#I love my 8 children equally I swear

[penofwildfire]

Happy 6 Years to this little guy! The first of my ever-growing collection of Lego dragons. Midori Doragon my beloved first born son 💚🐉

[divinemissem13]

You Say That Like It's a Bad Thing

No True Pair 8 Character Challenge Fandom: Star Trek Voyager, The Closer/ Major Crimes Pair: Chakotay/ Sharon Raydor Word Count: 1,182 Rating: G Prompt: Too many cupcakes

Sharon Raydor never wants to see another cupcake as long as she lives.

She knows that she should appreciate the thought. It was very nice of everyone in the LAPD to bring her cupcakes to celebrate her move to Major Crimes. It's possible that Provenza had spread the word that she loves cupcakes out of the goodness of his heart and not, as she suspects, as a prank. OK, not probable. But possible.

The thing is, Sharon isn't really a dessert person (and chances are good that Provenza knows this). She loves to bake and her Christmas cookies are the stuff of legends among her children's friends, but she doesn't eat many sweets herself. So now she's stuck, staring at a veritable sea of cupcakes, trying to decide if it's even worth figuring out a way to get them all home.

A light knock on her office door pulls Sharon away from her internal debate and she looks up to find a man she's never seen before standing in the doorway, holding a small box that almost certainly contains another cupcake. Sharon could swear that she knows every officer in the LAPD after so many years running Internal Affairs, but it would seem that there's at least one that she missed. She's certain she would have remembered him, with that distinctive and unusual tattoo above his eye. The tattoo should probably be setting off alarm bells in her head — it could be a gang identifier, or maybe some new prison trend. This stranger could be dangerous, just using this dumb cupcake thing to get close enough to harm her — but her instinct tells her she can trust him. So she does.

"Captain Raydor? I'm glad I caught you… sorry to stop by so late," the man says, awkwardly tugging on his ear and avoiding eye contact.

"I'm fairly certain that regular work hours are a thing of the past," she says as she gestures for the man to enter. "And you are?" she demands, when he doesn't immediately introduce himself.

He smiles sheepishly, and an adorable dimple appears on each cheek (and when exactly did Sharon start to find tattooed, dimpled strangers adorable??). "Lt. Chakotay, just transferred up here from New Mexico which is why I didn't know about the cupcake thing until this afternoon. Normally I'd bake some myself but… on short notice this will have to do," he explains, abruptly pushing the box towards Sharon, who zoned out somewhere around learning that this man bakes. "I have it on pretty good authority that this is from the best bakery in downtown LA though."

Chakotay looks around the office and for the first time appears to notice the cupcakes covering every surface. "I guess if it's no good, you've got plenty other ones to choose from," he shrugs and pulls on his ear again. It's an endearing gesture, instantly turning this big, muscular, hunk of a man into a shy little boy and for the first time all day, Sharon finds herself genuinely smiling.

"To be honest, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all of these," she admits, her hands searching for pockets in a nervous gesture of her own. "I'm just one woman, after all."

"You don't have anyone to share them with?" Chakotay asks. "No husband or boyfriend? Uh, girlfriend? Kids?" He's back peddling and somehow Sharon finds that kind of adorable too.

"My kids are grown up and no longer live in LA. The same could almost be said for my 'husband' except I wouldn't exactly call him a grown up." The words are out of her mouth before she can truly contemplate revealing this much of her private life to a relative stranger, and now she clenches her fists in her pockets and purses her lips defensively. "And you?" she snaps, demanding an equal sacrifice.

He smiles that adorable smile again and runs a hand through his hair. "No one waiting at home except for a very pathetic excuse for a guard dog. He looks tough but wouldn't hurt a fly," he says, pulling out his phone to show her the lock screen. On it is a photo of a big fluffy golden doodle, head resting on daintily crossed paws and one eye completely obscured by a large floppy ear. It is clearly a large dog, but Sharon has to admit, he doesn't appear to have an aggressive bone in his body.

"I suppose it's true what they say about dogs and their owners," Sharon says with a smile. (Oh God, did she say that out loud? Is she flirting with this man now?)

Chakotay blushes and pockets his phone, and now he's rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and Sharon has to wonder just how many adorable tics can one man have?

"Well, anyway, I guess I'll let you get back to it. It was very nice to meet you, Captain," Chakotay says, offering a hand to Sharon.

"And you, Lieutenant," she replies with a smile, and accepts his hand. It is surprisingly soft and gentle, just like the man himself, and Sharon finds she doesn't want to let go quite yet. "Do you like cupcakes?" she blurts out before she can overthink things.

"Sure, who doesn't?" Chakotay replies, still holding on to Sharon's hand.

"Maybe you want to help me taste test these? I think this may be a triage situation," she admits, blushing a little. "Unless you have somewhere to be, of course…"

"I'd love to," Chakotay interjects, flashing her another dazzling smile. "Here? Or…?

"Oh!" Sharon hasn't thought that far ahead. "Uh, break room, I guess? Or, if you want to help me get them to the car, we can go to my place? I have milk, I think. Or at least very good coffee? Or Kahlua? Would that go well with cupcakes for dinner?" Sharon laughs nervously. She realizes that she is still holding Chakotay's hand and she drops it abruptly. "Or the break room. The break room is good," she declares, as if she might be able to erase everything else she has said in between.

"Your place sounds good," Chakotay says with a soft smile as he begins to gather up boxes and platters of cupcakes. "Just lead the way, Captain."

Somehow he has managed to fit almost all of the cupcakes into his arms in a very short period of time and so Sharon picks up the two remaining boxes from her desk — including the one that started this whole thing — and strides past him with a confidence that she doesn't really feel.

As they wait for the elevator, Sharon glances at Chakotay out of the corner of her eye. It's been a long time since a strong, kind, handsome man willingly went anywhere with her, let alone to her condo. She will have to remember to thank Lt. Provenza for his thoughtfulness, she thinks with a small smirk.

As it turns out, there really is no such thing as too many cupcakes.

[msookyspooky]

   Fours a Franchise

Part 3

wordcount: 8, 468

You stared at the animated, charismatic man you hadn't seen in 10 years. Blanket curled around you to hide half your face as you watched the big screen intently. Stu imitating that voice took you back to the cemetery that day…How simple it felt hugging him and talking to him about the past before it all seemed to steadily go downhill from there on out.

Randy got your attention and pointed to the twins. "I think they're tuckered out finally…They stayed up just one extra hour more than they usually do. Count it as a blessing, right? One day they're gonna be out way past curfew worrying me and their mother sick."

You looked over at them. Both 6 year olds curled up together on a giant beanbag chair on the floor. Sleeping soundly without a care in the world. You couldn't stop the smile slowly spreading across your face as you lowered your blanket and Randy paused the DVD.

Karla crept into the room. "I heard the tv go off. Are they sleeping yet?" She whispered.

Randy nodded and took Chad into his arms. His son mumbled something in his sleep as Randy softly shhed him to go back to sleep. Karla took Mindy to help get them to her and Randy's bed.

You were secretly grateful to not finish Scooby Doo because seeing 'Shaggy' made you feel so many complicated and uncomfortable feelings all at once.

You REALLY didn't want to make that call now.

Karla laid Mindy down before she sweetly kissed her and Chad's foreheads as Randy tucked them in. Then she walked over to you in the doorway and quietly asked. "Are you going to be okay on the couch, YN?"

"Yeah, totally." You replied back. "I really appreciate you letting me stay, Karla. Seriously, I can leave and make up an excuse to Randy. I swear, he'll never know."

"Yes, he will." Randy mumbled as he appeared near the doorway. Children tucked into the center of their Queen Sized bed. You puffed air past your lips as he folded his arms and gave you a scowl. "I will know if you suddenly sneak out, YN. What do you take me for?"

"Ray, I was talking to your wife. You know, your equal, 50/50 partner and or other half that also gets a say in this household?"

Randy huffed but said nothing.

Karla thought for a moment. "Not here. Let's talk in the kitchen. Leave the door open. They like the hallway light…Especially after SOMEONE showed them Alien last week. Chad is convinced a creature is going to attack his face in the dark now…RANDY." She gave a side eyed glare at her husband.

Randy threw his hands up with a nervous smile. "Hey, now. Mindy demanded to watch it and I'm not denying my own daughter the pleasure of appreciating a good cinematic masterpiece with an excellent female role model, not to mention great storytelling, and the dying art of real life special effects. CGI everything nowadays; she loved the practical effects and engineering; she rarely sees it on tv anymore!...Chad loved it until that particular part where the xenomorph burst out of Kane's chest…In hindsight, I probably should have warned him. My bad..."

Karla tilted her head with a glare and a shake of her head. "I HIGHLY doubt he loved that boring ass movie." She gave him a look as he went to argue. "And don't try convincing me a 6 year old loved a damn movie where most of it is shot in a lab on a dark spaceship with scientific lingo. Just because they want to watch it doesn't mean they should."

"But he did!"

Karla shhed him.

"... He loved the sci-fi feel and he really liked the android until…Look, he'll be okay! I watched Motel Hell and Cujo at his age and I turned out fine! Look at me; Perfectly fine!" He gestured to himself.

You raised a brow. "That is extremely debatable."

Randy mumbled. "Well, Mindy liked it-"

"Melinda likes anything Randall likes. If she could wear your clothes and be your mini me; she would…Chad is sensitive to that stuff. He's not like his sister. He's-"

"Like his mother? You jumped into my lap and hid your face in my shirt halfway through our first horror movie together. It was that dumb remake of Amityville Horror, remember?" He gave with a mildly amused smirk.

"He's 6. Just leave the damn door open. We need to make sure we can check on them…You coming, YN?"

"Yeah. Just a moment." You said, watching the twins.

Karla smiled lightly and told you. "Okay. We'll be in the kitchen."

You nodded as you heard Randy whispering to Karla down the hall and she did the same to him as you just…Stood there a second. Taking in your two god children sleeping peacefully. Randy almost made Martha their god mother and Karla almost made her brother their godfather but both decided despite your flaws the kids needed someone that wasn't new to this survival thing just in case. They knew you knew how to survive and protect. It was agreed that if worse came to worse; all of you survivor's would come together to try and be a part of these kids' lives and you were first on the list. It helped that you made your own schedule for work now that freed you for taking care of kids more than Dewey or Gale or Martha…For a small moment in time…You couldn't help wondering 'what if?'. What if you did live a normal life or chose to live like Randy did? What if you had that domestic family life so many people wanted?…Then you remembered why they were sleeping in their parents' beds in the first place and you were grateful you didn't have kids with Derek or Mark or some random guy or hell even Randy, as crazy as it seemed now, had you both stayed together. Because the idea of worrying about kids in this situation terrified you as their adopted second aunt and or god mother. Let alone a parent.

You heard Randy talking a little louder and walked away to the kitchen where you saw Karla sitting down and Randy leaning back onto the counter.

You interrupted them to clear your throat. Awkwardly standing there as you asked. "So…Should I call up Gale to see if I can stay there or try and get a motel nearby or…?"

Karla thought a moment before sighing heavily and shaking her head. "No. I can't have that on my conscience. Besides, Randy's right. This is here…This bullshit is here and pushing you away won't make it disappear.  Besides, it's not fair to you." She leaned on the table with her arms folded in front of her. "I've been thinking…Maybe me and the kids should leave."

Randy focused on her, brows raising slightly as he softly asked.  "Leave?"

"Yeah. Not permanently, dumby. Just until this case gets solved…I know this might be a one time thing and we might not be in any danger but I'd like the option. Just have me and the twins go to my Mom and Dad's for a few days…Baby, can't you just leave too? Tell Dewey to get over it. Tell him there's a wedding, a funeral, anything!"

He hung his head. "I can't. The Woodsboro hall monitor would get me in detention and I won't be any good to you or the kids in jail. In fact, we'd be in even more danger because the killer always strikes when a person goes to jail. Besides, hypothetically …If we truly are dealing with a franchise starring a hyped up killer linking to all the past kills; where I go, the killer will probably follow. It happens every time." He shrugged. "YN and I are the survivors of this movie franchise along with Gale and Dewey. The only other potential victims are those linked to the original victims that died."

"Like Jill Roberts?" You commented.

He snapped his fingers at you and pointed. "Bingo. And just our luck, the newest Prescott lives across the street."

"God, not those stupid fucking rules, Randy!" Karla groaned.

"May I remind you, dear, that I lived through this a total of 3 times now and I've been right almost every single time?…Well, except Neil but I did say the past would bite us in the ass." He tilted his head and continued.  "So I think it's pretty obvious I can't go if that happens. I'm just as stuck here as YN."

Karla scoffed. "Then forget it! I'll just drop off the kids and-"

Randy held up a finger. "Ah, ah! We gotta be smart about this. You're smart with everything, now, hear me out and be smart here. We can't use our hearts over our heads in a horror movie...If something goes wrong; they need at least one parent. They need their Mother." He affirmed.

Karla went to argue with him for daring to even think that could happen.

You raised your hand with a wince, trying to get their attention as Karla stopped mid rant to stare at you. "U-Um, I hate to barge into this conversation but…Randy's right, Karla…I hate the idea of it but it's true. Plus, you have no ties to this killer other than me and Randy. If this was some guy with a trench coat and hook like the killer you faced? I'd tell Randy to take the kids instead, but right now, you and the twins don't need to be here…I really think you should get out with them while you can because the target will be me, Randy, Gale, Dewey and possibly Jill. The killer would only go after you to get to me and Randy. Or the kids-"

Randy sighed, seeming overstimulated with what you said as he ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, okay! We might be pushing it here! I'm glad we have a plan b but for now only 2 teen girls were killed and 2 teen girls got phone calls."

You leaned against the wall with a confused expression. "What are you saying exactly?"

"I'm saying, Karla might be right and this could just be an isolated incident. It might not have anything to do with us! I mean, not a single adult has gotten a call. You know teenagers. Obviously Jenny and her friend died last night but that doesn't mean these girls aren't just feeding into the Woodsboro propaganda…I say we hold tight until we get the big clue that we need to get you and the kids out of here. This is just talk for a plot that might not even happen."

"But, Randy. You just said!-"

"It's just talk, YN! That's all. Just in case of an emergency." Randy surmised before turning to Karla. "I think it's a wonderful idea to visit your folks for a surprise week-long getaway and if shit really does hit the fan…I say me and YN take the risk and sneak out. The killer will fuck up, get caught and we'd be in the clear anyways and Dewey can get over it…But till then, it's just talk! We're fine. We'll just hang tight, be normal for the kids and let this pass."

Karla gave a relieved smile and got up. "I am so glad you agree." She got up and kissed him on the cheek as he smiled at her.

You held a tight, forced smile. In the back of your mind you wanted to protest. To tell Randy he's in denial yet again and that he's just terrified of dealing with this again for the 4th time…But with Karla and the twins; you just didn't have the heart to argue.

Randy smiled and kissed her. Karla hummed in her throat and mumbled. "Love you, baby. I think I'm hitting the sack early tonight."

"Love you too. I'll be there later. I wanted to watch a movie or two with YN and catch up." His hand rested on the small of her back, lingering until she pulled away.

"That's fine but don't burn too much midnight oil. You still got work tomorrow. Night YN. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Karla. Goodnight." You gave with a soft voice and smile. Even if you wanted so badly to yell at them both to get a grip and look at this situation as realistically or borderline cynically as you were.

You watched her leave as Randy pushed himself from the counter. Rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. "Alright! Now that we don't have to watch a CGI talking dog; Campy classic or serious thriller? Or are you feeling like action or sci fi?"

"Surprise me."

—————————————————

You and Randy were in your nightclothes as you lounged on the couch and he sat in a recliner. You both just finished watching Idle Hands. Both of you laughing for most of it.

"God, I haven't seen this stupid shit in years." You chuckled while eating popcorn out of a bowl.

"I have. Just last week. I keep it circulating as my comfort movies after a long day...Kids do not watch this obviously and when Chad did see me watching it I changed it and he just thinks the guy has some serious Asthma problems." He raised his brows at you.

"Uh huh and what does Karla think of the very nice but unnecessary boob shot from that one girl dressed like Paul Stanley?"

"Ehh...I kind of skip that part if she's around.  She's probably fine with it and it could be softcore porn for foreplay but it could also be 'You're sleeping on the couch with the tape and tv since you seem so interested in them'. As nice as Kelly Monaco's are; they definitely are not the real thing. I'm not taking that chance."

You chuckled to yourself at that.

He gestured to the tv with huff. "I still don't see where you get calling me Seth Green. He's like 5'4, he could stare in the next Leprechaun movie if he wanted to! I'm 5'10 which is well above average."

You gawked. "You are so full of shit! You are not 5'10. 5'8 at the max."

"Uh, no I am not! I'm technically 5'9 and 3 quarters. THANK YOU. Besides, even if I was 5'8 that is still inches taller than Seth!"

You grinned at him. "...Yeah, I know. I just like to pester you." He threw a piece of popcorn at you and you tried to catch it in your mouth but failed. You laughed and continued. "Consider it payment for all those years of pestering me. The second I realized I was close to your height or taller with heels and it bothered you? Instant fuel. Doesn't help you and Seth had the same hair in Highschool and he always played geeky characters…I really think he should have been casted for you in Stab. Just saying."

