#a three day remote week has worn me out

[bzedan]

I am very grateful that this particular sinus infection was bacterial so I could get antibiotics and speed the process up, but also it’s been so long since I’ve had a real fucker of a sinus infection that I’m in angry awe of how long I lived getting these once or twice a year.

[whxtedreams]

Chapter 11: The Resort

Blood Runs Thicker than Water - Joel & F!Reader (Platonic DBF!)

Summary: After some persuasion, Joel finally agrees that it's time to settle down, and the weeks pass as the group slowly find themselves a place worth calling home.

Word Count: 3.5k

Tags: Joel is stubborn, but he really just wants everyone as safe as possible, Joel’s anxiety, reader actually being a kid, reader scared to sleep alone, Joel stays with her, Joel has flashbacks (but only minor), mentions of drugs.

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on AO3

Chapter 11: The Resort

After a three-month journey north, Joel discovers a relatively intact pamphlet, half-buried in the rubble outside a bomb-ravaged motel. The paper is singed and worn at the edges, but most of the information remains legible. He gently blows away the dust and shakes it to straighten it out as Tommy joins his side, peaking over his shoulder to get a better look.

"This one meet your standards?" Tommy queries, his eyes scanning the pamphlet. Without waiting for a response, he reaches for the pamphlet in Joel's hand.

Joel irritably swats at his brother's hand, grumbling under his breath. "Let me read the damn thing, will ya?" he huffs, making his way over to a nearby shattered phone booth and settling onto the bench.

Joel removes his backpack and pulls out a map he scavenged from a gas station a few days ago. The pamphlet features a remote resort situated west by a river and by the horrifying prices, seems to be marketed as an off-the-grid getaway for wealthy families who want a taste of nature without the inconvenience of roughing it like everyone else would by simply camping.

Judging from the images and the provided details, Joel surmises that the place seems like it would be a good option. The whole idea appears to be living off-the-grid.

They've passed by numerous locations that would have met Joel's usual standards, but now that they have the kid, he finds faults with each one. He can sense the tension and annoyance building amongst their group as he continually rejects every spot they come across, deeming none of them safe enough for her.

Maybe this is the one.

"Can we rest soon? I'm tired." She complains, her footsteps sluggish and her voice weary. She turns the corner, with Myles following closely behind, as she plops down onto the bench beside Joel. Exhaustion floods her, and she slumps against him, leaning her entire weight into his side.

Joel's features twist into a frown as he gazes down at her exhausted form. He encircles her with his arm, pulling her closer and shifting the pamphlet into her view. "What do you think about this place?" he queries.

Myles prods at Tommy's side with his elbow, a look of disbelief on his face as he nods towards Joel and his daughter. "Damn, he's actually found a place, huh?" he mutters, incredulity seeping into his tone.

"Doubt it," Tommy mutters, rolling his eyes towards Joel. "The last place was fine. Old fuck has impossible standards." He shakes his head at Joel as the kid scans over the pamphlet.

"Last place was infested with ants," Joel mutters quietly, his voice filled with irritation. He's interrupted by a gentle tug on his sleeve. She points at a word on the pamphlet, asking him what it says. His voice softens as he reads the sentence aloud, his fingertip carefully gliding over the words as she watches intently.

“Can this be our home? Pleeeeease Joel!” A pleading tone laces her voice as she gazes up at Joel, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout and her eyes staring intently, begging. It's a look that both Sarah and she have perfected, one that melts Joel's heart and bends his will every time.

Joel releases a deep sigh, his resistance crumbling before her pleading expression. He gives in, his shoulders rising in a helpless shrug. "How about we take a look?" he concedes, surrendering to her.

"Yes!" Myles exclaims, his face breaking into a wide grin as he shoves a grumbling Tommy with a chuckle. "I fucking told you, man! He can't say no to her," he teases, punctuating his statement with an exaggerated gesture towards the kid. He wraps his arm around Tommy, pulling him along like a rag doll as Tommy stumbles, struggling to keep up with Myles' excited tugging.

Tommy pushes Myles away with a hearty laugh, and Joel watches the interaction stoically, only barely managing to suppress the amused smile that threatens to break out on his face. He lets out a resigned sigh as he glances down at the kid, her apologetic smile tugging at his heartstrings.

“Your daddy told you to do that, didn’t he.” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“He told me I would get first pick at a bedroom if I convinced you to stay at the next place we find.”

Her sheepish confession causes Joel to finally break out into a smile. He shakes his head in resignation, his heart melting as he gazes down at her. "Did he now?" he responds, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. "Well, let’s get a move on then." With a sigh, he rises from the bench, a fond smile still on his face.

Myles bounds over to his daughter, comically grabbing her face and showering it with exaggerated kisses. She squirms and groans, trying in vain to push her father away, a playful frown on her face.

Joel approaches Tommy as his brother rummages through his bag, mumbling under his breath. Joel catches the tail-end of Tommy's mutterings about a bet he had made with Myles, concerning a can of pudding as payment if his plan involving the kid panned out.

Joel crosses his arms sternly as Tommy rises, slinging the bag over his shoulder and holding the can of pudding in his other hand. "You do realize I haven't agreed yet," he adds, a hint of irritation in his voice. "For all we know, the place could be overrun with infected or a group might have already claimed it."

Tommy shrugs casually in response, unaffected by Joel's concerns. Myles swings his daughter onto his shoulder, spinning her around to her joyful laughter. Joel glances over at the pair, his attention fixed on the kid as she holds onto her father tightly, her bandanna falling over her eyes.

"Just a heads up," Tommy adds, his eyes meeting Joel's. "If this place is actually decent and you still say no, Myles told her to put on a show and start crying." Joel responds with a resigned grunt, shaking his head as he walks back to the bench and grabs the girl's pack. Myles readjusts his hold on her, and she comfortably sits atop his shoulders, her head resting gently on her father's.

The resort turns out to be quite expansive, boasting a spacious reception area that backs onto what was once a luxurious five-star restaurant, complete with a pool and spa. Tommy snags a map from behind the front desk, and the group divides the grounds into three equal sections for each member to thoroughly clear.

Tommy assigns himself the task of checking the lake-side family cabins, Joel is responsible for clearing the inner forest cabins, while Myles and the kid take charge of scouting the communal amenity buildings.

The remainder of the day is spent quietly sweeping the cabins, one by one. To Joel's relief, each structure he enters proves vacant and devoid of inhabitants, besides the few rats he finds.

Joel regroups with Myles and his daughter at the agreed-upon meeting spot by the playground. His eyes fall on her, effortlessly swinging on the monkey bars, as Myles gently sways on the swing set.

She jumps off the monkey bars the instant she spots Joel and dashes over to him, her excitement bubbling over as she leaps into his path. "Joel! Joel, this place is sooo cool!" she pleads, her words tumbling out in a torrent of enthusiasm. "Please, please can we stay here? There's a pool, and a playground and a whole building just for games and-" She trips over her words, overwhelmed by her own excitement as she points to each building.

Joel chuckles softly as he places his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down. "Easy now, princess," he says, his voice light with amusement. "I know you're excited, but we need to wait for Tommy before we decide anything. Gotta make sure no one else is here." Her shoulders slump slightly as she processes his words, her excitement tampered but not extinguished.

Her face instantly brightens again as she peeks around Joel's towering form, her gaze fixating on something behind him. He follows her gaze and spots Tommy walking between the cabins towards the playground. Tommy raises his thumb and flashes a smile at them, and the kid tugs on Joel's jacket, drawing his attention back to her.

"Alright," Joel responds with a smile, "we can stay here for a few nights and then we'll decide if we'll stay long term." The child's face lights up as she hears the news, breaking into a run towards her father. She leaps with joy as she rejoins Myles on the swings, her excitement uncontainable.

Tommy approaches Joel, sharing that he has found a lake-side cabin that is spacious enough for all four of them and largely untouched by previous looters. Joel nods in agreement, and they begin to walk towards the cabin together. Myles has to restrain the kid from running ahead with excitement, as they make their way to what could potentially become their new home.

The cabin that Tommy leads Joel to is a two-story wooden structure, nestled beside a tranquil river that borders the resort. The landscaping surrounding the cabin has grown wild and lush, greenery creeping over the once immaculately manicured paths. These pathways connect the cabin to both a scenic outdoor picnic area to the right and a detached garage at the back.

The front porch is devoid of any furniture, leaving it stark and bare. The windows remain intact from what Joel can observe, standing before the front of the cabin with his hands resting on his hips as he assesses the exterior of the house.

Joel scrutinizes the cabin's exterior, mentally noting every minor imperfection and flaw. Although the exterior gives the impression of a luxurious residence, he can tell it is constructed with cheap materials, cleverly concealed with a lavish facade.

