people had already taken theirs. I ran into a retired professor who said he was moving out of his office since who knows when we will be able to get back in. I brought the computer home, but haven’t set it up yet.

Later in the afternoon I went out for a walk and talked to Best Friend on the phone for nearly an hour. On my walk, I met a very skinny spotted Bengal cat! And this evening I’ve exchanged texts with another old friend.

#personal #epidemiology #food #even though there is no picture of food here #friendship #I love cats

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Betting on the Bullseye (29/30)

Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala for Boston’s Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation. What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.

What she truly doesn’t expect is to actually like the man.

Rating: Mature

A/N: So here we are! It’s the last official chapter, and while I would absolutely love to get to write this story forever, that’s simply not possible. But don’t fret! There’s still an epilogue and then a bonus chapter based off of a prompt that someone gave me. I can’t believe this little one shot turned into this big story that may very well be my own personal favorite. Thanks for being awesome and reading, you guys💛

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tag List: @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @andiirivera @hollyethecurious @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @notoriouscs @mariakov81 @jonirobinson64 @bmbbcs4evr @thejollyroger-writer @lifeinahole27 @ultimiflos @galaxyzxstark @idristardis

-/-

Killian: My family is all here and currently examining every square foot of the place.

Emma: I know you’re not complaining when this is all you’ve talked about all week.

Killian: I love them, but Anna is seriously asking me about the thread count on our sheets.

Emma: That’s important.

Killian: I’m going to leave you with them if you don’t start sympathizing with me.

Emma: Oh no! You’re going to leave me with two people who I talk to every day and your brother! However will I survive?

Killian: Kris and Aiden are also part of the package.

Emma: I like them too.

“Are you flirting with your boyfriend, Ems?”

“Holy shit,” she yelps, jumping in her chair while her heart takes off like a rocket. She’s got to start closing her office door or put a lock on it or something. Or Ruby needs to learn how to knock. Or stay in her office. This is becoming a perpetual issue. “Rubes, why do you insist on doing this to me?”

She shrugs, the picture of nonchalance, and then steps further inside, grabs some skittles out of the bowl on her desk, and then plops down in her extra chair.

“Because your face is so pretty when you’re scared.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot, though.” She pops a handful of candy in her mouth, the red and green disappearing while she quickly chews. “Are you coming down to the warehouse to help put the care packages together this afternoon?”

“I’m coming down at four.” She hits send on her email and leans forward to take a few skittles of her own. Keeping candy in her office for the holidays was a terrible idea, but Mary Margaret and Anna both sent her bags of the stuff because they thought it might be nice. “This is always my craziest time of year with all of the donations and press, but, you know, I’ve been working through lunch so that I can leave at a normal time.”

“It’d probably help if you didn’t spend half of your time flirting with your boyfriend and the other half talking to me.”

“Well, you’re the one who comes to my office.”

Ruby waggles her brows. “For the candy. Is the Jones clan in town?”

“And apparently inspecting the thread count in our sheets.”

“What?”

“They’re particular,” she laughs, checking the email that just came in. She really needs the graphics department to send her the designs she’s supposed to put on Instagram. “I think Killian is letting them explore the apartment and setting them up, and then he’s going to show them around a bit.”

“That’s like the blind leading the blind.”

“I mean, it’s not us giving a tour of Boston, but it’ll work. I can’t wait for them to come back in the summer so it’ll be nicer weather.”

“You haven’t even seen them yet, and you’re already ready for them to come back?”

“Ask me again after Christmas. Speaking of that,” she hums, as she types another email when really she needs to go talk to Liz to get things going, “is Dorothy coming over on Christmas Eve?”

“Nah,” Ruby sighs, sticking her feet up on the corner of Emma’s desk, “she’s going home to Kansas for a few days.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I can’t wait to meet everyone, even if Killian’s infamous friends won’t be there.”

“Just his shoddy family.”

“I’m going to tell them you said that.”

“They love me. I think it’ll be fine.”

Her phone vibrates on her desk, and she looks down to check it.

Elsa: Does Killian actually know where he’s going? Or are we going to get lost and freeze to death?

Emma: I’d bring a warm coat and some food.

She does eventually have to get back to work, as does Ruby, and even if she spends most of her afternoon bugging the graphic designs department even while she’s putting blankets and toothbrushes in care packages, it’s a good day at work. She seriously needs a nap, but she knows that she’s not going to get one. The rest of her week is jampacked with work and with family stuff. They’ve got five extra people staying at their apartment until next Thursday, and about a million things to do with them and with her friends. It’s odd to her that these two sides of her life that are so important to her have never met, but she’s glad that it’s changing now.

Will and Robin get the short end of the stick though. They’ll have to meet everyone later, but she and Killian weren’t going to ask them to come to Boston when they have their families to spend time with. That would be ridiculous.

(She really wants to see Ruby and Will meet. It’d be fantastic.)

On her way home from work she stops to get a frankly excessive amount burgers and fries for everyone to eat for dinner. It’s definitely not the healthiest thing in the world and she and Killian did stock up on groceries yesterday, but sometimes she really wants a dang cheeseburger.

And onion rings.

She’s going to have to hide the onion rings from Killian.

That’s not going to work.

She’ll just get extra.

She can hear everybody before she unlocks the front door, twisting the key and then the knob, the conversation inside dying a little bit as she steps through the door to see everyone sitting in the living room with a show that must be for Aiden on the TV. She recognizes the little characters, but she can’t quite place whatever animated dog is running around.

“Hi,” she says, placing everything down on the counter that’s already full of baked goods that Anna must have found time to make sometime today. “I, uh, brought burgers for dinner, so I hope that Killian didn’t force feed you guys too much today.”

“He force fed us just the right amount,” Elsa sighs, getting up from the couch and scurrying over to her and wrapping her arms around her shoulders before Emma can even take her purse off of her. “Hi, hon. I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too,” she echoes, pulling back and smiling. “It’s weird that you guys are here, but I like it.”

“Not as much as I like it,” Anna adds on, practically smothering her in a hug. “It’s amazing, even if it’s cold. I was not prepared for that, and Killian practically froze us to death. I cannot wait to come back in the summer. I bet we could go sailing. Though Killian would have to bring his boat here. Or buy another one. Or we could go to a baseball game, but I’m not wearing a Red Sox hat. Oh but I can visit you so much more now that I’m going to be in New York.”

“That all sounds like a wonderful plan,” she laughs, not even sure if Anna took a breath between all of her words. “Hi, Liam and Kris. Why don’t you guys come get something to eat before it gets cold? I got regular burgers and cheeseburgers and figured you guys could add your own toppings.”

Liam and Kris both nod their heads, moving from the living room to kiss her cheek and give her their own greetings all while paper bags are being rustled and food being spread out, the greasy smell taking over the cinnamon plug in that they have. She needs to change clothes and brush her hair out before she eats, but she should probably say hi to Killian if the expectant eyebrow he’s sporting is any indication.

“I could have cooked dinner,” he says first, opening his arms a bit so that she can gently loswer herself down onto his lap, adjusting herself before kissing his cheek in greeting. “You didn’t have to buy all of the burgers in Boston.”

“I really wanted a burger. I worked through lunch.”

“The graphic design people giving you trouble again?”

“Yep. I’m going to have to learn how to do photoshop myself or something.” She unwraps her arms from his neck and curls a stray section of his chest hair around her finger, wondering how the hell it escaped from the top of his sweater. “So you survived your hosting duties?”

“I did.”

“Do you guys have horse radish?”

“No because that’s disgusting,” she laughs, looking up to see the actual pout on Kris’s face.

“Top shelf,” Killian adds in. “I keep it where Emma can’t reach to throw it away.”

“Hey,” she scoffs, yanking at his hair, “rude.”

“I know you have candy hidden in the drawer with your bras, so you can’t even say anything.”

“Um, guys,” she starts, looking around the room, “where’s Aiden?”

“Sleeping,” Liam answers for her, coming to sit on the couch with his plate of food. If he gets grease on the furniture, Killian will lose his mind. “He was awake for the entire flight, and to him, it’s naptime now.”

“Oh, I didn’t think about the time change for him. Or for you guys. Are you sure you’re hungry?”

“Liam is always hungry,” Elsa tells her placing her plate on the coffee table while she feels Killian adjust his leg underneath her. “It’s really unfair how good men have it with their metabolism sometimes.”

“Darling, I’m nearly forty. I don’t have the metabolism I used to have.”

“That’s true for all of us,” Kris says as he and Anna both come back into the area. “And obviously Emma has determined to fatten us all up for the winter.”

She snickers under her breath. “You guys can all come running with me in the morning. The cheeseburgers are totally worth the pain.”

“Says the twenty-nine year old.”

“I can’t help that you’re all old.”