He blew a puff of air out in annoyance. "Certainly be better than Christopher whats his face."

The end credits came on and you set your popcorn bowl on the table. He then got up to go to the cabinet he stored a few movies in. "ANYWAYS. How about we watch something we definitely haven't watched together in years with genuine rules to survive a horror movie as a refresher?-" He picked up Nightmare on Elm Street and shook the dvd with a raise of his brows. "Huh? Whaddya say?"

You hesitated. Almost saying yes until you remembered your preteen crush was in it. When you realized years later that your crush, Glen played by a very young Johnny Depp, looked so similar to Billy…Well, it wasn't exactly a comforting feeling.

"Uh, nah. We've seen it so much I kind of want something new. Wasn't there a remake last year?"

Randy's eyes narrowed and his face sagged into an unamused glare. "Do not even mention that piece of shit. It was a complete mockery of the franchise and!-"

You waved your hand with a chuckle. "Okay, okay! Don't wake up your wife and kids. Let's see. There's My Bloody Valentine. Oh, maybe the one that came out 2 years ago-"

Randy groaned with his head rolled back. "Urgh, you just want to watch it for that Supernatural guy." He imitated his deep voice. "Dean."

"Oh, like that's a crime now? You got to ogle at horror movie tits for how long but god forbid I want to look at pecks?...And there's Friday the 13th from 2 years ago, House of Wax, Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Jessica Alba is in that too. Rob Zombie's Halloween, Amityville Horror with Ryan Reynolds -"

He blinked repeatedly at you with a blank stare. "Yn, are you trying to make me have an aneurysm?"

"Those are good! Oh come on, Randy! What is wrong with reboots and remakes?"

"EVERYTHING!" He growled out in a comically dramatic way.

"House of wax had Paris Hilton, okay! The care that went into it is amazing! The way it was shot, the cast, the lore woven into the plot and Texas Chainsaw Massacre from 03 was scary with a great cast! And sorry, but Thomas Hewitt coming after me is a fucking hell of a lot scarier than Bubba Sawyer. It's a fun time; don't be an elitist horror snob."

"Hey, hey, hey! I am the farthest thing from a horror elitist, alright? I watched Society and Return of the Living Dead and Killer Klowns VERY enthusiastically. " He pointed on each finger while using his hands to talk. "But there's a difference between campy B list horror that doesn't take itself seriously and shitty remakes that touch the originals and try to scramble the plot just because some M Shyamalan thinks they can make it 'better' while completely disregarding the intent behind the original! They suit up the killers to be 7 feet tall and indestructible and either give them some bullshit tragic backstory that wasn't needed OR they make them crazier then what they were. It's insulting to long time horror fans! Like we need coddled into understanding why some cannibal hillbilly is the way he is. WHO FUCKING CARES!" He ranted before he sighed loudly. "Okay, some of those are not 'rip my eyes out bad' but the Nightmare on Elm Street remake? The worst. So bad I wish I could kick everybody's ass that was involved with that movie."

"Fair enough. Jeez." You gave him an amused smirk.

You settled down as he rummaged through DVD's. You couldn't help just saying it; the last few hours were the most interaction with a friend you've had in months. It slipped out with a sad smile. "I missed this…You know, me and you watching movies. Long talks. Goofing off. Sometimes Dewey and Gale coming over for game night. You and Gale screaming at each other over the game rules. Dewey trying to man the grill just for us to order pizza instead. Even me and Gale talking over coffee here and there…I miss it."

He turned towards you and smiled a bit. "Yeah. Life was simpler in our early 20's. Well, despite a crazed killer after us every few years…But other than that, yeah…What can we say? Responsibilities take hold and Adulting sucks and we're this much closer to realizing why our parents had mental breakdowns here and there."

"Yeah, it can…I know adulthood can take things away from us and make us busy but…How did we just…Slip away? " You sadly asked as his smile fell. "I mean, how do we go from seeing each other every single week for years on end to only seeing each other once or twice a year if we're lucky?"

He frowned, walking back over and sitting on the couch with you as you moved your legs. He stumbled over his words at first, mumbling. "I-...I-I don't know. Life, YN. We both got busy. Especially me before your book took off…I got with Karla and we went through the new relationship phase and not long after we found out the twins were coming and then a rushed wedding because Karla wanted to fit into a dress before her body went to hell...It did not, by the way, but she still insisted....And most of all her Pop's would have run my fucking neck that the eccentric white boy without a job at the time got his daughter knocked up without a proper wedding first. Have you seen her Dad? I'm scared of him a little bit to this very day plus her brother is 6'2 and pumps iron for fun. So...I can only run so fast for so long." He half laughed, half scoffed before shrugged. "I'm joking of course I was ready too! It just happened so fast and I didn't want to stay living with my parents forever with a new wife and kids. Honestly, we didn't have the room there for all of us. So I worked at the video store again and my old boss said 'Hey, wanna take this piece of crap off my hands?' and I said 'Sure!' So I went to the bank and thank god for Karla's good credit to get a loan…Got the video store, Karla got settled into her job coincidentally at the bank we got the loan from, got a mortgage here even though we didn't plan on staying at Woodsboro but it was steal and we couldn't pass it up, the kids went to daycare and now school and the book store was bought too…Life just…Whipped me upside the face the last 7 years."

You sighed to yourself. "...Yeah, I get it. It happens so quick too. One day I was alone in my cabin afraid to go to a movie theater by myself  next thing I know I'm on the big screen for interviews again and now book signings. Went from no one really knowing me outside of my name to everyone recognizing my face on the street...I guess life kicked my ass too this last decade."

"How? I mean, no offense but you're loaded and I'm barely making it by. I just saw you on Good Morning America a few weeks ago! I know the past sucks but you're doing pretty good for yourself now."

You debated saying anything, looking down as you slowly mumbled out. "I know it seems like that, Randy but…Truth is…I regret ever writing that stupid book sometimes." You shoved the blanket off of you to sit up further. "I just…Is it selfish to feel left out that everyone seemed to move on but me?" Randy's eyes scanned over you, brows slightly raising as he focused on you. You looked away a moment and continued. "I know it's hard for all of us…But deep down inside, I sort of envy you."

"Envy? Me?" He asked with a confused look.

"Yeah. Kind of. I envy you living a normal life with your normal spouse and happy family and being able to be a normal part of the world for the most part. I envy Karla too and Dewey and Gale…All of you went through Hell but you still found a way to move back to a town that the trauma happened in and you got over it and-"

He held up a hand. "Woah. Woah, there. My life is not as normal as you think it is, YN. Just last week, I had a panic attack in the book store's bathroom because I got startled. I felt pathetic that as a grown man I was breathing into a bag close to pissing myself over the cat knocking something over. It was so fucking random too! Half the time; I'm fine but for whatever reason this one particular thing triggered me. I run past closed doors on cars and buildings because I'm terrified I'm going to get attacked again. I flinch with loud noises just like you do. I have to take so many pain relievers at such a young age it makes me feel like I'm 70! Okay, I'm not normal."

"I know that it's more…Emotional. I'm not trying to compare; I know we all have our scars to bare. Believe me, I was there with you in recovery. I know. " He gave a sad smile, remembering you both dating sometime after he was released from the hospital and could barely walk. You sighed and went on to say "…But you have someone. That fear you had of not getting anyone after Sidney and then after me is gone. My last chance died in front of me, Randy." He frowned at you as you continued. "I can't trust people, Ray. I couldn't even walk into this stupid town without an angry mob forming let alone making a connection. I came here and two girls got murdered and I'm apparently... The Angel of Death." You choked out. "Gale gets to be the retired reporter and Dewey gets to be the hero Sheriff and you get to be the average guy with a loving family…" You stared at him, locking eyes as you drew out with a heavy heart. "But me? I'll always be the Final Girl and the Victim and the Suspect for the rest of my life. No one wants that. No one wants to befriend that. No one wants to even be around that! I should be grateful you even still associate with me since you quintessentially moving on with life past being just a survivor."

"YN…" He softly sighed out.

"Sometimes…Sometimes I seriously wonder if the trauma was what held us all together for so long because we were scared of befriending new people. Now that you and Dewey were lucky enough to be over your traumatic past just enough to make friends and get partners and normal jobs…I get left behind. Because I'm not over it. I'll probably never be over it. We all were targeted but I was the main target. From both the media and the killers."

He scooted closer, your knees touching as he shook his head. "I don't believe that for a second. YN, we just grew up! That's all." He tried reassuring you but deep down inside you knew better. He fumbled but told you. "Maybe you are hanging onto the trauma and you gotta ease up a bit? You can't isolate yourself forever, YN. It's not healthy or human. Trust me; I was a lonely geek most of my life turned recluse myself after what happened and I'm living proof it gets better!" He hesitated but said it anyways. "And…I know Mark's death hurt you. You've never been the same since Hollywood." He frowned and swallowed as you looked at him. "You really closed yourself off after Neil and Roman and Angelina. After you had to face off with them alone…I still can't beileve that I almost lost you and I couldn't do anything about it. I mean, damn! It's no wonder you seemed depressed and scared after going through that and I don't think you ever fully recovered...Who would? I hate that for you and sometimes I feel so goddamn guilty moving on but I just…I couldn't stay in the dark with you. I couldn't deal with my best friend losing herself so I went to that survivors meeting for my own sake and unwittingly met Karla and the rest is history. And I don't regret it, YN. "

"Randy, I never damned you for moving on. Never! You deserve this life and to be happy!… I just wish I could join you. All of you."

"You can! You gotta find the light, I mean…Isn't that what your book's all about?"

You released a bitter chuckle and hung your head. "Oh fuck, Ray. I didn't even write it."

He blinked repeatedly. "What?" He shook his head. "W-What do you mean?"

"Yeah. Rebecca found me after she found my pen name and connected the dots of who I really was. Convinced me to write a self help book that she had me edit so much the words weren't even mine anymore."

"You wrote other books?? Why didn't you tell me?"

You looked down and wrung the blanket in your hands. "Because I was embarrassed. They did badly and the idea of people I know reading my books makes me want to crawl in a hole and die, to be honest."

He shook his head, looking away a second in thought. "Wait…So, all of this-"

"Is bullshit. The hair, the clothes, the perfect smile and Martha Stewart attitude and motivational talk…It's all bullshit I've been coached on by Rebecca's team to get the most bang for their buck. " You shrugged with a numb monotone voice. "I'm basically a walking money maker for my publicist. I go to hotels alone after every event, get used by fame seeking money hungry media types, sometimes I'm lucky enough to go home and be with Cherri for a few days. I get so desperate I sometimes like Rebecca as company. " You hung your head, a humorless chuckle escaping you again as Randy stared.

"Jesus YN, I had no idea. You could've called! For Christ sakes, why didn't you try to talk to me about all this!"

You looked up at him. "Randy, I have. Every phone call we've had the last few months has been me calling you. I feel like a burden, Ray! I mean, seriously. How can I complain when I'm driving new cars and staying at penthouses between book signings and interviews meanwhile you're a struggling middle class guy just trying to provide for his family? I feel shitty talking about it now!"

"You are NOT a burden. I told you, life-"

You lightly smacked your hands together in frustration. "Gets busy, I know! I'm not damning you, okay? But I just needed to vent that my life isn't glamorous like you or anyone else thinks it is… I'd give every last bit of it up for it to be '99 again. Eating crappy spaghetti in my new modest cabin I just bought and me, you and Dewey having dinner and laughing at my kitchen table like we used to…" You ran a hand over your head. "I just hate feeling like this! I'm so happy for you and Karla and I love those kids so much. It's just the feeling of being left out of a life I should be able to live if it wasn't for society thinking I'm still a fucking murderer sucks ass. Maybe I'd like to be able to go walk on a street without fear. That I could go grocery shopping without stares or have a partner I didn't have to worry about being a killer or potential victim or have more friends and go out without a panic attack or threat on my life. I wish so badly I could be fucking normalish and move on the way everyone else seems to... I want that stupid pseudo-quasi happy existence."

Randy eased closer to you as you leaned your elbows on your knees. He hesitated before saying. "Well, YN. Maybe you should try again? Try to go to meetings like I did! I mean, Christ. You're an attractive woman in her prime that's now America's Sweetheart. You can't tell me you couldn't find someone...I know you can! I mean, if Mark existed or Derek or…Or just make another friend! I won't get too jealous. Now, if he's some movie expert that you're taking to the cinema with and saw movies I haven't seen yet I MAY get a little bit territorial over our friendship. I was here first. I'll always be friend number one, alright?" He nudged your shoulder with his and you tried to force a smirk as best you could as he kept talking. "You have a gun and self defense skills and most of all it's been a decade since the last killer attacked, and no; I'm not counting what happened today. We have no idea! It could be one of those protesters that killed those girls just trying to frame you or just regular jealous boyfriend teen drama murder that happens in every town at least once. For all you know, you could be wasting your youth terrified of something that will never happen again!"

You sighed heavily, knowing he was just trying to help but he just didn't get it. He could try but he still didn't understand…Especially with your secret.

"Yeah." You simply gave. You looked over at him. "So…Maybe you should do the same with work."

"Huh?" He muttered as you leaned on the back of the couch.

"Movies. Specifically, Hollywood…Randy, you don't belong here. Dewey belongs here but you don't and I think you know it. I know you love your family and wife but you are this close to being one of those miserable middle aged men in 20 years pissed off they still have to work their ass off while having barely any money and are bitter at their wife and kids as the source of why they had to work so hard and therefore why they're unhappy when really it was because they got suckered into thinking they needed a conventional life that hasn't worked since like 1970 with too many responsibilities to even think of being happy."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh please-"

"I'm serious." You stated with a look his way. "You said it yourself; the video store won't be a thing for long and how well will the book store go especially when your heart isn't in it? I know I'm being a hypocrite right now preaching about doing what you love and I know I have the money to do it if I wanted to and you don't. Okay, I know my financial privileges but. …You went to college for film! You know what makes a movie a piece of art. Use that knowledge, Ray....Go to Hollywood. Apply for some positions, and before long, maybe I'll see your name at an awards ceremony next to Wes Craven, James Cameron, John Carpenter or Sam Raimi."

He gave a soft huff with a smirk and eyeroll. "Yeah, I bet."

"What? Too scared? Can't move out of your comfort zone to be a failure while you're preaching to me to move out of my comfort zone with my life on the line instead?"

He gave you a dumbfounded look. "I can't just pack up and leave! That's easy for you, not me."

"Oh, I thought you were 32 not 72."

"YN, I have responsibilities here!"

"Responsibilities that can take a vacation until you decide for real…You own both places, Randy. Besides, Hollywood is 2 hour drive from here; max. So technically, if you had to, you could just drive back and forth until then. Karla has mentioned to me multiple times she wouldn't mind moving someplace with more to do than Woodsboro. "

He paused at that. "Really?"

"Yes." You nodded with raised brows.

"Well…I do feel guilty sometimes that she doesn't have more. She went back to college for finance and ended up married to a loser trying to make a dream happen that's been retired since the 90's."

"But it is there, Ray! You're just thinking too small with a video store or movie house when you could be helping make the fucking movies! Okay, Mindy and Chad probably wouldn't even remember this place if you moved. You could still not move at all if it works out." You sat up and put your hand out in front of you as you put a hand behind him on the couch. "Picture it, Randy. Doing something you love, something you're good at, something that could change your life and have you all never struggle again…And all you have to do is take the damn chance. You live in California, for fucksakes! It's not like you're traveling clear from Vermont for your big break. I just hate seeing you struggle and you're too stubborn to accept money from me.. So why not? Especially while you're still young."

Randy thought a moment before getting up and shaking his head with a bemused grin. "Yeah, sorry but I think that dream went out the window last time we went there. I'll manage. You on the other hand really need to take your own advice and take the chance."

You took in a breath and leaned back. "Yeah, fine. Maybe I'll try a survivors' meeting."

"Thank you!" He sarcastically announced. "Certainly beats being lonely or gardening as a hobby. Seriously, when are you going to line up and fill that stupid hole you claim is going to be a pond in your backyard?"

"Someday maybe." You smiled to yourself. 

He shrugged to himself and wondered aloud. "So…Maybe when this is over; me and Karla and the kids-" You frowned knowing they'd never find the time. He must have noticed and corrected himself. "Or just me and you can go do something. I GUESS Gale can come too. God knows Dewey won't."

"Are you still mad at him?"

"Aren't you? You should be at home right now. Fuck, we all should be there with you for a weekend long visit and instead we're forced here because he got a bigger badge and a vote and has to play the part now."

"Randy…You know Dewey's got to be lawful now. It's kind of part of the job."

"Yeah, I fucking know…Still annoying as hell and the start of every horror movie WHICH THIS MAY NOT BE!" He hissed out before you could argue. You faltered and closed your mouth with a huff. You saw him stifle a yawn before he said. "Anyways, we don't know anything yet. Here's to hoping we continue our normalish existence, try to make time for each other more and the only horror is coming to theaters this November after Bella had that kid named Resume."

"Seriously. I think you're secretly a fan and you just can't admit it."

"Am not."

"Wow, 5 year old arguments always win."

"Fuck you." He laughed out before yawning again.

You smiled and pointed behind him. "Go to bed, old man. You have big boy responsibilities now and need sleep. Gone are the days of your youth staying up till 5 and sleeping till 3."