The fact that the cabin has multiple entrances in the form of several doors and windows concerns Joel. He mentally counts the various routes that someone could use to break in, deeming it a potential security issue. Thirteen windows and five doors on the first floor, ten windows on the second floor.

Joel's gaze falls upon the garden, and his frown deepens as he notices the roots of the plants. He can already imagine the child tripping and falling on the uneven terrain.

The swing set in the back looks like it could collapse at any moment, the creaking of the metal chains as it sways in the wind is not filling Joel with much confidence.

Tommy lays a reassuring hand on Joel's shoulder, sensing the tension building in his chest. "It's safe," Tommy asserts, his words carrying a sincere conviction. "She's safe," Tommy adds, and Joel lets out a weary sigh as Myles opens the door and the kid dashes into the cabin.

Joel grunts and follows his brother into the cabin. The front half of the house is open to the upstairs level above them, with a staircase in front of him leading up to the bedrooms. The loft area extends over the open kitchen on the right side, supported by wooden columns. The space is more spacious than he expected, taking in the layout before him.

As Joel looks to his right, his gaze falls on the dining room, situated directly in front of the kitchen. A large, round blue wooden table dominates the majority of the space, with chairs arranged around it. However, Joel grimaces at the sight of the plush black rug beneath, envisioning the mess and chaos small children could cause in the presence of a rug like that.

To his left, a comfortable seating arrangement beckons, composed of a brown leather couch and two matching armchairs. A small metal fireplace stands in a tiled corner, and next to it, a wide archway leads to another room. The kid emerges from there, holding a puzzle box in her little hands.

"They have puzzles and games and books and crafts!" she exclaims excitedly, showing Tommy the horse puzzle she discovered. Tommy chuckles and sets the puzzle box down on the coffee table, settling down on the couch as the kid settles next to him, the pair examining the puzzle together.

Joel steps into the small windowed room adjacent to the living room. Low bookcases line the lower portion of the walls, while large windows cover the upper space. A multicolored table stands in the center of the crowded room, bearing a scattered array of playing cards upon its surface. A door on the right leads out to yet another porch, located on the side of the house.

Joel departs the room, strolling past his brother and the girl as they unload the puzzle pieces onto the coffee table. The remainder of the main floor is simple, consisting of a bathroom situated behind the staircase that serves as an en-suite for the main bedroom located next. In addition, a primary bathroom is stationed at the end of the hallway and a mudroom is located between the bathroom and the kitchen.

The upper floor consists of two fairly spacious bedrooms, an open loft that houses more couches and, surprisingly, another bathroom. How many bathrooms do rich folks need?

The kid bounds up the stairs behind Joel and almost collides with him, bursting into a run as soon as she reaches the top. Joel steadies himself against the railing of the loft as Myles steps out of the bedroom on the left, joining Joel and coming to a stop beside him.

"This one! I want this one!" she gasps, excitement filling her voice as she pokes her head through the door of the bedroom on the right.

After a brief discussion, Tommy claims the bedroom on the main floor, while Myles settles into the upstairs room next to his daughter's. Joel is left with the short end of the stick and opts to take the garage at the back, but he doesn't protest. The space to himself is exactly what he craves.

Over the coming weeks, their efforts focus on scavenging through the park, gathering items to turn the newly-found house into a home. Tommy even locates a guitar and woodworking supplies for Joel. Meanwhile, Myles scours for clothes and furnishings to enrich their bedrooms. On top of that, Myles has taken up gardening, constructing raised beds in the area behind the side porch where he tends to growing food. He sternly rejects any idea of Joel touching his plants.

Joel diligently gathers potential defenses and an assortment of craft supplies for the kid. Lately, she's been immersed in the art of cross stitching, leaving her handiwork gracing each of their rooms.

During those initial weeks, Joel barely catches a glimpse of her as she buries herself in books, crafts, or accompanies Tommy on food-related expeditions. Despite her hectic schedule, Joel can't help but miss her presence, but he takes comfort in the knowledge that she remains safe, never leaving the watchful eyes of either Tommy or Myles.

He locates her by the lake one late summer afternoon, perched high in a tree with a book in her hands as Myles floats lazily in the river, relaxing on an inflatable donut. After a long day spent patrolling the resort and checking on his traps, Joel returns to the lakeside, carrying yet another puzzle he stumbled upon in a car trunk.

Her head jerks towards Joel as he snaps a twig underfoot and a small, satisfied smirk appears on his face as he looks up at her. He’s pleased to see that she's paying attention to her surroundings, even as she’s reading and safe in the company of her father. That she’s listening intently to her environment, just as he's been trying to teach her in the past few weeks at the cabin.

"Found you another puzzle," Joel calls out, lifting the puzzle in his hand as he glances up at her. "Looks like some kinda mystery one, can't tell what the picture is ‘til you put it together," he adds, a shrug of his shoulders accompanying his words as she leaps down from the tree branch, landing in front of him.

With a frown, she mutters, "That's just stupid." She stands on her toes, trying to get a glimpse of the puzzle box in Joel's hands. "How am I supposed to know what I'm making if I can't see the picture?" she pouts as he hands her the box in question.

Joel grins as he teases her, "Looks like you'll have to put that brain of yours to work, kiddo." she rolls her eyes in response, clearly not amused by his little jab.

Joel takes the opportunity to observe her as she examines the puzzle in her hands, his gaze lingering on her hair. The time spent at the cabin seems to have had a small, yet noticeable effect. She had banned Myles from even looking at scissors the moment they decided to stay at the cabin long term. It now reaches her shoulders, messily braided into two sections. The bandanna he gifted to her that she refuses to take off, keeps her hair out of her face, tied around her head.

His eyebrow raises as he notices one of the braids, taking it in his hand for closer inspection. The braid appears to start loose and unkempt before transitioning into a tight, neat finish. With a chuckle, she explains that Tommy has been attempting to master the art of braiding recently.

Joel lets go of her braid and nods toward the house. "Why don't I fix up that hair of yours while you start on that puzzle?" he proposes, a smirk on his face. She grins back at him with a nod, shouting out to Myles that she's heading inside.

Joel spends the rest of the evening with her, both hunched over the coffee table as she struggles to piece the puzzle together. After an hour, he pleads to switch places with Tommy but his brother sternly refuses, maintaining the kitchen is out of bounds for Joel after the disastrous stew incident where he somehow managed to burn the first and last meal he was trusted to prepare.

Hours after sunset, she eventually falls asleep, succumbing to exhaustion as Myles and Tommy venture outside to smoke whatever it is that Myles had discovered the day before.

Joel mutters in frustration as he looks down at the puzzle in front of them. He silently admits that puzzles do indeed require a picture to serve as a reference. Although he believes it is a magical fairy forest, she remains confident in her idea that the puzzle depicts nothing more than an ordinary forest adorned with fireflies.

That night, he picks her up and carries her to bed, gently tucking her in and carefully removing the bandanna from her head so she can sleep comfortably. He settles down on the edge of the bed beside her and softly caresses her head, watching as she drifts off into a deeper sleep.

Memories of that fateful night flood his thoughts – the sight of the roof collapsing onto her small form, and the haunting echoes of her terrified screams reverberate in his mind. Joel turns his gaze away from her and instead fixates on his lap, unable to shake the vivid images that continue to play through his mind.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she murmurs his name, pulling him out of the torturous memories replaying in his mind. He looks over at her as she stirs and sits up in her bed, her eyes half-lidded and glazed over, still half asleep.

She’s safe.

Safe.

Safe.

He hums softly in response, watching as she tiredly rubs her eyes. She hesitates, sounding almost embarrassed, before quietly confessing, "I don't like sleeping alone. Can you, um...can you stay?"

Joel recollects Myles mentioning that it had taken the better part of three weeks before she finally started to sleep in her own bed rather than sharing a room with her dad. Even now, Myles would occasionally mention how he trips over her in the morning as he finds her asleep on his floor, silently seeking the comfort of his presence without disturbing his sleep.

Joel nods in agreement, standing up and moving over to the oversized bean bag positioned in the corner of the room, surrounded by boxes of crafting supplies he's collected for her. As he settles into the cushion, he's surprised by how comfortable it is. A small grunt of approval escapes his lips as he shifts, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his head on the bag and closes his eyes.

He’ll just stay here until she falls asleep again, he tells himself before he falls asleep himself.

He remains beside her for the entire night, only to be woken by the first rays of the rising sun as they shine through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room.

He gazes over at her, stifling a yawn as he begins to sit up, the bean bag's initial comfort giving way to a distinct sense of discomfort as his back cracks. She remains blissfully asleep in her bed, a content expression on her face. He can't help but smile fondly at the sight.

She’s safe.  

