#I think we can concur the world with our cooking

[twst-drabbles]

Hi!! Hope we can still send these in :)

Dude, the sience bros would be my clutch lmao. First of all, I think that joining the sience club as someone from our world would just be a slay move in general. I go to an arts school, so I'm not the most involved person out there, but I think even our basic understanding of sience could make for insightful experiences. Just comparing our sience basics to their science basics could be really cool! And hey, if we happen to make an ingenius discovery along the way? Or Just happen to mention Newton's Law and get a Twisted equivelent to the Nobel Prize? I mean... It's the benefits. Maybe we can even decipher a way home lol

But I digress.

I completely agree with anon. Trey Clover because food. If I'm isakied to another world without any money, people who food will be my life-line and absolute favorites. But also, with all the insane shenanigains that go on in NRC? I'm gonna need someone to share an exasperated side eye with. Clover's experience as a junior would just be helpful in general, especially when succeeding from the side lines. I don't enjoy parading my victories around, so being able to take after his example by mostly avoiding conflict while still doing good for ourselves would be nice :) And if we ever wanna prank some people... i think it'd be kinda funny to be the perpetrators AND the least suspected people in the room😂😂

Also, Rook! I mentioned before that I go to art school, so exposure to different media and insightful disscusion/ critique is something I hold dear! In the incredebly survival-of-the-fittest-dog-eat-dog-testostorone-filled-dick-measuring-contest that is our darling NRC, I would heavily consider shrivling away. Still! A lot of the boys can be incredbly passionate about their artistic forms of expression :) From Malleus and his music, and of course Vil and his acting career, I'd respect them so much! But- many of those same boys don't feel the most approachable about more vulnrable discussions. And not even talking about art in a fancy-smanchy way. I wanna talk poetry! Point out how one of my classmate's eyes remind me of nickles, or how the tiles of the school reminded me of hop-skotch! I want to brain-rot about a book and rant about how the thematic elements reflect reality! I concur with Rook's appreciation of beauty in everywhere he looks, and I'd have a lot of fun with him just pointing out the mundane things we admire :) 

Would be weirded out by the stalking though... ha... haha

People I'd dislike? Azul. Probably Azul. Gosh, knowing his backstory as a viewer I want to sweep him into his arms and tell him he's beautiful and has the most darling blue eyes. I mean??? Babe?? An OCTO-mer???? That's so cool!!! Realistically though, I would be a bit disgusted by what he does. I'd still conversate with him, and appreciate his buissnessman-smile face, but deep down I'd try to avoid him. We're already stuck in a world with no money, connections, or information. I don't need the weight of a deal on my back.

Also I want to punt Crowley like a football. At this point I want to high-tail it to RSA and ask them what they know about reality-travelling shenanigains lmao. Hope you're having a good day!!

No worries, you can send them in any time. I was just cooking myself something.

Considering that magic is a profession you can study for in this world, that implies that magic itself is a predictable enough phenomenon that it can be studied, tested and recorded. Though, obviously the main magical classes don't quite account for signature spells since I imagine it would require quite the number of layers in magic spells to be able to replicate them. I know officially signature spells are so unique that they can't be replicated, but in my own head, it's less that it's impossible to replicate and more that it's difficult and tedious to do so with general magic means. The life of an individual, their own stories determine what kind of signature spell manifests in a person, hence why I have the headcanon that ancient magic of old had spell incantations that were fairy tales. Basically, each spell was treated as it's own form of unique magic waaaay back in the day, before more modern, common means of magic were developed.

So yeah, magic science. Any little science nerd would go nuts over this.

"In the incredebly survival-of-the-fittest-dog-eat-dog-testostorone-filled-dick-measuring-contest that is our darling NRC" Yea that really is NRC in a nutshell huh? Funnily enough, I actually had a little short-lived fantasy where the reader comes from an even more testosterone filled world, I'm talking about "gang wars but with colleges" type deal. Buff guys all around wanting to challenge you, to prove their worth and be become the ultra alpha chad or whatever the hell they label it these days. Almost Baki levels of crazy, but not quite, still following some lines of logic. Basically Reader takes one look at Jack, Leona and Rook and go "you are babies to me," not in the adoptive way, but in the, "I would steal your candy."

And speaking of poetry, it's actually my worst skill in all of my writing. See, as you've said, poetry usually does require a certain level of emotional vulnerability, or at least be willing to dip into those emotions and memories and have them come out. Stuffing as much meaning as possible to just a few words. Personal layers that become easier to peel back the more you understand the author, buuuuuut, I'm super private. Incredibly so, and so stuck in this apathetic state of mine that my poetry is bland. It doesn't have any specific details that make it unique. Bare boooones. So rather than remarking on what my classmates eyes remind me of, I'd remark how the sunlight loves the color. Or how the line of the tiles cut through and separate a whole bunch of students apart despite being stuck together. Observer type poems, rather than looking internally.

Wouldn't it be so ironic that the first friend you make was Rook of all people? After avoiding just about everyone "normal," you let Rook talk to you? You're willing to hang out with him? Rook stalks but it's never with the intention of hurting you or controlling you in anyway. If it bothers you enough, Rook is emotionally intelligent enough to leave things well enough alone. Rook stalks Leona but Leona doesn't register Rook as a threat in any way, just an annoyance. Hence why Rook keeps stalking him. So if does give you genuine nightmares, yeah he will stop.

Azul will find those legal loopholes when he can and already that puts him on my shit list. That and I don't like owing that smug motherfucker anything. He lords deals over peoples heads and I refuse to give him any sort of satisfaction just because he was bullied.

Same on the RSA route. Would not hesitate. Like, even if I end up friends with everyone, I would still leave for RSA cause at least their headmage is reliable. I can't stand being under the authority of someone like Crowley even if my friends are there. My well being comes first.

[wangliangying]

Blog Post 8 EMOTIONS - The visceral side of digital media

25/11/2023

Today in class we learned about the impact of visuals on emotions. Through this class, I realized that the plots of many film and television works are relatively ordinary, but due to their excellent artistry, they have high ratings.

“Lev Manovich concurs with Haraway in that, emerging virtual technologies offer up new spaces for subjectivity that move beyond Marshall McLuhan's “cool” media, to present a new “hot” media of intensities and affect for digital artists to explore (Manovich, 2001).” (Petrey 2023). For example, Cyberpunk: Edgerunners is one of them. This story is about a corrupt city in the future. The male protagonist lost everything due to a shooting incident. Later, he met the heroine and her team, embarked on the path of crime, and finally died for love. In fact, Lu's story is unremarkable, and I even feel that the details of the characters need to be improved. For example, there is no process of how the heroine falls in love with the hero. The overall story also does not reflect the depth of the current state of contemporary society.

So this got me thinking, people are actually more susceptible to visual influences. This also symbolizes why the cyberpunk style is popular. We can think of cyberpunk as a global phenomenon Myerson, S. (2020). Although cyberpunk symbolizes our technological progress. But looking back at our lives, we live in an online world, and playing games online with friends has become a social need. Sometimes when we lose a game, our teammates immediately start scolding us. While playing the game, I forgot about the rice cooking in the pot. I think our real life is really cyberpunk, and we would rather place our spirits in the virtual world than find happiness in reality. People don’t even like to think deeply about problems.

Reference

Cyberpunk: Edgerunners (2022) Directed by H. Imaishi. CD Projekt.

Myerson, S. (2020) ‘Global cyberpunk: Reclaiming utopia in Japanese cyberpunk film’, Science fiction film and television, 13(3), pp. 363–386.

Grant, P (2022) The affective flows of the sublime in Martina Menegon's new machinic subjectivity, New Techno Humanities, pp.130-135,

[axdently]

he took a breath, realizing he had become carried away in his fervor for the subject. he talks so animatedly when he finds pleasures in knowledge. he doesn’t feel comfortable oversharing this sense with just anyone. this is unfortunately what Lex has to deal with from time to time, but he trusts Lex is responsible to hold this information as dear as he does. "I apologize if I went off on a tangent there.” he chuckles to himself as he reaches into his back pocket for his library card. after relinquishing the book into Lex's grasp he begins to rifle through his wallet for a very old and very used library card. his signature on the back of the card still has his smudged handwriting from when he was younger, just under Lex’s age and likely still buried in his own research and morbid hobbies.

Han Jae Song would concur that every beautiful thing in the world must eventually meet its decay. a tiny exception being that almost husband of his, Simon Muhn who despite all odds could not seem to die. with a nod, he slides his card across the counter. another chuckle soon parting from lips. “The Iliad.” his tone is bedazzled by this discovery. “The very one I was looking for this evening.” he can’t believe it. “It’s one of my favorites, actually,” he stops a moment ready to spill his favorite quote, “Two fates bear me on to the day of death––” in his eyes there is a silver glint, “The idea of glory is always so interesting to me but even more-so is the idea of revenge... Tell me are you for seeking revenge? Or against it?” 

“Nevertheless I rest easily knowing it’s in good hands.” the subject changes to the book on dreamshades, and Han begins to extend an invitation he knows Simon wouldn’t mind before he could think to stop himself.. “I don’t know how you feel about one twin handing showing you his earthworm collection to you or the other asking you to brush her doll’s hair, but I’m certain Simon has a couple of resources on dreamshades in our personal library.” he speaks of the two twin children that have been since adopted and live with the pair. he can admit evenings could get hectic in the Muhn-Song household, but perhaps he could further entice with the promise of supper. “I’m not sure we’ll have the book you’re looking for, but Simon’s a good cook as well, and you could come over for dinner some time so we could help you build your resources.” he almost feels as if it’s too forward to ask his librarian friend over. he softens the offer with the next sentence, “Only if you’d like, of course.” 

Lex remembered being a little boy who told his exhausted mother all about the lifecycles of caterpillars. The transition into a butterfly was famous, of course, but there were so many pieces of the story that weren’t; and Lex had been so excited to read about them, and barrage everyone he knew with information.

Something in Han’s eyes reminded Lex of his childhood self, the one who hadn’t yet learned by brute force to silence himself the second an exciting subject came up. And he remembered all that fondness for Han all over again. A light smile plays about his lips as he watches him talk.

“That’s wonderful. Everything has to die, of course, and something so massive couldn’t do so quietly. May as well make the most of it.”

Part of it reminds him of the Houses. The destruction which he’s working towards. He hopes, if it ever really happens, it’ll be something like that; a boon for everyone in Cagliostro. More and more he fears that it’ll just clear the path for new houses.

He shakes himself. “I got lost in my head. You’re right, it’s a beautiful metaphor.” Effortlessly, he scans Han’s books.

“Right now?” He raises his eyebrows. Like any good reader, he has about 13 books on the go at any given moment, and most of them he doesn’t read more than a page a week. But then there’s always the one book that someone is actually reading. “I’m rereading The Iliad. Just an odd… random urge, I suppose.” He frowns. “Though I’ve been trying to read a book on the history of Dreamshades. That’s how it goes, I guess.”

[nakurumok]

I understand you my dear Tony, cooking is an art and you are a more science person :D (And I am sure Steeb would still be very happy (when his stomach is well trained with eating the food you cook) to eat all of what you cook anyways!)

And seeing the post by RDJ, I can’t help but wrote a ficlet (again) haha. Please read it under the “Keep reading” or read it on AO3 here! :D

Hope you will enjoy the art and ficlet! :D

.

Pairing: Stony (MCU) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Not Beta’d! Additional Tags: Cute, Horror (not really), Tony is bad at cooking, but Steve loves him anyways, Inspired by RDJ’s FB post, Angst (not really) with Happy Ending, (though I think Steve’s stomach is not so happy), Ficlet

“Your breakfast is ready.”

Wearing Steve’s apron outside his usual black tank top, Tony stood at Steve’s track towards the fridge and drawled. His messy deep chocolate brown hair and the dark circles under his eyes indicating that the genius probably stayed up all night at his workshop again.

Steve blinked.

“I lost the bet, so, a breakfast made by me and - quote ‘no help from JARVIS or any algorithms or AIs’ unquote - for you.” Not waiting for Steve’s reply, Tony said, turned around and busy putting whatever it is from the waffle machine on the plate while avoiding all the mess he made in the kitchen with grace. “I hope you like it.”

Sitting at the table, Steve looked at the plate Tony shoved at his direction and, maybe not surprisingly, found out it was a waffle that looked like his shield on the plate.

And of course, that was a brand new Captain America Waffle Maker on the counter.

“Thank you Tony, but actually you don’t need to get up early just to make me waffles…” Honestly, Steve was kind of touched. He didn’t even remember what the bet was – probably it was some silly little things like who knocked out more enemies in the battle or how long Tony could resist playing with his phone – but Tony remembered.

He really shouldn’t doubt if things (Tony’s cooking, really), even just for a second, would be that bad when Pepper told him it might not be a good idea. Even fish with omelet which were cooked for two hours straight could not beat his enhanced healing ability. And considering Tony’s ability to learn, cooking wouldn’t be such a difficult thing for him.

“Come on, don’t underestimate me, Rogers.” Totally misunderstood Steve’s reply, the genius snorted. And taking into account of his messy hair and the waffle dough sticking on his cheek, he was kind of cute like this. “Prepare to be amazed by Tony Stark.”

It was not until Tony put the tong he used to put the waffle on the plate – there was still some dough sticking on it – into the kettle which was still heating on the stove, that Steve noticed he was boiling water. Or to be precise, pasta.

Steve watched in horror that Tony gripped and lift some pasta from the kettle and seriously examining if it is ready. “See, you can then pour out the soup directly.” Tony proudly added.

“…But as far as I know, pasta usually doesn’t serve with soup?” Out of all the screaming warnings in his head like ‘DANGER RUN’ or ‘Did you study in Hogwarts with best grades in Potions Class?’ or even ‘Did Voldemort die from eating those?’, Steve’s brain picked a question which answer he really didn’t want to know.

“Mine isn’t the usual ones.” The genius snorted again, seemingly very proud of himself. If Steve wasn’t the one who was going to eat all of the food, he would be happier to admit he loved seeing Tony being so sure of himself so much. But now? Now Steve only saw Death, very cute and soft one notwithstanding. “I took the seasoning pack from Clint’s limited edition of ramen – I really want to see his face when he discovers there is only the noodles left in the packing – so it is very delicious.”

Pasta cooked in the kettle with instant ramen’s seasoning and a waffle probably made of only water and flour. Steve regretted that he should listen to Pepper. Pepper was always right. But it is too late now.

“So, the soup, is it meant to be in red colour…?” Captain America didn’t afraid of danger, he stood firm against Nazis, hostile aliens and any bullies. So Steve asked bravely and no, he wasn’t stuttering. Absolutely not.

“Oh, no. It is because I know you are so fond of healthy diet, I was planning to put some mushroom or asparagus in it but I couldn’t find any.” Tony answered, clearly not noticing he was making the pasta as dangerous as an army of Doombots. “But I guess a several beetroots will do too.”

For the sake of world peace – and for his poor stomach, he is sure not even the super serum could withstand Tony’s cooking – Steve decided he will do all the cooking in the future.