"I'm not old, I work. Some of us have JOBS."

You made a mocking 'ooh' noise before retorting. "Don't be mad I worked smarter and more miserably and sold my soul to one of Satan's minions aka Rebecca Walters…BUT I can stay up an hour or two later than you, so there."

Randy laughed as you grinned at him. He waved you away. "Alright, watch whatever you want. You don't need me to tuck you in. Goodnight."

"Night." You watched him leave before switching on the regular cable and laying back on the couch with a blanket and pillow Karla gave you.

He came back in, rushing over to the front door to make sure it was locked. You raised an amused brow and he held up his hands defensively replying. "Hey, I'm not saying it's happening again…But you can't be too careful."

"Got it. I'll be on nightwatch. Goodnight Randy."

He saluted you as you playfully rolled your eyes and turned back to the tv.

A good 15 minutes went by. You weren't even watching anything. It was 11:45 at night and you were just thinking on that couch…

'...I know I should call them but maybe I don't have to? We don't know anything yet. Then again, we kind of do and Randy's just in denial like always.' You released a puff of air past your lips. 'Maybe he's right? Maybe I'm letting all of this eat at me for way too long. I have the money and means to go live anywhere I want! Maybe…Maybe I should? Randy isn't able to have the time to come see me and I'm not a fan of going to see him in this town. Dewey is busy as Sheriff…Gale is just Gale. When Randy isn't busy, Karla's busy. So why hang around in isolation when I'm not happy?...Stu hasn't came by in over a decade…Maybe…Maybe I'm scared if I leave he'll never find-'

You jolted at the thought. Refusing to even entertain the idea you were staying and waiting for those two.

You groaned and turned the tv off, jerking to turn to face the couch with a grumble. 'God, you need to get a grip. Go join pottery or something. Make a acquaintance at least.'

You went to lay down but caught sight of something between the curtains through the window above the couch. You sat up and pried the curtain back to see no cops in the cop car out front.

'Huh…That's weird.'

You sat up, staring out the window a second before thinking. '...You know what? It's fine. A normal person would ignore it. Let the cops handle it.'

But right when you went to put the curtain back down; you saw across the street Jill and Kirby crying and frantically banging on their window. Your stomach sank as you got your gun out of the lock box you had laying next to the couch. You loaded and called out. "Randy! Randy, somethings happening-" Hoping he'd be awake before you heard Jill and Kirby scream even from inside the house.

'Shit.' You got your gun and went outside, hoping to see the cops but they weren't there. All you heard were two teen girls screaming in terror and a pained scream coming from across the street. No shoes, gun in hand, pajamas on, you got your gun in position and ran towards the house. Jill and Kirby ran outside onto the street, screaming and crying while pointing to the house.

"What? What's happening-"

"YN, he's got Olivia! He's got her!" Kirby exclaimed as Jill gripped onto her. You looked up to see the teenager's body dangling from the side window upstairs as it was dragged back inside. Blood smearing down the siding as you felt like the wind was knocked out of you just watching. Your gut sinking as you saw her fingers try to weakly grab the window…She was still alive. "Fuck…" You whispered with a shaky voice before cocking your gun and yelling at Jill and Kirby. "Stay together and find the cops! Hurry! Don't come into the house no matter what!"

You ran up the porch steps and rushed to the door, trying the handle to see it was locked. You tried breaking it in with your foot but without your boots on it was difficult. You didn't want to waste the bullets so instead you tried to think fast. Grabbing a nearby flower pot instead and shattering the glass on the door before reaching in to unlock it. You didn't hesitate to rush upstairs and try to find her room…Stopping dead in your tracks as you saw blood stains under your feet…Going down the stairs. You almost followed them but you had to check her room first. The second you entered; you felt your knees buckle at the blood soaking her bed, splattered over the walls and her innocent posters and pictures painted with red streaks. You gagged softly, covering your mouth as that overly pungent metallic scent hit your nose. You looked around, gun aimed as you saw the room fully. It made Maureen's murder you witnessed on set in Hollywood look like child's play.

No Ghostface…But even more concerning…Where was the girl?

You went to run out, follow the blood streaking down the stairs to its source but stopped as a ringing sounded in the room. A phone ran on her dresser and you glared at it. It was Olivia's phone right next to her hairbrush… You instantly grabbed it and answered with a growl. "What?"

"Welcome home, YN. Preview of coming events."

You kept yourself guarded, anger welling up inside you this was happening again and innocent kids had to die all because yet another attention whore was desperate to be the next Billy and Stu.

"Why don't you come for me? Think you have the balls for that?" You demanded, gun still aimed in your right hand. Your middle finger was stiff but the trigger finger and other two worked just fine. "Come on out, you fucking pussy ass bitch."

"Oh poor YN; you still think this is about you. You still think you're the star."

"That's because I am. You wouldn't be doing this if I hadn't arrived in Woodsboro. You clearly want my attention. "

"Just so I can watch the old, burnt out star crash to Earth. You're just the audience to act 2. This is where the plot starts to thicken-"

"This isn't a fucking movie!"

"It will be."

"You're not getting away with this. These are innocent people-"

"Spare me the lecture!" The voice yelled before continuing. The persons disguised voice almost purring out the insults with some sadistic glee. "You've done very well by all this bloodshed, haven't you? How about the town you left behind? The people you left behind?...I've got plans for you. I'm gonna slit your eyelids in half so you don't blink when I stab you in the face."

You sneered, gun raised as you looked around the room.

"You'll die when I want you to, YN. Not a moment before. Until then, you're going to suffer."

You scoffed to yourself before hanging up. Hearing Jill call your name downstairs.

"Jill?" You rushed over to stop her from entering the room. "Stay right there! I told you not to come in here!"

"Where's Olivia? Where is she?!" Jill urged, trying to look past you into the room.

"I don't know. Do not look, okay?" You demanded, blocking the doorway.

Jill stepped back and shook her head at you. Tears in her eyes as she gave you an accusing stare. "She said you were The Angel of Death…"

You didn't have time to react or say anything as a Ghostface came out of the closet and went to stab Jill. You whipped her to the side and the knife sliced her forearm as she tumbled down the stairs. Clutching her arm in horror as the killer grabbed you and slammed you against a wall. You brought your gun up to shoot them in the head and they went backwards down the stairs with your shirt clutched between their gloved hand. Flinging you both off the steps and tumbling down to the landing where Jill was.

You hit the ground with a thud while Ghostface scrambled away from you. Kicking your gun out of your grip. You realized and panic set in as you frantically tried looking for it. All while Jill just screamed and got out of the way. Ghostface went to stab you. You were still down on the ground before you kicked them in the head as hard as you could from the landing you laid on. It sent them tumbling down the last flight of steps and crashed on the floor.

"Jill, my gun! Help me!"

You weren't going to hesitate to shoot this fucker right between the eyes and end this. Jill trembled, trying to look around.

You saw an officer charge inside as you yelled at him. "The killers here!"

You finally found your gun on the floor a few feet from Jill. You quickly got it and pointed with your free hand.

"Where is he?" The officer asked. His badge read 'Perkins'.

You turned to point. "Right there-...." Freezing when there was nothing but an empty spot. The backdoor was wide open. You turned back. "H-He was."

Perkins spoke into a walkie as he went to the backdoor.

You turned back to Jill who held her arm, glaring at you with tears in her eyes as you went to ask if she was okay. She shook her head. "Don't."

You stared in shock at her as she slid down the wall. You simply turned away and went outside past a boy you've never met as he rushed by you to comfort her.

You walked out, a few neighbors lights were on as you looked back at the house and had to do a double take. It felt like your heart was sinking deeper and deeper as your heartbeat thumped in your ears. Slowly turning back around to see if what you thought you saw was true…Your face dropped, staring in complete horror before you quickly clamped your hand over your mouth…Flashbacks from that party filtered your brain as her hair hung down and her arms dripped blood to her fingertips. The sickening pattering on the cement underneath her was a reminder of your deceased best friend from 15 years ago…. There was Olivia's corpse. Guts hanging, shoulder at an odd angle and body limp. Shoved through the lifted garage doors pet door.

You stared, knees buckling as you sank to the ground. Staring at the scene as you heard Randy. He ran across the street, trying to put on shoes as he ran.

"YN! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! WHY ARE YOU HERE?-....Oh fuck." His mouth fell as he stopped dead in his tracks. The same terrified expression on his face that you had as well.

Police sirens sounded down the block as Kirby, Jill and that boy came out. Kirby clutched her mouth and gagged when she saw it as Jill released a sob. The boy you surmised was her boyfriend held her close and took her away from the scene.

Randy helped you stand. "Are you hurt? Are you okay? Why were you in there YN?!... Where's the killer?" He put his hands on your shoulders as you closed your eyes and nodded. "F-Fine. I'm fine…The killer escaped." You swallowed and looked at him. "Get Karla and the kids out of this fucking town by sunrise." He furiously nodded, as you both turned back around to stare at the teenager's corpse. A giant warning and reminder of your past coming back to haunt you.

'...I think it's time to make that phone call.'

[theprayerfulword]

September 25

John 6:35 Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst."

Matthew 5:14 You are the light of the world.

Romans 12:13 Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

Matthew 10:29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.

Romans 8:16 The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.

Song of Songs 8:6 NIV Place Me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.

May you know that the Lord works in mysterious ways, hiding Himself from casual view, though He has created the heavens and fashioned the earth, designing it to be inhabited, not empty, and saving His people with an everlasting salvation. Isaiah 45

May you understand that the Lord wants to be in relationship with you, for God has not spoken in secret nor told you to seek Him in vain, but speaking the truth and publicly proclaiming bold promises, He declares what is right, drawing you by hunger for His Word and thirst for His Spirit. Isaiah 45

May you be confident that there is no God apart from the Lord, Who is a righteous God and a Savior, for He has declared what will be from long ago and foretold what would happen from the distant past. Isaiah 45

May you turn to God and be rescued for there is none but the Lord Who can swear by Himself with integrity, Whose mouth utters words that will not be revoked, before Whom every knee will bow and by Who every tongue will swear allegiance, proclaiming, “In the Lord alone are righteousness and strength.” Isaiah 45

May you exult and boast in the Lord, glorying in Him Who justifies you and declares you to be righteous in His Son, vindicated as He delivers you from your sinful nature, while all who have raged against Him will be put to shame. Isaiah 45

May you listen to the word of the Lord, Who has upheld you since you were conceived and carried you since your birth even to your grey hairs, for He has made you and He will hold you, He will sustain you and He will rescue you; therefore, to whom can you compare God on an equal basis? Isaiah 46

May you remember this and fix it in mind, taking to heart that He is God and there is none like Him Who knows the end from the beginning, declaring what is still to come even from times long ago, for His purpose will stand and He will do all that He pleases, calling those who will fulfill His purpose, for His righteousness is not far away and His salvation will not be delayed; He will grant His splendor to His people as they accept His salvation and purification. Isaiah 46

May you show mercy to those God is dealing with, for you will need mercy in a time to come, and may you humbly help lift the load of the aged, lest the anger of the Lord come upon you in the midst of your pride and remove you from your comforts. Isaiah 47

May you daily understand anew the need to always walk in humility before the Lord, trusting only in God, depending on Him for the strength, wisdom, direction, and resources that you will need that day, never resting in what you claim to have accomplished or relying on your own prudence as you boast of your own abilities, for you cannot remove yourself from the reach of calamity nor protect yourself from the plagues of the world. Isaiah 47

My child, do you stand confident and calm, filled with peace at the thought of God's justice being visited upon you? Or do you feel a certain fearful, terrifying expectation of fire and fierce fury threatening to envelope you when you think of receiving divine judgment in your life? Your conscience and My Spirit no longer accuse you once you have accepted the free offer of My redemption from your sins. Peace enters your heart and, though memory looks back on past sins with deep sorrow, your thoughts are no longer filled with great dread of punishment or penalty but thanksgiving for the joy of justification before the Father. I paid the debt of your sin, willingly, to the utmost demand and received the receipt marked “Paid in Full” when the Father judged Me worthy of life eternal, sending the Spirit of resurrection into the tomb where My body lay. The very justice of the Father's nature that causes fear in one who does not know Me will bring peace to one who is found in Me for you know that He will not, and cannot, be so unjust as to demand payment again for a debt that no longer exists. The power of sin is broken and the authority of the carnal nature is canceled as you identify with My death and walk in the new life, reborn, a new creation accepted by the Father in Me. The life you now live in your body is lived by faith in Me because I love you and have given Myself for you. There is no more fearful expectation of punishment, for I bore that once, for all. From here, there is only growing into the maturity and unity of faith with all the other members of My Body as you are led by My Spirit and walk in humility before the Father, obedient to the ministry of My Word by My servants. In this way you will attain to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ, bearing gently with one another in love.

May you walk ever more closely with the Lord, giving Him access to more of your life and opening your heart to His Spirit so that He can cleanse and purge the attitudes and rebellion that prevent His holiness from permeating all you do and say, for unless you dwell in the truth and righteousness of Christ, you cannot know the Lord Almighty. Isaiah 48

May you not yield His glory to another or let Him be defamed, for in His mercy, and for His praise, He has held Himself back and delayed His wrath so that He might refine you and form you into a vessel to His honor and receive the praise He is worthy of as you show forth His grace and salvation. Isaiah 48

May you live a life worthy of the calling you have received, to be completely humble and gentle, patient, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace in the one hope to which you were called, for there is one body and one Spirit, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all Who is over all and through all and in all. Ephesians 4

May you receive the grace which has been apportioned to each of us by Christ, Who ascended above the heavens after descending to the lower regions in order to fill the whole universe, giving some one task and others another skill, to prepare God's people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ. Ephesians 4

May you daily walk in God's grace that will grow you to maturity so that each day you will be less affected by tossing waves and blowing winds of doctrine and teaching and scheming, but instead, speaking the truth in love, grow up into Him Who is the Head, that is, Christ, for from Him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work. Ephesians 4

May you give praise to the Lord, to God our Savior, Who daily bears our burdens, for our God is a God Who saves, and our Sovereign Lord provides escape from death, since He has crushed the heads of His enemies. Psalm 68

May you willingly join the procession of God, going into the sanctuary of your King, led by the singers, then the musicians, praising God in the great congregation, so that when God summons His power and reveals His strength, the beast among the reeds will be rebuked and humbled, and the nations who delight in war will be scattered, for God is awesome in His sanctuary, the God who gives power and strength to His people. Psalm 68

May your house be built by wisdom from God and established through understanding of God's ways, with rare and beautiful treasures filling its rooms through knowledge of God's Word. Proverbs 24:3-4

[sparethcsympathy]

negan & maggie - ultimate ship meme

ULTIMATE SHIP MEME! || @nghtmarish

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - as i always say, for our ships forever

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - honestly. i know this version of (your)negan x (my)maggie is different from (my)negan x (your)maggie, which i think it's great cause it's like different versions of how they fell in love. or the relationship started & such. def didn't fall in love right away. the issues between them are a huge part of why, but I think the hate/the tension that clouds around them is too heavy for them to ignore. all that hate maggie has for negan. enemies to lovers on the real deal. cause while she spends a lot of time hating him, trying to kill him- we know that just ends in hate sex, fucking the hate out as the kids say. LMAO. but also what's our biggest enemy? the heart. because the way it would piss maggie off with the way her heart would ache for him. omfg. when she finally understands her feelings for HIM. that she loves this killer ? -- she's gonna avoid him like the plague LMAO.

How was their first kiss? - hot and heavy, teeth and all when. like no room to breath.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - negan def, cause i feel like he's one to say fuck it ! like yolo up in here and is always more daring.

Who is the best man/men? - gabe maybe cause lbr lmao.. carol ? AHHA !

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - rosita !!!! our boo thang !

Who did the most planning? - maggie, does she get negan involved though ? yes, cause she wants it to be something they BOTH want. not just hers. also it's all new to her, so it's nice to have help.

Who stressed the most? - maggie i think cause from planning, and also negan being a pain in her ass. like MEN. I SWEAR. but also when isn't planning a wedding stressful ?

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - i have no idea !

Sex:

Who is on top? - no doubt negan is top. but lbr if anyone could handle negan in bed, it's maggie. she's just as feisty and daring. I think I imagine these two fighting over dominance.

Who is the one to instigate things? - negan def would be, especially in the beginning ? maggie would try her hardest to ignore him. but that don't work out. But the time she's like, imma give him a taste of his own medicine and instigates it when he's doing something important ? Yes.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - a good ass while. all that sex drive !

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - of course they would. negan always wants a reason to be cocky. and maggie? i think maggie would want to remind him just on what she can do, and how she does it. and thrives to make him come apart like he makes her come apart.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - 1 ( jack ) / and if we do the same in our ( my negan x your maggie verses ) where tilly is also maggie's --- then also 2 ( tilly and jack )

How many children will they adopt? - well, they kinda adopt each other kids in a way. LMAO ! you know. like maggie with tilly, negan with hershel. also if we wanna add ginny. that also.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - maggie. but does she force negan to help ? fucking yes she does.

Who is the stricter parent? - maggie gotta be seeing that negan will be a kid along with their kids

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - maggie omfg. she's gonna go nuts with ALL of them. i imagine her being around when tilly is small and she's like TILLY NO ! and then with jack ( hershel ) lmao maggie gonna have a heart attack.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - maggie does. she packs one for negan also if he doesn't cook for them.