Click here for Chapter 12 - Comming soon

Notes

I've been waiting for this chapter for a while and I can't wait to write more about their time as a family at the cabin! I also made a whole cabin to refrence from and I added some photos below if you want a refrence too, but if you want to keep your idea of the house in your mind, you dont need to look at it :)

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

tags: @sunandmuun , @rain-soaked-sun, @frootloops1213 , @samarav , @geralallfandoms , @joelmillersblog , @severussimp , @kitdjarin1 , @yesjazzywazzylove-blog , @justanotherteen12@lils-1979 @elisha-chloe

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for calling my mother and MIL selfish, insecure, pieces of shit over a friend's necklace?

Some background: I, 25F, just married the love of my life, who we'll call J.

I was introduced to J in our junior year of high school by our mutual friend, who we'll call G. G has always been a super important person to us. She is one of our best friends, and the three of us are very close. She was actually the first person we told when we started dating. We are both pretty protective over G, as she is autistic and has crippling anxiety and struggles a lot day to day. She was actually living with us when this story occurred because she had been spiraling on her own, and her parents lived too far for her to commute to her work from their house. She's been in therapy for years and has been doing a lot better than when we first met her, but we still tend to be pretty protective over her, as she has very few friends besides us. We often joke that she's our practice kid because she goes everywhere with us and has a complete lack of common sense despite being one of the smartest people I know.

In the last week of our junior year, J gave me, G, and another friend of his, necklaces that he made. They were nothing fancy, just pieces of rocks that he carved (?) and tied a string around, but G loved it. It acted as a reminder that she had people who cared about her when her anxiety spiked, and she's worn it almost every day for the last 9 years, to the point where J replaced the string with a thin chain because it broke from use. It's a comfort item, and wearing it is part of her routine.

Another important thing to note is that J and I both have pretty bad relationships with all of our parents. Both of our parents are messily divorced, and the only ones we visit regularly are my dad and stepmom. We still decided to invite all of them to the wedding and involve our mom's in the wedding party to avoid drama, and because some small part of me still wanted my mom to be involved in my wedding like a real parent.

Shortly before our wedding, I was talking to my mom and J's mom in our kitchen about some details for the wedding party and the bridesmaid and groomsmen accessories. I made a joke that no matter what we picked, G would be wearing her necklace. They wanted to know what I meant, and while I was explaining, G came into the kitchen to grab a snack. (Side note: neither of them like G, and my mom in particular has made several abelist comments in the past about her stimming or lack of social awareness) When I was done, my mom turned to G and asked if she was going to wear it at our wedding. Confused, G said yes, and my mom lost it. She called her disrespectful and accused her of trying to break up me and J because J gave her that necklace, and it was bad manners to wear a present from the groom or something. J's mom backed her up and said a lot of awful things I won't repeat, but were really abelist, arophobic (G is open about being aromantic), and included several slurs.

I was completely blindsided. I knew they had those awful opinions, but I had never heard them do anything even remotely close, and I sat there stunned at first until G started to cry and hyperventilate (she has trauma around situations similar to this, and she was already on edge because of a recent death in her family). When that happened, it was like a switch flipped. I got between G and my mom, who at this point had gotten out of her seat and was getting close to G. I told them both to get out, and when they refused I told them they were selfish, insecure, pieces of shit, that they had no right to say any of that to G, and that just because they couldn't keep their husband's didn't mean they had any right to interfere and try to create problems where there weren't any.

At this point, J came home and saw G panicking and immediately reacted. He told our moms to leave, and this time, they left. After they left, it took us almost 2 hours to calm G down from her panic attack, and the whole time, I was boiling with rage over the interaction. After she fell asleep, I told J what had happened. He was completely on my side, and we even discussed banning them from the wedding unless they apologized. G has been far more supportive of us than they have been, and if I had to choose, I would rather have her by my side on my wedding day. Ultimately, we let G decide since she was the one they went after, and she said she would be okay, so they came to the wedding and thankfully didn't mention the necklace at all. However, they told our respective families what happened, and I've been getting texts from family members telling me I went too far in bringing up their divorces, and that I should apologize, especially since the fight was over something as small as a necklace.

I don't think I was wrong to defend G, but I know I tend to overreact in situations where she is involved, and J is as bad as I am. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[jerzwriter]

Book: Open Heart (Book 2 Timeline) Characters: Tobias Carrick x Casey - eventually 😊, Ethan Ramsey Rating: Teen Words: 1,900 Series Summary: Can be found here. Chapter Summary: A confused Tobias heads to his old watering hole to relax, but uninvited self-reflection gets in his way. He finally gets it under control when Ethan shows up, and the visit isn't necessarily friendly. How does the night end... and who isn't being truthful. A/N: I had so much fun with this one. I'm really enjoying exploring this point of Tobias & Casey's relationship. Participating in @choicesfebruary2024 - Philia (Friendship), a little Eros (Romantic/Passionate) too. :)

Without Warning Masterlist | Tobias x Casey Masterlist My Full Masterlist

Eight Weeks After Chemical Attack

“Uh-oh, look what the wind blew in!” The stout, grey-haired man behind beamed as if he saw a long-lost friend. “Get over here, you bum! Where the hell have you been?”

The Puddingstone Tavern was to Kenmore what Donahue’s was to Edenbrook, and for nearly a decade, Tobias all but lived there. His signature smirk was firmly in place as he sauntered to the bar like a king returning to his domain.

“Has it been that long, Charlie?” Tobias said, vigorously shaking the man’s hand. “I was here last Tuesday, for Christ’s sake.”

Charlie made a show of pulling the calendar down from the wall and turned to Tobias with a grin.

“Last Tuesday, and if this thing is correct, today is Thursday. So, nine days! You’ve been MIA for nine days, and we didn’t see you for a week before that. We’re used to you being here after every shift. What happened? Was it something I said?”

 “You know I don’t scare easily. It would take much more than you to scare me away.”  

“So then, what’s the story?” Charlie pressed, placing Tobias’s favorite beer in front of him just as a dark-haired waitress with crystal blue eyes passed, eager to insert herself into the conversation.

“Word on the street is Carrick has a girlfriend,” she teased. 

“A girlfriend? A girlfriend!” Charlie’s belly shook when he broke into a hearty laugh. “Oh, God! That’s a good one. A decade he’s been comin’ here, and I’ve never seen the same woman on his arm more than once.”

“Now that’s a damn lie,” Tobias defended. “I brought a few of them here twice. I think one even made it three.”  

“Sure,” Charlie shrugged. “But normally, we'd see you with a different one between their visits. I’d believe you were abducted by aliens before I’d believe you had a girlfriend. A girlfriend,” Charlie was so busy snickering he hadn’t noticed that Tobias was no longer laughing along.

“Yeah...” Tobias smiled sadly, “Could you just imagine?”

Charlie left to tend to another patron, leaving Tobias alone with his thoughts. He couldn't even say why he hadn’t been there? It wasn't Casey. He only saw her once, all right, maybe twice a week. Sure, they texted most nights, but that was no reason to stay away. No matter, he reminded himself, she was not his girlfriend. That much he knew was true. So, it was absurd to think she had anything to do with this.

He tried to shift his focus, but Charlie’s barrelling laughter kept replaying in Tobias’s mind. “A girlfriend? A girlfriend!... I’d believe you were abducted by aliens before I’d believe you had a girlfriend!”  Was it that preposterous an idea? Sure, he would have thought it was himself not too long ago. In fact, he would have worn it as a badge of honor, but he felt differently now. Now... it stung. Did anyone think that he had the emotional capacity to be anything other than a fuckboy?

He closed his eyes and took in a whiff of the stale, familiar air. It felt like home, and he should be comfortable here; but he found himself terribly out of place. Eager for a distraction, he reached over the bar to grab the remote control and put on the Celtics game. That would do it! Leaning back in his chair, he was beginning to feel at ease, but not for very long.

Two basketball quarters and two drinks in, Tobias heard heavy footsteps approaching on the worn wooden floor. He didn’t notice when they stopped behind him, but the baritone voice that followed couldn’t be ignored.

Ethan glanced over Tobias’s shoulder and rolled his eyes. “You always did have shit taste in booze.”

Tobias turned, successfully hiding his astonishment.

“This is a New Belgium Trippel,” Tobias said. "It's one of the best craft beers out there.”

“Exactly. A craft beer.” Ethan motioned for the bartender. “What’s the best Scotch in the house.”

“That would be Johnny Walker Blue.”

“I’ll take that,” Ethan nodded. “Neat.”

Tobias waited until Ethan had his drink in hand before he began a conversation. They’d spoken exactly once since the night of the attack, and while the hatchet was buried, the men were miles away from being friends.

“So, what brings you here,” Tobias asked. “You have something going on at Kenmore?”

“No, I just had it on good counsel that you’d be here tonight.”

Tobias raised a brow. “Spying on me? I don’t know... should I be flattered or frightened, Ramsey."

“You shouldn’t be either.”

“Ah! So, you’ve come to offer me a job?” Tobias snickered. “I knew you’d come begging one day.”