“Hey,” Anna scoffs, waving a fry in the air. “If Killian wouldn’t kill us, I’d definitely throw these fries at you.”

“That’d be a sad waste of fries.”

“It’d be worth it.”

“Debatable.”

“If you’re going to waste fries it has to be the ones from the end of the potato,” Elsa adds in.

“Those are the best ones,” Liam protests, popping a fry into his mouth.” “They taste too much like a potato.”

“Fries are potatoes,” Liam and Killian both protest at the same time.

“Not all potatoes are made equally,” she points out, pushing off of Killian’s lap. She’s hungry, but she wants out of this bra and out of these pants. “Just like all fries are not made equally.”

“Amen to that.”

“I’m going to go change clothes,” she tells everyone. “I’ll be right back. You guys can keep watching your kids’ show even though Aiden is asleep.” “Sounds like a plan, Stan,” Killian mumbles under his breath, and when she turns back to look at him, he shrugs his right shoulder and winks.

She doesn’t mean to take her time while changing clothes and washing her face, scrubbing the makeup off one side at a time, but it’s kind of soothing to be able to do that. As much as she loves every person in that room, she’s not exactly used to having families over for a long time. That’s never been a situation she’s had to be in before, and it’s going to take a little bit of adjusting. It’s a good thing, but she’s not made to have to talk consistently. She and Killian talk a hell of a lot, but a lot of nights they have are spent stretched out on the couch in near silence watching TV.

Not a show for a twenty-month old but TV.

She takes the time to brush her hair out before twisting it into a loose braid that falls over her shoulder, and then strips out of her clothes so she can pull on her leggings and a sweater. She’s just about to go outside to get her dinner and talk with everyone when she stops and opens Killian’s bedside drawer, pulling the small box out and opening it to look at the ring. It’s the oddest thing, knowing it’s there and not being able to wear it. Of course, she could wear it. They could tell their families and have it all out there, this secrecy thing stopping, but she’s still waiting on the boat ornament. It’s the dumbest thing. She doesn’t have to tell everyone that way, but she wants to because of all of those dumb texts Ruby sends her.

She thinks that it’s fitting for Ruby to be the first to know when Ruby has been here for this since the very beginning.

A bit of laughter passes through her lips at that. It hasn’t been a long time. She and Killian have only known each other for a year, but it’s right. There have been plenty of ups and downs and absolutely insane moments, both because of their personal demons, the distance, and Killian’s job. He doesn’t get stopped a lot here, but it does happen. It’s always so strange to her, even if that’s how she knew him first, but it’s even stranger that one or two times some girls have stopped her. That’s not something she’ll ever get used to, but Killian is worth it.

Her trust in him is absolutely insane, especially because of how she’s been treated in the past, but when you love someone, you know.

The whole white picket fence (or apartment with a view) future used to always freak her out, but it’s what she wants now. She’s got her job, her friends, Killian.

She’s done pretty well for a kid who had nothing.

So she’ll wait on the dumb boat ornament for Ruby and wait on getting to wear the ring, the physical representation of the future she’s so damn happy to get to be a part of.

And it’s not like the next few days don’t go by quickly. They actually go by pretty fast, even if she spends her weekend falling on her ass when everyone insists that they go ice skating. Somehow, despite coming from a notoriously cold country, Anna and Elsa have never gone, and when they pass by a public rink while wandering through downtown, they insist that they have to. Somehow she didn’t think about the fact that Liam and Elsa live somewhere where it doesn’t really snow, and that being here would be like a whole new world. At least Anna and Kris have been living in Seattle…of course, they’ll soon be based in New York and will have the ice rinks there.

Somehow despite the fact that they’ve never been, Anna and Elsa are fantastic at it, quickly able to get rid of the walker and move around the crowded rink while she has to hold onto Killian’s elbow so that she doesn’t keep busting her ass.

Seriously. It’s going to be black and blue.

She definitely would have offered to watch Aiden to get out of it. Liam beat her to the punch.

But it’s fun once she gets over the pain in her ass, and she can feel her cheeks actually hurting from laughing so much. It doesn’t help at all when Elsa and Anna figure out some kind of routine that gets them kicked out of the rink. It really doesn’t help when Killian gets recognized and he starts mumbling under his breath that Robin is going to kill him for making him have work to deal with when he’s supposed to be on holiday. She’s not sure if she feels worse for Killian or Robin.

Definitely Robin.

Killian can deal with a few articles about him getting kicked out of a public ice rink.

She may or may not see if she can have anything about it printed and framed to keep forever.

She’s a good girlfriend.

Fiancée.

Partner.

Lover.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

Guiding them around Boston kind of reminds her of when Killian first came to visit back in May. She gets to be a bit of a tourist again, except this time they’re all bundled up in thick jackets and hats as they trudge through a bit of snow instead of sweating from the sun shining down on them. There are some perks to the city in the winter anyways, especially when there’s a light dusting of snow. She doesn’t love January when it’s too cold to even go outside or too difficult to drive, but December is a good time. Yeah, there are thousands of more tourists, but so many trees downtown are wrapped in white lights that give the city this glow the makes it especially pleasant to be here. Her foster homes didn’t always decorate for the holidays, but the city made up for it enough.

Killian’s arm wraps around her shoulder, tugging her into his side, as they walk through Columbus Park Sunday evening, making their way through the crowd to look at the blue lights that have been wrapped in the archway. They’re meeting her friends at the Central Wharf for dinner so that everyone can meet each other, but Liam had insisted that they walk through the park on the way there since walking along the seaside was proving to be a bit too chilly.

“I love you,” Killian murmurs just below her ear, his scruff pricking her exposed skin.

“I love you too,” she echoes as she wraps an arm around his waist and sticks it in the back pocket of his jeans. “I think showing your family around this weekend is going to give me frostbite.”

“Aye, it’ll be so sad when you don’t have your toes anymore.”

“However will I walk?”

“Special shoes, obviously.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“I could carry you.” “That seems excessive.”

“You’re right. I’ll leave you alone to die in the snow.”

She taps his ass. “That’s all I ask.”

Killian barks out a laugh, his head thrown back, but then he’s leaning forward and quickly brushing his lips over hers.

“Stop making out and show me where this restaurant is,” Liam bellows, and when she opens her eyes, she can see several different strangers staring at all of them.

“Babe, it’s right there,” Elsa laughs, pointing to the glowing sign a few feet ahead of them.

“That was not there a second ago.”

“I promise that it was.”

“Your brother is kind of crazy,” she laughs, speeding her steps up because she can see David standing on the inside of the restaurant.

“I think the cold weather is getting to him.”

“Probably.”

Kris and Anna walk in first, the door held open for everyone but a constant stream of people, and before she can even bother to make introductions, Anna and Mary Margaret are wrapped up in a hug. They’ve seen each other on Instagram, but Emma was not expecting that.

She should have been expecting that.

And she should have been expecting the mess of hugs and shaking hands as everyone greets each other, blocking the entrance to the restaurant a bit with the crowd. She hears Killian chuckle when Liam and David size each other up, but honestly, it’s even funnier when Ruby stares Liam down and then hugs him so tightly while Liam is almost shocked still. She’s not sure what Ruby said, and it’s probably best not to know.

They’re all seated at their table, chairs replaced with booster seats, and soon their conversation mixes in with everyone else, constant chatter floating along with the steady flow of Christmas music playing over the speakers.

“So how do you guys like the city?” David asks after they’ve ordered drinks.

“It’s bloody freezing,” Liam grumbles, his body obviously still chilled. “This coat is not nearly thick enough.”

“I told you to buy a warmer one.”

“Little brother, you didn’t say this.”

“Oh shit,” Ruby laughs, and her eyes glance to the kids before she continues, “you’re right, Ems. Killian’s face does get all red and scrunched up when Liam calls him little brother.”

“Hey, way to call me out like that.”

“My face does not get scrunched up.”

She twists her head to look at Killian and the way his nose is very literally scrunched up, and she can do nothing but smile at that end the embarrassed red tip of his ears.

“It does,” Elsa agrees. “But that’s fine because Liam doesn’t realize how ridiculous it is to call a grown man little brother.”

“It is not ridiculous.”

“As someone who is a younger brother,” David starts, “I totally agree. No one talks that way.”

“That is not true.”

“It’s totally true.”

“You don’t see me calling Anna little sister,” Elsa points out, very lovingly caressing Liam’s shoulder while her free hand keeps Aiden from throwing his crayons on the ground.

She feels Killian’s scruff against her ear before she even sees him move. “They’re going to cause Liam to implode right in the middle of this restaurant.”

She snickers at that and pats Killian’s thigh before resting her hand over his knee. “That would be a very messy clean up.”

“Secrets don’t make friends, lovebirds,” Ruby teases, kicking her foot underneath the table.

“You’re already my friend, so I’m not trying to impress you,” Killian huffs.