Who is the more loved parent? - both of them. they are both amazing in their own ways.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?- maggie. she had negan come with her once, never again.

Who cried the most at graduation? - maggie like a big baby. but lbr negan did too.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - negan cause if maggie knew she'd murder him for it. LMAO.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - i think they take turns tbh. like some days negan does it, some days maggie does. though she prefers the days negan does.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - neither one of them.

Who does the grocery shopping? - maggie. she's controlling. lmao.

How often do they bake desserts? - not as often but when maggie is in the mood.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - maggie loves both meat and salad. negan is more towards eating meat. but he respects the salad from time to time.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - negan probably would. he can be loving, he can be romantic. and this would be one of those times where he would be.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - negan or maggie.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - distracted during sexy time ? yup.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - maggie, but damn straight she puts negan to work.

Who is really against chores? - negan cause lbr who isn't ?

Who cleans up after the pets? - negan also, cause maggie says she does more of the house cleaning ( unless it comes to cleaning farm animals- she'll do it )

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - negan :|

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - neither one of them do. they have a handle over it.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Maggie and she definitely puts it in her back pocket.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - maggie loves her baths, negan seems more into shower time- but loves taking baths with maggie. so if they are doing it together- they take a long ass time in the shower/bath -- but separate. i think maggie would take the longest.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - negan would.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - often ! maggie wants all the kids to enjoy the holidays and bring traditions to their house on things she used to do when she was little.

What are their goals for the relationship? - stick together like glue, don't go to bed angry unless hate sex is involved.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - neither of them.

Who plays the most pranks? - none. maggie isn't into that. and she'll murder negan LMAO.

[moriartyluver]

Bro the worst part is that Albert probably started thinking all that ‘they deserve to die’ shit years ago so his brother was like 8-10, maybe even younger while Albert’s thinking about going all Itachi Uchiha💀

Countess Moriarty definitely had some shit going on cuz jfc girlie always seemed so on edge and jumpy

Also considering the era, I would not be surprised if she was on something but called it ‘medication’, and honestly if it wasn’t for the abuse and mistreatment she gave Liam and Louis, I’d feel more bad for her

Oddly enough though, out of Albert’s whole family the one I hated the most was his father even tho he barely did shit💀

YOURE SO RIGHT THO, FL IS SUCH A GIRLS GIRL

She probably felt so bad when she found out about Frida too😭

Cringy y/ns are horrifying, especially the ‘tiny’ misogynistic ones

Like listen, I understand being shorter or smaller than a guy, and it’s completely fine if you like feeling protected or wtv it is, but what the fuck do you mean you could feel his short ass 6inch cock reach the inside of your head???

Or when they complain about OTHER girls wearing dresses and being feminine, like omfg

🎀.

Albert’s been insane for god knows how long. Also I wouldn’t be surprised if countess Moriarty was diagnosed with hysteria or got a lobotomy or something like that. Not that her abusing liam was valid but I wouldn’t be surprised if she had theorised he might have been an illegitimate child or something and that’s why they had to adopt him and Louis.

Bro I swear in the manga version of their origin story, u never really see Albert’s dad like more than once when he was judging og William for all his friends. He saw his two adopted children were being abused and didn’t care and only really did it for the sake of charity or “Nobellesse oblige”

If fl was there I think frida would have had a bit more of a chance bc she would feel safer talking to a woman about her whole situation rather than a man who looked like a uni student.

Tiny y/ns have forever pissed me off. I’m like 5”2 and quite slim but you would never EVER catch me going “I’m so short 🥺” I’d rather die

You will also never catch me writing anything specific about height (unless there’s another character that’s obviously going to be taller because of physical abnormalities or whatever) anytime is use “she looked up at him”/ “he looked down at her” is if they’re sitting down or some shit because not everyone is short omg

Almost equally bad if they make yn tall and honestly can be just as annoying. Just use neutral language to describe a y/n and it’s not that hard.

Those fanfics where he has a 12 inch ‘member’ 💀 and y/n is short as hell so she gets fucking impaled 💀 💀

I swear the first time I ever read a fic with a cringey y/n, I wanted to jump into my phone and smack the shit out of her. Draco doesn’t love your ocean blue orbs and messy bun of blond hair & your 4”11 size

Even tho I was a bit of a messy kid, I was still hella feminine and loved dresses (despite the fact my mum would cut my hair to make me look like a boy 💀) I will never understand pick me girls who hate pink or feminine stuff. Please get a life 🙏

[p4ngilz]

1. ARCHIVE.

my ocs! for both existing books or things i've written down and also the paracosm in my head. i'll try to arrange this as best as i can for aesthetic reasons since i'm doing this mainly for myself. includes plot, ocs' profiles, and backstories, but i can't guarantee equal specificity among all of them.

TRACKLIST.

Archive, Part One. drafts i have saved and am planning to write/am writing. some are original, some are fanfictions.

1. to die victorious - (mphfpc) 7 kids get caught up in the whirlwind mess of the peculiar world, treading the thinning line between millard nullings's world and theirs. when crazed hybrids come after them on one fateful day, will they let it change their lives or will they refuse to embark on the road trip of their doom?

2. ligaya - (trese) in which sofia "piyang" pajarillo falls in love with the one and only munting trese. being a demigod, she has never been fate's favorite, however she considers thirteen to be her lucky number.

3. veggietale high - a bunch of hot girls move into a nearby dorm in the middle of the school year. will they be able to navigate their new school whilst dealing with boy problems?

4. sol at luna - in which aruna's feelings for her best friend maria bubble up and spill over after years of simmering.

5. matchstick lover - (mphfpc) emma bloom is stuck in devil's acre, hands itching to break out of there and join the rest of miss p's wards on their escapades. however one day she comes across a fellow peculiar, in bed, inside one of bentham's house's many rooms. han min-jun calls themself a matchstick, just as they call emma.

6. the price of change - one ship carrying four fates, all at the hands of the captain and previously owned by a so-called local lunatic who haunts his daughter's dreams. this leaves her no choice but to track her mystery boy down. she ends up with more than she anticipated for—possibly a crew?

Archive, Part Two. a special part because atsv had me WILDING and since i don't have enough talent to draw, i resorted to writing.

7. comet - everyone starts somewhere. "somewhere" being making an oc that hooks up with m*guel o'h*ra. otherwise known as my recycled marvel oc from fifth grade!

8. castlehead - my main sad little magic girl, but in the spiderverse!

9. star-spider - i swear they're not that stereotypical spidersona made to get w m*guel NOOOO i just like stars a lot :( this one was made for shits and giggles

10. the gemini - travis and connor stoll in the spiderverse! call me a monsterfucker JOKEEEE contains major character death

Archive, Part Three. alternate universes i've made of existing series/characters, or self-inserts.

11. squaring up - percy jackson/heroes of olympus characters in squid game.

12. hoshi - jujutsu kaisen self insert oc 🤕

Archive, Part Four. there was a time in my life where i'd take songs as daydream inspirations nonstop and the daydreams became super intense. i've dumped all the resulting ideas into one paracosm where actors play different roles, each role in a series corresponding to a different daydream/scenario.

13. the j&q show - moon and sun dynamic, found family, 8 seasons, hurt/comfort, short emo girl + tall downtown aesthetic boy, gut-wrenching character development, lovecraftian horror, etc. (/hj)

14. the pains of a slow departure - a boy wanting to run away from his abusive father and his little sister who doesn't want to be left alone.

15. criminals (parents) and their sidekicks (children) - sorry for having mommy issues. as if it's my fault

[neo--queen--serenity]

Thank you for the tag @kyouka-supremacy!! 💖

1) Were you named after anyone?

Nope. My name also only exists in the English language, and doesn't translate.

2) Last time you cried?

I haven't cried from like, negative feelings in months, but a good musical or animated film or tv show can make me cry when the story is told well. Hazbin Hotel is a good recent example! That was like, a week ago.

3) Do you have children?

No.

4) Do you play sports?

I used to, in middle school. But high school and university had me doing more musical theater and show choir, so most of my physical activities went towards dance. Now I just work out at the gym like any regular adult.

5) Do you use sarcasm?

Yes, with friends and strangers equally. My passengers on the plane tend to enjoy it quite a lot.

6) What's the first thing you notice about people?

Their emotional state.

7) What's your eye color?

Dark blue-grey.

8) Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings. I love horror, but not in movie form, typically.

9) Talents?

Well I did mention my musical theater background, so there’s that. My formal education at uni was in fine art and French, though I ended up committing more to the French portion of my degree when I became a flight attendant.

10) Where were you born?

St. Louis, Missouri, USA. Though that’s not where I currently live.

11) What are your hobbies?

I LOVE playing strategy board games with my friends as well as the occasional D&D game. We get really competitive. But outside of social life stuff, I love writing, reading, making memes, and photography.

12) Do you have any pets?

Yes! My beloved Maine Coon cat, Pandora. ❤️

13) How tall are you?

5 foot 6 inches (167cm).

14) Favorite school subject?

It was always either art class or choir.

15) Dream job?

I’ve been a flight attendant for 8 years now; I can’t imagine any other job being better than this one. I love it so, so much.

No pressure tags:

@thebaerista, @so-engery, @lanacupcake, @skinnyscottishbloke, @excessive-swearing-and-screaming, @roseofengland467, @momikoi, @todorokitops, @blchwaaaan, @lrainia, @tachiehara, @chaotically-rem

Anyone else who would like to play, feel free!

Thank you for the tag @bunniezai, this looks fun (人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

1) Were you named after anyone?

I was, yes! A famous person my parents looked up to.

2) Last time you cried?

Two days ago. I'm not someone who cries often but also, exams lol.

3) Do you have children?

No, I don't.

4) Do you play sports?

No.

5) Do you use sarcasm?

Yes, but only with people I'm close with and believe I can joke with without coming across as mean.

6) What's the first thing you notice about people?

I'm not sure? Maybe the way they talk, or how they dress.

7) What's your eye color?

Dark brown.

8) Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings. Never been big of scary movies. If it was between happy endings and tragedies, then...

9) Talents?

I mean, I know I am good at making arguments. That's one upside to the neurodivergent tendency to see links / connections in everything.

10) Where were you born?

(Lmao isn't that like, specific?)

11) What are your hobbies?

Curating my blog definitely,,,,, Spanning from editing to giffing to writing analyses to tagging posts. I just have fun

12) Do you have any pets?

Yeah! A small black dog.

13) How tall are you?

166cm.

14) Favorite school subject?

History, and history of art, which is a mandatory highschool class here.

15) Dream job?

Anything that can help make a better society for everyone, really /////

No pressure tags: @demolitionlovrsskk, @hesperidia, @literallyheretorotaway, @lucythejudge, @neo--queen--serenity, @rotisseries, @smol-bean-of-the-smols, @why-cant-turtles-fly + everyone who wants to, please feel free to join!!!

[lovetohate001]

Ok ok hear me out. A little fluff fic where the reader is an orderly at the lab and has a lot of time with the children. 001 walks in to the rainbow room and sees the reader dancing and singing with the children.

Dream A Little Dream of Me

Peter Ballard (001) x Orderly! Reader | FLUFF

word count: 760

AN: This fic is inspired by Season 4 Vol. 2, where Vecna plays Dream A Little Dream of Me at the Snowball in Max’s memory! I wanted to write a small fluffy fic with this song. So let’s make happy memories with this one! 

SONGS MENTIONED:

© lovetohate001, 2022. reposting/translating is not allowed.

You had been working at Hawkin’s Lab for five years now. As a promising physics major at your local university, your father’s occupation at the Lab had been a major opportunity for you to get experience out in the field once your studies had been completed. 

Doctor Martin Brenner had welcomed you to the lab with open arms, and you had been equally scared and excited to see the gifted children hiding away in the facility. And so, sworn to confidentiality, you had worked with these beautiful children every day. And you had loved every second of it.

“You did so well today, Eleven,” you praised the little girl in front of you, no more than nine years old, who stared up at you with wide eyes and an even wider smile.

 “Thank you,” she replied shyly, looking over to Peter, your co-worker, who looked over at the two of you, just as proud. In a way, the two of you were the closest thing to parents that all these children had. 

A small jolt of sadness went through you at the thought. These poor children had no real parents…or families. They’d never have a normal life. And they hadn’t been able to choose this life either. 

The Rainbow Room filled with the sound of a puck clattering against metal pins. Eleven was trying to get the puck in lane 8 again. She’d been struggling with that for a while it seemed. The frown on her face said enough.

 “You’ve got this,” you encouraged her, a tentative hand on her shoulder. 

She’d already beaten 002 in their class today. The last thing you wanted was for her to overexert herself.

“I’ll be right back…” with a small pat to Eleven’s shoulder, you got up and went over to Peter. 

“I was wondering,” you started, sitting down next to him. 

002 looked at the two of you, eyes sparkling with curiosity. Two little red blocks were floating above his upturned palms. 

“Can we play music for the children?” you asked, hopefully.

“Are you willing to risk it, even after what Brenner did to you last time?” Peter reminded you, eyebrows raised pointedly. 

“Well…at least we know now that Brenner doesn’t enjoy Soft Cell's Heat at all.” You cringed at the memory, remembering how angry he had been, finding the two of you listening to it on your Walkman in the break room. 

A sly grin and blue eyes met yours. “I think the song choice wasn’t the best, considering we are surrounded by children, don’t you think?”

“Shut up.” You waved him off, hiding how flustered you were. “I’m going to get my Walkman and bring it back here. I think these two have worked hard enough for today.”

Minutes later, the two of you had taken 002 and 011 down the hall into one of the empty training rooms. A cleaner had been there earlier, leaving the room bare, the smell of chemicals in the air.

“And now…” you hit play, “we dance!”

You took 002’s hands in yours and moved the two of you around in a kind of waltz to the music. 

Stars shining bright above me.

You caught Peter’s gaze over 002’s head. He smiled, radiant and handsome as ever. 011 looked so happy. Colour was back in her cheeks. And you could swear you saw the ghost of a smile on 002 as he allowed you to spin him around. 

But in your dreams, wherever they may be

Dream a little dream of me

You were dancing with Peter now. Every small little touch he gave you. His hands squeezing your gently. His thumb brushing over yours…your heart couldn’t help beating a small bit faster when your eyes met his again, that same mischievous glimmer in them from earlier. 

Breaking eye contact, you saw 011 and 002 just a few feet from you. Despite the competition between the two of them in their classes, they seemed to have oddly found a truce in these few small minutes. 

“I’m glad we decided to do this. Even though we will be in trouble for this later,” Peter whispered in your ear. 

And you could do nothing but agree. Sometimes it was worth taking the risk. For all you knew, Brenner may have had a change of heart and been an Ella Fitzgerald fan this whole time. 

Leave the worries behind you.

Promise to me

You’ll dream a little dream of me     

MASTERLIST

SEND A FIC REQUEST / ASK HERE!

[delicrieux]

—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER

extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”. 

pairing—corpse husband x f!reader warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing.  word count���2.6k. format— written. ─── ❥ req by nonnie​:  y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao

author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao

ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist

You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.

A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?

Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.

A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”

mother i crave violence

sensing evil energy rn!!

i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖

^with peace and love shut the fuck up

“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”

You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”

Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!” 

rip headphone users

i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears

yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭

To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.

Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

queen rly went from  🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?

Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie

akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.

Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.

There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.

The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.

nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!

^pack it up girl defined

“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”

You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing. 

“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.” 

i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live 

shes trying give her time

ya dig??? y not capeesh

what scene from the godfather is this lol?

“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.

Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me Corpse_Husband: thanks baby Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎

You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”

The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.

Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:

I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.

You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.

“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”

NOW she considers it

well....

if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3

Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”

Onto the bio:

You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜 

“What the fuck did I just read?”

The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.

The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall. 

But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.

No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.

“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.

WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????

tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be

^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell

look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling

It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.

What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.

Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.

YOU’RE BLOCKED. You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets. 

...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.

You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.

“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.

“What?” She grits.

“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”

“What did you do now?”

“I made fun of men on Tinder.”

She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”

“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”

“Y/n.”

“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”

She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.

Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.

You Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!! MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(

my husband You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?

Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout. 

Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!

You hehe ur jellyyyy u always dis jealous hehe?

my husband Not jealous.

Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”

He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!

my husband I’m not jealous. Lol.

You ik u repeated tht like 50 times  u trynna convince me or??? lmao

my husband No comment. ...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?

You no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering at least not to my knowledge lol im all urs

my husband That makes me very happy to hear:)

Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.

hope you liked it!! xx

[tobesolonely]

it’s not christmas ‘til you come home

a/n: hello!! please enjoy this piece from my dad!harry universe! (u dont have to read any of them for it to make sense, but it would be cool if u did! loosely based on it’s not christmas ‘til you come home by norah jones <3 hope you enjoy! thank u to @harryysstyless​ for beta reading for me!! happy holidays everyone :)

warnings: SMUT, a bit of angst <3 word count: ~5.1k 

my ko-fi! thank you :)

December 23rd, 2:00 PM

For as long as you and Harry have been in a relationship, you’ve never not spent a Christmas together. 