“No,” Ethan chortled. “We’re still awake, Carrick. This isn’t a dream.”

“So, then, why did you come to see me?”

Ethan inhaled deeply, taking a long sip of his drink as he pondered if this had been a good idea. Assuring himself he came for a reason, he continued.

“There’s no use beating around the bush. I’ve heard you and Casey have been spending a lot of time together since the attack."

He may have been able to hide his surprise before, but Tobias made no attempt to hide his expression this time, and he was not pleased.

“Whoa... whoa...whoa... Look, I don’t know if you’re keeping tabs on me or on Casey, but either way it’s fucked up. What either of us does with our time is none of your concern.”

“Actually, it is,” Ethan shot back. “Casey... Casey’s on my team, and her well-being matters to me.”

Tobias raised his beer to his smirking lips. “That’s a little above and beyond for a boss-employee relationship. Wouldn't you say? If we're being honest tonight, you may as well admit that she was much more than a resident to you.”

Ethan’s eyes went wide, the his discomfort was palpable. Somehow, both things left Tobias pleased.

“You... you know...about us," Ethan stammered.

“Look, even if Casey hadn’t told me... it wasn’t exactly a well-guarded secret. You underestimate the Boston hospital grapevine.”

Ethan focused on the back of the bar, his face turning red, though he was unsure if anger or embarrassment was the cause.

“Was." Ethan said sternly. "Whatever Casey and I shared is in the past. But she still matters to me. She’ll never be ‘just’ a teammate.”

“OK,” Tobias shrugged. “And what does any of this have to do with me.”

“I’m aware of your... history... Carrick. I know how much you hurt Casey after you stole Stefanie out from under her. But, for some reason, she still had a soft spot for you. And now... with her being so... fragile... I'm just here to tell you - don't take advantage of that, Tobias. Because if you do, you'll have to deal with me."

Tobias stared at his beer, shaking his head with a wicked chuckle.

“That's rich! That is rich coming from you, given your history. What’s the matter, Ethan? Were you planning on making a move yourself? Trying to get any potential competition out of the way?”

Ethan felt his pulse quickening as his lips formed into a line.  

“She’s coping with PTSD, Carrick. I’d never do such a thing.”

“Yeah, so once again, you’re the Boy Scout, and I’m some degenerate. You’re not the only one with decency, Ethan, and I’m through letting you believe that you are. I don’t owe you any explanation, but nothing is going on between Casey and me. I care about her; I care about her a lot. She’s a friend who is going through hell right now, and I’m doing all I can to help her... not take advantage of her.”

It had been years since he and Tobias had been friends, but Ethan could still tell when there was sincerity in his eyes; he could see and hear its presence now, and that put him at ease. The hurt in Tobias’s eyes and the sincerity in his voice put Ethan at ease.

“Good. That's all I wanted to know."

Both men pretended to focus on the game as an awkward silence fell between them. It was Tobias who eventually broke the standoff; rubbing his chin, he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Ethan, I’m glad things are civil between us again, I really am. But the dirt has barely covered the big hatchet we just buried... and you have to go and do this? Don't you see you're overstepping, man...”

"You're right..." Ethan agreed, looking slightly abashed. "I did overstep... and deep down, I knew that coming in. But honestly, protecting Casey mattered more to me than upsetting you or making a fool of myself. So I did what I felt was best.”

“Protecting her... from me?”

“All right, Carrick... give up the alter boy routine. Can you blame me? If you care about her as much as you say, you would have done the same thing if you were in my shoes.”

Tobias shook his head with a sad smile. “You know, I’m far from perfect. No one is. And I’m not saying I haven’t done some messed up shit in the past, but preying on vulnerable women has never been my style, and you know that."

Ethan diverted his eyes, with a question lingering in his mind that needed to be spoken.

“Why her? You’ve been with god knows how many women. Why is Casey the one you can't let go of?”

“Do you think this is because of you?” Tobias blurted. “Because it’s not... it has nothing to do with you. Casey... she's just incredible. She’s absolutely beautiful, and I’m talking about the inside, not the out. She’s brilliant, funny, and kind, and when you’re with her, she makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world... and I’m not talking about me... she makes everyone feel that way. She sees the best in people when most want to focus on their flaws. She’s kind enough to give a jackass like me a second chance to be her friend...and there’s no way I’m going to blow that.”

Ethan gazed at Tobias with a knowing half-smile.

“Sure, but you’re not in love with her.”

Tobias swallowed hard, quietly shaking his head. “We’re friends, Ethan... we’re just friends,” he repeated, but at the moment, he wasn’t sure if he was convincing Ethan or himself. “ And what about you?”

“What do you mean...what about me?”

“Do you still love her?”

“Yes,” Ethan replied. “But not in that way. She matters to me, and she always will. I know I hurt her in the past, and I don’t want to see her hurt again. After everything that happened recently? I suppose I'm a bit overprotective.”

“Yeah... I get that. I get all of that.”

Ethan picked up his glass with a smile. “We always did have more in common than we liked to believe.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let word get out on the street. I have a reputation to uphold, and I don’t need you tarnishing it.”

“Oh, is that so?” Ethan laughed. “Imagine me tarnishing you?”

Tobias met his eyes, and both men chuckled.

“So,” Ethan said. “Are we... still good?”

Tobias shrugged. “You care about her and want to protect her. I want to do the same, so how can I fault you?”

Ethan nodded uncomfortably.  “Well, I should settle my tab...”

“Why? The night is young, and the Celtics are about to go into the last quarter. Why don’t you stay and watch with me.”

“Really?”

“No,” Tobias rolled his eyes. “Yes, really.”

“All right,” Ethan said, sliding back onto his stool. He motioned for another drink, and when it arrived, he raised it to Tobias.

“Cheers,” Ethan smiled.

“Cheers.”

Both took a long drink, then Tobias turned to his... friend?

“Ethan?”

“Yes?”

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Ethan snorted in reply. “Not if you keep saying shit like that. You're not exactly Bogart, Carrick."

The men remained at the bar for at least another hour without an ounce of tension between them, and though they’d never admit it, that made them both happy. When Tobias returned home, he checked his messages one last time after slipping into bed. A smile he hadn’t felt coming spread across his face the moment he saw her name.

He turned off the light on his nightstand but continued staring at Casey's message for some time. Finally putting the phone down, he made himself comfortable. We're just friends, he repeated to himself. He had promised her, just friends, and that's what they would stay... but he was beginning to realize just how how hard that would be.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Hunter woke up gasping for air, running his hands over his arms, desperately reassuring himself that they were skin and blood, not bones, not one of the lost skeletons of Uncle Belos’s mind— 

Emperor Belos, he reminded himself.

Philip Wittebane?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. What mattered was that Hunter was real, and alive, and safe in the human realm, with Gus snoring softly beside him. Good. He’d woken Gus enough with these stupid nightmares already. At least one of them should be able to get a proper sleep once in a while. Hunter fluffed out his blanket and spitefully lay down again, determined to fight his way back to sleep through sheer force of will—

What is that?

There were voices. Unfamiliar ones, coming from up the stairs, so soft Gus’s snores almost drowned them out. Hunter sat bolt upright once more, reaching out for Flapjack, who obligingly transformed into a staff in his hands. He crept up the stairs, to where there was an odd, flickering light coming around the corner, and raised the staff, ready—

“Hunter?”

Amity paused the TV, looking at him incredulously.

“Oh,” was all he could think to say.

Amity kept looking at him, her face cold, her eyes narrowed. It was a look Hunter had gotten more than used to over the past week. Once the adrenaline of the Day of Unity had worn off, she’d clearly remembered how he’d threatened to hand her girlfriend over to Belos, and he’d heard the undercurrent of suspicion in every interaction she’d had with him loud and clear. Not that he blamed her.

He couldn’t think of an explanation for why he was up here that wouldn’t make him look like a paranoid fool, but after a few more seconds of staring, she seemed to see through him. Her face softened— just slightly— and she said, in a carefully neutral voice, “you had a nightmare, too.”

He blinked. “Is, uh, is that why you’re up here?”

“No, Hunter, I just love Azura so much that I have to see her every night at midnight or I won’t be able to go on.”

“I’d actually believe that.”

“Ha ha.”

They stared at each other again for one, two, three more seconds before Hunter realized he could make his escape. “Well, I’ll just be… going back downstairs…”

“Wait.”

Amity seemed as surprised to hear the word as he was, and she made a face as she spoke the next words, clearly forcing them out. “Do you want to stay and watch?”

Hunter weighed his options. On one hand, she was clearly hoping he’d say no. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back downstairs and lie in the dark with the guilt of what he’d done at Eclipse Lake on top of the fear of the nightmares. Sleep was probably out of the cards, at this point, and what if he started panicking again? What if he started hyperventilating again, or stopped being able to breathe right again, and woke Gus?