“I’m your friend,” Leo says, nearly quieting the entire table when they were all still debating over the weirdness of Liam and Killian’s relationship.

“You are most definitely my friend,” Killian agrees, smiling over at Leo. “I think you, your brother, and Aiden are my very best friends at this table.”

“And Emmy.”

“Oh, most definitely Emmy,” he laughs, reaching down and twining his fingers together with hers, thumb gently moving over her hand in a way that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Emmy’s my friend too, but we can share.”

“That’s so good of you to say, Leo,” Mary Margaret sighs, reaching over and pushing his hair off of his head.

“So we’ll talk about how it’s weird for me to call Killian little brother but we’re not going to talk about how I didn’t make it on his best friends list just now?”

“Sucks to be you,” Anna and Ruby both say at the same time.

Emma looks at Killian then, looks at the lines around his eyes and the smile on his face as he talks back to Liam, and whatever kind of nerves she had about their families not liking each other completely disappear just then. They’re all going to get along just fine.

And they do get along just fine. Probably much better than fine. The conversation never stops, even when they get their food, and despite the fact that they have three small children there with them, they stay late into the night casually talking about whatever they want. It all feels so natural, even with the newness of all of these relationships, and she’s already thinking about just when they can do something like this again this summer.

Soon enough, though, the night ends, and they all go their separate ways promising to see each other on Christmas Eve. When they get back to the apartment, most everyone settles down into the living room for a little while before excusing themselves to go to bed, leaving just she and Killian.

“Come here, love,” Killian mumbles, his accent deep and thick in his tiredness. She likes when it’s like this. It reminds her of the way he sounds when he’s describing every filthy thought he has about her, and it’s most likely the reason why instead of folding into his side like he wants, she gets up and straddles his lap, pressing herself down on top of him while his hands immediately go to her hips, gently holding onto her as his thumbs reach up to touch her skin.

He doesn’t say anything, though. She figured he wanted to talk to her now that they have a bit of privacy with everyone else gone to bed. But he stays silent, his thumbs moving in lazy circles as he buries his nose into her neck, breath coming out warmly against her collarbone while his teeth gently bite down, heat slowly beginning to simmer under every inch of her skin.

“You’re going to leave a mark if you stay there for too long.”

“You’ve discovered my evil plan,” he mumbles, each of the words slurred.

She laughs, throwing her head back the slightest bit while her hands move from his shoulders up into the thick strands of his hair, fingers cardings through the softness while Killian continues to lavish her skin with his tongue. She bemoans it a bit, doesn’t want him to leave some kind of mark of possession or passion, but then right when she can feel heart curl between her thighs, he pulls back, the heavy weight of him no longer in her neck. Instead he stares at her, eyes a deep blue while they trace over face, finally landing at her lips.

And then he’s on her, lips pressing into hers and hands pulling her impossibly closer so that their bodies are flush against each other despite the layers of clothes in between them. She can still taste a bit of the rum he had with dinner, especially when his tongue slowly traces her bottom lip, prodding him for the entrance he must know she’s going to grant him. When their tongues do collide, it’s like sparks are moving across her skin, all of her hair standing on edge while the sparks trickle down all the way to her toes.

It’s that kind of a kiss. The toe curling ones are the best ones.

They get better when her hips shift the slightest bit against Killian and her hands tighten in his hair. He groans, something deep from the back of his throat, and she’s practically a puddle. It’s a weird phrase, but she is. She’s a puddle and a mess of damn good feelings that have her feeling like she’s practically on fire even if she’s only left on her camisole and her jeans, her sweater from dinner resting in the kitchen.

She rolls her hips again, and Killian grunts before he’s shifting his hands so that his arms are completely wrapped around her back. For a moment she wonders why, but then she’s being lifted and unceremoniously plopped down on her back, the couch cushions supporting her while a giggle passes through her lips. Killian shifts above her, his elbows propping him up on either side of her shoulder. His mouth is hovering over hers, less than an inch away, and she thinks that he’s going to kiss her again, but then his mouth is on her jaw, then her neck, her collarbone. Finally he makes his way down her sternum, tongue licking in the valley of her breasts, and she gasps as her hips arch up into him.

Even though she can’t see it, she can feel the wicked smile he’s sporting pressed into her skin.

“I’m rather learning to enjoy winter in Boston,” he breathes, breath hot as it travels over her. His mouth moves a bit to the side, and she watches him nudge her top with his nose so that she can see the top of her breasts. “But I do find that it means I get to see a little less of these.”

“Well, I could die of that frostbite we were talking about earlier if you really wanted to see my boobs that much.”

He glances up at her, one eyebrow raised, and she smirks herself as she reaches down to brush his hair off of his forehead. “I do love them, so I think it may be worth it.”

“You only love me for my body.”

“I’m going to tell you just how wrong you are about that after I get done showing you how much I love every damn inch of this body.”

She laughs, her head pressing back into the cushions, but then Killian has somehow worked his way past her bra and is biting down on her nipple. The laugh quickly turns into a gasp, and even her blood heats at the sound of Killian’s groan.

As good as he is with his words, sometimes when he wants her too damn much, it renders him speechless.

That’s always a bit of a proud moment for her.

He releases her with a pop, and instead of moving to her other breast, he moves back up her body, spending a very particular amount of time on her ear, before he’s back at her lips. It’s a slow kiss, lazy even, but these are the ones she prefers. Quick and fast and dirty are wonderful, and she’ll never complain about those. But she likes the lazy exploration of each other that only really comes when you already know all of the ins and outs.

“Bedroom.” She yanks at his hair, and presses her hips up again, and he nips at her bottom lip.

“In a moment.”

She’s practically jelly at this point, so she agrees, not thinking anything of it until there’s the a quiet creak of wood and the room is suddenly flooded in lights besides the ones of the city.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Killian groans, harshly shifting up on her, and she doesn’t realize why until she twists her head to the side and sees Liam standing at the end of the hallway, feet frozen and mouth wide open.

Oh.

Her fiancé’s brother, who is still staying with them for another few days, just walked in on them making out of the couch with her breasts decidedly exposed to the world. That would explain Killian’s sudden haste to cover her even more so with his body.

“Don’t just stand there, Liam,” Killian growls, his words lilting up into a bit of a laugh at the tail end of his sentence.

“Sorry, sorry,” Liam apologizes, holding his hands up and shuffling his feet. “I didn’t – you’re not – Elsa needed a glass for some water.”

“It’s fine,” she lies, every inch of her skin cooling down while she rubs her hands up and down Killian’s shoulder blades. She can feel the tenseness in them, the frustration practically vibrating off of him. “Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. Killian and I were just about to go to bed.”

“Really? Because it kind of looked like you were about to fuck on the couch.”

“Get your fucking water, and get your arse out of here.”

“KJ,” she whispers, twisting her head to look back at him and caressing his face with her palm. He leans into it, his eyes fluttering closed so that his lashes land against his cheek, “it’s okay. He’ll be gone in a second, and then we can go to our room.”

“I’m not sure that I’m really in the mood anymore.”

She chuckles a bit under her breath before brushing her lips over his stubble. “That’s okay too, but I think you might change your mind when you can no longer see your brother.”

“He’s bloody fantastic at killing a mood.”

“That’s probably what Elsa says too.”

Killian has to bury his face in her neck to hide his laugh, but she can feel it though every inch of her body while she continues to move her hands up and down, his flannel moving with each touch. She should be mortified right now, but considering Liam saw her morning after look the first time she slept with Killian and then proceeded to accuse her of being some kind of stalker, this is nothing.

Maybe the embarrassment will hit when she doesn’t still want Killian so badly.

“Goodnight,” Liam hums. “Use protection.”

“Look at that. He spent two hours with Ruby, and they’re already just alike.”

Killian huffs and pushes off of her. “I think it’s time for you to move your arse into the bedroom so we can finish this.”

“See, I told you it’d be fine once Liam wasn’t in the room.”

“He’s never getting invited back here.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“What am I if not dramatic, my love?”

She finds that Killian most definitely doesn’t mind that his brother walked in on them when her lips are wrapped around his length in the privacy of their room.

-/-

Over the next two days, Liam never mentions the compromising situation he found them in, but she can tell that he feels more awkward about it than either of them do, especially when he avoids looking her in the eye for a few hours. But it helps that she’s constantly surrounded by other people. They go out to lunch on Monday, stopping to get seafood even though Aiden has an absolute fit in the restaurant, but the rest of their day is spent in the apartment, the curtains mostly closed as they play all of the Home Alone movies, Aiden giggling and babbling even though he can’t possibly understand what’s happening. It’s cute, though, watching him clap his chubby hands together and rock back and forth while he sits between Kris’s legs.