  Easter Egg :D

“Why does the pasta still not fully cooked, is the heat not strong enough…”

 “What are you doing Tony no NONONO don’t use your repulsor beam –“

(Well by the way, all the cooking methods mentioned are based on true incidents, and yes, I myself am a really really bad cook (many friends called me a cook from hell but it is nonsense, I think the dishes from hell would taste a lot better), so yes, Tony I will always by your side :D)

And I think I will pick up a bit on writing fanfics although I know my English is bad, but drawing is kinda not enough for expressing my headcannons sometimes, so please put up with me pretty please? :D

Again, comments are super welcome and apprecipated! :D

[of-faunsandyellowflowers]

Hello! I saw that you posted about working with Cernunnos, and I'm interested in working with him honestly, but there's one problem. I'm Chronically Ill, and have been bed bound almost all day, so I'm worried about how good of a devotee I can be when fatigued or depressed. Do you think Cernunnos would be alright with a Chronically Ill follower, and how he might even be able to help? And do you have any ideas for how to worship him while having little energy? Thanks so much, I appreciate it!

Hi! I get this question a lot from people actually. I'll post this one publically so ppl can see. This is going to be long! I apologize for that.

First and foremost: disabilities/chronic illness are NOT an issue for most deities/spirits that help guide is. There are some who are very old and quite unwilling to interact with humans due to past grievances or trauma that these souls have endured, but it's not a disability thing.

This is something that many many many of us here on earth experience (myself included, I am autistic with adhd, major depressive disorder, PTSD and major anxiety alongside IBS, Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome). I get this question a lot, and I've had this question myself.

Cernunnos (link to my long post about it which also mentions this) actually has a soft spot for chronically ill people and adores helping comfort them and bringing them guidance. You do not need to worry about this being a burden within your work. Theres SO many ways to practice magick, ritual, meditation and be a devotee to a god even when this way. I'm a dark forest/green witch (non wiccan) and I'm also a kitchen witch. These forms of magick bring me the most comfort and work best for me. Find the types you are drawn to, and incorporate them into your day. It doesnt need to be big. Divination, for example, is a good way to communicate with your gods when you are unable to meditate. Little things are just as impactful as the large ones and require minimal effort. Make tea with certain ingredients and enchant a spell for it....etc.

The first piece of advice I can give you is to get yourself into the mindset that you are, and shall always be good enough for a god to help guide you. This will not only raise your vibrations but will also set you on the path that you need to be. I fall back on this sometimes. This doesnt mean become conceited. We still need to show respect to these divine beings and when they offer guidance, be nice. DO NOT demand things.

Second, meditation is INCREDIBLE. it does NOT need to be some in depth 'find your soul' type meditation. With adhd, I have an awful time trying to concentrate. One thing Cernunnos has told me is that I must take my own time, and be patient. Even 5 min a day helps. Meditation opens you up to spirit more, grounds you, and makes it easier to do spirit work the more you do it and the longer tou do it. It is also VERY good way to cope with disabilities as it calms our mind down as well as body.

Third, grounding is 100% needed. This is why I mention meditation, through this you can learn to ground. Grounding is an exercise which literally 'grounds' your soul into your body, calming you and giving you a better base for when you start doing more magick. It's very easy to learn and takes minimal effort.

4th, learn divination. This can be tarot, oracle, pendulum...whatever YOU feel is best. This is the way I normally talk to Cernunnos when my hearing is blocked.

5th, learn how to put up wards. This is mentioned in my Cernunnos post that I put up. A lot of people on here will state you do not need them. Heres the thing, you do. It's not because Gods cant protect us, it's because Gods have SO many people that they work with and theres so much that we as humans? We dont know about. As someone whose been attacked BY a malicious spirit, I can concur you do need wards when you do magick. They also are essential because they teach you defensive magick which Gods would want you to know anyway when you get to the point of travelling in the astral, but that's more advance magick. Anyway how to wards is in that link!

6th, in my link I shared it talks about a lot of ways to get in contact with Cernunnos but I'd like to mention some ways I do it as a chronically Ill person myself. I'll also list ways I personally offer him things.

Meditation outside (not during winter)

Dancing (he adores dancing)

Listening to irish/celtic music

Cooking with his favorite foods

Tarot

Telling him about my day out loud

Telling him I love him, thanking him for his guidance

Wearing his pendant.

Singing in irish

I'd also like to note that Cernunnos has such a soft spot for his disabled devotees, he will literally yell at you sometimes if you are pushing yourself too hard or being disrespectful to your body in anyway. And some warnings: if you choose to work with him you HAVE to be respectful to nature. This doesnt mean be vegan. Cernunnos adores meat, you just need to honor it. Always give an offering or ask a plant prior to picking. Make friends with your local fae (just offer them things to keep the peace), talk with your trees. Be kind to the earth. That is his #1 rule when working with him. I've seen him get furious over trees be cut down too soon. He hates how corrupt our world has become.

He loves us, but he wants us to respect ourselves, our home, and so forth.

Again I hope this helps and you guys are always welcome to reach out to me about him!

[thorne93]

Long Lost Love (Part 6)

Prompt: Clint just lost everything. He turns to you – an old friend and an old flame – for comfort. Can you keep your old feelings at bay? Can he?

Word Count: 2611

Warnings: The Snap, grief, loss, mentions of abuse throughout series, angst will be the best friend in this fic

Note: This was written after IW, but before Endgame - so I have my own take on how certain things happened. Couldn’t have done this without @arrow-guy @carryonmyswansong @like-a-bag-of-potatoes (my amazing betttaa!) @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Aesthetic by @dontshootmespence

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

When you awoke the next morning, you were filled with a mix of wonder, hope, and worry. You wondered if Clint would regret his actions and reject you. You wondered if he’d feel guilty or ashamed. You didn’t know how he’d react at all. You only hoped that he felt happy that he did what he did last night. 

You made your way downstairs to find him making a big breakfast, whistling, with a towel over his shoulder as he prepared breakfast.

“Morning,” you softly said.

He turned and greeted you with a dazzling smile. “Good morning.” He came over and kissed you again, quick but firm and earnest. He went back to cooking.

“Making breakfast I see, need a hand?”

“Nope, I’ve got it. It’s almost done,” he assured. 

You smiled, relieved that he was in a good mood and didn’t appear to regret anything. 

The two of you worked on the farm all day together and he was nothing but smiles. You couldn’t figure out what had triggered the change in him, but whatever it was, you were thankful for it. 

Time marched forward and the two of you seemed to fall into an easy rhythm, almost as if you’d never parted ways all those years ago on that train station platform. One night you two had a board game night to celebrate a hard day’s work. You played Scrabble with the rules that real words were not allowed, but for every word you made, you had to come up with a definition. You did this with every board game in the house. Real rules were thrown out, new rules were in. It was the most fun you’d had in… you couldn’t even remember how long. The two of you were in stitches the whole time until somehow you wound up on the couch, holding each other all night. 

Another night, you two had smores, a small campfire, and both of you laid down, looking up at the stars. 

“Well, this snap didn’t do anything good, at all, but if there’s a silver lining, the stars are a lot more visible with less people,” you mentioned.

“Pollution has dropped quite a bit,” he agreed. “It also helps to be in the middle of nowhere on a farm with one building that has lights,” he added. 

“That too.”

“I’m glad I get to see it with you.” He took his hand and laced his fingers with yours and you felt your entire soul warm to the touch. 

“Reminds me of being out at night after our acts,” you reminisced. 

“Yeah, we always seemed to wind up in some amazing places,” he concurred. 

“Every place was amazing so long as you were there,” you said. 

So far, you and Clint hadn’t labeled what this was. You hadn’t addressed it directly since that first kiss. Part of you was terrified to say anything. That if you called attention to this, it would somehow wake him up from an illusion and he’d break it. He’d see that this wasn’t actually what he wanted. He would see you were Laura’s poor replacement, a rebound, a distraction, a coping mechanism. 

You just didn’t want to face what was probably the truth: he didn’t love you - he loved the idea of you.

Allowing your fear to continue to rule you, and not let it take this precious time from you, you didn’t bring it up. You didn’t question why he wanted you now, you simply accepted it and graciously took the gift of having him be yours again. 

But, when you said things like this, things that danced dangerously close to those three little words, you were afraid it would trigger the response in him you were trying to avoid. 

He simply responded by saying, “I couldn’t agree more.” 

It was reassuring… for now. 

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

One evening, while the summer air was very cool, Clint took you to a nearby water tower. He said the view was breathtaking and considering he had zero fear of heights, it made sense that he’d visit it. You followed him up to the top, and sat there, agreeing that looking out over the country side looked absolutely stunning. Of course, your fear of heights was vacant as well, because every now and then you had to do acrobatic work in the circus if you wanted to survive. 

The two of you sat and talked, drinking beers, talking about nothing in particular for the longest time. After a moment of peaceful quiet, suddenly, Clint said, “You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing the team again. I know I call them off and on, but it’d be nice to actually have them back at the farm, at least once. Just to see their faces.”

You turned your head towards him, holding onto the railing as your feet dangled off the side. “I think that’s a great idea, Clint. If you want to invite them, I think you should. They’re your family after all. I know Nat would love to see you, and I know you’d love to see them.” 

“You sure?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah. It’d be good for all of you. Not to mention, I’d like to properly meet them. I’ve done a few random patch up jobs for all of them but I’ve never said more than ten words to all of them.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. I think you should meet them. You mean a lot to me and they mean a lot to me, it only makes sense to have all of you together.”

“I can make a big meal for everyone,” you said, delighted. “Fried chicken, some desserts. It’ll be a good time.” 

“I think they’d love that,” he agreed. He seemed to be perking up more and more with every second you two talked about this. “I’ll call them first thing. How does this Sunday sound?” 

“Any day is perfect,” you assured. “Just make sure I have enough time to get the house cleaned and to make a grocery run.”

“Will do.”

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

Clint called his team and two weeks later, they were at the farmhouse, the whole group of them. Rhodey, Natasha, Steve, Tony, Pepper, their baby Morgan, Thor, and Bruce. They came early on Sunday morning and Clint introduced you to everyone. 

He didn’t go into any detail about your past or your present situation. He merely said he had called you up because you were an old friend from the circus that was a vet so you knew your way around animals and the farm. 

Thor seemed to be… putting on a show. You could tell he was careful not to let his smile fall unless he thought no one was looking. Tony and Steve seemed slightly tense, but with the way the world was they were trying to look past their issues. 

You gave them all a moment to talk alone for a while. You and Pepper sat out on the porch, playing with baby Morgan and Lucky, talking casually for a while. Inside, you could only assume Nat, Steve, and the others Clint was closer to talked about Laura and the kids. You assumed they discussed the snap and more detail on what actually happened. You also assumed he expressed his deep regret for not going to help them. 

Everyone greeted you and welcomed you with open arms and when it was time to serve lunch, everyone raved about your food. Thor and Bruce couldn’t get enough of your fried chicken. Pepper complimented you highly on your sparkling strawberry cake. Rhodey said he needed the recipe for your mac and cheese. 

The entire day was spent just talking. It weaved in and out of sorrowful talk of who was gone and what had been done to try to think of ways to get everyone back, to what everyone was up to lately. Steve headed up a therapy group in the city, which made sense. Rhodey and Natasha were working almost round the clock to help police the world of any dangers. Tony, Pepper, and Morgan were just enjoying the closest thing to Tony and Pepper being retired as they could. They had a little cabin a little ways from the city on a gorgeous piece of property with a lake. Thor was working with his fellow Asgardians to rebuild their society somewhere off the coast of a Scandinavian area. Bruce had been recruited to work on ways to get resources efficiently. 

Everyone was doing what they could to keep society going, to get it back to what it was, to try and not remember all the loss everyone faced every day. 

Conversations flowed for a long while, well past dark. It was nice having so much life in the house and you loved seeing everyone. It was no wonder he loved these people. As dinner neared a close, you got up and started cleaning up. Everyone tried to pitch in to help too, but you simply waved them off, telling them you had it covered. Pepper refused to take no for an answer, as did Rhodey. You said they needed to spend time with Clint, but both of them said that the others should really spend time with him. 

Clint said he’d get out of the way then and they went outside to the porch. Nearly everyone had a beer in hand as Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bruce followed. 

“So, uh, what’s up with Y/N in there?” Tony asked in a hushed tone as he turned to face Clint. The group of them stood in a circle facing each other. 

“What do you mean, Tony?” Clint asked, feigning ignorance as he stood there with his arms crossed. 

“I mean, what’s the deal? You said you knew her from your circus days. You still keep in contact with all your old circus buddies?” he pressed, knowing Clint despised his past and never talked about it. The only reason any of them even knew about Clint’s past was because they’d read his file.

“No, I don’t keep in touch with anyone but her. She was the only good thing to come out of those horrible elements.” 

“So she’s your oldest friend, then,” Thor suddenly said. 

“You could say that, yeah. We grew up together…” he replied. All of them could tell there was more he wanted to say, more to say, but he stopped himself.

“Alright, come on, let’s give the guy some space. He’s been through enough,” Natasha tried, wanting them to drop it. Clearly he wasn’t comfortable. 

“Well, whatever she is to you, if she makes you happy and keeps you sane, then I’m glad she’s here,” Steve encouraged with a half smile.

“Thanks, Cap,” he said with a head nod. “Yeah, I… When that all happened, I really thought I was just going to lose it. I sat here and stared, not knowing what to do next. Lucky snapped me out of it, but if I didn’t have him, or these animals to care for… I tell ya, my mind went to some dark places. Y/N keeps me grounded though. She helps me on good days and bad.” 

“That’s good to hear, man, we're happy for you,” Bruce said. 

“We really are,” Nat agreed. 

“I’m not gonna say I’m not happy for you, I am,” Tony said, but there was clearly a punchline coming, “but I gotta know, what is the deal? Did you ever date or think of dating Y/N? She seems perfect for you. Knowing each other for all those years, in those conditions, and now she’s back in your life? That’s some heavy stuff man.” 

“Tony,” Nat started, her face dropping down before smiling, “I think Clint loves her, but he’s too afraid to admit it right now.” 

“That so?” he asked, seeming amused. “I’ll be damned.” 

Clint looked at Nat with an unreadable expression. He was half-glad that she said it and he didn’t have to. He was also worried what his friends would think of him, loving you after what happened to his family. 

“I don’t want you all to think I don’t love and miss Laura, I do,” Clint started, looking at all of his friends.

“None of us think that, Clint,” Steve assured, but he pressed on. 

“You gotta understand, I loved Y/N when we were kids. We were teens. We had that teenage love, you know? It never went away. We never grew out of it. We had to run from our life in the circus, we thought it would be safest if we split up. We said we’d get our lives back on track… Life… life had other plans I guess and I met Laura. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did.” 

“You don’t have to explain anything to us, buddy,” Bruce said. 

“No, I know. I think I’m trying to assure myself. To remind myself I’m not a bad person for loving her. She and I… we have history. Being with her… it’s all I ever wanted. It’s what I wanted for years, and now in a sick twist, I can have her. I feel guilty about it, I do, but we love each other, and I don’t see any good reason to deny ourselves of that. I mean, it may be awful to say, but Laura’s not coming back.” Tears filled his eyes and he started to break down before the group came to the rescue and consoled him with hugs and rubbing his back. When he got calmed down he said, “So I just… I don’t see a reason to put off happiness, you know?” 

“We get it,” Nat stated, nodding her head with a sympathetic smile. 

Clint nodded, wiping his face. “I’m glad. I’d hate for you guys to think I’m some awful human.”

“Awful for wanting to be with someone you love?” Steve asked, perplexed. “If I could have Peggy back, I’d take her in a heartbeat, no matter how the universe brought her to me.” 

“Yeah, take it from Pep and me, we wanted to start our family. The world is in shambles but we’ve waited long enough to start our lives together,” Tony said. 

“We’re the last people on earth to have any right to judge and at the end of the day, we just want you to be happy,” Nat informed sweetly, squeezing his shoulder.