“Sure,” he said as casually as he could manage, coming to sit on the opposite end of the couch.

Amity took this surprisingly well, leaning back into the pillows and resuming the movie. It wasn’t too confusing, so she’d probably been near the beginning. To his surprise, it was a lot like Ruler’s Reach, and the terror of the nightmares and the awkwardness with Amity were chased further and further to the back of his mind as Azura began her travels, learning magic and befriending her rival witch Hecate. 

Until Lucy, a witch who’d claimed to be Azura’s friend, captured her and held her life ransom in exchange for Hecate’s magic amulet. Hunter didn’t take his gaze from the screen, but he could feel Amity’s eyes on him, burning an angry hole into the back of his head, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He seized the remote, pausing the film, and said, all in a rush, “I’m sorry, okay?”

He turned to Amity, whose expression was unreadable. “I’m sorry for threatening Luz to get to you, and I’m sorry I didn’t let you help me, and I’m sorry I gave the key to Belos— it was a mistake. All of it.”

Slowly, Amity’s cool mask softened into something more natural. Not kind, exactly, but not accusing. She heaved a sigh. 

“Willow’s probably told you, I wasn’t… the nicest witch either, for a long time. I hurt a lot of people. Maybe not as extremely as the Emperor’s Coven, but still. When Luz first met me, she tried to show me what I was doing was wrong, and to be my friend. I didn’t take her up on it the first time, or even the second.” She sighed again. “I shouldn’t be hard on you for not taking the first way out either. It’s just… Luz…”

“She’s special,” Hunter agreed. “It’s clear how much you care about her. And I care about her too. She’s never judged me for… a lot of things most people would. She helped me find out the truth about Belos, and she helped me get away from him. So I hope you’ll believe me when I say I would never threaten her again. And if anyone else did, I’d… well, they’d regret it.”

A faint smile crossed Amity’s face. “I’d bet they would. If we could fight so well against each other, imagine what we could do as a team.”

Hunter smiled— a wide, probably stupid grin, but it made Amity’s smile wider, too. “Luz told me they have a saying in the human realm,” she said. “‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’.”

Hunter nodded slowly. “Friends, then?”

“Friends.”

Hunter pressed play again before the silence could become awkward, and now that the tension had dissipated, he got sucked in before he knew it. When the movie ended, Amity reached up to turn it off, but he held out a hand.

“Wait. Can we… watch the second one? I want to find out what happens next.”

Amity shook her head. “We have to wait for Luz. She’d kill me if she didn’t get to see your reactions to The Betrayening. Our lives might be in danger just because you watched the first one without her, actually.”

Hunter gave a small laugh. “You’re probably right.”

“Besides, we should both try to get some sleep. If those bags under your eyes get any larger, Camila might take you to her work to get you examined.”

“Camila only works with animals.”

“I know.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Good night, Amity.”

“Good night, Hunter.”

Lying back in the basement, Hunter tried to focus only on Azura, trying to guess what would happen to her next in order to keep his mind far away from the Isles— but guessing could only do so much. Just as his breathing was getting shallower, he heard a soft thump from the top of the stairs. He was almost glad to make the journey up with Flapjack once more, and even more so when he opened the door to find a small, thick book in front of it.

The Good Witch Azura, read the cover, along with a note in Amity’s handwriting.

Luz and I have book club every Monday evening at 8. Better read fast if you want to join next time.

A broad grin crossing his face in the dark, Hunter stole back down the stairs to read.

[credince--writes]

mor·tal·i·ty Chapter 3

mor·tal·i·ty Chapter 3

AO3 Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!OC x John "Soap" MacTavish

Hm, well if I knew you were just a civilized person cosplaying as a bum for the brownie points I would’ve been more likely to offer you a shower and shave for that ridiculous thing you have on your face. Maybe even a dog bed in my living room if you're good.”

“Of course I’d be good for you, Miss Camile.”

The air of Malory’s office always had a horrible habit of being stale. No matter what he did- the windows couldn’t open, no, of course not. They wouldn’t risk someone trying to bash their brains against the cement ten floors below. “But sir, you and I both know that I am more well-versed in this position to be delegated the role of assistant -” Camile offered, a last ditch attempt to persuade the older man. Malory sat in his chair, arms tucked in front of him as he stared out the window. All she could see of him was the top of the back of his head, and the back of his office chair. “ Advisor .” He replied.

“Advisor?” She echoed. 

“Technically, your role is advisor.” He spun in his chair, giving her an amused glance. But her eyes lingered on the gray hair, the bags under his eyes, the age worn into his skin from the constant stress and weight of his position. He’d be the first one to say to her “You can only hide so much with an IV line and a day trip to the medspa.” and, she supposed he was right. He looked his age. A death sentence in this industry.

“Never train your downfall. No offense dear, but you don’t exactly scream the type to be gunning for someone’s position. It makes you perfect for this transition. Someone quiet and willing to do the work assigned without the gusto to steal the rug from under them- if that makes much sense. It’s a compliment under all of those layers.”

“He’ll be here momentarily.” He sighed, reaching over to grab hold of the remote that controlled the shade mechanism for his window, sending the shutters to slowly pull themselves over the sunlight. Leaving them to bathe in fluorescents. She nodded, glancing to the door and anxiously tapping on the folder in her hand. “You know,” Malory offers, the wrinkles in his forehead forming as he grimaced for a moment. “Just…” The sound of a knock- three distinct and firm knocks against the office door. His eyes locked with Camiles for a moment, before letting out a breath, closing his eyes and hardening his gaze at the door. “Come in.” In walked a man dressed in a tight fitting, pressed to all hell suit. A dark navy that was nearly black- freshly polished shoes. Neat and styled black hair, dark brown eyes and a narrow, angular face. As soon as he entered the room, she felt his gaze size her up- scanning her from top to bottom- hair to shoe. It made the hair stand up on the back of her neck, if only for a moment before he broke the tension and smiled. A warm, inviting smile- an extended hand. She stood up, watching as He gave a firm handshake to Malory, turning to her and cupping her hand with a light squeeze. 

“Pelant, it’s wonderful to meet you, Miss Ford. Malory has sung your praises on how you’ll be assisting me in the onboarding process.” His voice was confident, warm. Inviting. For a moment, she forgot to let go of his hand- before quickly pulling it back down to her side. Offering back a smile and a nod, “Of course Mister Pelant, I’ve already taken the liberties of preparing these documents for you to help onboard the carryover clients as well as get you acquainted with our current base.”

He nods, taking the folder. 

Maybe, he wouldn’t be too bad. 

=+=

The weekend had finally graced its presence onto the work week, meaning that Camile could finally go to bed on Friday night knowing that she wouldn’t have to wander her way into work in the morning and hear about how the world was falling apart- at least for two more days. As long as no one called her saying that the office was on fire. Then, of course, as an advisor , she’d mock herself mentally, she would be obligated to go and fix the mess. Pelant wasn’t horrible, but he wasn’t Malory. Two days into his acclimation at the firm she could put money on the fact that there was something off about the man. He was never a hair out of place, everything perfect, kind words and sweet talking that at the moment felt like honey could be dripping from his mouth.

He was kind, he gave praise and compliments to the team working under him. In depth analysis of strategies to make the workflow better, introducing and onboarding a file of new clients in a much smoother manner than she’d ever seen. He would even randomly have his assistant swing by and drop off coffee. She’d offer to pay him back twice now, but each time he outright refused, that honey thick tone projecting back to her that “I could never! Take it as a token of my gratitude for being such a great teammate.”

She should be grateful, really. He’d been nothing but kind and supportive. And the praise had tickled the back part of her brain- maybe it was a good arrangement. Maybe Malory was right and this was the perfect setup for her, it complimented her personality. She was meant to help with important things, do important things. From the background . 

Productivity was never the number one goal after coming off of a hard work week, she cleaned a bit, watched some TV, and just tried to relax. Craning her head back to look at the kitchen became a daunting task in itself- and she could never justify the cost of having food delivered. No, that’s just a waste of hard earned cash. She could walk. It’s the city after all- there’s that sushi place she liked not five minutes from here.

Her eyes lingered on her coffee table, the sound of the baking show fading out of her mind and into a low drone in the background. Three little bottles, an empty wine glass, and a box of chocolates sat on the table mocking her. 

One of them was bright green- key lime. Another pink, strawberry lemonade. White plastic labels and lids meant Pina colada. Maybe when she went to grab some food she could swing by the corner store and grab something sweet and light to drink- a bottle of wine. Not the crappy little bottles. She really didn’t have a reason to justify buying them- they should make her sick to smell. She shouldn’t want to buy them, she knows. She knows better.  

Her phone chimed, screen lighting up and a message notification displaying on the screen.

Chris Pelant- 

I’m going to need you to come in, have some documents that need processing before midnight.