Before expanding your family, you and he used to hop from party to party every Christmas Eve. Both of you would be absolutely trashed by the time Harry’s driver would drop you off at his house in the early hours of the morning. You’d sleep in until approximately noon, willing your hangovers to go away before finally making it down the stairs and into the kitchen to prepare two steaming cups of coffee. The two of you would then make your way into the living room and exchange gifts (where Harry always went way over the budget you’d set). 

Once you had your first child, Allison, your yearly tradition of party hopping and getting so drunk you could hardly put one foot in front of the other was no more. Instead, you and Harry opted for calm nights in, watching Christmas movies and drinking hot cocoa until she eventually grew tired and got carried up to bed. You would wait an hour or so before springing into action, playing Santa and setting out all of the gifts she asked for and then some. Harry never forgot to take a big bite out of the cookie and carrot left out for Santa and his reindeer.

This tradition stayed the same once your second baby, Oliver, was born. Even though he was too young to know what was going on, Harry was still excited to spoil him rotten this year as it was his first Christmas. However, given the current state of the world, you were afraid Harry would not be here for the first time ever.

“Mumma, when’s daddy coming home?” your six-year-old, Ally, asked for what had to be the seventh time that afternoon. “I made him a drawing for his gift ‘nd I can’t wait for him to see it!”

“Let me see what you drew for Daddy, love bug,” you say cheerily, purposefully glossing over her question. Ally proudly holds her drawing up next to her face. She looks up at you with wide eyes, awaiting a compliment from you. 

“That’s gorgeous, bug! Daddy’s gonna love it,” you inform her. “Maybe you can stick a lil’ bow on it and set it under the tree for him, hmm?” 

“Good idea, Mumma!” Ally runs to the box where you kept all the supplies for gift wrapping, digging around for a pink bow to stick on the corner of her drawing.

While she’s preoccupied with finding the perfect bow to place on her drawing for Harry, you take a quick glance at your phone. He still hadn’t gotten back to you since last night’s quick conversation when he very briefly mentioned he didn’t know if he’d be able to make it home.

He was filming in Los Angeles. You shared your uncertainties about him going before he departed but in the end, this was an opportunity you didn’t want him to miss out on. You read the Los Angeles Times free articles on your phone daily, keeping track of the state of the pandemic in Southern California. You knew it was much worse there than it was at home in London. You feared what you were afraid of was sadly bound to happen— Harry may get stuck in LA.

You didn’t want to say anything to your curious daughter because communication with him had been so sparse. You didn’t know anything for certain yet. But what were you supposed to think? You knew flying nationally wasn’t a good idea at the moment, never mind internationally.

“Hey bug, d’ya think you can watch your brother for a moment? Mumma’s gotta go make a phone call.” 

You hear your daughter let out a slightly irritated sigh. “I suppose I can, Mumma.” Ally responds with a voice laced with exasperation. You chuckle slightly under your breath at your overly dramatic (much like her dad) six-year-old and head into the kitchen, quickly dialing your husband’s familiar number.

“Hello?” 

You let out a sigh of relief upon hearing Harry’s low, hoarse voice. 

“Hi, honey. Just checkin’ in to see how things are going…” you hear shuffling on his end. “It’s December 23rd, you know.”

“I know, love.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Six in tha’ mornin’ here.”

“I’m sorry, H. S’just Allison keeps on askin’ when you’ll be home and ‘m just so worried you won’t make it home on time and you’ll miss Oliver’s first Christmas—“

“Darling,” Harry interrupts your anxiety-fueled ramble. “‘M gonna make it home. Have I ever not been there when I said I would?” 

“No,” you say quietly. “I’m just worried, Harry. I hear traveling is going to get very strict because they’re trying to prevent people from going anywhere for Christmas…”

“Fine, then I’ll get my own plane with jus’ me and a pilot. Wear a mask the entire time and whatnot. Yanno I can make that happen if it’s necessary, pet.” 

Harry’s calm demeanor about the whole situation brings you a bit of peace. Perhaps you were catastrophizing something that wasn’t as big of a deal as you thought it was a mere two minutes ago. If he wasn’t worried about not making it home, you didn’t see any reason to stress about it— not for one second longer.

“Okay then,” you reply, still a bit wary of his travel plans. “What shall I tell your daughter? She’s drivin’ me up the walls asking where you are every twenty minutes.”

Your husband lets out a breathy laugh, causing you to giggle along with him. “Tell her not to eat up all the Christmas cookies before I get a taste of one.”

December 24th, 8:45 AM

Part of you was hoping you’d wake up on Christmas Eve and Harry would be tucked into bed next to you, plump lips parted, the sound of his snores the only noise in the room. However, you were a rational woman, if nothing else. You knew he wouldn’t be by your side when you woke up. 

You make your way down the hall and peek inside your son’s room. He was fast asleep, plump thumb in his mouth. You smile at your sleeping baby and gently close the door behind you, deciding to let him sleep in a bit longer before waking him up to feed him. 

Next, you walk to your daughter's room, gently pushing open the door in case she was still sleeping. Instead, you find her sat at her desk, deeply focused on what appeared to be another drawing. 

“Good morning, lovebug,” you greet your daughter in a sing-songy voice. “You’re up early. What are you working on?”

“Makin’ a letter for Santa,” she replies, not bothering to look up from what she was doing. 

“A letter for Santa?” You start racking your brain for anything you and Harry could’ve possibly forgotten to get for Ally, but you finished your Christmas shopping for your children way back in November.

“Yes,” she answers matter-of-factly. “‘M askin’ him to make sure my Daddy is home by tonight so we can eat cookies together and watch Toy Story, Mumma.” 

“I’m sure Santa will make that happen for you,” you reassure her. “You’ve been a very good girl this year, been so helpful with Olly and doin’ so well in school. The least Santa can do is get you whatever you want.” You see her smile as she digs around in her crayon box.

“Can we wait ‘til Daddy gets home to make Santa’s cookies, Mumma?”

“Sure we can, bug,” Ally claps her hands together excitedly, bouncing around in her tiny chair. “Gonna go make some pancakes, does that sound yummy?”

“Can we have chocolate chip pancakes please?”

“Are you askin’ me that because your dad isn’t here to throw a fit about it?” You give her a knowing smile, causing her to giggle.

“Maaaaybe…” Your daughter turns to face you, swinging her legs back and forth.

“If I make your chocolate chip pancakes, you can’t tell your dad. Deal?” You hold up your pinky. Ally gets up and runs to you and you bend down slightly so she can link her finger with yours.

“I pinky promise, Mumma!”

“Our little secret, yeah?” she nods. “Keep an ear out for your brother for me, bug. I’ll be downstairs.”

December 24th, 3:00 PM

“Love? ‘M afraid I got some bad news...”

As soon as Harry’s voice comes through on the other line, you can tell whatever news he’s about to share with you won’t be what you’re wanting to hear.

“What is it?”

It’s silent for what feels like entirely too long. You get up from your position on the couch next to Ally, telling her you’ll be right back. After breakfast, she convinced you to watch Toy Story with her, which quickly turned into a whole Disney movie marathon.

“Not so sure I’ll be able to make it home.”

You’re not sure if it’s his calm tone that bothers you, the fact that you didn’t want him to go to Los Angeles in the first place, or simply the fact that you and your children missed him terribly and haven’t seen him in nearly a month–– but your mood changes from relaxed to undeniably outraged in three seconds flat.

“You’re kidding.” Your tone is sharp, venomous. Harry once again takes a moment before responding, knowing that the current tone of your voice means he’d best proceed with caution.

“‘M not, love. I woke up early and everything to try and get this sorted out, it’s 7 AM so I was gonna try and catch an early flight––”

“I told you I didn’t want you going to LA,” you cut him off, voice rising slightly. “You knew how bad the pandemic was getting there. I told you this would happen.”

“What do you suppose I do then, Y/N?” His tone is becoming equally as sharp. “Y’want me to tell ‘em, “Sorry, I don’t give a fuck about the travel restrictions. My wife wants me home so let's make it happen!” ‘S that what you want me to do?”

“Don’t be a smartass, Harry,” you spit. “I’ll give the phone to your daughter and you can tell her you won’t be home in time for Christmas, then.”

“Y/N…” his tone is calm again. Fearful. “Don’t make me do that.”

“She woke up early to write a letter to Santa to tell him she wants you home by tonight, Harry,” your tone softens as well. “Even Olly has been asking for you. Swear his new favorite word is ‘dada’.” He laughs at this as do you, and the shared tension that was present just minutes ago dissipates. 

“Just… lemme try a few more things before I tell her, yeah?”

“Harry, it’s already three here,” you gently remind him. “Even if you do make it home today, she’ll be asleep by the time you’re home. I think you just need to tell her.”

Your husband sighs, knowing you were undeniably correct. “Alright. Give Allison the phone, please.”

December 24th, 8 PM

“Almost time for you to head to bed soon, yeah Allybug?” Your daughter lets out a loud sigh in response, not shifting her gaze from the television to you. Ever since Harry told her he wouldn’t be home in time to eat cookies with her, she’s hardly said a word. She’s never experienced a Christmas Eve without her father so understandably, she was missing him tonight.

You shift Olly, who was falling asleep nursing on your lap, into a different position so you could face your daughter directly. From your new position, you can see just how tired she looks. 

“‘M not sleepy, Mumma. Gonna stay up and wait for Daddy,” she informs you of her new plans. “When Daddy is home that’s when it’s time for bed.”

“Ally, remember what Daddy told you on the phone earlier? Santa won’t come unless you go to sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep,” she’s quickly starting to grow upset. “Not until Daddy tucks me in!”

You purse your lips, not wanting to argue with your headstrong daughter when your son was so close to drifting off into his nightly milk coma. Turning your attention back to the movie that was quietly playing on the television, you decide to drop it for now and try again later.

December 24th, 9:05 PM

Not more than an hour later, Olly is upstairs in his crib fast asleep whilst Ally is still laying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, fighting sleep. She was determined to stay up until her father walked through the front door, and you knew getting her to agree to go to bed was going to be a battle and a half.

“You’re not ready to go to bed yet, Ally?” Her eyes fly open once she hears you addressing her.

“Not yet, Mumma. ‘M not sleepy yet.” Her words are a little slurred due to the exhausted state she was in. You hum in response.

“Could’ve sworn your eyes just shut for a minute there,” you pause for a second to see if she’ll look your way. “Must’ve just been my old lady eyes playin’ tricks on me, y’think?”

“I wasn’t sleeping!” She immediately defends herself, frown lines indenting her forehead. “Can we drink more hot chocolate?”

You knew if you wanted your daughter to fall asleep within the hour, another sugar rush wasn’t the best idea. You instead offer her a hot cup of sleepytime tea and she excitedly agrees once you tell her it’s her father’s favorite type of tea to drink at bedtime. You place her down on the kitchen counter while you fill the kettle and wait for it to whistle.

“What are you looking forward to the most from Santa, bug?” 

Her eyes light up at your question. “Well, I really want a new bike! ‘Member Mumma? How I asked him for a pink bike? And I also want a cool swing set! Since we haven’t been able to go to the park in so long,” her smile falters and she looks down at her dangling feet. “I want Daddy to come home the mostest, though.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to break in two upon hearing your daughter admit that Harry being home would be the greatest gift of all. “So do I, lovebug. He’ll be here in the mornin’ to watch you and your brother open all the gifts Santa got you though, don’t you worry.”

For everyone’s sake, you hoped that was true.

December 24th, 11:50 PM

Sleep wasn’t coming easy. 

You finally got your daughter to bed at around ten o’clock and waited thirty minutes before laying out your children’s gifts. It took much longer than it usually did considering you had to do it all on your own. Harry was usually the one to quickly assemble the larger toys while you laid everything out around the living room. 

Despite it taking longer than desired, you were proud that you got it all done without waking your children up. Consequently, that meant you were now left all alone with your thoughts considering you had no more tasks to occupy yourself with. 

You kept contemplating calling Harry, but you weren’t sure if he was busy on set or not. Surely he was immersing himself in work to distract himself from the fact he would not be spending Christmas with his family. 

Deciding you may need a cup of the sleepytime tea you offered Allison earlier, you quietly get out of bed and open your door, sock-clad feet padding softly against the wooden floors. It’s unnervingly silent in your home–– the tea kettle coming to a boil being the only source of noise. You keep unlocking and re-locking your phone, finally deciding to call your husband to see how he’s spending his day. It goes to automatic voicemail.

You assume the reason for this must be that he’s busy filming on set and set your phone down with a sigh, standing on your tiptoes to retrieve a mug from the cabinet. You mutter a slew of curse words under your breath intended for Harry who always puts the mugs up far too high even though you tell him not to.

Right as you begin pouring the now boiling water into your teacup, the faint jingling of your front door causes you to startle so badly that you nearly drop the kettle on the ground. You try to think back to everything Harry ever told you to do in the event of an intruder but your mind goes blank from fright. Deciding to use the scalding water as your weapon, you slowly creep towards the door, your only plan being to fling the water on whoever it was as soon as they got the door open. As soon as you hear the lock click, you flick the lid open that covers the spout and draw your arm back.

“Shit––”

“Harry?”

Your husband jumps slightly, his eyes blinking rapidly in an effort to adjust to the dark living room. You reach beside him and quickly turn on the light, shakily letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He looks exhausted, his hair is an absolute mess, and his eyes are red from sleep deprivation–– but he’s home. You set the tea kettle down on the coffee table and fling yourself into his arms, breathing in the scent of the man you haven’t seen in a month. He drops his bags at his feet so he can properly embrace you, pulling you into him.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head and stays like that for a moment saying nothing, just breathing you in. “Missed ya so fuckin’ much.

“How? I thought…” you trail off. “You said that they said…”

Harry laughs quietly. “Remember what I told ya? I said to ‘em, ‘Don’t give a fuck about your travel restrictions! M’wife wants me home.’” You laugh at him, knowing he was far too kind to talk to anyone that way. 

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically. You pull him in for another hug, placing wet kisses along his jawline. “I’m so happy you’re home. The kids are gonna be over the moon, especially Allison.” Harry hums, surveying the room.

“Looks like you did a good job in here, Mrs. Claus. See ya even assembled some toys all by yourself,” he quirks an eyebrow. “Were you jus’ pretendin’ not to know how to do it all these years so I’d be stuck with all the hard labor?”

“Maybe.”

He pulls you back into him, tickling your sides. “My sneaky girl,” he bends down so his lips are level with your neck and sucks gently, causing you to let out a quiet moan. You see his eyes land on the tea kettle that was sitting forgotten on the coffee table. “Making a cuppa? Can I have one? ‘M freezin’.”

“I can think of something else we can do to get you warmed up,” you reach for his hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “If you know what I’m gettin’ at.”

“Hmm…” Harry releases one of his hands from your grip and taps at his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Not too sure I can say I know what you’re sayin’. Maybe you should just tell me?”

You frown. “You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”

“Y’know I’d give you the entire world if you asked me for it. All you gotta do is tell me what you want from me and it’s yours–– ‘m sure you’ve known that since the first day we met, though.” Harry takes a step back, crossing his arms across his chest. Even in his thick winter coat, you can see the way his biceps flex, and it makes you even more feral for him.

“Fine,” you say quietly, feeling yourself start to grow shy under his intense gaze. “I’m kinda... in the mood.” You say it so softly that it would most likely be inaudible to Harry if he wasn’t standing mere inches away from you. Harry throws his head back in laughter and you quickly shush him, not wanting any of your children to wake up.

“In the mood? C’mon, pet,” he uncrosses his arms and reaches for one of your hands. “Tha’s not tellin’ me what you want from me. Tell me exactly what you want, lovie.”

“You know what I want, H,” you tell him with a hint of annoyance in your voice. “It’s been a month. Yanno I want you to fuck me, why are you makin’ me say it?”

Harry gives you a shit-eating grin. “You jus’ said it. I didn’t make you say anything.”

You roll your eyes at his immaturity, already in the process of lifting your nightshirt (one of his old t-shirts that’s become just a little too tight on him) over your head. “Are we gonna get to it or not? Because if not, I’ll just go back to makin’ myself some tea and call it a night––”

Harry takes half a step towards you and reaches up to cup your face, colliding his lips with yours. His lips are a little chapped and taste of his favorite rose lip balm. You feel your body relaxing into the kiss, knees going weak as he walks you back onto the couch.

“You’ve been eatin’ up all the sugar cookies, haven’t you? Can taste it on ya. Thought those were for Santa,” he’s pulled away from you to examine your face. “A bit naughty of you, wouldn’t ya say?”

“Please stop referring to yourself as Santa when we’re about to have sex, Harry.”

“You’re not bein’ very kind to the person that’s about to go down on you, are you?” He sucks harshly on the valley between your breasts, wanting to be sure a deep-colored bruise will appear on your skin later. “That’s okay. It is Christmas, after all. ‘M in a giving mood.”

“Stop talking and get to it then.”

Harry slides off the couch and onto his knees in between your legs, gently kissing your thighs. “Cute pair of undies–– s’like you knew I was comin’ home tonight.” Before you can respond Harry’s fingers are tugging at the waistband of your underwear, eager to get them off of you. He presses light kisses to your core, mumbling about how much he missed the smell of you and how sweet you tasted. 