He smiled and looked up at his friends. “I love you guys, I really missed you.”

They all smiled back at him and they each hugged. They all needed it more than they knew. 

Eventually, the team came back inside and Pepper and Tony packed up Morgan and everyone started saying their goodbyes and loading into cars. Natasha was the last to leave, giving you both hugs.

“Thank you, for taking care of him,” she quietly said as she wrapped her arms around you. 

You peered at her, confused at first before nodding. “Of course.” 

She hugged Clint and kissed his cheek. She waved to you too, ordered that you call her more often, then got in her car and drove off. 

The two of you smiled at each other and held hands as you walked in. 

“That was a really nice day,” you said happily. 

“Yeah, it was. I’m so glad we did this. Thank you for all you did and encouraging me to invite them,” he said as he put his arms around your waist, holding you close. 

“Anything to see you happy,” you informed.

“I know, that's why I’m so lucky to have you.” He planted a firm kiss on your lips and then you two went off to bed, separately.

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

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[yuvon-writes-letters]

Yu, Jake,

I am glad you talked it out! I think both of you needed it. And I understand the need to recharge, I hope you feel better when this letter reaches you, Yuvon :)

It's still evening and I think I am done with preparing everything for tomorrow. I cooked. Chinese. Once again. I mean, I needed to use the food before I go, right? And Max will be happy tomorrow. (Please imagine I sighed here. Because I did.) I really don't know what to think. I'd rather be with J

No new messages from the Crow-Crew.

Now to Jessy, you're probably right. I don't even know if she'll answer again, I just hope she would've contacted us before her and the others just handed over their Jakes whereabouts.

If I could I would hit

And you are right, their whole timeline is pretty messed up...And the MWAF still out there (since I cannot imagine any Jake to be him)

Maybe you're also right, I shouldn't worry that much about TSB. I guess. Yeah. I am very sure Goldie did everything they could.

[For this one sentence the writing becomes more clean than Lis' normal writing] Like they always did...

[The writing's normal again, but a few pink stains are on the paper]

Sorry, I suddenly got a bit dizzy. Spilled my tea. Probably a bit exhaustion?

Yeah, Jake, you got things right. Somehow a Jessy comtacted us. I guess this could happen because she read Matts letters? Somehow? But I think that could be a reason we got the letter. She probably threw all of them in a mailbox together. (Since she said she wrote some everyone who sent Matt letters I think?)

You're also right about the fact that this Jake got framed... Are you Is everything Is the thought DAMN. Why is writing so difficult

I actually DO concur with you, Jake. It honestly makes much sense to me. Like, when I was enjoying my maladaptive daydreaming as a child (totally not still doing it) I liked to create my own worlds. Manipulate them while daydreaming.

We don't know much about different entities, but it just makes sense to me. And I don't know why I brought this up or where I wanted to go with this. I hope it was somehow understandable.

Jake also has some more things to say. I am not allowed to read, Yuvon can if she wants to. But it mainly is for you, Jake.

And one more thing before that...Is he in danger? Because I know Jake is working on something new. Just tell me he is not in danger.

Lis🐾🔥

[Again the screenshot of a message is glued to the back of the letter]

Before I start, thank you again for your help, Jake. I was able to work much faster with the knowledge you gave me.

But I have to ask you one thing. Liska gave me the possibility to read all letters until the letter where we could talk the first time without her reading. Did something happen? Or did anyone write something that disturbed her?

She doesn't show me the letter anymore, just telling me some information, saying it wasn't important. She changed topic when I want to ask her. What happened that she does not want to tell me?

If you are so nice Yuvon, if you read, I would like you to stop here. It's something that I don't want to tell you when Jake isn't ready :)

About your diagnose, was it ADHD? If you do not want to tell that's fine.

As for me, since you gave me the chance to get to know this about you. It was never diagnosed, but after my life I am pretty certain it doesn't need to.

I have had social anxiety since early childhood. That's the reason I am an complete introvert.

My mother never wanted to get me diagnosed, though.

I thought detail for detail wouldn't be that bad, and I understand what you mean. We're all similar but different. As well as Liska, Rai and Yuvon.

~ Jake

Lis,

We definitely needed to talk, yeah. I think Jake might have already said it, but thanks for pushing us into it. That misunderstanding could've snowballed into something bigger if we hadn't talked about it. It's sort of hard for me to parse that he could be concerned about me, because that's MY role in my head. I'm the one who's supposed to worry.

I'm trying to be better about that.

While it would've been nice if she'd contacted us before her Jake was imprisoned, it wouldn't have made sense in context. You don't get affairs in order before you work on getting the murderer imprisoned. Priorities. Besides, Matt apparently never even opened these letters, so we wouldn't exactly be first on the list of contacts to inform of his passing.

Lis, I have a bit of an odd request. Do you know about word association? It's basically, I give you a word and you write down anything that comes to mind when you think of it. It could be words with similar meanings, words related to memories that are connected to that word, if it's an object or related to an object a description of the object, etc etc. You don't have to think hard about it, it's probably better if you don't think about it too much actually. I'd like you to try it. Your word is "yellow".

I don't know how you're sending your letters, but I need to send them in here, and there's no mailbox or anything. I just put them in an envelope or am handed an envelope by Jake, throw them in the air, and say "send".

Yes, I learned this through trial and error. Yes, the first edition of the "send" command had a lot more cursing.

What's this about agreeing with Jake?

Jake just told me. Definitely seems like it, yeah. What I saw in the north room also supports that theory. I don't think it changes much for us, though. Whether we're being made into entertainment or not, we've still got to find a way out of our circumstances. If it means we have to break Fate to do it, fine. We'll find a way.

Mmm, probably not too much more danger than usual? All Jakes are in some danger at all times, so it's hard for me to judge. But I haven't really been reading the inter-Jake correspondences, so I don't know for sure.

Anyhow, that's all from me for now. Talk to you later, Lis :)

—Yuvon

(The handwriting changes to Jake's.) Hello, Lis and Jake.

That version of Jessica handed over my alternate self's whereabouts? That is... disturbing. I will endeavor to show more caution in what I reveal to Jessica in the future in this world, though admittedly her releasing my current location is not a great concern.

I suppose anyone can write to Yuvon, then, if they know of her existence. Is there a return address on these envelopes when they are sent? Yuvon and I assumed the method of returning letters was a little more mystical than mundane, given the method of sending, but it seems we leapt to conclusions.

I second Yuvon's suggestion of word association. As Yuvon said, do not think too hard about it. Simply write anything and everything that comes to mind. There is no right or wrong answers, so do not feel pressured, nor linger overly long on each association once it is written.

Yuvon seems very confident in her ability to "break fate". She was muttering something about rebirth and change while writing her section of the letter, as well. I am not entirely sure what she means by that, but if she has some sort of plan, far be it from me to stand in her way, so long as she does not put herself in danger.

I do not think it is precisely my place to tell you one way or another whether your Jake is in danger, but I assure you that your Jake is nowhere remotely near going the way of TSB. You do not need to worry on that count.

As always, it was a pleasure to speak to you, Lis. Or write to you, I suppose. If you would please stop reading here, I am about to address your Jake's message :)

You are welcome. That bug frustrated me for an embarrassingly long time; that is why I recalled it in such detail. Saving you the trouble was the least I could do.

There are two possibilities I can see as to why Lis may not be showing you the letters.

First: From what I understand, an alternate Jessica contacted Yuvon. Her version of the Detective, a man named Matt whom she was romantically involved with, was murdered, and that version of Jake was framed and possibly incarcerated. Yuvon did not share the letter with me out of respect to Jessica; Liska may feel similarly.

Second: I introduced a theory that the entities may be more involved with all versions of the Detectives than we previously believed. Tragedy so far seems to be particularly attracted to even the Detectives with no ties to the supernatural. Lis may not wish to share that information with you for one reason or another.

Unfortunately, other than that, I can think of nothing as of yet, but I will read back over recent letters later to ensure I have not missed anything.

That was a good guess, but the diagnosis was not ADHD.

Thank you for telling me. I suppose social anxiety would be another possible reason for our "flaw". Detail for detail sounds quite fair :)

Before I sign off, you should know that Lis is expressing concern over your safety. I informed her you would not go the way of TSB, so please do not make me a liar.

Good luck,

Jake

(The letter tucks itself into the paper clip with the others.)

[chefjarredjarred]

Anxiety. (excerpt)

People. “They're the worst,” Jerry once concurred with Elaine. And they are.

So I didn't really want a job as a verification specialist for a background check company,  making a hundred phone calls a day to anywhere in the country, but there was a time when it was a job I needed; it was remote so I could do it from my living room, it supplemented my main income from cooking and barbacking, and I was allowed to adjust my own schedule around that other work and my Tuesday morning therapy sessions.

But Jesus Christ, the people: the combative, the confused, the cavalier, the crotchety; the mousy, the crazy, the stupid, the lazy; the disgruntled, the bitter, the hateful, the bossy; the scammers, the liars, the paranoid; the unintelligible, or, through no fault of their own, the foreign; the mouth breathers, the assholes; the fast food workers, who are always a grab bag. I got them all, every day. And just one nice old lady from Florida, Ms. Charlene.

I got the job in part by cherry-picking some of my old chef experience and molding it all up into a wad of passable bullshit in the interview. Not lies, you know, just bullshit. I sold the personal importance of always speaking concisely and effectively, and of remaining cool and courteous and logical even when being angrily berated by the most ignorant, disrespectful know-nothings. Okay, so that one tiny lie. I made no mention of smashing saucers, slinging sheet pans, or every chef's favorite, smiting servers. (But come on, FOH, y'all know when you're asking for it.) I gave no indication that my rage, anxiety, and feelings of undeserved victimhood and exhaustion were a nest of coiled snakes, something every person who has ever worked in a kitchen around me could sense. Do your job, leave the attitude outside the kitchen doors, and speak only of pith and pertinence during service. Don't fuck with me, don't get fanged.

A bartender I worked with for years once called me unapproachable. It was in the same breath that she called me a dick, proving that the robotic personality of feigned professionalism and phony positivity (every company has their Stepford Wives, don't they?) on which she prided herself—loathed by so many in the restaurant—could be cracked, and I loved that I had been the one to do it. But the part about being a dick wasn't a bold quotable. My being unapproachable became a favorite running joke for years, perverted and perpetuated by me. Y'all think I'm unapproachable? I am. Fuck off.

But that's truncated, for effect and time. Fuck off, I have a job to do, is the real, full statement, and a linchpin tenet of my style of cheffing. I don't need loud voices, loud noises, disrespect, emotional clouding, confusion, excuses, etc., or that irritable anxiety snake could be disturbed. “Just the facts, ma'am.” There's just no time for the extraneous.

Don't disrupt the flow of food.

That's the principle I emphasized in the interview, just folded into the bullshit wad that made it applicable to phoning idiotic, ornery strangers—and Ms. Charlene. Obviously, I had to omit the venom, violence, viciousness, the vitriol. There was already a tiny stumble in there when the interviewer asked if I would describe myself as an introvert, and I, being honest to a fault at the most inappropriate moments, confessed that I would.

“You do know what this job is, right?”

I actually didn't, right up until about two seconds before that question, but I recovered gracefully, explaining some crap about being able to turn on the smiles and pleasantries when I meant business, something like that.

Fake smiles. Ugh. God dammit. I actively campaign against them. A fake smile is the opposite of Fuck off, of the pith and pertinence, the order and efficiency I expected, of just the facts. It's a capitulation, a white flag.

You know what I absolutely hate more than people? The expectation that I'm obligated to give them a fake smile. It's a banner that says you're willing to accept the extraneous, the unexpected, that whatever they are about to say and the way they will say it has some compelling power over you, and that you have all the time in the world to stand there and graciously let it be unloaded onto you. That your anxiety is not there and not real.

That you are approachable.

Fake smiles are blood in the water. That's right, when it goes from snakes to sharks.

“What we always say here is 'Smile and dial!'”

It was a virtual interview, and he couldn't see or hear my feet double-kick-drumming the floor. But what he did hear and what I couldn't believe was the fake laugh I forced through my fake smile. Jesus, Jarred, you're escalating? Allowance is support. “Sure, sure,” I said, as if I were a lifelong brown-noser. You're a disgrace.

“If you can run a kitchen, I have no doubt that you can do this.”

I didn't either. That's misinformation, that anxiety is simply fear. I wasn't afraid I would fail (literally anyone, barring anxiety, can be a verification “specialist”). In fact, I was totally confident I could succeed...theoretically. He said it: If I could run a kitchen, I could do this. The things that worried me were the scheduling, sleeping, caffeinating, eating, speaking, putting on my fake personality with my fake smile, and juggling and maintaining it all every day without falter, without letting on that there was any internal difficulty. I worried not about my actual job performance, but how I might struggle to simultaneously perform and hide my character flaws, i.e. the stuff that I left hanging out in the open when I was a chef. Does that make any sense?

Anxiety, not fear.

So the job was simple, but not easy, and there was a lot to make an anxious person anxious: the people, of course; the never-ending flood of calls; the quick navigating of the system when someone backpedaled or said something inaccurate or swung their mood in an instant; the software glitches; the hold music. Every second of the workday, even your coffee-caused poop break, was timed and factored in to your production average. You were judged and graded by making a ton of calls and/or closing as many cases as you could, which sounds fine, but is actually decided by chance more than some mathematical guarantee. That angered me the most, watching my closes and “touches” tabulated throughout the day, working against each other, my percentage of success being stretched thinner and thinner as I piled up calls that became mere touches rather than closes. It was the opposite of what we really wanted, and the secret little opposite of what we were trained to believe. The pessimist in me knew that the given goals were just out of reach, of course, so we would unknowingly meet the real goals and feel worthless at the end of the day, like we hadn't done enough. The realist in me hated the pretending that we had any control over it. The fatalist in me knew that it didn't matter, but could not force the crippled, anxious existentialist in me to just shut the fuck up.

...Oh, there is no optimist in here, if you were waiting for it.

I knew the fatalist was right after a sweet, timid childcare worker put me on hold to find something useful for me, which would only be a different number or a different person or, if life were easy, the name of a recognized third party verification website. This was 10:40 in the morning, in my first hour of the workday that was already a little too unfruitful. I watched the timer tick away, and when she returned, she had found...an unrecognized third party verification website. That meant I had to type a message into our Teams chat to request a supervisor's review and approval to put the name of the website in the little box and move to the next call.

Eight minutes had now passed as I waited for an answer. I had let the worker, Taylor, hang up already so she could get her eyes back on what wild heathens she may have had under her watch. It was a personal rule of mine to never hold restaurant workers or childcare workers hostage on the phone, because their work was more important than mine. I thought about the time my mom came to pick me up from one of these daycare facilities, walking in at the same time as another little boy's father, together to catch the perfect and precise moment that I socked that boy right across his jaw with full force, superhero super-spinning into that punch in defiance of his superior strength and grip of my head as he had tried to slam my skull into a wooden shelf for a second time. We were bloody, snotty, and sweaty in the throes of killer instinct, but I still caught the looks of horror on our parents' faces. Why the fistfight happened, I don't remember, but how? Well, because someone who was supposed to be paying attention, wasn't. Kids will go feral and push the boulder on Piggy as soon as your back is turned. I let Taylor off the phone for that reason. I waited for a supervisor's response in the chat, watching the seconds count on and that first hour, and thus the rest of my day and any hope of average achievement, drift away from me. They told me the site was no good and I needed to call poor Taylor back and try again. I sighed, copied the number and clicked the button, explained to her what was happening, and with real politeness she placed me, again, on hold. She came back with a phone number but the same uncertainty.