She stared at the screen, blinking a few times in disbelief.

She closed the folder, pushing through her office door and making her way through the floor to Pelant’s new office, curtly knocking on his door and breaching the threshold as he called her in. “I’m getting ready to head out for the weekend. Does anything else need to be done?” She asked, smiling at him as he waved her in and motioned for her to sit. “No, we’ve really been crushing it this week, and all thanks to you- you’ve been such a team player! We’re basically caught up for the next month! Enjoy your weekend!”

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes so hard she could hear the strain in her ears. It was just a mishap- these errors always occur. It always happens and it's no one's fault. 

Until it happened the next day.

And the next weekend.

And the next.

She blinks, and she hasn’t had a weekend in two months . 

Because she’s being a team player. Supporting everyone- we couldn’t do it without you! Her vital help to the team, when it’s small things. Processing errors that should’ve been caught days ago- not with him leisurely working on the weekends to ‘catch up on emails’. Who was emailing on Sunday morning at 5am? She wasn’t and the last she checked, there weren’t any foreign clients that would warrant a conversation outside of normal business hours- let alone the normal time zone.

Not many people would be working in the office when she came back, one or two at most. Usually the accountants catch up on billing and input expense receipts. She’d catch the tail end of some guy, always clad in the most downright sinfully tight black suit she’d ever seen- tighter than Pelant’s by far. He’d be dropping off the files Pelant would then hand her, and by the time she’d open the door to her office and try making her way to his, the man would already be in the elevator leaving.

She was tired. To her bones. Her fingers hurt- and she felt bad for even complaining that her fingers hurt. People worked real, hard, manual labor jobs with bone crushing work and she was sniveling and crying over the joints in her fingers. 

It was evening, the sun not yet set but the air cooling from the afternoon sun. The park was quiet, a few people on walks going about their own days and journeys. Her eyes scanned the park, looking for a familiar figure on the bench they seemed to have claimed as their meeting spot.

She stood in front of the bench, eyes glancing over at the trash can with a remnant of one of their previous meetings. Brown paper bag, black plastic back with a horribly printed smiley face on the center of it.

“Ms. Camile! Hard day at work?” 

She nearly jumped out of her skin. She could feel the warmth of his skin behind her, and she turned- craning her neck up to lock eyes with bright blue. Taking a stride backwards and huffing- “You need to stop fucking sneaking up on me, it’s rude.” There was a tang of anger to the end of her words, over the fact that she hadn’t heard him approach. She’d been actively looking for the man yet he still seemed to sneak up on her whenever she went searching for him. “Sorry hen, I forget myself sometimes.” He breathes the words out- and they drip with sweetness. Like maybe syrup- fragrant and warm. “Hiding in the bushes waiting for me again, Johnny?” Camile questions, pushing her hands into her pockets and rolling back onto the heels if her feet. “I was creepin’ in the sewers, actually.” He quips back, letting out a chuckle.

His laughter is rich, and she likes to think that if she’d have closed her eyes, she would lean into it.

“Hm, well you certainly smell like it.” She turns, and starts walking towards the street from the trailhead she’d stepped into. Twenty feet ahead, she turns her head back and watches as he cautiously follows along. “Where're you going?” He asks, jogging for a moment- long legs striding out and catching up in seconds. “I was thinking we’d ditch the bench tonight, and I’d take you out to a proper bar.” 

“Woo’ing the bum now are we?” Johnny smirks, quirking a brow and leaning forward.

“The wind is rather chilly this evening, and I’d like to sit on something other than a rod iron park bench.” She replies bluntly.

+=+

The bar is quaint, a little sticky on the floor and the bartop but if you avoid resting the flesh of your forearms or let your feet linger in one spot too long it’s not hard to ignore. It’s warm, which is what she was shooting for. The office seemed to always be in a perpetual state of cold- layering sweaters and jackets only did so much, the tip of her nose a barely there dusting of rosey red when she checked her rearview mirror every night getting in her car to drive back home.

“So you’re working like dog.” He agrees to her rambling. 

She nods, leaning back on her barstool and reeling the old leather cushion press up against her back as she stares up at the ceiling. Photos tacked to the peeling paint and exposed wood- the occasional dollar bill or twenty tacked over photos, polaroids or newspaper clippings.

“And he’s so nice.” She groans. “I can’t say no. He’s nothing but nice- and I’d be letting everyone down if I didn’t go in and help.”

“But why can’t it be done during the week?” He questions.

“I… I don’t know. I think it’s a finicky client. Bringing in shit late- and to a certain point, when you're bringing in millions for someone like us to play with… We let them turn shit in late.” 

Johnny hums, taking a sip from his drink- something like a Scotch and Soda. She’d be sure to glance at the receipt when she paid to see what the man actually liked to drink outside of the sad offerings she’d bring to their little picnics.

“Sounds shady if you ask me.” He adds, finishing off his drink and signaling to the bartender for a refill. The bartender gives them a look that borders on disgust, the both of them pointedly ignoring how there's a three seat gap from the nearest person sitting near them. And no one has approached the empty chairs to fill them. 

“We’re a private equity firm. Everything we do is shady.” Camile laughs, rubbing the backside of her hand against her tired eyes. The screens and small print on paper certainly doesn't help, maybe the buzz isn’t helping either.

“What even is private equity?” He asks, his knees turning with him in the seat has he turns to face her. 

She can feel the heat radiating off of his legs- lingering on the feeling of warmth and fighting the instinct to slink closer. “No one knows. I have yet to get anyone to actually explain it.”

“Hm.”

“Mmmhm.”

They sit, and drink in a comfortable silence for a while longer, before Camile breaks the silence, glancing over to the large mans frame and asking, “Why are you homeless?” For a moment, she fully expects the facade of weird friendship she's built to completely crumble. For her to have to run to the bathroom and lock herself in a stall until she can call the cops to arrest the freak sitting next to her. A murderer- someone who slaughtered people for money. Maybe an ex foreign agent- the accent hadn’t escaped her mind. Maybe just a sad, washed up junkie was a velvety tongue and biceps she was pretty sure could crush a cantaloupe-

“I’m not homeless. I’m just a bum.” 

She stares at him dumbfounded for a moment. “...What?”

“I have… Had a home. I can go home any time, but I can’t go back there.” He offers, the glass in his right hand fills the confusion in her head with the sound of ice clinking against glass.

“So… You have a home. A shower? You have a shower, and a tub, and a sink, and a washer where you could go… not reek?” She offers, eyes squinting. 

“I sneak back sometimes. If I'm really desperate. Sometimes I just sweet talk women into letting me into their homes for a S&S.” His smile has faltered, and his gaze is hard set on the bartop. Eyeing the grain of the polished wood as if it were holy words.

“S&S?” 

“Shag & Shower.” 

“You’re a dog.” She groans.

“Good dogs get bubble baths.” 

She makes a face crossed with surprise and disgust, and for a moment she’s no longer the bone tired advisor of a convoluted department with mister honey & ‘can you come in on the weekend and be a team player!’ she’s just… Camile.

“You… Sneak back into your own place?” She asks.

“It’s complicated.” He offers. “I haven’t been back there in months.”

Something goes unsaid for a moment. That he’s hiding, running from something and hoping the shadow doesn't catch up with him. She purses her lips before finishing off her drink and setting the cool glass down onto the coaster, watching as the condensation collects and rolls down the ridged glass. 

“Hm, well if I knew you were just a civilized person cosplaying as a bum for the brownie points I would’ve been more likely to offer you a shower and shave for that ridiculous thing you have on your face. Maybe even a dog bed in my living room if you're good.” 

She's focusing so hard on a bottle on the shelf, not daring to glance over and meet those horribly blue eyes. It’s a bottle of Titos. Good ol’ Titos. She can focus on the clear liquid and the very interesting writing as long as she doesn't break her neck trying to meet his gaze. 

She’s toeing a fine line. A dangerous line. Even though she knows this man she doesn't really know him. Doesn’t know who he is- what he’s done. There’s a reason he’s sleeping on park benches and surprising her from the bushes to drink long into the evening. There’s a reason he has a home and isn’t going back to it. The red flags are up, the alarms are blasting.

But she can’t seem to hear them, nor see them over the wonderful liquid continued in that Titos bottle.

“If I’m good?” She can hear the smirk in his voice, and she will not break. Will. Not. Will not glance over. 

A warm hand engulfs the width of her thigh and spins the chair to the side, and she’s no longer staring intently at the little logo on the glass bottle. She’s staring into blue eyes. Her throat is tight, and it takes a moment for her to swallow before nodding in agreement.

“Of course I’d be good for you, Miss Camile.” She swallows. 

“Then let me pay our tab, and I’ll take you home.”