One hand is resting across your stomach while the other one is in between your folds, spreading you open. You try squeezing your thighs around his head, overwhelmed by the feeling of your husband’s lips around your clit after being away from him for so long, but he removes his hand from your stomach and pushes your thighs back apart.

“Feels so good,” you’re breathless, tangling your fingers in Harry’s hair as his hollowed cheeks begin to suck more roughly on your clit. “Missed you so much. Missed this–– us.” 

Harry pauses momentarily to look up at you. “I know, angel. God, do I know.” He attaches his lips back on you, swirling his tongue around your clit as you  choke back your moans. The hand that is holding you open moves down to toy at your slit as he wordlessly checks to see if you’re okay with his fingers being in you. 

“Please,” you say softly, encouraging his next move. He spits on his index and pointer finger before slowly sliding both of them in you, immediately curling them up. “Oh, Harry. Fuckin’ love when you do tha’...”

“Know you do,” His response is curt, simple. He’s focused on the task at hand–– getting you off. He uses the hand that’s lying across your stomach to rub tight circles on your clit, sensing you’re nearing your orgasm from the way you’re starting to clench around him. “Such a good girl fo’ me, darlin’. Gonna make a mess on my fingers in a second, aren’t you?”

You nod as you try to control your breathing and the loudness of your moans. The last thing you wanted was for your daughter to come down to inspect the source of the noise. “Fuck, Harry.” 

“Come on, darlin’,” he gently pinches your clit, causing your body to jolt at the sensation. “Gimme a good one. A lil’ welcome back gift for me, hmm?” 

Your hips are bucking up to the rhythm of his fingers slipping in and out of you as your orgasm quickly approaches. “Har, I’m close…” it comes out sounding more like a warning than a statement. He moves the two fingers he has inside of you in a back and forth motion, coaxing your first orgasm out of you.

“Tha’s my girl,” he whispers, not stopping his movements even as your back arches as your first orgasm rolls over you like a giant wave. “Givin’ me a good one jus’ like I knew you would. Jus’ like you always do. M’ sweet girl.” As you’re starting to still, Harry pulls his fingers out of you and holds them up to your mouth, instructing you to suck them clean. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can properly lean in to steal a kiss from him and notice a rather sizable tent has formed in his pants. Harry gives you a sheepish grin as he palms himself, hissing from the feel of his palm against his cock.

“Want me to do somethin’ about that?” You scoot over on the couch and pat the spot next to you, signaling for your husband to sit beside you. He lifts himself from his seated position, stretching his legs out a bit before plopping down beside you.

“Are you offerin’ me a blowie?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Can we skip that an’ you can jus’ ride me instead? Think I’d quite like that.”

“Oh you would, would ya?”

Harry nods and unzips his pants, taking himself out. He licks his hand and gives himself a few pumps. “Still on birth control, I’m assuming?”

You roll your eyes as you move to straddle him. “Only been gone for a month, Harry. Of course ‘m still on it, you goof.”

“Can never be too careful. I don’t think now’s a good time for another lil’ one, do you? Think we should at least celebrate Oliver’s first birthday before we try for another one.” His hands are on his hips as he lines you up over his cock, helping you slowly sink down. You missed the burn of him which was even more intense than it usually was considering it’s been a while since he’s taken you.

“I think you’re right,” you reply. You rest your head on his shoulder while you adjust to the size of him, needing to take a moment to yourself before attempting to move. After a short adjustment period you begin rolling your hips, grinding against him in a way that was also bringing pleasure to your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your last orgasm.

Harry’s eyes are fixated on the way your breasts bounce in front of him, the way your stomach slightly jiggles each time you crash back down onto him. His lips are caught in between his teeth; you’re hoping he doesn’t break any skin so you don’t have to hear him whine about how badly the bruise hurts him later.

“Ridin’ me like your life depends on it,” Harry mutters. “Fuckin’ love takin’ you like this, angel. So fuckin’ deep.”

You simply hum in agreement, brain far too foggy to form a coherent sentence. Harry notices your movements starting to become smaller, lazier, so he puts his hands on your hips and decides to take over. He’s thrusting up into you like you’ll up and run away from him if he doesn’t give it his all. He cups your face with one hand and gently guides you towards him, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

“Fuck, H,” your eyes are squeezed shut and your wrap your arms around his neck, feeling your second orgasm quickly approaching. “Rub my clit please, almost there.”

Harry’s fingers immediately come down to rub at your slick nub, not faltering his relentless pace in the slightest. “Clench around me again, lovie,” his voice is higher than usual, whiny, and you know your husband is just as close as you are. “Love when you do tha’, jus’ need you to do it one more time.”

You do as he wishes once more, knowing once he cums you’ll be directly behind him. Harry lets out a string of expletives as he releases inside of you, pulling you tightly against his chest as he rides out his orgasm. You continue riding him, not slowly down as you chase your own release next.

“Harry,” you’re in a trance-like state, chanting his name over and over as you bring yourself over the edge. “Harry, fuck!”

“That’s my good girl,” he says quietly, rubbing your back as you rest your head on his shoulder while you catch your breath. You feel him beginning to soften inside of you so you lift yourself off and lay back on the couch, legs still shaking. It’s quiet for a couple of minutes as the two of you reveal in the afterglow of your orgasms, Harry gently running his fingers along your leg.

“Round two in the shower?”

December 25th, 6:42 AM

“Mumma! Santa came and he left lots of toys–– Daddy?”

Harry lets out a dramatic “oof!” as Ally jumps onto him, pulling the covers back. Her eyes are wide and she giggles are Harry pulls her into one of his infamous bear hugs, placing kisses all over his face.

“Mornin’, love bug! What’re you doin’ up so early?”

“It’s Christmas, Daddy! Santa came!” she sits back on her feet, a confused look on her face. “Did Santa bring you on his sleigh last night after me ‘n Olly went to bed?”

“Y’know what? He told me to keep it a secret, but he did,” Allison gasps in response to his news as she processes it, placing a little hand over her mouth. Harry sits up and gets out of bed, scooping her up in the process. “How ‘bout we go make Mum a cuppa before we see what Santa got for you and Olly? Tha’ sound good? Let’s let them sleep for a while longer, hmm?”

As you hear them exit the room you take a second to reflect on how lucky you are to spend another Christmas with you beautiful family before drifting back off into a deep, albeit short, sleep.

[helliontherapscallion]

Warmth (Adrenaline Junkie Part 6)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: Self harm scars, mentions of panic attacks and hallucinations

Word count: 2,842

(A/N): This takes place about 6 months after the last chapter. Also, I was heavily inspired by Toothless’ prosthetic, I’m really excited to write more about it : )

You hummed to yourself as you walked down the cobblestone street of the village. The village was probably one of your favorite places to visit; it had quaint little shops and stalls decorating the main plaza that you adored, it was always interesting to see what’s being sold today. Though you always wore your cloak to cover your wings (well, wing and a now-feathered nub) whenever you visited to avoid the stares, you still regularly visited the main plaza for the shops. 

The first time you visited after the incident was about a month ago with Wilbur, you two were looking for something to cook for dinner. You were trying to get used to having your wings out again, so you were wearing the jacket with the slits in the back that you always used to wear. 

The feeling of people staring holes into you was a feeling you forgot about. You always got stares whenever you went into the village because of your wings, but now it felt like more and more people were staring at you as you passed them, probably because of your nub. Though some looked at you in pity, most looked at you with disgust.

You could hear children asking their mothers what happened to you. Their mothers would take one look at you and shield their children away from you staring at you with disgust. You even made one kid cry when he saw your wing; you didn’t blame him, you still couldn’t look at your nub without tearing up. An hour hasn’t even passed before you were asked by a police officer to leave because you were causing a disruption and being indecent in public.

Wilbur was pissed. “They’re fully clothed and they didn’t even talk to anybody, so how exactly were they being disruptive or indecent?”

The officer firmly held her ground, looking up to Wilbur’s tall form. “Sir, the people are complaining and it’s my job to make the public feel safe and comfortable. Look,” she sighed, “I really don’t want to have to ask them to leave, they’re not doing anything to directly threaten people. However, they are causing a disturbance with their,” she wrinkled her nose, “their thing, so I’m going to have to ask them to leave.”

“You have absolutely no right to tell them to leave. They-”

“Wilbur, it’s fine. I’ll leave,” turning back to the officer, you calmly stated “I’m sorry for causing a disturbance ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

She curtly nodded and stood watching you, probably making sure that you left the main plaza. Before you could turn to leave, Wilbur stopped you.

“(Y/n)-”

“No, Wilbur. It’s alright, I can wait outside the village for you.”

He sighed, looking through his leather satchel. “No, you won’t have to wait for me. We’ve got enough food for dinner anyways,” shooting one last heated glare at the police officer, he reached down to grab your hand. “Let’s go.”

He drug you quickly through the village with you having a little trouble keeping up with his long strides. Once you were out of the village, he slowed his pace and walked with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“(Y/n), I’m sor-”

“Don’t be Wil. It isn’t your fault. I honestly was expecting to get kicked out earlier.”

“Still, it’s not fair to you. You didn’t ask for this.” 

“I know Wil, I’ll just wear my cloak next time I visit.”

He didn’t say anything to you after that. The rest of the walk home was shrouded in an awkward silence. 

Another part of the village you loved was the library. It had tall shelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books and various cushioned furniture littered randomly amongst the maze of shelves. Whoever would walk into the library would immediately be hit by the strong scent of parchment and wood as soon as they would walk through the twin doors. You would usually browse books about redstone, but you had a different agenda today.

Today, you were looking for a book about leather working. You wanted to make a leather prosthetic wing so you could at least glide through the air. You weren’t sure if it would work though. From what you’ve read, nobody’s attempted to make a prosthetic wing. It made sense, being a hybrid was rare in and of itself, let alone a winged hybrid. 

You missed flying more than anything. You would give anything to be able to be in the air again. You felt jittery and restless without flight. Sure, Philza took you on some flights with him every now and then, but it wasn’t the same. You yearned for the independence and liberation it gave you to fly alone.

After you found a book and checked it out with the librarian, you hastily set out for home. You were walking with a giddy smile on your face and a bounce in your step. Several people gave you strange looks as you passed them, but you were in too good of a mood to care. You finally figured out a way you could possibly fly again. 

When you got home, you headed straight to your workshop to get to work on your prosthetic. Several blueprints were hung up around your desk, some for your TNT launcher (which you finished a few weeks ago) and others contained ideas for an automatic farm. Your pride and joy was hung up in the center of your bulletin board. It made you extremely happy just by looking at the prosthetic sketch.

Your redstone lamp illuminated the space in front of you as you focused on cutting a large strip of leather in front of you with great concentration. You needed to get the measurements exactly right, equal sized wings are integral for stability midair. The prosthetic was going to be about the same size as your left wing with thin iron rods giving the wing structure. You planned on making it identical to a bat’s wing with a few minor changes in shape to match your other wing. Once it actually was structurally sound and working, you would add proper joints so you could wear it around and decorate it. Until then, you’re making adjustments.

When you were done, you moved on to crafting and melding together the iron rods. Putting on your goggles and thick leather gloves, you used a bit of lava your family kept stored in another room in the basement to fuse the thin iron rods together. You carefully dipped one end of two rods into the bucket before pulling it out at a certain time to hold the molten ends together until they cooled. You repeated this process until you were melding the last piece on.

“HEY BITCH, DINNER’S READY. GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT!”

Yelping, you dropped the mold onto your desk. You picked it up in a panic without paying attention to where your arms went. Unknowingly, your sleeved arm was pressing up against the scorching iron of the bucket of lava.

“FUCK YOU YA FILTHY GREMLIN, A LITTLE WARNING WOULD’VE BEEN NICE!”

He started cackling. “FUCK YOU TOO! NOW GET UP HERE BEFORE I EAT YOUR DINNER.”

“YOU BETTER FUCKING NOT. I SWEAR TO- FUCK!”

You felt the nerves on the side of your forearm screaming as you yanked it away, leaving the crisp remains of a part of your sleeve stuck to the iron bucket. Two pairs of footsteps boomed down the steps and got louder as they rapidly approached you. 

Wilbur’s deep voice worriedly called out to you. “Shit, (y/n) are you alright? Let me see.”

Before you could protest, he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled the sleeve of your jacket down. Adjoining the light burn, small horizontal scars and some fresh cuts lined your forearms. Shit, they were never supposed to find out.

Wilbur’s hand froze, gripping your wrist with an iron grip. You hissed at the feeling of some of your cuts reopening, causing him to quickly retract his hand. He now had his hands hovering over your arm unsure of what to do with them.

“(Y/n), wha-” Tommy cut himself off once he saw the panicked look on his older brother’s face. Following his gaze, his wide eyes met with your cuts.

You sighed, prying the goggles off from your face and pulling the gloves off from your hands. You put on a calm exterior, contrary to what you felt on the inside. They were never supposed to know. “Listen, you guys weren’t supposed to find out about this. None of you were. Please don’t tell Dad or Technoblade, I don’t need more people knowing.”

Tommy spoke up with an incredulous look. “(Y/n), what do you mean? We can’t just not tell them.”

“I know. Please, do it for me? Everything’s finally going back to normal and this will just make everything worse again. I promise I’ll stop, I swear.”

The two brothers looked at each other silently contemplating what they should do. On one hand, you were their sibling and you were hurting yourself. They needed to tell their dad that you were cutting. You only had two lives left and you could kill yourself doing that. Philza and Techno could help. On the other hand, they wanted you to feel normal in your own home. You were right in the fact that everything was starting to feel like it did before the incident. Plus, they would gladly help you through it.

They looked back at you with apprehensive expressions, speaking at the same time. 

“(Y/n), we’re not gonna tell Dad or Techno.”

“We’re telling them.”

Tommy whipped his head up to look at his brother angrily. “Wilbur, we need to tell them.”

“Tommy, no-”

“Are you fucking stupid? Of course we have to-”

“Tommy. We don’t because I’ll be taking every sharp object away from them tonight. We’ll watch them and check their wrists to make sure that there’s no new cuts and they stay clean. We’ll help them.”

“But- they,” Tommy gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But we at least have to tell Techno about this. He can help us.”

Wilbur glanced at you with apologetic eyes. Before he could speak up, you interrupted him. “...Alright, as long as Dad doesn’t find out. He has enough to stress out about and he doesn’t need to worry about me again. Now, can we go upstairs for dinner? We’ve been down here for long enough already and Dad’s probably wondering why. Tell him that I’m gonna go clean up.”

Without giving them any room to argue, you speeded up the stairs and into your room. Closing the door and leaning your back on it, you let your calm facade drop into a panicked one. Shit, what if Tommy tells Dad? What were you supposed to do then? He’ll take away what little freedom you had left and you’ll be sinking into the depths of your depression again. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock and Philza’s voice. You held your breath as you prepared yourself for him to tell you that he knows your secret. “Hey hun, Wilbur and Tommy told me that you burned yourself,” you let out a relieved sigh. “Do you need me to look at it?”

Panic once again flared in your bloodstream. “N-no Dad, it’s just a little burn. I’ll be down in just a second I’m changing.”

“You sure? I can get you a potion.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“...Alright,” he sounded skeptical. “Just hurry up, dinner’s getting cold.”

The sound of his retreating footsteps sounded like music to your ears. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths before you moved to put on a long sleeved shirt. 

Dinner was uncharacteristically quiet without Tommy, you, or Wilbur talking. Philza tried to carry the conversation with you four, but only Technoblade gave full responses. You, Tommy, and Wilbur only supplied a few words to a conversation when prompted. 

Technoblade was suspicious. Sure, you and Wilbur were quiet sometimes, but Tommy? Tommy’s always loud and rambunctious. Something’s wrong, but what? What could’ve happened when Tommy and Wilbur went to go get you for dinner? They weren’t gone for long. He did hear you screaming profanities at Tommy for scaring you and overheard Tommy telling Philza about how you burned yourself, but how is that something that would shut you three up? He was going to confront his siblings after he finished tonight’s dishes. 

Meanwhile, you, Tommy, and Wilbur were in your room. You were giving them your iron dagger.

“Is this all?”

“Yeah, Tommy. That’s all, search my room if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t mind, I don’t have anything to hide from you anymore.”

They did just that. Looking under your bed, in your drawers, in your closet, and in the chest you kept for your supplies. You watched them propped up on your bed. While you were angry with yourself that you were so careless, you felt warm that they cared about you. They were great brothers.

After they were done turning your room upside down, Wilbur plopped down next to you and Tommy threw himself over your legs. You three laid there for a while just enjoying each other’s presence. It was nice to spend some time with your brothers, you didn’t get much free time to spend with them because you spent most of your time in your workshop.

The silence was broken by Tommy. “...So, how do you wanna go about telling Technoblade?”

“I’m… not exactly sure. Do we even have to tell him?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. “Even if you didn’t want to, I’m pretty sure he knows something’s up. He’s good at picking up on social cues.”

“Well if that’s the case, I might just wait until he comes to me. It’ll be easier.”

Your door swung open to reveal your piglin hybrid brother. He looked at you with a single eyebrow raised as his ear flicked. “What were you planning on telling me?”

Tommy and Wilbur looked at you expectantly. You shifted your body closer to the wall making room on your bed for him. He walked over and stiffly sat on the edge of your mattress. He gestured for you to talk to him. You slowly slid your sleeve down and showed him your arm. Besides his eyebrows slightly crinkling, he was as stoic as ever when he reached out to grab your wrist for a better look.