But in the chat, a supervisor had offered another phone number, different from what I was now taking down on the call. I was urged to try that one instead, so I let Taylor go back to the children a final time, and made my third phone call of the case. An automated message finally pointed me to a recognized third party verification website, and gave the particular employer code needed to access it. The anxiety snake and the rage snake were waking and knotted. I clicked the Other Automated Method button...and the system skipped on to complete the case, without letting me input the website or the code. “No, hell no.” I backed up and tried again. Same result, the skip. I went back to the chat and explained, and typed “Can someone please help me before my head explodes” with no punctuation.

A supervisor called me, and I shared my screen with her. “Let's see what happ—Oh, the client put it on hold, so just exit. It doesn't matter.”

It doesn't matter.

11:01. One close, 13 touches. I was white hot.

The anxiety, the rage, the pessimism, realism, fatalism, the whole nest of snakes was awake and wiggling, tossing, tangling themselves up like a... Well, you know. Like a rubber-band ball. I violently ripped the headset off of me, pushing breath through my teeth like the snarling little Jarred who punched that stupid kid in the mouth in the daycare brawl. I thought about that famed image of the snake eating its tail, whatever it's called. I thought about quitting. I thought about how two days before, my therapist and I had tried to come up with a suitable and available grounding technique I could try to prevent this exact, inevitable moment, this kind of anxiety attack. I thought about telling her how I thought that I was failing at everything. You're a disappoi— Shut the fuck up, Jarred—

It doesn't matter? I thought about that, that every moment of the day was part of the calculation of my performance grade for something ultimately shrugged off. That I spent 20 fucking minutes wasting my fucking time to get something that doesn't fucking matter but earns for me a judgment as if it does fucking matter.

But I thought about how I needed that little bit of extra money, and the other reasons for seeking and taking the job. Breathe, Jarred.

And that was not an isolated incident. Every day I fought for the energy and will to tether myself with the headset, log in, and hear the first ring. It came immediately, every single morning. I'd close my eyes and siiiigh through that first ring, just before being snatched along and pummeled by the frenzy.

I tried earnestly the smile-and-dial one time. I felt like Nicolas Cage in one of those especially wacky scenes of Face/Off. A total psycho, unhinged.

The calls were recorded and scrutinized, for quality and legality, and a handful a month were sent back to me to review whatever I had done wrong, or what I could do better.

Ah, yes. So there was another itchy, irritating thread of anxiety even on the less violent days.

Do you ever hear your own recorded voice and you hate yourself and wish you had never been born? Yeah, me too. So I only ever listened to one call and that was enough of that. I didn't want to hear myself. That voice wasn't mine, it was some cartoon-like, nasally Billy Bob Thornton's voice, reverberating somewhere way up high in the sinuses.

A hundred calls a day is a lot of talking. I began obsessing over how I pronounce—among many other things—the number four. There were fours everywhere, embedded, like chocolate chips in cookie dough, throughout almost every case number, and in our callback number I had to recite on dozens of voicemails per day. I wondered if I could trust my own ears in hearing the way I would say it, or if in reality I sounded like I was four. Fohwuh. Every day I ran this mental gamut of self-critique and insult, concentrating insanely on the most minute and deliberate flicks and curls of my tongue and lips. Any word becomes weirdly unnatural when you pay such specific attention to it. But I put so much (too much) effort into working on a competent phone voice not only so I wouldn't sound like a jackass, but so I could be efficient in my work and thus keep up with the production quota. I needed 20 touches an hour, not 13, so I needed people to understand me so I could get in, get out, and get on the next call. My strategy was to try and emulate the radio voice of Christopher Kimball—polite, proper, pronounced, professional. In my dirty pajamas, sitting on a lumpy pillow on a hand-me-down office chair as it was clawed to pieces by my screaming cats, I wanted to sound like I was wearing a bow tie. Like I was in a real office without cats, with a real college degree framed proudly on the wall. Polished and prepared.

It's hard work, if you can imagine. I'm not a talker. I don't like strangers. They're unpredictable. Any unexpected wrench in the routine could prove how fragile the facade is, that I'm actually a wobbly stack of quivering, anxious gremlins pretending to be a presentable person in, I guess, an imaginary bow tie.

It's hard work, if you'll let me say that again. But I thought I was doing pretty well. I hadn't cussed anyone out and I hadn't hurled the computer through the window, at least.

Then one day I called an office in Shelby, North Carolina. A woman answered, lazily, and I stated my reason for calling. She just said, “Hold on,” dismissively, with no practiced professionalism whatsoever. There's a lot of that out there. A rare treat then it was when I spoke with anyone trying to exude the same level of maturity as I, during business hours. My Kimball voice was for your benefit, lady. You didn't care. I know this because instead of really putting me on hold, instead of pressing a button to leave me in that telephonic waiting area listening to one of those overused cheap songs, like the one with the incessant MIDI claps that makes my toes tense and my teeth clench and jarringly reminds me that the anxiety is always bang-bang-banging at the door of the closet I locked it in, instead of just conducting two seconds of mundane business like a normal goddamn person, this woman just set the phone down on her desk and, evidently sickened beyond composure, blurted to her coworker, “God, I hate when someone clears their throat while I'm on the phone with them.” I did?

There I was, exposed, a bunch of phlegmy gremlins, collapsing and scrambling. Instantly I remembered the time my dad and stepmom asked me if I was on some kind of drug, because I cleared my throat “a lot.” Yeah, I don't know what they were talking about either, but apparently this involuntary habit is remarkably frequent. And a hundred calls a day I was doing this. How many of these people find me disgusting, inhuman, or think I'm on drugs? How about people in everyday life? Do my friends mock me? Who taught you how to function, Jarred? My mind spiraled, the snakes squirmed and seethed.

The rest of the phone call was stiff and clumsy, tears welling like a porn star's while I silently packed down the coughs and chokes congesting behind whatever ball of bile bottlenecking at the back of my throat, because I should die right on the living room carpet, sacrificial and blue, lest I irk this absolute cuntbag's social sensitivities, gurgling grotesque and oozing disease.

But am I crazy or...ahem...is that just trivially fucking inoffensive? If I had frog squatted on my desk and—“Verify this, bitch!”—farted into a metal basin full of Cracker Barrel gravy, then sure, be mad. Slam the phone down. Say to the guy by the copier, “Why me?!” and vow to get me fired. But if a natural, nonchalant throat-clearing infuriates you enough to comment on it, you're honestly just an asshole. It's not a frog squat gravy fart, it's not a rude personal affront. It's somewhere way below open mouth chewing, there around unfortunate but necessary nose blowing. I'm gross, you're gross, we're all gross. Get over it, and then, Fuck off, I have a job to do.

I did briefly wonder if maybe she's an anxious person too, a gremlin, maybe her facade is as fragile as mine, but I don't think so, because her attitude when she answered my call had already indicated to me that she never dressed up in a fake bow tie. She thinks she's a normal person: reckless, careless, unprofessional. No phone tone, no Kimball timbre. And because of that, she gave me another thing to worry about, to nag at me, something uncontrollable that I'd be trying to temper, something unconsciously mechanical now made noticeable and manual and clumsy. Thanks.

I was just worried about my goofy voice.

If you're thinking that it's all just a little silly and ridiculously minuscule, then congratulations, you're one of those “normal” people, like Ms. Shelby North Carolina. You make our lives worse.

[dassandre-00qpidsarrow]

This or That: Round Three

@notwhatyouthoughtiwas, along with @boffin1710 and I, had a Headcanon that on long boring periods during missions, where nothing much is happening, and 00s are bored, Q steals the trashy magazines from the break room and gets Alec and James to answer the dumb quizzes.

James

* Tattoos or piercings?  Neither for me.  Permanent markings of any kind make things difficult in espionage.  I do appreciate both on others, though.  Q has some lovely ink.  I’m trying to talk him into a piercing or two.  They can certainly … enhance things.  * Giving a gift or receiving a gift? Giving. I’m not as thoughtless as people would think, and I have a knack for giving precisely the right gift at precisely the right time.  It gives me pleasure to see their reactions knowing I was thinking about them. * Traditional spaghetti or chicken alfredo? Red sauce.  Either marinara with a lot of homemade meatballs or sausage or a nice, hearty bolognese.  I love cooking pasta dishes. * Apartment or house?  House.  Or in our case, a warehouse.  We just spread out too much that living in a flat is bothersome.  That, and Q has cats.  More room for them to play. * Workout at home or at the gym?  Gym.  As Alec said, there’s only so much personal fitness equipment we can have here at home.  The one at Six is brilliant. * Iced tea or hot tea?  Hot tea.  One sugar and a splash of milk.   * Sleep on the left or the right side of the bed?  At home, the left which puts me closest to the door.  Easier to protect my partners.  I sleep closest to the door whilst in the field, too, but for vastly different reasons.  * Radio or television?  Telly.  I like binge watching things when I’m home.  And then, of course, there’s “Netfilx and chill.”  Yes, Q, I do know what that means, I’m not as out of touch as you think.    * Newspaper or online news?  Online in the field, but paper at home.  It’s an indulgence for me to idly flip through the paper, enjoying my coffee, in the safety of my home. * Coffee black or with cream and sugar? Black … No, Q!  That’s not … Christ.  Okay fine.  Black at home but when I order takeaway I get a Grande Caramel Macchiato with extra caramel.  * Batman or Superman?  Batman.  Like Q said, he has better gadgets.  I like gadgets.  I have the best gadget-maker in the world, too.  Still don’t have an exploding pen, though. Little shite! * Go skiing or snowboarding?  Skiing.  I have a LOT of experience skiing. Some of it even happens when I’m not chasing someone or being chased.* Watch or play sports?  Watch. Rugby.  Though Q has started to get me interested in baseball.  It’s better than cricket, I must say.  * Swim in a pool or in the sea?  Pool.  We’ve already talked about my dislike of beaches.  * Sweet or salty?  Salty.   * Leather or lace?  I have to concur with Q here.  Who is wearing it?  Alec looks fabulous in leather, but Q in lace … he’s bloody gorgeous!  And the two of them together ... irresistible! * Steak or chicken?  Steak. Rare.  Mine is mooing like Q’s is.  Alec actually wants his cooked.  Why?! * Alaska or Hawaii?   Alaska. Again, no sand.  I like the cold and the snow, and I like unwrapping Q from his winter gear.  * Mountains or beach?  Mountains.  How many fucking sand questions are there on this thing?! * Digital watch or analog?   Analog.  Q builds me fantastic watches, and I appreciate every last one of them whether they make it back in one piece or not.  * Freedom or hope?  Hope.  The possibilities are endless with hope.  And that’s pulled me out of more than one scrape in my life.   * Netflix or Amazon Prime?  Both. * Doctor Who or the Walking Dead?  It’s bigger on the inside. * Gold or silver?  Didn’t I already answer this question??  Silver.  Elegant.  Understated.  Lustrous.  Timeless   * Chocolate or vanilla?   Chocolate.  Chocolate brownie with chocolate ice cream topped with chocolate fudge. * Coca-Cola or Pepsi?   Whisky. 

[omgjasminesimone]

Kept Part 2

Bryce x MC (Casey) x Ethan

Summary: Bryce and Casey go to Cape Cod for a weekend getaway, and talk about their least favorite subject, Ethan.

Previous Part: Part 1

Next Part: Part 3

Implied NSFW

Word Count: 2800

Casey surveys the cozy Cape Cod house as Bryce carries in their luggage. She wanders over to the window, looking out at a lighthouse visible from across the water. 

Bryce locks the door after he gets all the luggage into the house. He approaches Casey, wrapping his arms around her stomach from behind. She leans back into his embrace, sighing contently as he hugs her to him.

“What do you think of the house?” Bryce questions, placing a kiss just beneath her ear. 

“I can’t believe Dr. Wilson let you borrow his house.” Casey reiterates. The whole drive up, she kept asking him what the catch was, why Dr. Wilson was being so generous. 

“Why would you be surprised? People like me and do nice things for me all the time. One of the many perks of being attractive and having an amazing personality.” Bryce responds cockily.  

Casey rolls her eyes. “You forgot to mention how modest you are.”

Bryce chuckles, twirling a lock of her new long hair around his index finger. “When you’re well liked you don’t have to be modest.” He insists. 

Casey turns so she’s facing him, looping her arms around his neck. “You know, if he really liked you, he would have offered you the house for a summer weekend.” She teases. 

Bryce smirks at her, pulling her into a lazy open-mouthed kiss. “I’ll work on that for next year. But this year, we’ll just have to enjoy some Cape Cod Fall activities.” He murmurs against her lips, kissing her again before pulling away and gripping her hand as he walks them over to the living room. 

“So, what did you plan for our weekend away?” Casey questions as he pulls her over to the couch. He sits, and gently tugs so she lands in his lap. 

“Fishing, and relaxing, maybe some biking, long walks on the beach. Lots of sex. Seafood. There’s a museum if you want to get some culture. Did I mention sex?” Bryce questions, kissing her neck.

Casey smiles, turning in his lap so she’s facing him, straddling his waist. “That’s a lot of stuff to do. We should probably get started on the sex right away to check that off our list.”

Bryce grins at her, rising from the couch. Casey laughs as he carries her to the bedroom, closing the door behind him with his foot. 

...

Casey takes a candid photo of Bryce as he skips rocks on the bay. She flips through the photos on the digital camera as Bryce makes his way back to her and their picnic blanket laid out on the sand. 

They’ve jammed packed their Saturday with activities. After a quick nap and homemade brunch (which Casey had to photographically document, since it wasn’t often Bryce cooked for her), Bryce had taken her out on a rented boat, and they’d fished for several hours. Casey isn’t necessarily someone who enjoys fishing ordinarily, but the uninterrupted quality time with Bryce was very nice. As they waited for the fish to bite, they’d talked about everything, and nothing. She also got a lot of great candid shots of Bryce, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to reel in the fish. Ultimately, they hadn’t caught anything. 

Bryce followed up the fishing with a quick trip into town where they’d strolled hand in hand while admiring Cape Cod’s small-town charm. They’d stopped at an ice cream place, where Bryce insisted on getting a picture of her sexily licking her vanilla ice cream cone. He insisted he was going to get it printed and display it proudly in his room. 

They’d briefly strolled through the Museum of Natural History, where Casey took lots of pictures, before returning to the house for a quick break. They’d curled up on the couch and watched a few episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix while making fun of the many medical mistakes. 

Bryce had abruptly pulled her from the couch when he noticed the sun was starting to set. He’d planned a sunset dinner picnic on the beach. 

Bryce plops down beside her on the blanket, motioning for the camera. She hands it over and smiles for him as he takes a picture of her from his reclining position. 

“That can’t be a good angle.” She quips as Bryce continues to take pictures of her. He sits up, tugging on her off shoulder white sweater so it falls the way it’s supposed to, exposing her mocha shoulder. 

“You don’t have a bad angle.” He promises, taking a couple more photos of her before setting down the camera. He grabs the wine bottle, pouring the last little bit into her glass. Casey offers him an appreciative smile before finishing it, leaning her head against his shoulder as the sun completely dips below the horizon. 

Bryce places a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Thank you for planning such a great day.” Casey praises, arms wrapping around his lean waist. 

“No thank you necessary. I had an amazing day with my favorite girl.” Bryce returns. 