As she stands, his hand slides up from her thigh, to her side, and up into the pocket of her jacket. Reaching in and pulling out the long end of one of her keys and dancing the chain. Fingers pinched on the end- hands so much larger than her own, making the keys seem like toys. 

“I’ll drive.” He adds. “You’re lookin’ like you’re feeling pretty good right now.”

“You’ve been drinking just as much as I-” “Switched to just soda after the first.”

His grin is shit eating, but she finds no malice in it.

She finds nothing but warmth and the sweet scent of syrup leading her onward. And a raging buzz.

[literallyjustanerd]

At Sunset In Summer - III

Omega is ready to join The Rebellion. Hunter is not.

Next Previous First

Chapter Three - Spring

The ship isn’t pretty. It’s no Marauder, that’s for sure. These new-era models, they’re all power and utility. Boxy and inelegant, with no thought spared for design. Omega, though? She couldn’t be more thrilled with it. It had taken her almost a full cycle, saving every credit earned from the jobs she’d picked up around the island. The day she’d brought it home, she’d been out past zero hour, poring over the dash and combing endlessly through the manual. Even now, a week later, it’s all she can talk about.

They all know what the ship is for. Nobody has said it aloud.

“Hera says she’s going to call me later tonight and show me how to rewire the thrusters so they won’t burn out with sudden gear shifts,” Omega says. She stands between Wrecker and Crosshair, one foot on the dock and one on their boat, helping unload the haul.

“Wonder if it’ll survive a Tech turn,” Wrecker jokes. Omega grins brightly.

“It had better.”

“With the state of your flying, you’ll need to rewire more than the thrusters,” Crosshair snarks, earning him a playful shove that widens the smirk on his face. 

The season has begun again, and the feeling of new life has reached everyone on the island, carried in on warmer currents and blossoming with the trees. Hunter had been on his way down to help his brothers, Batcher at his heels, when the view from the hill had caught him off guard and stopped him in his tracks. The brilliant green of the waters, gleaming like crystal under a reborn sun. The way people smiled at nothing in particular except the warmth in the air. The surge of joy when he reminded himself that he gets to call this place home. And so, just because he could, he had sat down to look over it all, breathe it all in and let it warm him from within. 

And if his heightened senses just happened to catch the conversation below, well…

“I really don’t know how you can fly that thing at all,” Wrecker grouses. “That new interface takes up too much space. What’s wrong with how they used to make ‘em?”

“The new target-lock systems are way more accurate than the old models,” Omega insists. “I’ll show you later.” Crosshair scoffs, hauling a crate against his hip and dropping it onto the pier. 

“Sounds like a good way to get lazy.”

Talk of The Rebellion is growing harder to avoid, even in a system as remote as Pabu. Stak, Mox and Deke had left three weeks ago to join up. The young clones, like their brothers before them, had aged beyond their years in a way Omega never had to endure. Young men, now, taller and stronger than they knew what to do with, their beards patchy and their eyes sharp. Looking for all the world like shinies about to ship out from Kamino on their first tour, albeit without the new armour to earn them the nickname. Hardly the children they’d been when Hunter and Wrecker had found them. Hunter had been braced for the argument he expected to follow, sure that this would be the last straw, the breaking point. The tension between them had grown steadily as the months passed. Beneath a deceptive layer of calm, stubborn roots had fermented underground, incubating over the winter, and Hunter had been terrified for the day they would finally breach the soil and see the light. 

But Omega had said nothing. No pointed comments, no probing questions. She had only watched, tight-lipped and stone-faced, as the boys’ ship slipped away into hyperspace. Somehow, her silence had hurt more.

“You know we’d miss you, kid.”

The words snap Hunter back into focus. The tone is jovial, upbeat, but Hunter knows his brothers’ tells: Wrecker’s grin is stretched just a little too wide across his leathery, sun-worn face, and he scratches awkwardly through his beard as he speaks. 

“You think I wouldn’t call you guys every night?” Omega counters. “You’d get sick of me.”

“But if you’re gone, who’s gonna make late-night flatcake runs with me?” 

Omega laughs, slinging a coil of rope over her shoulder and tossing her hair out of her face. She’s kept it long, lately. The first time she’d emerged from her room with Hunter’s old, red headband tying it back, Hunter had almost cried.

“I’m sure you can convince Cross to go with you.”

“Not a chance,” comes the glib reply. “And you do know it won’t exactly be a vacation. There won’t be any ‘calling every night.’ If there’s calling at all.” There’s something lingering behind the cynicism in Crosshair’s voice, something quiet and sombre. Something he’d never admit to, not without burying it beneath six layers of sarcasm, at least. Hunter zeroes in on it, one hand absently scratching between Batcher’s shoulder blades. Wrecker and Omega fall silent as Crosshair plucks the toothpick from between his teeth, flicking it unceremoniously into the water. 

“We’ve all heard the holos,” he continues. “You won’t exactly be fighting for the winning side.”

The smile drops from Omega’s face, replaced not by fear or frustration, but steely determination. Hunter can’t help but wonder why Crosshair’s disapproval doesn’t anger Omega like his own.  

“I know,” she says, her words sincere instead of indignant. “I know.” Wrecker lumbers past her off the boat, hitting the dock with a force that turns people’s heads. Omega takes the hand he offers and steps down from the gangway. 

“But you guys know I have to go. Don’t you?”

She falls into step between the two of them, leaning into Wrecker’s embrace as he slings an arm around her shoulder.

“Course we do, kid. You’ll do more good out there than you ever would here. Right, Cross?” Crosshair’s arms are folded, the crease in his brow deeper than usual. He’s produced a new toothpick from somewhere, somehow.

“Still think it’s stupid to join a losing team,” he says, stumbling when Wrecker leans over to punch his shoulder. He scowls, then softens. “But… I guess it’s our fault for teaching you to care so much.”

It’s as close to an admission of pride as Hunter suspects is possible from him. Though he’d never considered himself as repressed or icy as Crosshair, the layers of obscurity sound achingly similar to how Hunter has found himself speaking to Omega lately. Skirting around the truth like he’s afraid of feeling it, let alone speaking it aloud. He suddenly feels a new understanding for his brother.

Batcher yaps at his side, and when Hunter tears his unfocused gaze from the horizon, he finds the trio approaching from below.

“Nice of you to help,” Wrecker calls out, dropping to one knee as Batcher bounds up to him. Hunter huffs out a laugh.

“Looked like the three of you had it covered.” He rises, dusting off his clothes, and leads the way back up to the house. 

Late that night, Omega is still buried neck-deep in the ship’s innards, working by the light of a weary pit droid. As much as the days have brightened, the nights are still cold. The warmth has vanished with the sun, and Omega’s cheeks and fingers have turned red with the chill. Still, Hunter stands frozen in place by the door, coat and gloves in hand, for what feels like an eternity.

“Afraid you’re going to kriff it up again?”

It’s Crosshair’s voice, though it takes Hunter a shameful moment to realise that it’s coming from a few feet behind him and not from within his own mind.

“I’m not taking emotional advice from you,” he says, with no real venom behind the words.

“Fine,” his brother shrugs. “But I’m not the one she’s scared to talk about it with.”

Hunter’s grip tightens around the coat. He smothers the building growl in the back of his throat. Crosshair’s words propel him forwards, forcing his hand on the door and spurring his feet across the gravel before he has a moment to think about it.

There’s engine oil on Omega’s face and streaks of grease in her hair when she appears from within the ship’s bulky hull, eyeing Hunter warily as he approaches.

“It’s freezing. Thought you might want these,” he offers. To his relief, instead of ignoring or dismissing him, she detangles herself from the nest of wiring and wipes her hands off with a rag.

“Thanks.” There’s only a slight bent of suspicion in her voice as she slips on the coat and takes the gloves. Hunter folds his arms across his chest and turns to the blocky, graceless ship.

“How’s it all coming?”

“Nav’s still miscalibrated, and the hyperdrive isn’t as stable as I’d like,” she says with a sigh, one hand on her hip as appraises her work. “Good thing I like a challenge.”

“She got a name yet?”

Omega casts him a glance from the corner of her eye.

“I’ve got a couple in mind.”

She doesn’t move back to the ship, not yet. Hunter knows now is his chance, as their small talk settles into silence. Omega is giving him space to do what he should have done months ago. And moments ago, he had known exactly what he wanted to say. But under her watchful eye, the words have vanished, shying away from the light.

So Hunter stoops to the toolbox by the ship, pulling out a rusted hydrospanner. While he waits for the words to return, he decides to try action instead. 

“Let’s get to work on that hyperdrive.”