On the inside, the voices were almost as loud as when you died. They were nearly incoherent as several angry voices mixed together yelling at him for not noticing anything was wrong with you, the kid he vowed to protect when you first stole his crown and replaced it with a homemade paper one. Outside of the voices, he was furious at himself, he was supposed to protect you. He ran his fingers along the raised lines, gently tracing over every scar and scabbed over cut as if memorizing where every single one lays.

His monotone voice was gruff. “How long? Why?”

“About eight months now. I-I didn’t feel anything for a while after I respawned and I realized that pain helped me feel. It helped ground me when I hallucinated or had panic attacks.”

“...Do you feel anything now?”

“Yeah, I’m getting better Tech. I’m hallucinating less and I’m getting better at managing anxiety attacks. At this point, it's just a habit that I can’t drop.” 

“Do you want to drop it?”

You fell silent. You never really considered stopping before. Before, you would do it to give yourself something to focus on when you were overwhelmed, but now you would do it out of habit. It somehow felt wrong when you skipped a session and it usually threw your entire day off. You would feel drained for the entire day if you didn’t do it. It was one of the only consistent things in your life.

“(Y/n), c’mon you don’t want to keep doing this, right?” Tommy asked before Wilbur reached over and slapped him upside his head. 

“I think,” you breathed out, unsure of yourself, “I want to get better.”

Techno looked at his brothers. “Did you two take their blades?”

Tommy held up the iron dagger and wove it around haphazardly in the air. Techno reached over and pocketed the dagger before discarding his golden crown and placing it on your nightstand. He took off his weighted fluffy cloak and neatly draped it over a nearby chest. He maneuvered his body so that he was laying on your other side and wrapped a lazy arm over your chest. 

With Wilbur on your right side with your wing draped over him, Tommy laying on your stomach with Wilbur reaching down to hold him, and Techno pulling you close to his body, you were pleasantly warm. You were slowly drifting off, being lulled to sleep by Techno’s slow heartbeat. You blissfully fell asleep surrounded by your brothers’ love.

Inspo for the cuddle pile (credit goes to og artist, zillychu): https://zillychu.home.blog/tag/heart-squad-cuddle-pile/

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @ravennightingaleandavatempus  @dirtydiavolo  @yeiras-world  @immadatmostthings  @hee-hee-haw  @jackalopedoodles  @m1lkmandan  @vanhakirja  @im-a-depressed-gay  @coolleviauchihadreamerlove  @questioning-sanity  @camisascam

@bongwaterflavoredgatorade  @kakamiissad  @jayistrash  @lifestylesleep  @speedymaximoff  @sun-shark-tooth  @appetiteofapeoplepleaser  @starchildnatalya  @kinismanditory  @dragons-lurk-here  @rinzyx05  @the-wandering-pan-ace  @sparkling-gayyyy  @angelic-scent  @shinipii  @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander  @izzydimensional  @used-avocado

[dangermousie]

S2 ep 4

I love s2!

1. Marcos and Paula continue to break me. He is such an amazing, unstintingly loving brother to her - the way he reacts to her comment that she is forgetting what their home looked like, the way he is talking about the fact that they won’t go home for the holidays. Paula finishes the show a safe, happy, well-adjusted and loved little girl and it’s all due to how Marcos was with her, how he managed to shelter her through hell. He is damaged for good at the end of the show but she is not solely because of his care and just - he is the best big sibling ever.

2. I hated this teacher. (Rightly so, murderer, statutory rapist, sadist etc.) Honestly, except for 3 teachers, every teacher in that hellhole ranged from neglectful and evil to genuine psychopath. Also, I found it pretty telling he honed in on Ivan - I swear the guy was a psychopath magnet, probably because the combo of vulnerability and cussedness drew them in (the fact that a literal adult in position of authority is “competing” with an underage student and enjoys putting him down sums up everything that is wrong with the man. Abusers are gonna abuse.)

3. Elsa, Elsa, Elsa. At the end, she finally learned to put students in her care first but not here. She lets Julia go off with her stepdad because Julia was blackmailing her; learns stepdad was sleeping with Julia and her reaction to Hector is “at least he wasn’t beating her” (!!!) (to which Hector, the only one with moral sense, replies “no he was just grooming her instead”) and when Julia does come back, her main concern is for Julia’s mom not to find out - she threatens to hit her if she tells - your underage student is being “dated” by someone who should be in jail, but nah, keeping your job is priority. Adults in this show keep failing children over and over. Look at Julia’s face.

4. Fermin!!! The sole dude in this show I’d want in RL!

5. All that fighting training is gonna come in useful. I mean, Ivan is going to acquire a body count before he hits majority!

6. Speaking of horrible adults - Julia’s mom. She treats her 40+ husband and her underage grieving daughter as equally culpable. “I forgave you for sleeping with my husband,” “you slept with him because you are spoiled!” THE HELL!!! This is not your 45-year-old friend, this is your 16 year old daughter who was abused JESUS. And then when Julia mouths off, she slaps her and does not apologize. Julia keeps pushing and pushing but in a way it’s the same reason Ivan kept pushing and pushing with Maria - to be convinced they are loved even if they are “bad.” And Maria passes the test while Julia’s mom fails. Julia is still underaged, still a daughter who got hit by her mother. And despite her defiance and shields, you can see her heartbreak.

7. Everything related to Paula is so creepy. But also, in retrospect even before Nazi reveal, it was all pointing that way - the way they threw out Elsa’s “imperfect” twin, the IQ thing, the experiments, and of course:

8. This is the moment I started shipping them the first time around and I still adore this. Maria returning his kindness and trusting him like he trusted her in s1, and also getting his bullet out by herself. She was tough, kind and loyal. And so warm. No wonder he fell hard.

9. Julia turning Ivan in for stealing the test.

It’s interesting to me because what strikes me is not that (she has reasonable basis to believe he did, she doesn’t know or owe him anything, and if she doesn’t, she doesn’t get to go on her Paris trip) but the gang’s reaction. More specifically, Caro’s reaction. She totally jumps to conclusion that he did it which not only is a not great thing to do for a gf who is supposed to trust him (as he points out), but also points out how much she doesn’t know him on a basic level - since when has Ivan ever cared about grades or studying? I mean, seriously! And it turns out that the paper he had were tickets he booked for a surprise trip for them since he knew she couldn’t go see her mom. And she feels bad but (a) the fact that she needed literal proof means this is a broken relationship (b) Ivan is completely correct when he points out she normally supports everyone but not him. When he asks her “why are you even with me?” and she doesn’t have an answer, that is answer enough. Honestly, his basically calling it quits then and there is a healthy thing because it’s healthier to want to be with someone only when they like you back, when they support you, and when the relationship is working for both of you. That is actually a start on the learning curve for him - don’t cling to those who don’t want to be there, seek a real relationship or not at all. Though he asks her to leave and she does and you know what struck me? In a way, even if he didn’t realize it, it was a test (just as his asking why she is with him was one - if she loved him, she’d have then said it) - what he was hoping for though not expecting tbh is for her to try to stay. But she does not. (He does that with Maria and she stays; he later does it with Julia in s7 and she chases! But Caro leaves and that’s fine, she has every right to do so and not be in a relationship that is not working out, but that very fact proves they are a bad fit and are best off apart.)

10. Hector preventing Julia from going off with abuser stepdad was A+++. He is actually acting like a damn adult, and putting the wellbeing of teens under his care first!!! And then the way he takes the man down - telling him he will report him to the cops and asking what he enjoyed more - sleeping with a teen girl or sticking it to his wife. Hector!!! (Side note - stepdaddy tries the usual abuser playbook “Julia is vvv mature for her age” and the way Hector just sweeps this away is A+++)

[colossalcriminal]

Hopelessly Devoted - s.r

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the tragic event of Maeve’s death, Spencer and Y/N’s 8 year marriage ends in a messy divorce. When Spencer finds himself in prison 4 years later, Y/N laments over what she’s lost.

Content Warnings: Character death, swearing, violence, divorce, illness, Prison!Reid (yes, that’s a warning.) This is not proof read.

4 months after the death of Maeve Donovan.

“Just sign here and here.” Y/N informed, jaw clenched and lips pursed as she hugged her jacket as tight as possible, winter air nipping at every bit go exposed skin. Her cheeks being tinted a light pink was a sight Spencer always adored, but now he didn’t care for it. Didn’t even think about it.

He nodded, scribbling his name onto the dotted line, just barely hesitating on the last signature. “When do I get to see the kids?”

“The weeks you’re gone, I’ll have them. When you’re here, you’ll have them. I want the book collection, you can take everything else.”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, eyes skimming through the agreement. “The book collection?” Normally, such a ‘materialistic’ item wouldn’t have bothered him during such a devastating process that was equally killing both of them. “Why?”

“Because, Spencer, I’m giving up the BAU. I’m giving up the life I’ve worked hard for, the friends I’ve made. Is it that bad that I want a stupid book collection to keep me going?” She questioned, tears threatening to pool at her waterline. “You know what, keep it. Can we, just, be friends? For the kids?”

Head hanging low in shame, he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I know, and I love you, too. I really do, and I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

  Four years later.

Moving on was never something Y/N, or Spencer, was good at. It was obvious when she didn’t feel the need to go back to her maiden name, preferring the way Reid sounded and when she’d buy at least one chocolate covered donut with sprinkles everyday incase he randomly dropped in to see the kids. On the days he didn’t, she’d eat it herself.

As days dragged on it hurt less and less. The pain in her chest subsided and the constant banging in her head had finally given her a break which was helpful when she was reinstated as an attorney. Divorce was hard on almost anyone, but the separation had shattered her to pieces. It wasn’t like Spencer was any better, losing his temper and throwing a thousand fits a day for the first few months. But, eventually, that too subdued. 

Both parents were immensely grateful that their children too young to understand the misery they were surrounded by, despite how successful their coparenting strategy was.

Y/N had become aware of Diana and Spencer’s living situation and her condition, encouraging him to let her spend more time with the children. She waited patiently by the front door, 10 year old, 9 year old and 7 year old next to her. 

Spencer was 47 minutes late. He was never late.

It was his day to spend with them while she went and ran errands. It was 29 minutes later when Emily had called her long time friend, informing her of Spencer’s whereabouts.

“He is where? I’m on my way, Em. Come on, guys.”

She didn’t offer her children any explanation, choosing to get them into the car in and make it to the BAU in record time. Parking in her old spot, Y/N sighed, turning to face the 3 kids in the backseat. “Your dad’s been arrested.”

“What? Sorry, pardon me?” Diana’s mouth fell open.

“He’s being framed, they’ve brought him back to the BAU so we can say bye, okay? We’re going to get him out. He’s done nothing wrong.”

They each nodded, getting out and following their mother through security and up to the 6th floor where Spencer stood, waiting for them with a jacket concealing his cuffed wrists. He gave her a small smile, relief flooding through him when she smiled back. “Sorry I was late to pick up the kids.”

“It’s okay. Just promise, when we get you out, you won’t be late again.”

“I promise.”

He looked to his children, as everyone else would call them, his proteges. “Hey, guys.”

A small chorus of “Hi, dad.” brought tears to his eyes and tugged the corners of his mouth upwards. They ran to him, engulfing him in the biggest hug they could give. “We love you.”

One week after Spencer’s arraignment.

Y/N had acquainted herself with Cassie, Diana Sr.’s nurse, as well as dropping by to check on the older woman almost everyday. 

She sat across Spencer, the clear partition between them acting as a blaring reminder of their situation, in many ways. They weren’t together anymore, they didn’t love each other anymore. If that was the case, then why did she make an effort to visit him once or twice a week? Or write to him everyday?

Spencer’s concern grew when she sat down minutes earlier, her colour pale and lethargy written on every inch of skin like a manuscript, the weight of the world so visibly on her shoulders. “Is there something you want to tell me?” He spoke softly, worried that if he raised his voice to a normal level she might just break.

“I can’t really keep this hidden for long, can I?” He tilted his head, a movement that encouraged her to carry on. “I’m sick, Spencer.”

“Is it the flu? Your colour does look a bit off, so you probably shouldn’t be here.” He began rambling, ready to recite statistics on the flu.

Y/N shook her head, chuckling dryly. “No, sweetheart. It’s not the flu. I have, uh, cardiomyopathy. I got diagnosed when you got arrested. My heart muscle is too weak to pump blood, so they’ve started me on treatments. They think me getting shot in the chest that one time had something to do with it, even though it was 5 years ago.”

“Cardiomyopathy? But only 50-”

“Only 50% get an average life expectancy of 5 years and 90% die within the year. I know.”

Spencer gulped, lip caught between his teeth. “Are you feeling okay now?”

“I’m perfectly fine right now, Spence.” She gazed at him, a sense of adoration in her eyes. “I love you, Spencer. I just have to say it now, incase.”

His head shot up, a somewhat boyish smile on his face. “I love you, too.” They sat there, eyes locked with the most lovesick smiles. “So, what does this mean for us?”

“Let’s take one day at a time, yeah?”

“Yeah. One day at a time.”

“Visiting time’s over!”

A/N: Part 2???

[montrealmadison]

t'étais réel parce qu'il t'aimait

or, “you were real because he loved you”

i work at a place that accepts children’s book donations, so when “the velveteen rabbit” came across my desk the other day, the beginnings of this popped into my head. then the lovely lau at @weneedtotalkaboutfic​ posted this and also this about ftm!bitty and my brain just took off! enjoy <3

“Has her fever gone down?”

Bitty blows out a long breath and twists around to look at the clock, on the off chance that it’ll give him a better answer than the truth—but all it tells him is that it’s 8:07, and he’s exhausted.

“No.” He pins the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so he can dry his hands. “Hasn’t budged all day.”

On the other end, his mama hums sympathetically. “It will, baby. Y’all are doin’ everything right.”

“Thanks,” he sighs, folding the dishtowel over the oven handle. “It’s just—I hate that she’s so uncomfortable.”

Bitty used to think that he’d made his peace with chaos. He’s moved schools, changed sports, reinvented himself half a hundred times. He’s come out on national television and transitioned publicly on the Internet. He’s written a book, is in the process of drafting another. He’s married to one of the most prominent NHL players in the league, for crying out loud.

But sick toddlers, Bitty is learning, are a whole other hockey game.

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Thankfully, at least the kitchen routine is muscle memory at this point: pots dried, dishwasher started, dog fed and watered for the night. The mess in here isn’t too bad, all things considered. He checks the lock on the back door and then lets himself sag against the counter, just a little. It’s been a day. A week, really. He's barely slept for the stress of it all.

“Dicky, honey, you sound like you need a break.” He can picture the frown on his mama’s face when she says it. Funny how her voice still feels like a hug from seven states away. “How’s Jack? Is he alright?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Upstairs puttin’ Ellie to bed, bless him.”

“Good. Well, listen, y’all call anytime if you need us, alright? Your daddy and I will be up, we’re goin’ to the Callahans’.”

“Ooh. Save the good gossip for me?”

“You know I will,” Mama promises with a laugh. “Now go on and sit down for me. I love you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Love you too,” Bitty says, almost absently, and flops onto the couch as the line clicks into silence.

He tries to relax—promise, he really does—but he only makes it about five minutes before the worry wins out and he has to get up again. He just can’t sit still today, especially when he hasn’t heard anything from upstairs in so long. He climbs the stairs and starts down the hall towards Giselle’s room, but pauses and peeks around the doorframe at the soft sound of Jack’s voice.

In the dim light, he can just make out Jack’s giant form carefully folded to fit into Ellie’s bed, one foot planted firmly on the floor to keep him balanced. Bitty presses a hand over his mouth, trying to resist the sudden urge to laugh at the sight of his husband trying to fit in a bed made for a toddler. Thankfully, it works, because neither Jack nor Giselle notice him—their daughter’s curled up next to her papa, tired and sleep-soft, with her flushed little face on Jack’s chest and her slow-blinking eyes fixed on the book in his hands.

The dog’s on the floor in here, too, tail thumping away against the carpet. He huffs, looks up at Bitty with big, understanding eyes as if to say: We got it in here.

Which is clearly the case—they’re already in the middle of a story. Jack is reading in soft, measured tones: “And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

It's the French translation, but Bitty feels himself melt almost immediately. He’d recognize The Velveteen Rabbit anywhere. It’d been his favorite as a baby, part of the reason his mama had come home one day with Señor Bun, and—well, the rest is Bittle family history. He leans in the doorway, closes his eyes and drifts while Jack reads.

He’s had a lot of time, now, to learn the differences between French Jack and English Jack, and why each language is important to him—especially where teaching his children is concerned. In French, his voice is softer, lilting, expressive in a way that transfixes Giselle and Bitty alike. Bitty himself has fallen asleep to the sound of that voice many times, and is mostly impressed that Ellie can still fight her own exhaustion just to listen a little longer.

Jack turns the page, and Bitty watches as his face and his voice soften with emotion at the next line: “And then, one day, the Boy was ill.”

Oh. Bitty remembers this part well, too—remembers the feeling of his own mama curled around him when he was sick as a kid. Remembers Coach’s shadow in the doorway, his quieter concern, his gentle hand on Bitty’s shoulder. Jack goes on: “But the Rabbit snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to.”