Anna and Elsa decide that they have to make Christmas cookies, and not the ones she can buy at the market that come precut, so for the entire afternoon the apartment smells like a mixture of cinnamon and sugar, the oven constantly being opened and closed as new batches in different shapes are made. Anna is freakishly good at baking. Like, far better than Killian, and she and Elsa are able to make intricate shapes and designs all the while she has this green glob of a Christmas tree. Killian tells her that he’s sure it’ll taste good, but that’s most likely because she didn’t actually bake them.

Christmas has basically exploded in their apartment, but she doesn’t mind at all. She enjoys it and enjoys all of the happiness of it. She’s got three days off of work, and she’s going to savor in it.

“This is delicious, love,” Killian mumbles as he takes a bite of a snowman that she did, the crumbs of it getting stuck in his beard.

“Are you going to make a point to only eat my ugly cookies?”

He winks. “Exactly.”

But, of course, since she wants to savor this time, it flies by quickly, Christmas Eve arriving in the blink of an eye. She’s excited for today, though. They’re having her friends over for lunch and presents, and after today, she doesn’t have to hide the fact that she’s got a very pretty ring hidden away and a man who wants to marry her.

Which is still just insane.

A good kind, though.

“G’morning,” Killian mumbles as he shifts in bed, sleepily grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to each knuckle, lingering a little longer on her fourth finger before moving down to her wrist. He’s so romantic in all of these small ways, and it honestly kind of makes her heart giddy. It’s weird.

“Morning.”

“It’s cold in here.” “Says the human heater.”

“That sound rather odd when you say it like that, Swan. It’s like I’m burning humans.”

“Ew, stop,” she groans, falling back onto the mattress and putting space between them, pulling the comforter up over her shoulders and burrowing herself in. “You know what I meant. You didn’t have to get all creepy about it.”

“I saw my shot, and I took it.”

She rolls her eyes at him, and she sees his lips shift up into a smile while half of his face is pressed into the pillow, squishing his cheek and causing his eyes to crinkle. His hair is all over the place, the strands going in several directions, and she’s tempted to bury her hands in it to fix it. But she also kind of likes it when he’s disheveled.

“So are you ready for our families to start hounding us on wedding dates and details and wondering what kind of dress I’m going to wear?”

He chuckles, something deep and husky, and she knows that he’s going to lean forward to kiss her nose before he does it. And she knows that his hand is going to find a spot on her waist too, nails tracing nonsense patterns.

“I’m thinking after I film Life After and in a courthouse. We’ll both wear jeans and those ugly Christmas sweaters.” “I’m not wearing a Christmas sweater when I marry you.”

“Why not? It’d be very fitting.”

“This is true, but I do kind of want a nice dress. Not necessarily a gown. I might feel ridiculous in one of those. I don’t know. I kind of like this courthouse idea, though. Or maybe on the beach at your house in LA. Is that too cheesy?”

“All weddings are kind of cheesy.” “True. It’s not like we’re getting married in our swimsuits or anything.” “It’d make for easier access.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, reaching over to hit his shoulder, which only makes his face crinkle up more as he smiles. “I’m going to miss you when you’re living in Toronto this spring.”

It’s the first time she’s said those words. She hasn’t wanted to, not wanting to make him feel guilty about having to leave for filming when he should never have to feel guilty. But it felt right to tell him that now, especially as they make all of these hypothetical plans for their very real future.

“And I you, love,” he promises, and her heart pangs for a moment. “But I’ll fly home when I can. You’ll come to visit. We’ll get back to facetiming like we used to. That’s not something we have to worry about now, though. We’ve got a holiday to celebrate.”

And they do. She and Killian both hurry and get ready, going through their morning routines while they can hear all of the chatter and life going on outside, all of Killian’s family very obviously already awake. She thought the time difference would have them sleeping in, but she guesses that Elsa and Liam have a baby who most likely does not know what sleeping in is. So before she can even bother to have her coffee, she’s bombarded with “good mornings” and conversation from four different people, all of the talking about how excited they are for today and if there’s anything they can do to help before her friends come over. She knows that even if she said no, they’d help anyways.

They’re good people, and she loves them. She’s going to be a bit sad when they go home. But that’s not something that she thinks about as Kris and Killian start cooking the chicken while Liam and Elsa set up the table. Anna helps her wrap a few last minute presents, and by the time the Nolans and Ruby show up at one, absolutely everything is set up for them to celebrate Christmas. It’s most definitely the biggest celebration she’s ever been a part of, even if it’s not quite Christmas yet. Her life is so damn full that she’s getting a little emotional over having Mary Margaret be chatting with Liam about gardening.

It doesn’t get any better when they finish eating, her stomach hurting from laughter, and they all move to the living room, most of the presents under the tree dispersed to everyone.

Most everyone in this room is an adult with the exception of Leo, Aiden, and Brody, so she knows that tearing through gifts isn’t something that’s really going to happen. They’re going to go slowly, take their time, possibly even try to salvage the wrapping paper (Who does that? You would have to be entirely sure that you’re going to be wrapping something the exact same size or something smaller for it to even work, but whatever. Recycling is good.) and keep it for a later day, maybe even tomorrow. She’d fully expect Ruby to be doing some last minute gift wrapping for her grandmother. Or possibly even Dorothy even though she’s in Kansas. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if Ruby took the paper her gifts are in and wrapped a present that she’s going to get when she finally gets to her small pile of goods from her friends since they’ll all be off spending time with their other loved ones tomorrow.

She was a kid who used to spend Christmas wondering why Santa didn’t come to visit her and who had holidays pretty tainted for her. Now she has more family than she knows what to do with.

She’s good with that.

She’s great with that.

She’s also great with waiting for Ruby to get to the small box that’s sitting next to her on the floor. Killian had quirked his brow when she told him she knew just the way for them to tell all of their friends that they’re engaged. If anyone’d asked her five years ago if she’d ever be this excited to make a commitment to another person and then want to make a bit of a show about telling other people she was doing that, she’d have laughed in their face. That’s not her. And maybe it’s still not. She likes for things to be private, for her personal life to be personal, especially with learning to deal with Killian’s job and the complications that come with that, but some things she does like to share.

Why would she not?

There’s a lump in her throat that she has to swallow, a happy sob threatening to escape her and ruin all of her plans. She’s decidedly sentimental lately. She’s been sentimental for awhile now. It’s different, but being different, changing isn’t always a bad thing. Some changes are bad, are painful. They pull you back instead of propelling you forward. Others, well, others are good.

Changing in a good way is called growing.

Growing is a damn good thing.

Growing means that she doesn’t always have to have a tough exterior, that she doesn’t always have to be act like she’s okay. Growing means allowing herself to be vulnerable even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Growing means knowing that instead of stopping at an obstacle, that she can climb over it.

Growing means that she can allow another set of hands to help her climb.

So she’s decidedly sentimental, and definitely a little bit cheesy, but she’s happy. And she’s not going to bemoan something that makes her happy.

“You’ve got a bit of a starry-eyed look there, love,” Killian whispers in her ear, nipping at the lobe and making her squirm a bit. Cheeky bastard. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Nah,” she sighs, walking her fingers up from his knee to his thigh, comfortably placing her hand there while she feels Killian tapping against her shoulder, a habit he’s taken up lately. She doesn’t think he even knows that he’s doing it. “I’m just…happy. It still surprises me sometimes.”

“Aye, me too.”

She twists her head and smiles at him, looking up into the blue of his eyes before she presses up and kisses the corner of his lips, waiting for him to meet her halfway.

He does.

He always does.

(Except when it comes to leaving shoes lying around or dishes unwashed, but that’s not the end of the world even when it feels like it.)

“Are you sure this little plan of yours is going to work?”

She nods her head, quickly kissing him again before pulling back and looking over to Ruby who is holding up a pair of earrings that Mary Margaret and David must have bought her.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just wait. She’s going to figure it out.”

She squeezes his thigh for reassurance before she rests her head on his shoulder. She can feel Elsa’s eyes looking at her, the icy blue stare a familiar one even if it’s not from Elsa herself, but she doesn’t say anything. Elsa likely already knows. Not because of anything she’s done but because she knows that Killian told Liam he was planning to propose. And if she knows anything about Elsa, it’s that they’re kindred spirits in knowing when a Jones brother is holding something back.

Except she kind of failed at for the past few months.

She can’t always be batting a thousand.

Or homeruns.

Grand slams maybe.

What the hell? They all work. She knows her baseball terminology.

And there’s absolutely no way that she’s letting someone else break the news when she thinks that her idea for announcing it is absolutely brilliant.

She’s not an assistant public relations manager for nothing. She knows how to get people talking.

Finally, after what feels like ages, Ruby starts opening the small package they’ve given her. She feels Killian’s breath catch, the air stopping for the slightest moment, and she swears that her heart ticks up a few too many beats than should be humanly possible.