“This is really nice. Just me and you. No classes, or textbooks, or roommates.” Casey murmurs. She doesn’t mention Ethan, but they’re both thinking it. 

Back in Boston, Casey has to be careful about her interactions with Bryce. She doesn’t let him come over to her apartment because she’s worried Ethan might have a camera somewhere, or that one of her neighbors might report back to him. So, she always has to go to Bryce’s place, and contend with his three roommates.

She also won’t let Bryce take her out on dates anywhere she thinks they could run into Ethan or one of his associates. She knows she’s treating Bryce like he’s her dirty little secret, like he’s the affair, like she’s actually with Ethan. She’s not with Ethan, not really. But she does tend to put his needs first, out of necessity.

Ethan would be furious to find out she’s still seeing Bryce. It would ruin everything. She’d lose her apartment, she’d have to stop helping her parents, get a part-time job. Casey has become too accustomed to her cushy lifestyle to let it go.

Despite the risk she knows she’s taking, she can’t stop seeing Bryce. She knows ending things with Bryce before it blows up in her face is the smart thing to do, but her heart can’t take it.  

She loves Bryce. She’s known this for a while now, but she won’t tell him, she can’t. How can she, when he knows he’s not the only one? When he knows that she’s at Ethan’s beck and call?

But there’s also a part of her that doesn’t tell him because she’s not sure the feelings are reciprocated. She can’t allow herself to be too vulnerable with Bryce. She can’t forget how he shut down her bid for relationship exclusivity last year. She reminds herself that Ethan wouldn’t even be in the picture if Bryce would have just committed back then. She brings this up to him too on the rare occasions when they fight about Ethan. Bryce wants her to end it, but she won’t. They usually just avoid bringing Ethan Ramsey up since it’s a sore subject for both of them. 

Casey yawns, tired from their full day of activities. Bryce nudges her head, which is still resting on his shoulder, gently. “Let’s get back to the house.” 

Casey nods her agreement, but makes no move to follow his suggestion, too comfortable cuddled up against him on the sand. Bryce chuckles, easily scooping her into his strong arms. He throws the blanket over his shoulder and cradles her lovingly to his chest before heading back towards the house. 

Casey fights to keep her eyes from drifting closed when Bryce strips them both of their clothes in the bathroom a few minutes later. She’s more awake a few moments later when he deposits her in the warm bath water, her back to his chest as he positions her between his legs. She leans back into him, sighing contently as he scrubs her skin with a loofah. He drops the loofah in surprise when her hand drops into the water, slowly stroking him. His head falls back against the tub as she twists to face him, clearly enjoying the look of ecstasy that crosses his face as she speeds up her pace. 

...

After they’re clean, they fall into the bed together, lips immediately connecting as they lose themselves in each other again. 

The lovers wake up early Sunday morning. Bryce drops a sleepy kiss to Casey’s forehead as sunlight streams through the open curtains. “Good morning beautiful.” He greets. 

“Good morning.” Casey replies, absentmindedly running her fingers up and down his abs. 

“Let’s go make some breakfast, and then we can go on that bike ride I mentioned.” Bryce suggests, and Casey concurs. 

When they return to the house from a ten-mile bike ride a few hours later, they decide to nap after a quick shower together. 

“What are our plans for the rest of the afternoon?” Casey questions as they lay curled up together, about to take their nap. 

“I’d be down for another walk on the beach. We could try to make it to that lighthouse. And then tonight, I got us a reservation to a very nice Cape Cod restaurant.”

Casey’s brow furrows. “Won’t that be expensive?” She wonders aloud. 

“It’s my treat. Let me spoil you.” Bryce reassures, wrapping his arm around her before nodding off.

An hour later, they wake to Casey’s ringing phone. Casey bites her lip when she reads the contact info. It’s Ethan. Bryce rubs at his eyes sleepily as she answers the call, arm tightening around her possessively when he hears Ethan’s voice through the receiver. 

“Rookie.” Ethan greets. 

“Hey Ethan.” Casey greets. 

“How’s Cape Cod?” Ethan asks. 

“It’s nice. I definitely needed the girl’s weekend.” Casey responds, and she feels Bryce shake his head slightly from where he’s curled up behind her. She ignores him. “Did you need something?” She asks when Ethan doesn’t respond to her last statement. 

“I... I miss you Cassandra.” Ethan admits, and Casey frowns. Ethan only gets like this when he’s depressed, he gets lonely, clingy, needy, nothing like the Dr. Ethan Ramsey he usually presents to the world. She needs to tread carefully during these times, being careful not to upset him.

“I miss you too.” Casey lies. “I’ll see you tomorrow though. I’ll be back around 8 AM, and I can stop by your place after school.” She offers. 

“I wanted to see you today. And it turns out there’s a medical benefit gala in Cape Cod tonight. So, I got us tickets and I’m driving down there now.”

“Tonight? But I already had plans with Sienna and Jackie.” Casey tries to deflect. She hears Bryce let out an exasperated sigh behind her. He knows how this always goes. 

“You see Sienna and Jackie all the time. I’m simply asking for a couple of hours of your time. Seems like a small ask, considering how much I do for you.” Ethan responds, tone icy. 

“.... I don’t have anything to wear.” Casey warns. 

“Not a problem Cassandra. I am bringing a gown for you.” Ethan responds, tone neutral once again. 

“Ok, see you tonight then. I’ll text you the address to pick me up at.” Casey gives in, hanging up after Ethan says ok. 

“What about dinner?” Bryce questions, his tone sounding both hurt and angry. 

“Sorry. Maybe we can go for lunch before Ethan gets here?” Casey suggests, rolling over to face Bryce. 

Now that they’re face to face, she can see the challenge in his brown eyes. “I called in a lot of favors for this table Casey.” 

Casey shrugs. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. If it’s such a big deal maybe you should still go, then. I’m sure you could find a date on tinder or bumble in a matter of minutes.”

Bryce frowns. “I don’t want to go with anyone else.” He reveals. “You’re the only one I want Casey, and I hate that I have to share you with Ramsey.” 

“When I wanted to be exclusive, you said you weren’t ready.” Casey reminds him. 

“We barely knew each other then. How could I possibly have known then what I know now? That you’re not only beautiful and smart, but kind, and funny, and caring, and everything I need? Everything I want? That you’re the one?”

Casey rolls her eyes, sitting up and starting to throw her clothes back on. “How convenient that you only figured this out once Ethan came into the picture.” She bites out. 

Bryce sits up as well, gripping her arm and stopping her from leaving the bed. “What is that supposed to mean?” He questions, eyes narrowed as he regards her. 

“You didn’t want to be exclusive until there was another man in the picture. You only want me now because you can’t have me, not completely. This is about one-upping Ethan.” Casey explains. 

“What kind of asshole do you think I am?” Bryce asks, his tone more hurt than Casey would have expected. 

“Oh, please Bryce. Don’t act like this isn’t some kind of pissing contest between you and Ethan.” 

“I’m not fucking like him Casey. I don’t need to feel like I own or control you.” Bryce counters, loosening his hold when she wrenches her arm away from him and stands. 

“You don’t? Then why can’t you just accept the way things are? It’s not like I’m even sleeping with Ethan, I just have to go out with him occasionally, some chaste kisses here and there, and that’s it. I get my rent paid, I can focus on school without worrying about working part-time, it’s a good deal. You should be happy for me.” Casey insists. 

“He’s working his way up to you sleeping with him, trust me.” Bryce bites back. 

“Of course, that’s the part of my speech you focus on, not the whole bit about being happy for me.” Casey pulls on her turtleneck sweater, and then draws her new long hair out of the garment. She’s about to storm out of the bedroom, but Bryce grips her arm.

“How can I be happy for you Casey, are you even happy? You’re compromising who you are and what you believe in for what, some guy you don’t even like? His money?” Bryce asks.

Casey huffs, tearing her arm away and storming out of the room. “Of course, you don’t get it. Didn’t you go to private school? And don’t your parents send you money every month?”

Bryce frowns as he pulls on some sweatpants, following after her. “My parents send me some money if I really need it, but I also have a part-time job. And roommates. There are plenty of 20-somethings getting by in Boston without turning to what’s essentially escorting Casey.”

“Screw you Bryce.” Casey spits out.  

“Casey, wait.” Bryce calls when she heads to the door of the cottage. “I’m sorry. Can we talk this out, please?” He pleads. Casey lets out a long breath before nodding. Bryce sits on the couch and pats the spot beside her. Casey sits somewhat reluctantly. She has a feeling she’s not going to like this discussion.

Bryce takes her hand, relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “Casey, I can’t do this anymore.” Bryce reveals.

Casey’s eyes widen. “You’re breaking up with me?!”

“No baby, or at least I hope not. But I can’t be with you if you’re also going to be with Dr. Ramsey. It kills me to think about him kissing you, you on his arm at all those events. And I hate how stressed out he makes you Casey. How you feel like you have to conform to be what he wants, how you drop everything when he tells you to be somewhere at the last minute. I love you, Casey. And I can’t do it, I can’t share you with someone who doesn’t deserve you. I need you to decide what you want, me or him.” Bryce gives his ultimatum.

“I…I don’t know.” Casey replies, tears welling in her eyes when Bryce looks heartbroken at her response.

He takes a deep shuddering breath before he speaks. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now. I know this is a lot, that you have some things to consider. Take your time and let me know when you decide.” Bryce squeezes her hand before standing up.

“Where are you going?” Casey asks, her voice breaking.

Bryce chances a glance back at her. “I don’t think I should be here when he gets here.”

“But he’s not coming right this minute. You don’t have to run out.” Casey insists.

Bryce offers her a small, sad smile. “I need to clear my head anyway. I think I’ll go for a drive. I’ll be back late.”

The silence when Bryce closes the door is deafening.  

taglist:  @octobereighth​  @akrenich​  @lovehugsandcandy​ @regina-and-happiness​  @brightpinkpeppercorn​  @choicesarehard​  @lizeboredom​   @desiree-0816​  @hellooliviaolivia​ @dreaming-of-movies  @friedherringclodthing​  @weaving-in-words  @fairydustandsarcasm​  @goldenjellyfish12​   @pessimystic-fangirl​  @mimikoasahina​  @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl​   @god-save-the-keen  @caroldxnvxrs​  @cora-nova​ @emceesynonymroll​ @lady-dianelewis​ @choicesgremlin​ @anxious-arliah​ @cordoniasmost​ @lahelable​ @annekebbphotography​ @liamzigmichael4ever​ @crispycrunchyleaves​

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

Yesss thank you ( ˘ ³˘)♥ ( ˘ ³˘)♥ ( ˘ ³˘)♥ now I want it written but like,,, too lazy to write it myself and I know you're drowning in prompts

I am drowning in prompts, and other things to write, so I can’t write a full fic.Just the h/c snippet though? I think I can do that...

“Well, I have to do something to be useful, right?” Patton said, voice faux cheery and not in the good way- it sounded forced, and fake, and ugly. “So you’ll have a reason to keep me around!”

All noise in the room died, all eyes focused on Patton, who was looking at the kitchen counter he had been in the middle of scrubbing. They had all been relaxing, enjoying one of the few shared days off the four of them had, Virgil splayed across Roman with his feet in Logan’s lap, all of them on the couch.

The absence of their fourth partner was hard to ignore, Patton bustling around to do laundry and dust and other chores. He had been cleaning down the kitchen when Virgil beseeched him to join them, saying they could clean later, Patton’s worked hard enough, please come cuddle them?

Patton had refused at first, until all of them were asking, wanting to know what was so desperately important about getting this cleaning done now, and his attempts to brush it off all failed until they ended up here.

“Patton,” Logan said slowly, clearly, calmingly, clearly trying to keep a hold of a situation that had rapidly escalated into one none of them were expecting, “why would we, as you put it, need a ‘reason to keep you around?’“

Patton laughed nervously, still watching the counter, one hand grasping the edge of it and the other tapping an irregular pattern out on it. “Why, you guys are all just so great! And you contribute so much to our happy little household- like Roman’s singing to fill the rooms, and Logan’s sticky notes of random facts that cover whichever wall he was nearest too when he learned it, and Virgil’s little spider stickers he places everywhere for fun! I just... just want to contribute something too!”

“You already contribute more than enough, sunshine.” Roman said, worriedly. “You don’t need to do all the work while we’re lazing.”

“I don’t though.” Paton said, glancing briefly up at them, but even in the quick look he gave them before going back to studying the countertop they could all see their were tears in his eyes. “I- you’re all so wonderful, and-and I know I’m lucky to be with you, and I know that eventually you’ll leave- and that’s alright because you deserve better, you really do, all of you deserve so much better, but I just thought that... that if I could be helpful, and u-useful, you’d stick around longer, and isn’t that ugly and selfi-ish of me, but I just- I just-”

Patton’s grip on the counter tightened until his knuckles were turning white, as if all his weight and balance was focused on this one thing, as if he would fall if he let go, as he finished, “I just... I know you’ll be de-light-ed when it’s all over, and I don’t blame you for it, but I’m just so afraid of being left alone... of being left lampless.”

That’s what really broke boyfriends; their happy-pappy Patton, looking as if he might fall over, tears silently streaming down his face as he weakly tried to hide them, cracking puns about them breaking up with him; cracking puns like it was inevitable, like the only reason they were dating him was for some human chore machine and nothing else.

Patton was so caught up in his own world, his world of abandonment and inevitable heartbreak, that he didn’t notice Logan, Virgil, and Roman get up and come over until there were three sets of very familiar arms wrapping around him from every angle. For a brief moment, he tried to struggle, tried to pull away, but there was no where to go and he was too tired to escape them.

So instead he slumped against them, still sobbing, trying to offer a dozen apologies and having all of them gently shut down and shushed as they shuffled back over to the couch, settling down so that Patton’s face was against Roman’s neck, staining the fabric of his shirt with tears as Roman gently rubbed his back. Virgil was hugging him from behind, nuzzling his own head into the side of Patton’s neck comfortingly while Logan combed his fingers soothingly through his hair, occasionally wandering down to try and massage the tension out of Patton’s neck as well.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Patton calmed down, sobs turning into occasional snotty hiccups. He pulled his head away from Roman’s shoulder, and the group rearranged so that Patton’s back was against Roman, Roman’s arms still wrapped around Patton, Virgil and Logan sitting in front of them. Patton was focused on fidgeting his thumbs in his laps, refusing to look at any of them.

“Patton, love, will you please look at me?” Logan asked softly. When Patton didn’t move his gaze from contemplating his thumbs, Logan sighed and reached forward, gently tipping up Patton’s chin so that Patton would look at him. “Why didn’t you tell us how you felt?”

Patton gave a weak half-shrug in response. “’Didn’t want you to leave...” He mumbled. “After all, why would you... why would you want to keep around some useless sad sack?”

Roman made a pained noise in the back of his throat, causing Patton to wince and try to wiggle out of his hold. Roman’s grip around Patton only tightened, however, as he said vehemently, “Dearheart, you are not a useless sad sack.”

“But-”

“No buts.” Roman stopped him immediately, leaning his head so that he could press a little kiss to Patton’s temple. “You are one of the most magnificently beautiful creatures I have ever had the honor of knowing, so often bright and alive even in the face of the fiercest opponents. You cook the most scrumptious of meals where we would burn water, and you fill this house with the truly cheery air needed to make it home. None of that says ‘useless sad sack.’“

Patton giggled a little at that, gaining smiles from all of his boyfriends. “Do you... do you really mean that?”