Bitty remembers Señor Bun, equally patient, snuggled up under his chin, and has an idea. He backs quietly out of the room and retreats down the hall to their bedroom, where the bunny himself is propped on the pillows, waiting for them to come to bed. Bittly inhales the familiar scent of the fabric, looks into his bright embroidered eyes. He swears they look understanding somehow.

“You ready to work your magic, buddy?” he asks. “Let’s go.”

Jack does notice him this time, eyes crinkling in acknowledgment when he sees Bitty in the doorway. His voice is getting softer now, the words slowing in time with Giselle’s blinks, and Bitty crosses the room to lay Señor Bun in their daughter’s arms.

Neither of them move until they’re sure that Giselle is asleep at last; even then, Jack extracts himself from the bed as quietly as possible, smoothes the covers over her with a feather-light touch. When they meet in the hallway, Jack presses his face into Bitty’s neck. They stand there in the quiet, breathing together, for a long time.

“How is she?” Bitty finally asks.

“Hot,” Jack says, frowning. “I gave her another Tylenol.”

Bitty sighs deep, presses his forehead into Jack’s chest. “Mm, okay. Let’s hope she kicks this soon.”

“She will,” says Jack. “She’s our kid, that’s gotta count for something, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Despite himself, Bitty finds that a smile comes easily enough. It always does with Jack’s reassurance. “Gotta be tough in this family.”

Jack laughs lightly. “Yeah.”

They retreat to their bedroom, turning off lights as they go. Their nighttime routine, too, is as comfortable as breathing now. When Bitty comes back from brushing his teeth, he finds Jack in bed, reading glasses on, still flipping through The Velveteen Rabbit.

“I’m glad you picked that one for her,” says Bitty slowly. “That was my favorite book as a kid.”

Jack turns it over in his hands, looks up at Bitty with warmth in his eyes. “This one?” he asks, smiling. “That explains Señor Bun, eh?”

“Yeah.” Bitty has to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat, and almost immediately finds himself blinking back hot tears. He bites his lip. “Well, and I, um—no, it’s stupid.”

“Bits?” says Jack, concerned. He closes the book and sits up. “Hey, no it’s not. Why else was it important?”

Bitty looks down. “I used to want to be Real,” he says, all in a rush. “Just like the Rabbit. Used to wish there’d be a fairy that would see how unhappy I was, and come and—oh, Lord—”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain; all of a sudden he’s crying in earnest, days of pent-up stress and fear rushing past the floodgates at once. Jack makes a soft sound and holds Bitty close, letting him cry it out, rocking him just a little. His hands are big and warm on Bitty’s back.

“Shh, bud, hey,” he says. “That’s not stupid at all.”

Bitty sniffles and scrubs at his eyes, lets out a burst of slightly hysterical laughter. “I—God. I don’t know what it is, I was looking at you and Ellie and—I don't know, I just wish the person I was when I first read it could see me now. I wish that little kid hadn’t had to go through all the shit I did to get here.”

Jack doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls back a little. Bitty looks up, confused—but Jack’s just reaching behind him to grab the book off his nightstand, flipping through it until he finds the page he wants. Then he puts an arm back around Bitty’s shoulders and pulls him close, kisses his temple.

“Generally,” he reads, in English this time, “by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”

He fixes Bitty with those bottomless blue eyes. "I hope you'll let me keep telling you," he says slowly, "that it all meant something, bud. You made yourself real. You gave us our daughter."

Bitty laughs, watery. "I did."

"You did." Jack kisses him again, soft and full of meaning. "And I promise I'll never stop trying to understand."

[honey-dewey]

We Can’t all Have 20/20 Vision

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader

Word Count: 2,730

Warnings: None

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

When Mando took you on as a mechanic, you expected you’d be fixing his ship while he bounty hunted. You did not expect him to need his HUD to be fixed, resulting in a very blind mandalorian stumbling his way around his own ship because he’s too stubborn to find an alternative until it finally becomes too much. How will you fare when dear Mando abandons his helmet for a pair of glasses?

A/N: Based off a lovely tumblr post by @javi-djarins in which Mando had garbage vision and needed glasses and I couldn’t help myself. 

Traveling with what was likely the most stoic person in the galaxy was a very interesting way to live life. The mandalorian and his weird green son were the highlights in your otherwise boring life as a mechanic on Tatooine, now technically a mechanic in outer space. 

“Mando!” You yelled through the ship, waist deep in the heater unit. “Mando get your metal ass over here I have a question!” 

The telltale clanking of Mando’s footsteps drew closer, and you wiggled upright, highly aware that you were wearing nothing but your cargo pants and a sweat soaked tank top. “Please explain what the hell this is.” 

“It’s part of the heater.” 

“No it isn’t!” You yelled, holding up the part in question. “It’s a children’s toy that has been melted to form a very shoddy cap. Fuck me, I don’t know how this ship is still flying.” 

Just like that, you tossed the melted toy at Mando and slid into the heater again. 

“Did you call me out here just to yell at me?” Mando asked. You promptly ignored him, fumbling with your tool belt and sighing. 

“Can you pass me that socket wrench?” You asked, shoving your hand out so it was exposed enough for Mando to hand you the wrench. “And the 3/8 socket.” 

The wrench was placed in your hand, and you tucked it to your side only to immediately discover a problem. 

“3/8, not 3/4,” you said, sticking the wrench up. 

“That is the 3/8.” 

“Bitch, can you read?” You asked, sliding upright. “That’s a four, not an eight.” You dragged your toolbox over and found the appropriate socket, peering at Mando as you exchanged the sockets. “Is your HUD okay? You did take that nasty hit the other day, might’ve knocked something out of place 

Mando was still. “It’s fine.” 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” It was childish, but would get the job done. 

“Three?” 

“Four,” you said, squirming back into the heater. “Your HUD is definitely on the fritz. Leave me the helmet whenever, I’ll have that thing fixed before you know it.” 

Mando left, leaving you to continue your assault on the heater until it began to function again. It was a few hours before you were trudging up to the cockpit. You were covered in grease and sweat, but the job was done. 

“Mando!” You announced cheerily, in case he had his helmet off. “What’s up?” 

He turned from where he was playing with Grogu. “Not much. Why?” 

You fell into your copilot’s chair, taking a mechanic’s kit out of your pocket. It was small, a testament to what it was intended to do. “Is he close to sleep?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Get him to fall asleep, I’ll take a crack at that helmet once you do.” 

Mando hesitated, and gestured for you to turn. You did, surprised when something heavy and made of beskar fell into your lap. 

“We’re family. He can see my face.” 

You blinked a few times, but at the notion of a job, your mind went blank. You took a few minutes to familiarize yourself with the complex wiring of the HUD, and then dove right in, using minuscule tools on equally tiny mechanics. It was a tricky job, but you found a good grove with your heels dug into the control board and your knees supporting the helmet in your lap. You stuck your tongue between your teeth, bending your head in an effort to get closer to the problem. 

“Aha!” You said finally, pulling the destroyed part out and looking it over. “There’s the tricky bastard! Should’ve known it was the image processor.” 

“Did you fix it?” Mando asked. He’d been entirely silent until now, and it was a bit unnerving. 

“Unfortunately, no.” You tossed the part onto the control board. “It has to be replaced. You said we’re headed to Arvala-7? I can bargain with the Jawas and find a replacement. You can have this back, but without that image processor, you won’t be able to see much.” 

You held the helmet up, and Mando took it. You heard it slid into his head, and then a string of muffled curses. 

“Oh yeah,” you said, standing to face your mandalorian. “Your power source died too, so good luck getting that modulator to work. It looks like it’s rechargeable though.” 

“It is,” Mando said, and you let out a bark of laughter at his horribly muffled voice. 

At some point that night, he abandoned the helmet entirely, leaving it in the cockpit along with the ruined image processor. You were now completely buried in the ship’s wiring, trying to fix a problem Mando had been complaining about with the carbonite system.

“Mando!” You shouted, squinting at the mess of wires in front of you. “Can you hand me my soldering iron? It should be next to my wrench kit.” 

“Uhh,” Mando hesitated, making you roll your eyes. 

“It’s blue and labeled with ‘soldering iron,’” you said. 

“I can’t read.” 

You stopped. “Yes you can. You read Grogu a book yesterday.” 

“No, I mean,” Mando stammered, and it was probably the first time you’d ever heard him hesitant. “I’m, well, I haven’t exactly got 20/20 vision.” 

“Oh boy,” you said under your breath. “What is your vision?” 

Yet another hesitation. “20/400. The HUD usually fixes my sight for me, but it’s not, y’know.” 

“Holy Maker!” You almost knocked your head against the wall in surprise. “How do you function with vision like that?” 

“I just told you, my HUD.” 

“Rhetorical,” you pointed out, wiggling until you were facing the exit. “Coming out.” 

It took enough shimmying that Mando was actually able to grab his helmet and slide it back on before you were fully out of the walls. He looked down at you, or at least he would be if he could see. 

“I swear,” you grumbled. “We have got to find a better solution. We won’t be on Arvala-7 for another day, and you are not wandering around blind until then because you’re too stubborn to take the helmet off.” 

Mando was quiet. “Would it be easier if I took it off?” 

“Probably,” you said with a shrug, turning away so you could grab your soldering iron. You yanked the cord, swearing a bit before turning back around and immediately yelling and covering your eyes. “Fuck! Warn me next time, I could’ve taken my eye out! And with this thing, that would’ve hurt.” 

Mando shuffled, likely placing his helmet down. You’d caught the barest glimpse of tanned skin and brown hair, but his features were a huge blur. “It’s okay. You can look.” 

You slowly pulled your hand off your eyes, your curiosity winning the small fight in your head. Had he not consented, you wouldn’t have ever looked. But he’d given you the okay, so you did what you wanted to do. You looked at Mando. 

“Oh.” It wasn’t that his appearance surprised you, but it just wasn’t what you expected. After years of wondering, you’d assumed he would have some weird face thing, and yet, the man before you wasn’t odd or bizarre or exceptional. If you saw him on the street, your eyes would’ve slid right over him. “You’re cute.” 

That wasn’t what Mando was expecting. He flushed, turning away from you and covering his mouth with his hand. 

“So, do you wear glasses or something?” You asked, tucking your soldering iron onto your belt and tuning back to the wall as if Mando wasn’t freaking out behind you. “Because that would make this much easier.” 

“Yeah,” Mando said, voice fading as he walked away with familiar sounding footsteps. When he came back, you were back in the wall, dislodging the control board from the back of the carbonite system. 

“Hey, can you fix this?” You asked, blindly passing the control board out. “It just needs to be rewired, but I’m busy.” 

Mando took the board, and you managed to catch snippets of small swears as you worked on the second problem, eventually shimmying out to turn your soldering gun on. 

What you were met with surprised you. Mando, fully armored sans helmet, sitting cross legged on the ground. He was holding your delicate tools in his gloved hands as he fiddled with the control board, and he was wearing glasses. 

You decided he was infinitely cuter with his thick rimmed black glasses and went back to work, determined not to worry about it. “Having fun out there?” You asked when he let out a particularly loud swear and you heard plastic clattering to the ground.

“My glasses keep falling off!” 

You snorted, coming out of the wall and sitting in front of Mando, who had grabbed his glasses from the floor. Watching as he fumbled with the delicate tools and his glasses slipped down his nose again, you resisted the urge to laugh, instead sliding forward and looking at the control board.  “Fuck me you need smaller hands,” you said, using your own hands to grab the thin wires and hold them out of Mando’s way as he worked. “So, tin can, you got a name?” 

“Din.” 

“I’m sorry, did you say tin?”

“No. Din.” 

You huffed. “Shame. Tin would’ve been so funny.” 

Din rolled his eyes, and you laughed. “Is that what you’re hiding under that helmet? Perpetual annoyance?” 

“With you around? Absolutely.” 

You would’ve hit him had he not been holding the carbonite control board. Din shoved his glasses up his nose yet again, swore softly that he hated working in his glasses, and set about completing the repair job. When he finished, you took it and slid it back into place, finishing your work for the day. Din sighed, wiping sweat off his face and setting his glasses back in place as you replaced the wall panel and stood back up. 

“I’m so hungry,” you said loudly as Din grabbed Grogu for dinner. “I could probably eat a whole bantha.” 

“You could not,” Din said, grabbing the three containers that had your dinner. He passed the smallest one to Grogu, who took it eagerly. He handed you a bigger one, and you nodded your thanks before digging in with just as much enthusiasm as Grogu. 

“I think I totally could,” you decided, stabbing a piece of mystery meat and sighing. “Putting up with you is very hungry work.” 

Din chuckled, and you swore your heart skipped a few beats. He ate alongside you, which was surprisingly foreign. He never ate around you. 

Once dinner was eaten and cleaned up, you announced you were headed off to shower. Din let you go, picking Grogu up and taking him to the cockpit to play. 

Your shower was short and sweet. The Crest’s water heater was a piece of junk, but you managed to get a solid ten minutes in before the water began to chill. As you stepped out and dried off, you heard Din’s voice, soft and quiet. He was real kind to Grogu, who was likely about to fall asleep for the night. You put on your pyjamas, stretching and heading to Din’s bunk.

Din looked over as you walked up. He had taken his armor off and was left in the black short sleeved shirt and deep brown pants you often saw him in at the end of the day. “Did you use all the hot water?” 

“This heater is a piece of shit, of course I did.” You leaned against the wall, raising an eyebrow at Grogu, who was settled in Din’s lap. “You, sir, are a huge sap. Imagine if the general public knew about this. The great mandalorian, secretly a giant soft dad.” 

Din sighed, pulling one of Grogu’s favorite books out of a small box he kept by his bunk. He adjusted his glasses and looked up expectantly at you. “Are you going to stick around for story time?” 

“Oh what the hell, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do,” you decided, scooting into the bunk and settling down beside Din. Your hips pressed together in the small space, but no one seemed to mind. 

The book was one you’d picked up for Grogu. It was a childhood favorite of yours, full of princesses, daring sword fights, and a brilliant love story. It was long, so Grogu never stayed awake for all of it. But you completely underestimated the book’s effect on you too. 

A few minutes after Grogu fell asleep, you felt your own head grow heavy, eyes fluttering shut before you snapped them open, determined to last until your favorite part. 

As Din reached the bit about giant rodents, you gave up, letting your head fall against Din’s shoulder, eyes half open. He stopped, looking over at you. “You okay?” 

“Fucking exhausted. Keep reading.” 

Din chuckled, pushing his glasses up and continuing to read. You slipped deeper and deeper into sleep until the world was no more than a fuzzy haze and Din’s voice was just a mumbling mess. 

You very faintly registered Din stopping reading, then you were moving but didn’t exactly have the energy to care, and then the void of sleep swallowed you up for real. 

When you woke up, it was to the Crest landing. Arvala-7 had shown up faster than you expected. Or maybe you’d slept for too long. Whatever the situation, you jumped up, got dressed, and made it to the cockpit in record time. 

“Good morning,” Din said as you entered the cockpit. “Ready? You know what part you need for my HUD?” 

You nodded, scooping up the damaged piece and rolling it over in your hands. “Yep! A new image processor. Do you want to stay here or wander around Arvada-7 completely blind?” 

“I’ll go with,” Din decided, standing and putting his helmet on. “The battery gives me some semblance of sight. I’ll survive.” 

Shrugging, you shouldered a bag of spare parts and smiled. “Let’s go then.” 

Finding the Jawas was, unfortunately, the easy part. Even Din could see their fortress from half a mile away. When you finally met up with them, the bartering began. You spoke decently good Jawa, and were able to trade for some upgrade parts for the water heater, but they were stubborn about the image processor. It took you almost an hour under the hot desert sun to take the part, and even then, you didn’t want to give that much up for it. But Din needed to see, so you caved. 

Back aboard the Crest, you settled in your spot in the cockpit, helmet in your lap, small tools in your hands. Din sat to your right, messing around with the controls to take the both of you out to Sorgan for a week or two of vacation. 

“And, done!” You said happily, watching the HUD flicker to life inside the helmet. Din looked up. “One perfectly fixed beskar helmet,” you announced, handing Din the helmet. 

He examined the helmet, took his glasses off, and put his helmet on. “It looks good,” he said, taking it off and putting his glasses on again. “Thank you.” 

“You’re not going to wear it?” You asked, putting your tool kit away. “If I did all that work for nothing, I swear I will murder you.” 

“Well I’m not going to wear it around the Crest,” Din said, as if it were obvious. “You’re family now.” 

How words made your heart swell. “So, what?” You said, trying to keep your composure. “Am I like, your spouse now?” 

Din shrugged, setting his helmet on the other copilot’s chair. “If you want.” 

“The hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Din said, turning to face you. “You’ve been staring at me an awful lot.”  

You grinned despite your face growing red, seeing exactly what game Din was playing. “Okay. Fine. I guess we’re married now.” 

Din’s grin matched yours as he gave his glasses a small shove and held his hand out for you to shake. When you did, he turned back to the Crest’s controls. “I guess we’re married now,” he echoed softly. “I should get you a ring, shouldn’t I?” 

“That’s how it usually goes,” you responded, getting up to fix that damned water heater. 

Four years and two kids later, he finally remembered to get you a ring and make it official.