“Ems,” Ruby laughs, twisting to turn to look at her with a vibrant smile on her face, her lips practically reaching her eyes, “why in the world did you give me a photograph of you and Killian in these ugly sweaters? Did anyone else get these?”

“I didn’t.”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we haven’t gotten to them yet.”

“Because,” Killian starts for her, his fingers pressing into her bicep with a little bit more force. She can feel the vibration with every word she speaks. Or maybe that’s an earthquake. It’s definitely not an earthquake. That’s how it feels right now though. If she were to look under the sleeves of her sweater, she knows her arms would be covered in gooseflesh. “Those are the awful sweaters Emma and I wore in those videos from last year, and one of your gifts is a way to thank you for helping us meet.”

“Even though I still think that it’s fundamentally unfair for you to have made me adhere to a bet made while drunk. That would have gotten any contract dismissed in court.”

“Are you really complaining right now? And using legalities? I feel like you should be eternally grateful for me. After all, I’m the reason you get to have se – the reason you get to do the horizontal tango so often. Plus, you know, have constant companion who loves you or whatever.”

“Open the damn present, Ruby.”

“Language,” Mary Margaret and Anna yell at the same time.

Ruby waves them all away before she’s digging into the box and pulling out a small ornament in the shape of a boat.

“What in the world is this? Why are you giving me a boat ornament? I don’t own a boat. I’m a freaking therapist. I can’t afford that. And why does it say ‘The Love Boat’ on it? That doesn’t even make any sense and – oh my God.”

She doesn’t even have time to prepare herself before Ruby is up off the ground, squealing so loudly that her eardrums might burst, and then tackling her into the couch, taking Killian down with her. Everyone is staring at them. She can’t see, but she knows, can hear the confusion, can hear Leo wanting to know what Aunt Ruby is doing to Aunt Emma. But right now she’s so goddamn happy that it’s out there, that someone knows, and that her best friend is excited.

“Are you for real?” Ruby asks when she pulls back, looking into her eyes before she glances over to Killian, cupping his cheeks and squishing them together. “Is she for real? You guys are engaged?”

“She’s for real.”

“Engaged?” Mary Margaret shrieks, the pitch rivaling Ruby’s.

Or maybe that was Anna’s shriek mixing in. Elsa’s too. Maybe it was Aiden or Leo joining in.

It definitely wasn’t David, Liam, or Kris, but they all let out some kind of noise too, the room suddenly roaring with conversation so loud that she can barely think. But it’s the good kind of roar and the good kind of deafness.

It might not be the good kind of having some sort of internal organ squished by Ruby, but she thinks whatever it is will be okay.

It takes a long time for everyone to calm down, for the squealing and smothering to stop so that she can explain to everyone that Ruby sent her a text the night after she and Killian met saying she wanted a boat named “The Love Boat” if she and Killian ever got married. Technically they’re not married yet, but it works. Everyone laughs at the story, especially when both Mary Margaret and Anna are reduced to blubbering messes, their emotions becoming a little too much. All of it is absolutely insane, but it only gets worse when she finally gets to put the ring back on her finger, right where it belongs.

She’s okay with this kind of hysteria, though. It’s part of that whole growth thing. And absolutely nothing is going to make this day any less wonderful or special or so goddamn festive that she can’t stomach it.

She’d bet on it.

Her bets seem to have pretty good end results.

#betting on the bullseye #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic

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oh-mother-of-darkness · 4 years

Text

ASKS (28)

----------------

Anonymous said: Hi ily💓

I love you too! There is love in my heart and you may take some

Anonymous said: Hey hey hey Amesssss!!! what was the first fic you ever wrote?

Well. Technically the first written piece was a play I wrote at around 13? It was about all of the characters from the Percy Jackson series watching Disney’s Hercules together

My first bat fic was this one, back in I want to say 2014

Anonymous said: You are a snack . So cute ❤❤❤❤

[Lizzo voice] baby I’m the whole damn meal

Anonymous said: You may’ve done badly but you looked fine as heck doing it. (I’m aroace—I’m not hitting on you, I promise). Besides, everybody has off days. Even lawyers.

akhfasufgdlfeas I appreciate the clarification <3

Anonymous said: For my summer job I went through a lawyer’s disaster of an office and let me tell you. 90% of it was Westlaw printouts. Those things are the effing best. They tell you what’s going on, they give you the info you need, they’re not weirdly complicated and hard to find—Westlaw. It may be prohibitively expensive and a symptom of the flaws in our legal system, but by golly it’s the best option.

When you hit that “forms” button......... the magic....... the beauty.....

andromeda270 said: My legal research class got us two free weeks of westlaw(I’m still in college) and when I didn’t finish a paper I made a free trial for the wrong site but they emailed me anyway asking if I was interested in buying and could they talk over the phone. I fessed up and they gave me another free week to work on a paper for some class

That’s how they get you!!!!

collidinglegends said: Lexis is shinier, WestLaw is better

Amen babe

Anonymous said: Please sleep

Who’s got the time

Anonymous said: hi !! quick question . I’ve followed you for a while and i think i asked you this previously but im not sure... do you write Duke ?? would you be comfortable writing him if i sent in a prompt including others in the fam ?

Sure, if I like the prompt. I write Duke every once in awhile, although I wouldn’t say I’m confident doing it. He’s a fairly new character and I stopped reading weeklys about the time I hit law school three years ago

Anonymous said: Hope you feel better soon... I'll pray for you

Ah thank you friend I appreciate you

areverieofchaosdreams said: I'm probably pretty late to this cause I'm not great at time, but your thing is making All the Feelings tm. But in a good way. You and dapanda were the first batfam blogs I ever followed, and it's been a helluva ride. Your way of writing things just pulls me in a way that few do, so thank you. :)

A single tear falls from my lashes, followed by several more because I cry a lot

hades-in-a-handbag said: Your thing is being the embodiment of goth mom energy Don't know if it's just your literal handle or what but you're so encouraging and motherly and also dark and emotionally scaring with your writing. Very sweet, very spooky

goth mom energy

Anonymous said: Omgggg ames, ginny is so grown up!!!!!

She is! She’s a teenager

morallyunequivocal said: not a prompt but oh no i just made myself sad with that last ask

that’s a mood

Anonymous said: You make plushies? Wtf, how did you get to be so talented and adorable at so many things. You’re amazing and I hope law school goes well.

Oh you’re so so sweet

Anonymous said: What law school things have you learned that you could see the bat family deals by with?

Well, I’ve had to take classes about forming and maintaining businesses, finding tax loopholes, writing and litigating contracts, and real property. Those are all things that WE would deal with on the regular. I also took classes on juvenile and adult criminal law, evidence, and police misconduct, which all seem Bat-relevant. At this exact moment I’m taking family law, which would include adoptions, and I have in the past taken classes about trusts and estates.

Anonymous said: Noooooooo no nono 🙏🙏🙏 dont ignore her 💔

Bad kittens get ignored instead of cuddled

crayolapumpkins said: hope the printing isn't too boring !! + I'm loving the fics , your work is always *chef's kiss* !! thank u for ur hard work ✨✨✨

[heart eyes]

Anonymous said: Since you have a big brother and a tiny sister, with that huge gap, what do you feel when you see those Dick & Damian fics or headcanons where Dick sees Damian as both a brother and a son? I know it's kind of canon now, but fandom has even gone as far as having Dick adopt Damian in various situations. Their age gap and their positions in the family allows for that kind of dynamic and I know it's reality for a lot of people too. But what's Your opinions on this? And maybe your brother's?

Huh, that’s a good question. My littlest brother and I are ten years apart, and Dave will tell you flat out I’m his favorite sibling because when I’m home we do everything together. I think the thing those fics are collectively missing is that there doesn’t need to be a brother/father hybrid because the role of Older Sibling With Age Gap is already its own distinct thing.

Dave and I don’t have the same dynamic as the kids I actively grew up with. We had very limited contact during his growing up years, because I was off at school. Now that he’s a teenager, we communicate like adults but with the caveat that I am In Charge. I dictate the agenda, and I make the decisions unless I choose to delegate them.

I’ve indulged a request about an adoption before, but I don’t really like that idea very much. Like I said, I don’t feel the need to add “father” into a dynamic that already exists on its own.

hollyhock13 said: Listen. You’re a middle kid, but not the middle middle kid. You’re towards the older end, but not the oldest. Maybe second or third, depending on how many siblings you have

Correct!

Anonymous said: That is the coolest blanket I've ever seen!!