“Of course he means it.” Virgil answered for Roman, placing a hand on Patton’s knee. It was a little awkward, but he pressed gently down, trying to offer Patton a comforting pressure, like Patton had done many times before to help Virgil when he started to spiral. “We love you, Pat, and you’re, like, our best member. Your the only one who can pass for a semi-responsible adult.” Logan sniffed in insult and Virgil patted his shoulder without taking his eyes off of Patton. “Your last social interaction ended with you telling a middle-aged woman to, I quote, ‘consider going back to elementary school to learn basic manners.’“

“She was being incredibly rude.”

“Adults I internalize that.” Virgil said. Logan rolled his eyes but he didn’t seem too annoyed by any of it, and there was a flash of amusement in his expression when he saw Patton smiling at their antics.

“As I was saying, Pat, you’re the only adult-ish gay here.” Virgil continued. “You are by far the most useful member of this relationship.”

“And even if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter.” Logan added, taking one of Patton’s hands in his so he rub circles into the back of it. “As Roman and Virgil have expressed, Patton, we care incredibly deeply for you. The advantages you can offer us are irrelevant.

“The only requirement to being a good boyfriend is loving us back, and being a good cuddler.” Roman concluded. “And I can personally attest to the truth in both of these statements.”

Virgil lazily raised a hand. “Same here.”

“I concur.”

Patton smiled, genuinely, at their shared support. “Thanks guys.” He said, looking a little sheepish. “I feel a little silly now, actually...”

“There is no need for that, my dearest heart!” Roman assured him. “It is no fault of yours that we did not realize we were not properly wooing you!”

Logan nodded seriously. “Was an error that falls entirely upon us.” Logan said, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Please, darling Patton, there must be some way we can make it up to you.”

“No, guys, you don’t have to do anything-”

“I think sad boyfriend and misunderstandings call for several hours of cuddling on the couch while ignoring the movies playing in the background.” Virgil spoke up, interrupting Patton. Roman and Logan nodded in instant agreement.

“I’ll line out the movies.” Logan said, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Patton’s hand before regretfully letting it go and settling down beside the Blu-ray player.

“I’ll get blankets and snacks.” Virgil said as well, patting Patton’s knee before he also headed off- in the direction of the kitchen and hall closet.

Patton’s hands fumbled to wear Roman’s were still secured around his waist. “I should go help them.” He said as he tried to tug at the fingers holding him captive.

Roman only tightened his grip in response, however, flopping back on the couch for added emphasis. “nope.” He said resolutely. “You’ve been working too much. You’re sentenced to only cuddling for at least five movies.”

Patton attempted to fight for only a moment more, quickly resigning himself to his fate. Soon enough Virgil and Logan returned, some movie or another starting up while Virgil skillfully bundled them all up in enough blankets to assure none of them would be moving for many, many hours

Leaning more fully on Roman’s chest with a sigh, his other boyfriends pressed up close to him, Patton didn’t mind that at all.

[acoolchickouthere13]

June 25, 2015

“My friends and I text every day,” she tells me, looking almost regal in a Saint Laurent smoking suit, sitting at a medieval table in a stately room at the hotel. “That’s 20 to 25 girls … Some of them are group texts, most of them are single texts. We know when everybody’s in New York, who’s in town, who’s in L.A. Being a huge group of girls who love each other, we know where everyone is,” she says, before reflecting, giddily, “I’ve never had this before.” These friends include models (Kloss, Hadid, Delevingne, Kendall Jenner), actresses (Emma Stone, Lena Dunham, Hailee Steinfeld, Jaime King), and musicians (Selena Gomez, Goulding, Lorde, the Haim sisters). Swift lunches and dines with these girlfriends; she attends concerts with them; she crafts with them; she cooks with them; she walks red carpets with them; many of them appear in pre-taped clips that run during her current world-tour stops; and some of them have even emerged, in the flesh, at her shows, to strut down the stage and wave to the crowd. “She shares her stage with people,” Gomez later remarks to me. “A lot of artists would never do that.”...These girls are not shuffling out of clubs at three A.M. or finding themselves on TMZ for nefarious reasons. Delevingne tells me that a typical night with their cohort involves Swift dressing her friends in “white Victorian nighties,” purchased by Swift at Nashville antique store Gilchrist Gilchrist. Swift has a cupboard of them, Delevingne says, adding, “She’s also great at cooking breakfast.” (“I absolutely slay omelets,” Swift says.) Gomez concurs that their meet-ups are generally low-key: “We go to her house and hang out or cook or we go out to dinner.” Swift is not straitlaced (she says people will sometimes mistakenly assume, upon meeting her, that she “never has a drink and goes to church five times a week”), but she is not exactly a Miley Cyrus either. During lunch, as Swift and I eat salads, someone points out that Swift has a piece of food on her chin, and she announces, “I can never tell when I have food on my face … or when someone’s high. That’s why I can’t go to Coachella or Glastonbury.” When I ask if there is ever friction between any members of her diverse clique, Swift shakes her head vigorously. “That doesn’t happen. We even have girls in our group who have dated the same people. It’s almost like the sisterhood has such a higher place on the list of priorities for us. It’s so much more important than some guy that it didn’t work out with. When you’ve got this group of girls who need each other as much as we need each other, in this climate, when it’s so hard for women to be understood and portrayed the right way in the media … now more than ever we need to be good and kind to each other and not judge each other—and just because you have the same taste in men, we don’t hold that against each other….“For the better part of 2012 and 2013, I did not go online, because I didn’t like what they were saying about me,” she says. “And it was so overwhelmingly inaccurate that I knew there was nothing I could do to fight. When the media decides that they don’t like you, there’s nothing you can do that doesn’t seem desperate and irritating to everyone when you try to defend yourself. So I just had to go into my little emotional bunker and pretend there weren’t bombs going off outside….So, how did she crawl out of the bomb shelter? “I think that I just decided if [the media] was going to say that about me, that I was boy-crazy and so dependent on men and all that, I wasn’t going to give them a reason to say that anymore, and I wasn’t going to be seen around any men for years—so that’s what I did,” she says. “And what ended up happening was I became happier than I had ever been before. I swore I would never ever get in another relationship if it meant changing who I was, or taking me out of that mode where my friends are everything to me….She basically lurches out of her seat when asked if it’s important to her that her boyfriend and her friends get along. “SO IMPORTANT. Oh, it’s so important.”

“In every friendship group, you’ve got one or two girls where you hear people say, ‘Oh, she’s so different around her boyfriend!’ ” Swift says. “I never wanted to be that girl. So that was a huge goal of mine: never ever become someone else for the sake of a relationship.”

I suggest that it can sometimes be hard to maintain one’s identity in a new relationship, and Swift laughs, wisely.

“If you’re a people pleaser, like most of us are, you try to adapt to what signals that person is giving off,” she says. “It’s not about changing the fact that you’re a people pleaser; it’s about finding someone [to date] who is not critical. That can be the most painful thing, trying to love someone who is critical in their nature.”

Has that happened to her?, I ask, even though the answer is already obvious.

“Uh, yes,” she says. “But usually I don’t make the same mistake twice. I make new ones, but I don’t usually repeat my old ones.”(x)

[7-wonders]

All the Time In the World

Summary: Life has thrown you a few curveballs lately. Between absolute chaos wreaking havoc at your job, being too busy to sleep and your schedule not meshing with Duncan’s, you’re stressed beyond measure. So stressed, in fact, that you don’t notice you miss your period until you’re two weeks late. 

Word Count: 2285

A/N: Hey guys, I hope you enjoy this oneshot I cooked up for you! This is tied into the Kiss Me Through the Phone universe, which you can read at my MASTERLIST. Feedback is always appreciated; leave a comment or note in my inbox about what you thought. If you liked this, please like and reblog!

Warnings: Talks of possible pregnancy, mentions of periods/mensuration. 

The past few weeks have been extremely hectic and stressful for both you and Duncan. President Hale-Underwood had announced her extremely late bid for re-election, sending your workplace into a scramble as everyone attempted to reshape the political landscape now that the current powerhouse was back in the race. It’s been many long nights at the office for you as you research and formulate new statistics, work on creating new graphics for the various media outlets, and interview other candidates from both parties as they react to the incumbent President joining the election race. You’ve been so busy that it’s often easier to just sleep at your apartment lately, that is, if you can even make it back home before falling asleep at your desk. It’s closer to where you work than Duncan’s place, but it’s still difficult sleeping without Duncan.

Life hasn’t been too easy for Duncan, either. Since the Shepherds and the Underwoods have been feuding for years, this announcement has only fueled Annette’s need to ruin Claire. She’s been incredibly tense and, from what Duncan’s told you, five lower-level employees have been fired just this week. When Duncan’s not working on a new app (one that doesn’t involve stealing people’s information, thankfully), he’s being ordered to try and find dirt on the President. It’s a trying time for both of you, and not having Duncan around is really starting to take its toll on you. He’s the same way, so when he persuades you into not giving into your boss’s pleas to work this weekend, you do the same for him.

It’s the first time you’ve slept more than five hours for at least two weeks, not waking up until breakfast was more like brunch. Duncan, having been up first, ordered food from a nearby cafe to be delivered to the apartment. It was an extremely welcome surprise, and sitting at the table, holding hands with your love and just enjoying each other’s presence is much-needed. You sip at your coffee, pulling up the news on your phone when Duncan stands to go and wash the dishes left over from your meal.

Being so entrenched in the news already, there’s not much to read that you haven’t experienced first-hand by now. A politician said something controversial, war in the Middle East, hurricanes in the South: it’s all dated to you. Exiting out of that app, you swipe through your phone to see what else you can check up on. Instagram doesn’t seem too appealing, since you’d rather not see all of your classmates from high school and what they’re doing. Your Twitter timeline is dead this morning, and you get bored within thirty seconds of opening the app. Your eyes dart from each of the little icons on the screen. VSCO, Snapchat, Period Tracker, YouTube-wait, Period Tracker?

Your body tenses while you try to remember the last time you opened the app. Normally you’re very good about tracking your period, a habit stemming back to when you were a teenager and your periods were extremely irregular. While they’re more normal now, you do still have some off-months. Clicking the app, you wait impatiently for it to load. Duncan’s humming sounds almost too cheerful for a situation like this, but how is he to know that you might have made a giant mistake? When the screen finally loads, your heart nearly stops.

You were supposed to start your period two weeks ago. You haven’t been this late in years; normally when you are late, it’s by a day or two. You’re wracking your brain, trying to think of how this could possibly happen. You take your birth control daily, so that’s not an issue. You and Duncan use condoms, and you haven’t been lazy enough to go without a condom since--

“Oh fuck.” You curse, head falling in your hands.

“What’s wrong?” Duncan looks up from the sink, a dish towel slung over his shoulder.

“I’m late.” Your words are muffled by your hands, so Duncan asks you to repeat yourself. “I’m late.” You enunciate.

“Late for what? It’s Saturday, we don’t-”

“Duncan!” You snap. “I was supposed to start my period two weeks ago.”

The dish he’s washing clatters to the bottom of the sink, and you glance at him to see his jaw clenched while his face is devoid of color.

“But...how did you forget?”

“I’ve forgotten to eat regular meals for the past three weeks, my period was the least of my concerns.”

“Fuck.” He concurs with your earlier statement. “What do we do?”

“I mean, I need to go and buy a pregnancy test, I guess.”

“My assistant’s working today, I can text him and have him pick it-”

“No! God, please do not do that.” You know that you shouldn’t be snapping at him, he’s just trying to help, but you’re on the verge of a full-on panic attack and he’s not making it better. Duncan can tell that you’re freaking out, falling on his knees in front of you and grabbing your face in his hands.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together. Do you want me to go and buy the test? Or I can come with you, whatever you want.” You take one of his hands in both of yours, moving it to your lips and kissing his palm.

“I’ll just run to the store down the street and be right back.”

“You sure?” You smile slightly, nodding.

“I’m sure.”

The trip to the corner store and back, although most likely under twenty minutes, feels like it takes hours. You grabbed three different tests, two electronic and one with the plus/minus sign so there was a variety in the tests. Of course, the day you need to get out of the store quickly is also the first time you’ve ever seen a line in this store, causing you to have the most impatient wait of your life before making it to the front. The cashier, a woman in her mid-50s, shot you a look when ringing you up.

“Do you need the bathroom key, too?” She had asked.

“Oh, uh, these are for my-my friend…” You don’t know why you lied to a total stranger, but there was no going back once the words were out. She had looked at you, obviously unconvinced, but you just smiled awkwardly before taking the bag and rushing out of the store.

After taking the tests at home, the only thing left to do is wait. Duncan sits on the bed, shaking his leg nervously while he watches you pace back and forth across the bedroom.

“(Y/N), you need to calm down.” He says carefully, not wanting to aggravate you further.

“I am calm, I just don’t think I can physically sit down right now.” Duncan sighs but remains quiet, knowing you’ll talk about what’s bothering you soon enough. “It could be stress making me so late this month but...what if I am pregnant? We never planned for this. I just got a promotion at work, and you’re so busy with the Foundation.”

“What did I tell you earlier? Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. If you are...pregnant, then we’ll carefully go over our options. No matter what, though, I won’t leave you.”

“I’m too young to be a mom.” Unexpected tears well up in your eyes. “Sure, loads of people I went to high school and college with have kids, but they’re good at being parents. I can barely take care of a plant, how could I take care of a tiny human?”

“You’re just overthinking, (Y/N).” Duncan soothes, grabbing your arms and tugging you against him. The hug immediately has a calming effect on you, reducing the shakiness you’re feeling and helping to level your breathing.

“How are you so calm about this?” Duncan shrugs.

“We can’t really change what happened last month.” Damn both of you for being too lazy to slip on a condom when you had morning sex. “Right now, we just have to focus on the present.”

“I hate when you’re right.” You mutter, feeling Duncan chuckle against you.

The alarm on your phone has both of you jumping from the sudden loud noise. Grabbing the device from your back pocket, you quickly silence it before looking back to Duncan. He’s patient with you, holding your hand while you work up the nerve to move towards the bathroom.

“We’ve gotta look sometime, babe.” You nod, finally walking in with him.

Your eyes keep flicking back and forth from each of the three tests, your brain trying to comprehend that what you’re seeing is real. Duncan’s obviously confused, picking up the boxes to try and decipher the symbols on each test. You don’t need a box, though, the signs being as clear as day.

“Oh, thank God!” You let out a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding, leaning back against Duncan for support. “I’ve never been so happy to see the word ‘no’ before.”

Duncan rubs his hands on your shoulders, but remains oddly quiet. After you slide each of the three tests back in their boxes and toss them in the trash, you turn around. He’s looking at the trash can instead of you, and you pout slightly at his indifference towards this.

“You okay? I thought me not being pregnant would be a cause for celebration.” Duncan finally looks at you, just barely smiling.

“No, it is! I just...well...uh, why haven’t you gotten your period, then?” It’s a question that’s very uncharacteristic for him, causing you to raise your eyebrows at him.

“Probably just because of how stressed out I am. I don’t know, if I still haven’t gotten it by next week then I’ll make an appointment with my gynecologist, it could be a cyst or something like that.” You know that it’s most likely stress, and now that pregnancy has been ruled out you can focus on not being stressed out in the hopes to get your period to show up. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” It’s the most unconvincing sentence you’ve ever heard, and he knows you’ve caught on when you fold your arms across your chest.

Before he can even make a move, you’ve wrapped your arms around him and stumble out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, using your strength and the fact that you caught him off-balance to help you. You land on the bed above Duncan, quickly straddling his torso and pinning his arms above his head. He obviously didn’t expect you to tackle him, eyes wide while he tries to figure out what you’re doing.