Isn’t it just

Anonymous said: We're having a big adoption event tomorrow in Houston and we sent all the animals in our shelter down there. Our supervisors are in Houston too so us few kennel techs left at the shelter are scrubbing the place from top to bottom. We have music playing on the loud speaker and just ordered pizza. It's a great day. :)

Anonymous said: Pls continue the Tim and hallucination Damian thing im on edge

Anonymous said: Bls bls bls continue the tim hallucinating dami fic, bc its killing me in the best way. My heart. It hurts. That shit hurted.

maybe

Anonymous said: Ames, thoughts on the new joker movie?

I haven’t seen it, although I probably will when I get the time

Anonymous said: Idk if this is a secret, more like a guilty confession. I really, REALLY hope Damian turns out asexual, or at least romantically unattached. I LOVE that most of his good interactions are with his vaious Bat siblings, Jon, Maps and his pets. Everyone loves shopping him with varuova characters and it makes me hesitate to share my opinion incase I'm looked at weirdly. But having a character I look up to be asexual would be amazing.

I would really like that too anon

Anonymous said: what do you think about Drake & his new outfit?

ugly

Anonymous said: Alfred Pennyworth is the baddest bitch

You are not incorrect

bruciewayneisbatman said: Amy and Kenza are the bittersweet queens of this fandom. The both of you are absolutely evil and tooth-rotting sweet at the same time. I love you two for that, btw.

<3 thanks Esther

#hoo boy that's a lot of asks #asks

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tonguelikeareadyscribe · 4 years

Text

Re-Centering

The Western Wall || August 2019

3 Things I’ve learned in 2020 so far:

Life is fleeting

Things can change in an instant

True happiness can be found in surrender to God

If someone told fourteen-year-old me that in 2020 I would graduate from a reputable university, get married to my boyfriend of three and a half years, and be sheltering at home due to a world-wide pandemic, I would say you’re crazy. Well I probably wouldn’t say it. But I would certainly think it. Teenage Rachael was a train-wreck, though not in the most evident sense. She got good grades, she had a loving family and good friends, and at a glance had very little to complain about. But her soul was broken. She was rude, sarcastic, ill-tempered, and failed in the places where it mattered most. Foolish, depressed and negative, and seeking joy in the lifeless. Doing everything right by the world’s standards yet doing nothing right at all.

Negativity followed to college, as did anxiety, depression, and fear. She paced outside of meeting halls, heart palpitating at the thought of making conversation with strangers. Every text, email, or call to be made to new friends, coworkers, of supervisors were made with shaking hands and the dread that she was not communicating well enough, or she wasn’t interesting, or she wasn’t worth the time of replying. Her mother pushed her to turn to God and his followers, to seek out community, and to find peace in his holy word. So she did and as time moved forward and her time at university progressed, she found peace, love, and confidence in the relationships formed between herself, friends, and God. For awhile things were good, and she forgot the broken life of her past. Encompassed by the thrills of living in a community centered on similar beliefs and experiences, the person she once was laid forgotten in the archives of the internet and in the minds of those who once knew her.

And then 2020 hit with its many landslides and little, negative, high school Rachael made a bit of a reappearance in me. Finished with classes, laid off from work due to COVID-19, and stuck in a shoe box-size apartment in LA with two other girls, life became quite tedious. Days consisted of sleeping in late because there is nothing to really wake up for, filling out countless applications for minimum-wage jobs, receiving little or no response from said applications, and saying goodbye to friends who had become like family before the school year even finished. Purposeless and without hope of returning to normal anytime soon, I felt the same weight that so many people across the globe have expressed each and everyday since stay-at-home measures have been in place.

In an instant the life I had built at my school was decimated, and my soul weary. For a month, I let myself descend into a season of depression, filling my time with meaningless activities to numb the pain of what was lost and what could no longer be. I started running every day to feign some sort of progress or movement forward. Running past the hospital, I have pleaded with God to fix this. I have begged him to bring physical protection and healing to those effected by the sickness, and emotional support to those indirectly linked to patients and at-risk family and friends. I cried for things to return to normal so I could go home to see my family, so that my friends could return to school to finish our senior year, and so that our graduation and my wedding can happen as had been planned for months. It’ll suffice to say that my prayers have not been answered yet.

So why am I writing all this you may ask? I see it as a means of re-centering. I found that I am in desperate need of renewed life in the midst of this pandemic, and I hope that this is a productive means of doing so. For weeks I have been moping around waiting for some good news, feeling severely discouraged by the amount of sadness and pain found in the media. Last night, my loving boyfriend and fiance, Trevor, called me out about my negative attitude and overwhelming sadness.

“You spend so much time focusing on what you lost that you can’t even see what you’ve been blessed with,” he said.

“What blessings could you possibly be talking about?” Emotions were heightened. All I wanted to do was weep for what I felt was owed to me and grieve that which I did not have. In depressive moods I tend towards throwing myself a good ol’ pity party and this was no exception.

“You spend so much time thinking about what you’ve lost and how you’re not being productive, that you fail to see what truly matters. When was the last time that you spent time alone with God?”

The only reply I had for him was choked breath between soft sobs. He was right of course. In the past few years, I’ve been so wrapped up in the good and comfortable life that God had given me that I fell away from the giver himself. Life had become a game of ‘I need this or that to be happy’ and ‘If I do this or that then I am successful.’ It became a game of comparison of ‘They have this and I don’t, therefore I am a failure.’ For so long I have been stuck in a rut of comparing my success and happiness to that of others, and trying to make my life resemble theirs that when it didn’t, I felt hopeless and heartbroken.

“You’ve been blessed with so much free time this quarter, and all you do is complain about not having anything to do. You need to start focusing on what you can do, and stop grieving what you can’t,” he told me sternly.

It’s moments like this that I can see why God has brought us to each other. While it is my natural tendency to look at things from pessimism and self-centered-ness, Trevor has a knack for pulling me back into the light. He reveals things I do not see and guides me back to our roots in Jesus Christ. Where I am closed off, unbelieving, and short-sighted, Trevor speaks without inhibition, has relentless faith, and sees a hopeful vision of the future far beyond what I could ever hope to perceive. I like to push down thoughts and feelings until they can’t fit any more, but he is truthful and raw. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, and is not afraid to help me confront my faults. He believes in me even when I do not.

It came as no surprise that he gave me this little challenge: ”Here’s what you should do. Every day I want you to spend time reading the word and then writing down what you’re thankful for in that moment and then three ‘new’ things you’re going to learn or attempt to do.”

So here’s to day one of growing closer to the Lord, focusing on being thankful for his blessings, and trying new things.

Today, I am thankful for those whom I get to spend this time of sheltering at home with. I am so very blessed to have the support of my fiance and my roommates during these strange times, to be surrounded by their love, wisdom, and faithfulness. I feel incredibly lucky to be able to grow alongside them as we pursue faith, discipline, and confidence during this time of separation and isolation. Praise God that we are able to continue our fellowship in these last few months we have together in LA, for I know life would be nearly unbearable without them.

The first of the new habits I have taken up in my free time is learning the Hebrew language. I opened this post with a picture of the Western Wall, a place I visited last summer that has made a long-lasting mark on my heart. I had the privilege of visiting this site on the evening of Shabbat, the most important day of the week in Jewish tradition. The night was full of dedicated prayers, dancing to Hebrew songs, recitations of scriptures, and fellowship with other believers. The plaza in front of the Western Wall was packed with followers worshiping God. It was a vision of heaven on earth, and I would love nothing more than to return and see it all again when God permits. When I return, I hope to bring with me a greater understanding of the language and culture directly linked to my faith.

The second of the new habits is this long and rambling post which you just read. I hope to re-purpose this blog as a sort of public diary, a place to process and record that which I’m learning or experiencing through writing down thoughts, prayers, stories, and snapshots. I’m looking to re-center, re-focus, and re-commit all facets of my life on Christ and pursue life and happiness where I know it can be found. I can only dream how God might use this in my own life or in the lives of others. Here’s to surrendering my story to God and his will.

#testimony #writing #mystory #christian #god #jesus #christ #thoughts

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unfolded73 · 4 years

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How Do We Get Back (14/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Surprise! I’m posting early because with Thanksgiving approaching, the rest of my week is slammed.

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one. Explicit, this chapter 3.8k words. (ao3)

Okay, I have a lot of notes on this chapter, so listen up!

1. Thanks to @j-philly-b for giving this chapter a careful read to make sure the plot made sense. Oh god, so much plot to tie together here. It gave me hives.

2. I’ve mentioned several gods from actual mythology in this fic, but Istus is from Dungeons & Dragons. So thanks to Griffin McElroy and The Adventure Zone for the characterization and even a couple of her lines, which I lifted out of the TAZ: Balance arc.

3. As I posted a week ago, this is what I’m picturing for Istus.

_____________________________________

Chapter 14

It was still raining when he woke up the next morning, and Patrick had to admit that he wasn’t in any hurry to go out and search for their mysterious homeless woman. He looked over at David, still asleep, his cheek pressed into the pillow and his hair sticking up in a tangled mess from his head, stubble dark on his cheeks. I’m in love with him, Patrick thought. It wasn’t a maybe for him, not now, not after last night. He would have been happy to just spend the day in bed, not thinking about what was going on in the outside world. Not thinking about the fact that something supernatural, something that didn’t fit into his analytical worldview, might have touched his life. He’d finally found the person that maybe he was meant to be with, and he wanted to just enjoy that for once. He wanted to protect it from the world.

David, in contrast, woke up to his phone alarm with determination on his face. He wasn’t even deterred when he discovered that Seamless was down and that he couldn’t get breakfast delivered, and he sent Patrick out to pick up food while he got ready for the day. By the time Patrick returned with egg sandwiches balanced on top of a tray of coffee cups, David was sitting at the table, studying something on a laptop computer and making notes in his journal.

“You didn’t see her, did you?” David asked as Patrick shook out his umbrella.

“No, but I saw a scary number of police cars, given that I only walked two blocks.” Patrick sat down with David and began unwrapping his sandwich.

“There are a fuckton of homeless shelters nearby,” David said. “This may take a while.”

It did.

A lot of the places that had popped up on google when David searched ‘homeless shelters’ weren’t actually that: they were thrift stores or soup kitchens or the offices of volunteer organizations. By asking around, they were finally able to find their way to a few shelters where they might find their missing woman, but by mid-afternoon, they’d had no luck.

The rain had finally let up, but David’s earlier determination was clearly melting away. “Let’s go back to the apartment and rest for a bit. Maybe she’ll turn up in your neighborhood now that it’s not raining.” He gave David a quick kiss on the cheek.

It almost wasn’t a surprise when they turned the corner toward David’s building and there she was in her usual spot.

As she watched them approach, her shoulders sagged with what looked like relief.

“You went there, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Went where?” Patrick asked. Let her say the name of the place if she really knew so much.

“Schitt’s Creek. Where all of us belong.” the woman responded.

“How do you know all this?” David asked.

“I’m a technopagan. I’ve known for years that the timeline took a wrong turn, and the people I work with online narrowed it down to the fortunes of your family. My mission was to come here, David; to watch you, to try to nudge you in the right direction.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now… if you want to know more, some food and a shower would be appreciated.”

David grimaced.

Patrick put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you go pick up some food and I’ll take her up to the apartment, okay?”

David pointed to the woman’s cart. “That doesn’t come into my apartment.”

“Okay, David,” Patrick said with two quick pats on David’s shoulder. “Maybe get me a reuben?”

David made another face. “Incorrect, but I’ll get you a reuben.”

“What’s your name, by the way?” Patrick said as he accepted David’s key and ushered the woman toward the building.

“It’s Gwen.”

~*~

“I’ve been here in New York for almost a year. My husband doesn’t know anything; he probably assumes I’m not coming back. Although if you two can fix things, maybe it won’t matter what happens on this timeline.”

That’s what she had said to him months ago, Patrick remembered as he chewed a bite of his sandwich, that he needed to fix things. “What makes you think we can fix things?”

“That’s what all the portents tell us,” she said mysteriously, which didn’t really answer anything at all. It seemed like the kind of thing that someone who termed themselves a ‘technopagan’ would say, whatever that was.

“I don’t understand why my family has anything to do with anything,” David said.

“Why has the fact that your father didn’t lose all of his money led to the downfall of society?” She laughed, running her fingers through her drying mop of gray hair that looked way overdue for a trim. “If I could answer that, I’d be leading our coven, not living rough on the streets of Manhattan, believe me.” She took a big bite of her sandwich, and then proceeded to continue talking while she chewed. “My people have been trying to answer that question for ages. A million tiny things changed when the Rose family continued to live as they had in New York. Moira Rose had acting roles she wouldn’t have otherwise had. Johnny employed people he wouldn’t have otherwise employed. Eli went to jail and interacted with other white-collar criminals he wouldn’t have otherwise spoken to. Alexis traveled places she wouldn’t have otherwise traveled. You sold art that wouldn’t have otherwise been sold. Any one of those things, or a combination of them, has sent the world down a path that’s just a bit darker than it should have been. It’s chaos theory.”

“I still don’t get how you know all of this,” Patrick said.

“I lived there, dummy. You’ve been to Schitt’s Creek, so I don’t have to tell you about that place, right? There are a few places around the world that work that way. Windows to parallel worlds. And I have ways of quite clearly seeing how things were supposed to be: the Rose family there and the town revitalized by your presence.”

“The store?” David asked.

Gwen nodded. “Among other things. I mean, I would have preferred Christmas World, but you can’t have everything. And people love Rose Apothecary; some of them drive all the way from Elmdale to shop there.”

Patrick snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering. “You’re Bob’s wife!” He recalled the town gossip not long after he’d moved to the town, that Bob’s wife (Bob of the eponymous garage) had left him.

“He’s been clueless about all of this, poor lamb,” she said. “And then I was summoned here, so I had to drop everything and go.”

“What was the plan?” Patrick asked.

“I only got pieces of it; the leaders of the coven aren’t exactly forthcoming. I do know they’ve been trying to get you two together in the same place for a while. Attempts to lure David to Canada didn’t work; I myself spent at least a month in the public library crafting emails to David about art shows in various parts of Ontario.”

“I don’t read spam,” David said.

“When Patrick got married, we were pretty disheartened, but then he took that business manager job and the goal became getting him to a conference here,” Gwen said.

“Wait,” Patrick said. “The conference in Hoboken was you?”

“I mean, it was a real conference, but I did send some of the emails about it to you,” Gwen said. “And to your boss.” She put the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth. “Then it was just a matter of getting David to a bar where you could run into each other. As I understand it, someone hacked your Tinder account.”

“Oh my God,” David said, and Patrick couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that in the midst of all of this, David had the space to be offended about the integrity of his Tinder account.

“So we met because of these techno-wiccans?” David asked.

“Technopagans, and yes.” Gwen grinned at them. “I mean, we couldn’t make you actually hook up with each other, of course. That part of was all you two.”

Patrick grinned back, images of those nights flashing in front of his eyes, but David’s face had gone ashen.

“What about Alexis?” David said quietly.

“David—” Patrick began.

“No, because we hooked up but then we went our separate ways. The thing that brought us back together was Alexis dying. Did the technopagans do that too?”

Gwen shook her head. “No, absolutely not. We don’t murder people,” she said emphatically and she looked like she was telling the truth as far as she knew, Patrick thought, but she didn’t know everything. She’d admitted that she only saw pieces of the operation.

“So what do we do now?” Patrick asked.

“You go to this address,” she said, grabbing David’s diary and pen and flipping it open to a blank page. David’s hands twitched like he wanted to rip it out of her hands and was restraining himself. Once she’d written the address down, she handed the diary to David.

He raised an eyebrow. “Nice neighborhood.”

“Well, she is a goddess. What do you expect?”

~*~

David looped his arm around the subway pole, trying not to touch anything with his hands. He hated the subway. It was dirty and smelled bad and germy people stood way too far inside his personal space. His other hand was clutched in Patrick’s as they made their way uptown.

“Maybe I should have tried uninstalling the app and reinstalling—”

“David, it seems pretty clear that Uber is no longer functional, at least in New York,” Patrick said.

“Then we should have taken a cab.”

“Did you see any cabs?”

David pouted, his eyes darting around at their fellow passengers again, trying to assess if any of them were ill with a communicable disease.

Finally, the doors opened at their destination, and David and Patrick pushed their way out into the 77th Street station, making their way over to the nonfunctioning escalator. They climbed the metal stairs and emerged into the early evening twilight, walking east.

“ID please,” said a bored police officer standing by a crowd control barrier.

David reached for his wallet. “What is this?”

The police officer took his driver’s license and stared at it. “You don’t live up here; I can’t let you through.”

“Show her the address, David.”

David opened his diary and showed the police officer the address that Gwen had scrawled inside it. “We have an appointment at this address,” he said, hoping that the police officer didn’t ask the next logical question, which was ‘with whom?’ Because David had no idea.

Instead, the officer looked back over her shoulder, where the brownstone they were headed toward was only another half block away. She sighed. “I’ll escort you, but if you’re lying to me, you can expect to spend tonight in jail.”

David met Patrick’s eyes. Were they expected? Reluctantly, he squeezed through the gap in the barrier that the cop widened for them, Patrick following. The cop set a quick pace despite her stature, and David trotted a little to keep up. She stomped up the stairs to the door and rang the bell, eyes darting back to the post that he suspected she wasn’t supposed to have abandoned. David and Patrick stood two steps down from her, like street urchins looking for a place to spend the cold night.