“I’m not letting you go until you tell me what’s wrong.” Duncan rolls his eyes and sighs, but you only tighten your grip on his wrists. “I’m serious, Dunc!”

“(Y/N), nothing’s wrong.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. I’m fine with doing this all day until you finally give in.” You glare at him, refusing to let him move no matter how much he squirms.

“Fine! You’re such a stubborn woman.” You stick your tongue out at him, but wait for him to continue. “I...this is so embarrassing.”

“Hey, no it’s not. I promise that whatever you say won’t be embarrassing.” You reassure him, watching as a pink blush paints his face.

“I-uh, I didn’t know how much I wanted a baby until those tests came back negative.” Your hands go limp, releasing Duncan from your grasp, but he doesn’t make any effort to move out from under you.

“You’ve never talked about wanting kids before.” You say quietly.

“I haven’t wanted kids with anyone until I met you.”

“You’d want me to have your kids?” You’re oddly flattered by this sentiment.

“I couldn’t imagine starting a family with anybody but you. I just--while you were at the store, my mind kind of ran away with the idea of you being pregnant. You, having to wear my shirts because your baby bump makes your shirts too tight.” Duncan’s hands drift to your stomach almost against his will. “Getting to design a nursery and pick out names for our little baby. I want all of it; I want to hold your hair back when you get morning sickness and go and get you whatever food you’re craving at three in the morning. I want to be sleep-deprived, but so happy that the cause of it is this tiny human that we created. Before I met you, I assumed I would just be some perpetual bachelor. I never saw a reason to change the way I acted. You make me want to change, (Y/N). That life, which I once saw as the only possible life for me, suddenly isn’t appealing anymore.”

“Really?” Your voice comes out as a squeak, causing Duncan to chuckle.

“I’m not asking you to have a baby with me right now, but...I plan on being with you for the rest of my life, and I hope you do too.” You nod eagerly, taking his face in both of your hands and kissing him deeply.

“Of course I do.”

“Yeah?” Duncan sits up, face to face with you now while you nod again.

“Probably no babies until after our lives calm down.”

“Definitely.”

“And we’ll plan for it, instead of having a scare like we did today.”

“Oh trust me, the first time we try, I’m putting a baby in you.” Your heart flutters at the dark look of determination in his eyes.

“You’ll be okay with putting the baby plan on hold until then?” Duncan smiles before kissing you again.

“I can wait.”

Tag List: @khaleesimel @sammythankyou @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @langdonslove @heda-mikaelson @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon @sebastianshoe @let-me-try-mom @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @pastel-cloudz @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dolceandchalamet @dandycandy75 @alexcornerthethird @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @wroteclassicaly @langdonsdemon @trelaney @rocketgirl2410 @starwlkers @hexqueensupreme @divinelangdon

[forallyourikemensengokuneeds]

Reality of Love ch 4

She watched him as he settled into the mat on the overhanging veranda. It was the connection to both of their bedrooms. Though he didn't mean to say it the way he did when he told the cooks and the maids not to bother them as they were going to retire for the rest of the day everyone smiled and nodded.

As he looked at her for the cue of something as she was now completely red with embarrassed. "Did I say something wrong?" Mitsuhide asked with a tone of innocence she knew he didn't mean to have.

"You know exactly what you said." She looked up at him and giggled.

"Oh, I do, do I?" he asked with his eyebrow raised.

"Mitsuhide you alluded that we were going to be doing more than just sitting on the veranda reading." She said.

"Oh I did?" he asked with a smirk.

"Whatever Mitsuhide." She said as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Come my dear let us go to the rooms and relax."  He said as he took her hand. She looked down at his hand. She remembered having to explain to the other man about hand-holding and how she missed it. She never had to say anything to this man. She noticed that this man seemed to know things that she did want without her prompting him.

As she settled in her seat, she began thinking that maybe one of his first comments to her was the most enlightening.  She had pushed it away as she tried to find herself in this place, but he may have hit the head of the nail when he said maybe this was not a mistake. He was everything the other wasn't but the same as well. This Mitsuhide was the better version of him. She had fallen in love with one version that was flawed, and in her haste, she left that one and found a version of the same man that was perfect to her. He looked at her as he paused in his reading. "My dear are you even paying attention?" his voice went through her as she looked up and met his eyes. He had moved much closer, and their noses were almost touching. She reached up and slid her fingers down his face. She then moved quickly and kissed him.

She was surprised at her own reaction to him. His mouth moved with hers, and he deepened the kiss as he found his arms around her pulling her tighter. This man who looked like the other was nothing like him. This man was so different. He felt different to her. She sighed into the kiss. When he pulled away, he looked at her. "Was that some sort of test?" he asked as he looked deep into her eyes. His arms were still around her.

"A test for myself." She said.

"Did you pass it?" he asked.

"Did I?" she asked as she went into to kiss him again. He met her with the same passion she was showing him. he found his hands lifting her and placing her in his lap. They were face to face, and he groaned into the kiss. His hands exploring her back, pulling her into him. as they parted again, he looked at her and then picked her up.

"You did, Princess." He whispered. "Let me love you. I want to replace the thoughts of the other man."

"Mitsuhide." She said as she looked at him and saw the color had been changed. The color had deepened and the desires that resided there as he looked at her. "You don't have to erase him. you are so different already."

"Can you possibly feel the same about me that you did about him?" he asked as he settled her back into his lap not letting her go. "I understand why he loved you. However, he couldn't love you more than me."

"it is not a competition." She said as she reached up and pulled him to her. "Mitsuhide, you are not the same as him. you may have some of the same history, but you are sweet and open. He was the opposite. You are different men. There is no comparison between the two of you. Don't ever think that you are a substitute to him. you are not. He let me go. You wouldn't. I know that."

"I wouldn't. Now that you gave me a taste of you, I want more of you." He said completely honest. He kissed her nose. "I know why the other loved you, but he was completely mistaken by following orders. I can't complain though he gave you to me."

"Mitsuhide." She said softly.

"My love. You sit there and be a good girl while I read to you. We will have at least one day of courtship before I have you." Mitsuhide said softly in her ear.

"Maybe even more than one." She laughed.

"Don't push it, Princess. You are in luck that tomorrow I do have things to attend too." Mitsuhide chuckled.

"You do?" she asked, surprised.

"I have to meet with some of the traders for some more supplies." He replied as he settled back against the wall pulling her deeper into his embrace as he placed the book in front of her.

"As the castles caretakers shouldn't I be the one meeting with the traders?" she asked.

"If you ever met with these traders, my dear, you will have a whole battalion of my finest soldiers with you. These are not the kind most trade with. They are at best I can say is rough." Mitsuhide said.

"Rough, huh?' she asked.

"Kit." He said.

"What do you have to order from these rough traders, Mitsuhide?" Kit asked.

"Gun powder." He stated.

"Oh. That makes sense." She replied with a smile.

"What did you think?" Mitsuhide asked.

"I don't know Mitsuhide. I know the history of you. It isn't easy to separate what I know and who you really are. History was not kind to you because of your involvement with Nobunaga's death." She said.

"I did what?" he asked, surprised.

"Crap." She said as she smiled. "I wasn't supposed say that. But I already let that cat out of the bag. You led a rebellion against Nobunaga at the height of his concurring Japan. You became shogun for thirteen days, and then your death ordered by Hideyoshi led him to take over. Then Ieyasu after that."

"Well, that wouldn't happen." He said with a grin.

"Why is that?" she asked.

"I have much more to live for then to become shogun. My clan wants me to start my duty, but I wish to be there for my children. My father was not. He died when I was ten and left my uncle in charge, and the clan started to fall. Nobunaga's help we were able to get through the harder times. I owe him our prosperity. Now I have another reason to thank him." Mitsuhide said.

"What would that be?" Kit asked with a confused look on her face.

"You," Mitsuhide said as he looked down at her in his lap. "The actions of the other people led you to me. I have to be grateful of that. It might be the man I know, but I do have to contend with the actions of the other universe that you knew first."

"Mitsu." She said softly as she looked at him. he placed the book down now forgotten again.

"Kit, do you not see how I have to thank all of them? I need a woman to help me, a woman to help create the next generation, none of the ones I have met here could do that. I have never really paid attention to the thoughts of the clans need for me to continue my line until you fell out of the sky. Now it is my only thought. You work hard for my castle. You fit in better than someone who is from here. You are the one I have to be thankful for."

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. She thought of the last words the other man said to her and her last words to him. She wanted him to find love or happiness, and that was exactly what she had here with another version of him. He was the best parts of the other and much more. She knew she had fallen in love with him, this version, completely as she knew the other version was fading into her memory.  

Mitsuhide framed her face with his hands. "Kit I know I want to court you. I want you as my wife. I will do this. However, you wish."

"Mitsuhide." She said softly. "A little time that is all I will need."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Mitsuhide, I don't need a huge show. I need you to show me instead. I need only time. You already answered all of my questions." Kit replied.

"I did?" he asked, slightly confused.

"Like this." She said as she pulled him closer to her, and they kissed again. "The answer is here."

They smiled at each other as he picked up the book again and began reading as his other hand playing in her hair. She was content to lay against him and drift off to another world where they were happy together. It seemed like the veranda had become their comfort place as he rested against the wall with a small cushion behind him and the comfort of the small woman in his lap against him. Mitsuhide knew he was never going to find another woman like this one. He began his legendary planning and plotting on how to win this woman completely over and make her forget about the other version of himself she knew. He had ideas already, but he was going to watch her and learn some more things before he really made his move to win her heart and her body.

He grinned down at her as the light of the day began to fade as he recited the words on the page with the gentle wind playing around them. He looked up and thought there might not be a storm that night as well. Watching the moon with this woman whose beauty eclipsed the wonder of the moon was going to be a delight. He was almost giddy as he kept reading.

They heard the door open to his rooms as the maids placed the two platters down. She began to stir, and he was afraid of losing her heat against him. he helped her up and as they walked into the room and saw the dishes she had ordered for todays meals she smiled. He sat down again this time, pulling her down with him. he took some of his food or the platter closest to him and lifted the food for her to eat. The act of feeding another person had never occurred to him as one that was sensual but watching her relish the food he was giving her, he started to rethink everything. Every bite was a step he was taking, and though she was torturing him with her sounds of enjoyment, he knew he would be the victor of this battle. Kit would be his. he had to grin even more as she fed him. They would make a good pair together, he thought as they finished their meal.

[capturer-la-lune]

Much like us, adults like to investigate the world, babies do it as well. Through their faculties, by contacting, smelling and tasting all the energizing choices around them.

The main year of your baby's life is the most significant for mental health, so it's similarly imperative to let him/her experience things with utilizing all the faculties. I'm especially into presenting the tangible play since it has such a significant number of advantages, for mental health we've just referenced as well as gross and fine engine aptitudes.

You don't need to stand by to bring home tactile toys until your kid is a little child. Children love to play and contact various surfaces, smear fluids superficially and watch intriguing shapes coast before their eyes. What you must be cautious isn't to acquaint them with toys that are excessively little and can be placed in their mouth, poisonous, excessively hot, and sharp, and so on. We as a whole concur, security first.

I've done some exploration and I present you with my rundown of 14 extremely simple to make tangible toys for babies that you can make at home and on the financial limit. On account of numerous innovative mother bloggers there are huge amounts of extraordinary thoughts out there. I've additionally put a connection by every thought so you can go look at the guidelines and subtleties on each toy on the off chance that you need it.

13 simple to make tangible toys for babies

1. Highly contrasting example cards

These example cards are ideal for baby's stomach time. As a matter of fact it's a motivating force to keep him/her on her belly 😉 Since the examination shows that children want to look highly contrasting examples, these cards are a decent visual incitement. They are anything but difficult to make – all you need is a printing paper, scissors and picture outlines. I discovered this good thought on myboredtoddler.com and you can really download arranged cards here.

tactile toys for babies designs

Beautiful Idea and Photo by My Bored Toddler

2. Straightforward texture scraps tactile container

In the event that you have any texture remains, strips, and scraps from your sewing ventures, you have everything (admirably, nearly) to make fun fortune canister. On the off chance that you don't have a wide range of shapes or strips, simply cut them into fun pieces. Put them into the bushel and pull some on the edge and show your little one how he/she can haul things out. Goodness, fun! 🙂

tactile toys for babies textures

Extraordinary thought and Photo by School Time Snippets

3. Yogurt on the mirror

This thought is somewhat messier, however a lot more diversion for the children (possibly less for moms?). Since our little ones simply love to put their fingers on the glass, here's a thought that won't let you stress over your baby coming to the window. Yogurt on the mirror is a protected and fun tactile experience. All you need is a mirror, a major spoon of yogurt on it and let the spreading start. You can make it intriguing by including a paintbrush in the event that you believe it's sheltered enough. Also, ensure you place the mirror securely or better if it's break evidence.

tactile toys for babies yogurt on the mirror

Fun Creative Idea and Photo by Simple Fun For Kids

4. Nursery rhyme treasure bushel

Nursery rhyme bushel is essentially a great deal like the recently referenced piece crate. The thought is to gather the little toys and things that speak to nursery melodies your baby preferences or you might want to acquaint with him/her. Put them into the bushel and when she/he begins investigating begin singing the melody associated with the toy. You can include instruments as well and make it progressively enjoyment by investigating how to play it.

tangible toys for babies bin

Task Idea and Photo by The LadyBirs' Adventures

5. Tangible packs

Tangible packs can be made in a wide range of shapes and sizes. In any case, the greatest fortune and where you can truly be imaginative is in the filling. This what is energizing to take a gander at and squish. Tactile packs are extremely simple to make and since they're level can be put away anyplace. You can make a laminator pocket sack or packs from Ziploc sacks. Fill the sack with hair gel or baby oil and put a little article in. Here are a couple of thoughts: catches, froth numbers, wooden shapes, shading gel, sparkle, dabs, and so on. While "wet" filling clinched is exceptionally well known, it's not by any means the only choice – you can likewise include "dry" elements for the "foundation": dry rice, dry beans, sand, oat, …

Simply be cautious when fixing the sack, you don't need any gel to turn out during the play. Here's a too accommodating connection by MessyLittleMonster with point by point directions.

butterfly gel tangible sack for babies

Fun Idea and Photo by Messy Little Monster

6. Tangible containers

Another fundamentally the same as thought is simply stuffed somewhat unique. What's more, again so a good time for the baby since the little items in the container is regularly beyond reach for them. To make them you need a plastic jug (with a wide opening on the top), water dots, some other little and fun item and water. In the event that your baby is mature enough to begin removing the tops, I would recommend to stick the tops shut on.

Another enjoyment thought is to make tactile containers as a melodic shaker. Include cotton pom-poms in the jug and some rice. Put the cover on so everything is inside the jug, and urge your baby to shake it.

tactile jugs for-babies

Motivating Idea and Photo by Messy Little Monster

7. Finished shock board

To make an unexpected board with various surfaces you need a wide range of texture scraps, fascinating things to include, cardboard and paste. Discretionary you can include stickers, sparkle, whatever you think will energize your baby. Show Me Mommy, from where I got this enjoyment thought, propose to put the stickers under the shapes, so when baby lifts it he/she finds an amazement.

Spot things on the board, in no particular request, make it fascinating. Include the stickers and them stick all to the board. You can likewise improve the board with a title or baby's name, include some shading. In any case, in the event that you need the components to be in the center, leave it plain.

tactile toys for babies tangle

Fun Idea for Exploring and Photo by Teach Me Mommy

Searching for more DIY thoughts? Peruse 10 DIY straightforward nursery finishing thoughts here.

8. Rainbow spaghetti

Rainbow spaghetti is a genuine hit in my family. Additionally with my better half 😉 If your baby is as of now eating solids and placing everything in her/his mouth this one will be entertaining.

Cook and channel spaghetti of course, wash with cool water and ensure they don't stay together. When it's cooled, include a couple of drops of nourishment shading and blend well. At that point let it dry on material paper. Furthermore, rehash with new shading 😉

Rainbow-Spaghetti tactile toys for babies

Innovative Idea and Photo by Little Learning Club

9. Eatable finger paint for babies

Another bright thought from Little Learning Club is to make eatable finger paint for your little craftsman. To make it you'll require vanilla-enhanced yogurt and nourishment shading. Blend it well and put it in dispensable cups. Here's a connection for increasingly nitty gritty directions.

P.s. remember to put out the towels, it's going to be muddled. Apologies, educated 😉

tactile toys for babies finger painting

Fun Painting Idea and Photo by Little Learning Club

10. Goo tactile packs

Another well known approach to make tangible packs is a squishy Goo Sensory Bag. HelloBee shared a straightforward formula on the most proficient method to make it at home. You'll require cornstarch, sugar, cold water, nourishment shading, and sealable sacks. Whisk fixings together in a pot over medium warmth. At the point when it would seem that Vaseline, pull it from the warmth and include shading. Cooldown and add the blend to the packs. Ensure you close it securely, perhaps include the tape over the zipper for in the event that something goes wrong. For progressively nitty gritty guidelines click here.

tangible toys for babies goo packs

Brilliant Idea and Photo by HelloBee

11. Look a-boo tangible board

This thought is really the purpose behind me composing this rundown of tangible toy thoughts. It looked such a great amount of good times for my A. what's more, I simply needed to attempt it. I discovered it on Motherhood and Other Adventures where you can discover progressively itemized directions with a lot of photographs.

It's an extremely sharp thought of how to utilize tops from utilized baby wipe compartments. Assemble various examples of surfaces (indoor, open air floor coverings, textures, and so forth… ) and slice them fit as a fiddle to fit into the covers. Paste the tops on the board and presto! Your baby has an individual look a-boo shock board to investigate. Put it on the floor or fix it securely on the divider.

tactile toys for babies tangible board

Photograph by Motherhood and Other Adventures

12. Hand crafted tangible play tangle

In the event that your baby is at that age when they begin to investigate everything except for he/she isn't exactly versatile yet this thought for you. Playmat with various surfaces and sights on which she/he can turn and lay on the belly is great. In the event that you have sewing aptitudes this ought to be no issue for you 😉 You would need to pick various textures – something delicate, something uneven, possibly include wool ..it's your decision. Cut various stripes and blend, so the blanket is beautiful. Include lace circles between the stripes for another surface. Baby's affection to pull them and you can join toys on. The creator of this thought likewise included some enjoyment catches one stripe to include extra alternatives for investigating.

tactile toys for babies playmat

Stunning Idea and Photo by It's a Long Story

13. Tactile creep

When searching for tactile toys and exercises for our little pioneers we normally will in general overlook the most basic ones. In the event that your baby is as of now creeping and hurrying around set him up/her an energizing tangible slither. Amanda from MessyMotherhood, where I discovered this thought, made a tangible street. Lay items with various surfaces in the passage or lounge, include a couple of balls or intriguing articles with various sounds to play with. For the floor base, you can utilize various materials – sea shore tangle, make paper, fluffy cover, and so forth. Put your baby down toward one side and you go to the next. Watch him investigate not far off and appreciate 😉

tactile toys for babies tangible creep

Thought and Beautiful Photo by means of Messy Motherhood

In the event that you have more DIY extends on tactile toys for babies at the top of the priority list, don't hesitate to share beneath in the remarks. I realize I generally need some crisp thought

[lilyvandersteen]

Facing Your Dragons Chapter 5

Blaine's story finally comes to an end, and he goes to the Hudmel's again for a cooking lesson.

You can also read the story on AO3 or on FF.net.

Chapter 5: Stories and Spuds

That Tuesday afternoon, the children were surprised to see Blaine enter the snoozle room again.

“Where’s Sam?” Ryan asked.

Blaine shrugged. “Dolores said he couldn’t make it this week. So you get me again today. Is that okay?”

The children grinned and shouted, “Yay!”

Blaine felt his cheeks heat up. “All right then… Let’s get on with the story.”

“The next morning, the children woke up to the tantalising smell of a cooked breakfast, and hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

They ran into the pixies, but they seemed just as hungry as the children, foraging for spiders and bugs and paying them no attention when they slipped past.

In the kitchen, Mrs Rose and Mr Banner greeted them with a hearty “Good morning!”

The cook put a heaping plate of eggs, bacon, hashed browns and fried tomatoes and mushrooms in front of them. Keith got a silver platter instead of a plate, with all the different kinds of food neatly divided.

“Thank you, Mrs Rose!” the children chorused, and they tucked in happily.

After breakfast, they helped the cook with the dishes, while Keith told her all about the ideal dragon’s diet. “No dairy at all, they can’t digest it well, and it gives them heartburn. They should mostly eat meat. Poultry is best. If you give them red meat, it should be lean. Trim off the fat. Especially when you feed them lamb or mutton. That’s the worst kind of fat.”

Mrs Rose made sure to jot down Keith’s instructions, and thanked all three of them for their help.

“You’ll be leaving, then?” Mr Banner asked.

“We promised to draw Sybil a picture,” Keith reminded him.

So Mr Banner took them up to the attic to rummage in the trunks of the former chatelain’s belongings until they found drawing supplies.”

A boy raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“What’s a chatelain?”

“The lord of the castle. The lady of the castle is called the chatelaine. It’s French.”

“Oh.”

“They each made a colourful drawing, wrote on it “To Sybil” and handed it to Mr Banner.

“Beautiful,” the ghost said. “Oh, I’m going to miss having you around. It’s been so much fun.”

“So much fun,” Ruth concurred.

“You’re always welcome,” Mrs Rose told her. “All of you. And you can bring your friends. We love having people over.”

The children grinned and promised to come back one day.

Then, they put on their coats and hats, thanked Mrs Rose and Mr Banner for their hospitality and left the castle, turning around to wave before they took the path back to town.

At the orphanage, the matron folded the three children into her arms with a sound between a sob and a sigh. Keith stiffened, and the matron quickly let him go and apologised. “I’m sorry, bub, I didn’t think… I’m just… SO relieved you’re all back safe and sound!”

Keith stepped away a little and gingerly gave her a pat on the arm. “We’re okay, Matron. I promise.”

“We had a lovely time,” Lou said. “The castle and the creatures in it were so interesting. And the food was scrumptious.”

Everyone crowded around them and listened with bated breath as they recounted their adventures.

“They sound nice,” said Ryan. “Well, except for Sybil.”

Ruth nodded. “Oh, they are. And I think Mr Banner and Mrs Rose feel pretty lonely. They loved having us visit, and they were sad to see us go. Said we were welcome any time. And our friends too.”

The matron tilted her head to the side. “Hmm… You said the poltergeists needed a snoozle room?”

“They have nothing to stim with,” Keith confirmed. “Nothing. They were banging their heads against the wall. And fidgeting.”

“And making a noise like a tea kettle,” Lou added.

The matron tut-tutted. “Oh, those poor dears… Well, we could make them a soft carpet and wall hangings. To thank them for their hospitality. Do you have any idea how big the room is?”

They turned to Keith expectantly.

“I’d say about 430 square feet,” he said. “And the ceiling’s about ten feet high.”

It took them over a month to make the carpet, and the matron had to stay up late for weeks on end to finish the wall hangings in time for Christmas.

On Christmas morning, after the children had eaten breakfast and opened their presents, they put on their warmest outerwear, and set off to the castle. They noticed that the path was no longer overgrown, and that it had been broadened and repaved.

“See?” said Lou. “They really want us to come visit them again!”

When they reached the driveway, Mr Banner appeared, beaming ear to ear. A few children screamed, but they were shushed and comforted straight away.

“Welcome, welcome! You’ve brought friends! Oh, this is wonderful!”

The matron cleared her throat. “What do we say to Mr Banner?”

“Merry Christmas, Mr Banner!” chorused the children.

Mr Banner chuckled. “Merry Christmas to you all! Come in, come in! Mrs Rose was hoping you’d come by. Though I don’t think any of us hoped that so many of you would come!”

“We’ve brought gifts!” Ruth announced. “We practised Christmas carols to sing for the pixies. We brought drawings and friendship bracelets for you and Mrs Rose and Sybil. For the dragon, we have herbs that will help settle its stomach. And we made soft things for the poltergeists, to make their room nicer.”

The children showed Mr Banner the carpet and the wall hangings.

“Marvellous. Just marvellous! We gave them a few sheep skins, because you said they needed soft furnishings, but this is so much better!”

All the children from the orphanage headed inside, and Mr Banner brought them straight to the kitchen for hot chocolate and a snack.

Mrs Rose was glad to see them. “Oh goodness me! You’ve brought all your friends! Well, thank heavens I’ve been baking all day yesterday. Help yourself to a sugar cookie or a bun, children, and I’ll fill you a mug of hot chocolate to warm you up after your long walk.”

Soon, all the children were munching away happily, and chatting a mile a minute to Mrs Rose and Mr Banner.

The matron, too, seemed very much at ease, complimenting Mrs Rose on her iced buns and requesting the recipe for the cook at the orphanage.

After snack time, they went upstairs. First, they sang to the pixies. Then they arranged the carpet and the wall hangings for the poltergeists, who looked rather alarmed when their room was invaded by dozens of children, but were quick to touch the new furnishings and hum happily.

“They’ve quieted down a lot already,” said Mr Banner. “They love the sheep skins I’ve given them, and they’re playing with the pom-poms a lot. I can tell that it helps. They seem happier.”

“Maybe divide the room into three separate spaces?” the matron suggested. “That way, if they want to visit each other, they can, but if they want some quiet time to themselves, they won’t be disturbed by the others.”

Mr Banner promised he’d look into it, and led them to the dragon, who drank deeply of the herbal tea they’d brewed for it and let out a tiny burp. That made the children giggle, and the flame that came out of its mouth made them whoop and cheer.

They stayed the whole day, and trudged back to the orphanage with their bellies full, already looking forward to their next visit.

That day came sooner than they’d expected.

The orphanage was established in an old derelict house. There were always problems of some kind – roof leaks, plumbing or wiring issues, the wind blasting in through the thin windows and making everyone shiver. But they’d always found a solution.

On New Year’s Day, though, something happened that they could not solve. A storm blew a tree over, and it went straight through the roof of the orphanage. Two children were injured, the staircase was completely destroyed and the whole house wobbled like it could fall over any moment.

The matron herded everyone out and took them to the town hall, to discuss what should be done with the mayor.

The mayor was less than helpful. “Well, uhm… Can’t you contact the children’s families and ask them to take the children in?”

The matron quirked her eyebrow. “Why would they do that when they sent them to the orphanage in the first place?”

“Well, uhm… I’ll discuss it with the council and get back to you.”

“How long will that take?”

“Well, uhm… A month? Given the urgency, we could speed that up to two weeks, maybe?”

The matron huffed, and steered the children out of the town house, and straight to the path that led to the castle. And there they stayed for the rest of their days, and they all lived…”

“Happily ever after!!” Lou yelled. “Oh wow, that was amazing! I wish that castle was a real place. That we could visit.”

The other children concurred.

Blaine checked his watch, and saw that he had run over a little, and that he really had to leave if he wanted to be at Kurt’s in time for a cooking lesson.

“Well, that will be it for today,” he announced to loud groans. “Tomorrow, Kurt will be back!”

A cheer went up.

“Will you be coming too?” asked Ryan.

“I’ll be here,” Blaine promised, and he accepted a few hugs before he hurried away.

Dolores whistled as he passed. “Another hot date, handsome?”

Blaine winked at her. “You know it!”

“I take it you’ll share Kurt’s session tomorrow, lover boy?”

“Right again! Bye!”

With a wave at Dolores, Blaine was out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, he was peeling potatoes while telling Kurt the next part of the story.

By the time he reached the end, the dish was in the oven, and he was helping Kurt assemble the side salad.

“Quite the story teller, aren’t you?” a gruff voice said, and both boys jumped up in fright.

Burt chuckled. “Jeez, you live in your own world, the both of you. I’ve been here for at least twenty minutes. Kicked the mud off my boots at the back door, put the groceries in the fridge and the pantry, and made myself coffee. Not exactly Mr Stealth. What more do I have to do to tell you I’m here? Sound a foghorn?”

Kurt’s ear tips reddened. “Dad…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll make myself scarce, I get it. How long ‘till we can eat?”

“Another twenty minutes, Dad.”

“All right. Nice story, kid, and your eye’s getting better, I can tell.”

Blaine blinked in surprise, but Burt was gone before he could say anything.

Kurt ran his fingers over Blaine’s injured eye in a feather-light touch, peering at it with his brow furrowed in concentration. “Dad’s right. It’s looking better. A lot less puffy, and lighter in colour. You’ll still need concealer tomorrow, though. And for a few days after that.”

Blaine let out a mirthless laugh. “If by that time, I don’t have a new shiner. I get to go back to school on Thursday, and Karofsky may be out of commission for a while, but there are plenty of other meatheads that will want to make my life miserable.”

Kurt squared his jaw. “Let them try. I’ll introduce you to my friends Thursday morning. They may be girls, but nobody at school messes with Quinn, Santana and Lauren. Stick with us and none of the jocks will mess with you. That is, if your fight with Karofsky hasn’t put the wind up them already. Everyone at school is still talking about it. You’ve got quite the reputation!”

Blaine grinned. “Impressed, are they?”

Kurt glared at him. “You had better not get into any more fights, mister! I don’t want you expelled, and that’s sure to happen if they catch you again! Figgins won’t listen when you tell him it was self-defence.”

Blaine remembered the principal’s sanctimonious words and knew that Kurt was right. That was a sobering thought, and he resolved to keep a low profile for the rest of the year.

Dinner was a quiet affair that evening. Blaine wasn’t in the mood to chat, and neither seemed the others.

All Burt said was, “Tastes good, boys!”, and Kurt urged his father twice to take some more salad.

Burt disappeared to the living room again, and Blaine cleared the table and helped Kurt do the dishes. While rinsing the plates of soapy suds, Kurt started humming. Blaine joined in, and before long, there was an impromptu concert going on in the kitchen.

Blaine didn’t stay as long as the previous day. He left with a shopping list in his pocket, for the meal they’d be making at his house.

He took a quick shower and studied his eye in the mirror. Yes, it wasn’t as noticeable as before, but he’d still need Kurt to work his magic and hide it, or his mother would have a cow.

As he flopped onto his bed and closed his eyes, he wondered what his mom would think of Kurt? She knew how to look past Blaine’s bad boy persona, but he was her son, of course. How would she react to Kurt’s studs and tats and pink hair? And to Kurt taking over her kitchen?

Well, if she gets a nice meal out of it, Mom can’t complain. And Kurt is a really good cook. She’ll appreciate that.

Blaine fell asleep to the thought of Kurt and Pam swapping recipes, smiling at the sweet scene his mind conjured up.

Mom is sure to like Kurt. He’s amazing!