The woman who opened the door was strikingly beautiful. She wore a peasant blouse and a long floral skirt, bare toes sticking out beneath it. She had an astounding number of tight, black braids on her head, some of them piled up in a messy topknot and some of them hanging down past her waist. Deep brown eyes took them all in.

“These gentlemen say they have an appointment at this address,” the cop said.

“They do,” the woman said, nodding. “David, Patrick, it’s so good to see you finally. Come in.”

The police officer nodded. “Have a good evening, then,” she said before hurrying back up the street.

The woman stood back, opening the door wide, so David took Patrick’s hand and walked through the door.

She led them down a dark hallway to a small room, where a rocking chair stood before a crackling fire in the fireplace. “Sit down,” she said, gesturing to a couple of high-backed, overstuffed chairs. Dropping each others’ hands, they sat.

It was a nice, cozy house, but every time David tried to look at something specific, like a hanging on the wall or a knick knack on a shelf, it seemed too far away and blurry to bring into focus. Meanwhile, the woman seated herself in the rocking chair, picking up some knitting from a basket and moving it to her lap. The needles started to move, almost too quick for David to follow. His eyes followed the… scarf?... from the woman’s hands to where it trailed down into the basket, and then beyond, into… well, he couldn’t really see where it ended. Maybe it didn’t end. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

“My name is Istus. Some people call me the lady of fate. Some call me the goddess of destiny. But Istus is fine.” She smiled a small smile. “I must say, the two of you are just in time.”

“Goddess,” Patrick said flatly. “I’m sure you can understand my skepticism.”

She chuckled, the rhythm of her needles never stopping. “You’ve seen your alternate futures. David, you saw first hand the connection that the artist Carmen Herrera had with the ethereal plane. Patrick, you heard Ash talk about Hela and her worshipers in Norway. Even Gwen’s technopagans are divinely inspired, after a fashion. Is it really that hard to believe in me when I’m sitting right here in front of you?”

“But you could just be… you know. A person,” Patrick said.

“Could I?”

And no, no she couldn’t. No human being had ever been as beautiful as Istus was, the perfection of her brown skin and the angle of her eyes and the shape of her lips. An actual, literal goddess. David felt a tear slide down his cheek.

“Ironically, the sickness of the world has made us more powerful, although I don't like to brag. But humans are starting to notice us more, worship us more, and… I’m not gonna lie, it’s kind of nice? But it’s not the way things are supposed to be.”

“Okay,” David said to prompt her to go on.

“You’ve been to a liminal space and gotten a glimpse at another reality, a better one. Well,” she said with a tinkling laugh, “maybe not better from the perspective of the Rose family fortune, but better in other ways. It’s unfortunate that you’ve seen something you cannot have. Most humans aren’t ever burdened with that kind of knowledge.”

“You’re the one who said you were a goddess of time and fate or whatever,” David said. “So fix it. Undo it and do whatever it takes to get us to that place.”

“David, if it were that easy, the world would have been a lot less shitty a long time ago,” Istus said. “Do you think you’re the first people to come to me and ask me to change the past?” She smiled to herself. “There was a famous comedian who feared that he’d inspired the current U.S. president to run for the office by making fun of him at the Correspondent’s Dinner. He came to me and asked me to undo it. But when he understood the price, he backed out.”

“What was the price?” Patrick asked.

“Uncertainty.” Her needles paused long enough for her to run a hand down over the scarf. “I can pick out the threads of a certain event, but other things will change, and even I don’t have enough power to control for everything. So in that case, yes, I could make it so that he never made those jokes. But I couldn’t guarantee that his children would still be born. In fact, it was very likely that they wouldn’t be. Other children, perhaps, but not the ones he already knew and loved.” She shrugged, resuming her knitting. “He couldn’t go through with it.

“I can make certain that Eli gets away with his theft, and that will almost certainly drive the Roses to Schitt’s Creek, which with any luck will set civilization on a slightly less terrible path. I’d even lay good odds on that saving Alexis’ life, if for no other reason that she won’t be on that yacht. But I can’t guarantee she won’t die another way. And I certainly can’t guarantee that the two of you will ever meet. In fact, I’d say it’s highly unlikely.”

David looked over and met Patrick’s eyes.

“But I went to Schitt’s Creek in both realities,” Patrick said, and David could see the effort he was making to treat all of this like it was a reasonable topic of conversation. “This one, and… and the one we dreamed about.”

Istus made a scoffing sound. “Coincidence. The odds of you ending up in Schitt’s Creek after you ran away from your engagement to Rachel are…” She held up her fingers to her face and counted on them for a moment. “One in one hundred seventy thousand.”

“So I’ll track him down,” David said. “I’ll find him.”

“You won’t do anything of the sort, because you won’t remember him.” She rolled her eyes. “I know you’re new at this, but try to keep up. What you’ve asked me to do is unweave time to the moment that Eli gets away to the Cayman Islands with your father’s money. You won’t have ever heard of Patrick Brewer, so how can you track him down?”

“Can David and I talk alone for a moment?” Patrick said, standing up.

Istus shrugged. “Certainly.” She indicated the door with an upturned palm. “The rest of the house is at your disposal.”

Patrick pulled David up out of his chair and marched him down the hall into a sizable kitchen. As soon as they reached the center island, Patrick swung around and pinned David down with a serious stare.

“I still don’t know if I believe any of this, but if you can save Alexis, and I guess the world, then you have to do it,” he said.

“No, I know, but…” David fumbled with the hem of his sweater. “She could be lying. There could be a way to save Alexis and have you too.”

“I don’t think she’s lying.” Patrick huffed. “I think she might be certifiably insane, but I don’t think she’s lying.” He put his hands on David’s biceps. “Regardless, I’ll be fine. And you’ll have Alexis.”

David nodded, and there wasn’t any doubt in his mind what his choice should be. But it didn’t mean that he didn’t feel it in a rising lump in his throat, in a thundering in his heart and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He pulled Patrick in for a hug, and the feeling of Patrick’s lips against his neck as he let himself be pulled unlocked David’s tears.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either, David.” Patrick squeezed him tighter, kissing his neck again. “And if I don’t get another chance to say it…” He pulled away and looked David in the eye. “I love you.”

David shook his head, another tear falling. “You don’t have to say—”

“David. I hope you know me well enough by now to know that I wouldn’t say something like that if I didn’t mean it. I know it’s soon, and that we haven’t spent all that much time with each other, but…” He laughed a watery laugh. “I don’t know, maybe I absorbed something from that alternate reality we dreamed about. All I know is that I’ve fallen in love with you, and you know what?” Patrick’s eyes flashed with determination. “I’ve just decided that I don’t care what Istus says, I’ll find my way back to you in any reality. I swear it.”

With a sob, David put his hand on the back of Patrick’s head and pulled him in for a fierce kiss. He opened his mouth against Patrick’s and tried to pour everything he was feeling into that kiss.

“This isn’t the last time I’m going to kiss you,” Patrick said when they finally parted.

David wanted to believe him more than he’d ever wanted to believe anything, but deep down he knew this was it for them. It brought him a burst of courage to say what was in his heart. “Maybe I absorbed something from that other reality too because I… love you. I’m also… I’m in love with you.”

The expression that bloomed on Patrick’s face was heartbreaking, and for just a second David changed his mind — let the world burn if he could just have Patrick, if he could lock himself away from all of it and just be with Patrick. But then he remembered his sister, he remembered Alexis, and he dismissed that idea. He’d never be able to forgive himself knowing he could have done something to save her and hadn’t.

“I’ll find you,” Patrick said.

“One in one hundred seventy thousand,” David whispered.

Patrick winked at him, a terrible wink that caused his other eye to half-close, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I can beat those odds.”

It was a lie and David knew it, but he clung to it as they went back into Istus’ den.

“Okay. Do it,” David said. “Make my family poor and save the world.”

Istus gave him a long look and then nodded. Holding up her knitting needles, she let a stitch slip off of the pointed tip of the right needle and drop. She pulled the needles apart, stretching the yarn, and the stitch continued to slip down, creating a long scar, a gap in the middle of the rows.

“If my sister isn’t alive in this new world, then I will make destroying you my life’s ambition,” David said, grabbing for Patrick’s hand for strength. He was feeling weak, and like his vision was narrowing, but Patrick’s thick fingers threading between his helped.

Istus laughed. “You won’t remember me, but I take your point.”

His vision was only a pinpoint now, and he squeezed Patrick’s hand tighter.

“And if it helps?” Istus said.

“What?” He’d lost his vision entirely, and he was no longer aware of his body in three dimensional space anymore. He was just a consciousness now, the apartment and Patrick and the world around him gone.

He heard Istus’ voice distantly, from down a deep tunnel. “David Rose. You’re going to be amazing.”

Chapter 15

#schitt's creek #schitt's creek ff #david x patrick #david x patrick ff #david x patrick fic #hdwgb fic #my fic

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