They fall into an easy rhythm, passing tools and parts back and forth in perfect sync. Hunter had almost forgotten how well Tech had taught Omega her way around the inside of a ship. And as they work, he feels it: the simple, free comfort between them, an ease that he has not felt in months. He can breathe again. The roots that took hold months ago finally breach the surface, no longer held back by the winter frost. And when they sprout, Hunter is left with a revelation that feels both earth-shaking and obvious. His anger, his grief, have never been at Omega. Not her decision, nor her refusal to bend to his tantrums. His anger is with himself, every time he raises his voice instead of offering his hand. Every time he fails to hear what Omega is really saying, or to say to her what he really means. Every time he shutters himself away when she gets close to breaking down the walls, the ones formed from the debris of a thousand battles, washed through his veins and collected like sediment around his heart. 

They work until the cold worms its way under Hunter’s overshirt, until the hyperdrive is tuned-up to a standard even Tech would approve of.

“Looks good.” Hunter raps his knuckles on the durasteel casing as he stands, much slower than Omega. “Should run reliably, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Omega says, and he can tell she means it.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Hunter replies. With a furtive glance at the girl beside him, he lets a faint, sad smile ghost cross his face. “Gonna take a lot more work before she’ll weather a dogfight.”

The flutter of Omega’s heart brings Hunter as much comfort and joy as the brightest spring morning. 

They stand together, side by side, and Omega’s eyes remain on the ship when she speaks again.

“The Liberator.”

“Hm?”

“That’s her name,” she says. “The Havoc Liberator.”

[getwallowed]

tldr (in case you don't want to read all the waffle): i made wallows chokers!! :D pictures below

so a couple of weeks ago i posted this, showing off a couple of wallows bracelets i'd made and talking about the thought behind them.

i had a bunch of ideas for other bracelets to make, but i realised that i'd been sent a pack of necklace clasps with the kit, so i decided to try make a choker with them. originally i was only going to make a few, but i got a bit obsessed and now i have nearly 40. (oops).

obvs some of them are wallows-themed, and here are some pics! :)

i haven't worn the marvelous choker yet but the colours? the reference? i'm so excited to wear this out one day i can't wait i can't wait i can't wait

the tmtio choker is made w a different kind of bead bc they fit the colours of the album colour super well :D i was a but unsure about using these beads bc i def prefer the others but i think it actually looked pretty cool in the end - pleasantly surprised.

nothing happens: had to make one for one of my fav albums of all time <3 luckily i had some beads that matched the cover colours perfectly!!

the wish me luck choker is actually god tier, i just had three exams in two days and wore it in all of them and all the papers were actually pretty decent!!! i have two exams left and yes i will be wearing it in both bc clearly it is not my new good luck charm :) my fav version of wml is the newer version but i love the remote colours, which is where the colours on this come from.

do not wait has my entire heart it is me and i am it and there is a tiny piece of my soul entirely made up of this song <3 colours are the same as the nothing happens choker bc it's basic but those are the colours i associate it with most :)

haven't made them yet but since remember when is my other fav wallows song, someone suggested that i make two that said 'only two alive' and give one to someone else and keep one for myself like little friendship chokers <33 i've been procrastinating this one bc i can't decide on the colours but i'll post pics when i finally make it hehe

and a little bonus: a do not wait bracelet i made before i got into making chokers <3 plan is to wear it whenever i wear the do not wait or nothing happens choker bc matching lol

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

Kim and I had the grandkids overnight so they’re worn out and we’re worn out. Heck, even our pups are worn out. The house is really quiet, just how I like it. I’m sitting here in the dark, sipping coffee, composing today’s post.

This week work was mostly about onboarding a couple new iOS Devs who’ll be working with me on our project to add React Native support to existing native apps. I’m really enjoying it. 😀

Caitlin Harrington • WIRED

Last month, Grindr gave its all-remote staff two weeks to pledge to work from an office two days a week starting in October or lose their jobs come August 31. Many declined to return: 82 out of 178 employees—46 percent of the staff—were let go after rejecting the mandate, according to the Grindr union, which went public two weeks before the ultimatum.

Wow. That’s about all I had to say when I read this piece. I have a friend who took a job there — as a remote test engineer — only to have this mandate cross his desk two weeks later. Needless to say he didn’t move and is now looking for a new gig. It’s a real head scratcher.

Ron Amadeo • Ars Technica

The Federated Learning of Cohorts and now the Topics API are part of a plan to pitch an “alternative” tracking platform, and Google argues that there has to be a tracking alternative—you can’t just not be spied on.

Emphasis is mine. At least they admit what they’re doing and it’s pathetic. 😳

You know what’s worse? People won’t switch away from Chrome.

thehackernews.com

Apple on Thursday released emergency security updates for iOS, iPadOS, macOS, and watchOS to address two zero-day flaws that have been exploited in the wild to deliver NSO Group’s Pegasus mercenary spyware.

Update your devices right away. The talent possessed to do this type of ferreting around an OS looking for holes is both impressive and terrifying all at the same time.

Branko Marcetic • jacobin.com

The inflation rate — that is, the pace at which prices are going up — might be slowing down, but that doesn’t mean prices are lower. In fact, they are much, much higher for all kinds of goods and services than they were three years ago.

I’ve definitely noticed this when we go to our favorite Mexican restaurant here in Charlottesville.

It’s really becoming apparent in the streaming business. I just received email saying our Hulu subscription is going up to $81.99/month. We currently pay $64/month. That’s close to a 25% increase. 🤬

Taegan Goddard • politicalwire.com

Pence Calls Trump’s Populism a ‘Road to Ruin’

Wow. Pence finally figured it out. Took long enough.

I know folks have praised him for what he did January 6 — myself included — but the truth is he could’ve done a lot more prior to the sixth to avert this, like call the FBI.

MSRC • msrc.microsoft.com

Upon identifying that the threat actor had acquired the consumer key, Microsoft performed a comprehensive technical investigation into the acquisition of the Microsoft account consumer signing key, including how it was used to access enterprise email. Our technical investigation has concluded. As part of our commitment to transparency and trust, we are releasing our investigation findings.

Reading these reports is fascinating. I love seeing them own up to mistakes and solve the problems that lead them there. I personally like to focus on the problem and not point fingers. These reports come across like that to me.

Greg Jones • enginebuildermag.com

As a kid, Dan Keenan loved fixing things, tearing things apart, and figuring out a way to build something new. But he never dreamed his skills would one day lead to being a key player in designing a brand-new race engine for NASCAR.

This is an older piece but is a great little read if you’re at all interested in engine building. I most definitely am and would love to see some deep dives of all the motors used in the NASCAR Cup Series. The teams use a new motor each week! It’s amazing to me how consistent the builds are from week to week.

They do see the occasional failure but those are rare. It would be amazing to see reports from engine builders outlining the failures and the steps taken to mitigate them, just like that Microsoft Security piece linked above.

Michael Meng • eng.lyft.com

Lyft runs hundreds of microservices to power the company’s offerings. Our team, the Developer Infrastructure team, aims to build the best tools to enable microservice owners (our “customers”) to reliably and quickly test changes in a local and/or end-to-end environment.

When we crossed that line from desktop focused computing on local networks to service based computing on the open web software development became infinitely more complicated. I know a lot of folks who’ll disagree with that assessment and that’s fine. It’s how it feels to me. I’m a simpleton and prefer my little self contained IDE and platform. 😃

GMS Racing • legacymotorclub.com

LEGACY MOTOR CLUB™ Signs John Hunter Nemechek to Drive the No. 42 in 2024

It’s fun to watch NASCAR teams make lineup changes for next season. How many more changes will we see between now and next season? Who knows.

It’ll also be nice to see where the Stewart Haas Racing rumors land. Do they run two or four cars next year? Do they have charters for sale? If so, who picks them up?

Oh, right, when is Dodge coming back! 🤣 Yes, I really do want to see it.

Lane Brown • Vulture

The Ophelia affair is a useful microcosm for understanding how Rotten Tomatoes, which turned 25 in August, has come to function. The site was conceived in the early days of the web as a Hot or Not for movies. Now, it can make or break them — with implications for how films are perceived, released, marketed, and possibly even green-lit. The Tomatometer may be the most important metric in entertainment, yet it’s also erratic, reductive, and easily hacked.

I’d not heard of folks gamifying Rotten Tomatoes scores but it makes sense it would happen. Gotta keep those scores fresh so folks will watch your movie and put money in your pocket. 🍅

[survey--s]

425.

Have you done any of the same things as me? [2022 Edition] by joybucket

experienced something amazing and miraculous? 🤩 Not miraculous, but galloping down the beach was a pretty amazing experience, especially as my lessons were all over the place with COVID restrictions and work getting in the way. I even get to move up to the experienced group next time, hahah.

switched to a new primary care doctor? Nope.

tried a new medication? 💊 Hmm, not that I can remember.

felt afraid to leave the house? No, I can’t say I’ve ever felt like that - apart from once in Nottingham when someone with a gun was on the loose and people were advised to stay indoors until he was caught.

had a new neighbor move in? Not yet, but our neighbours on the left moved out a while ago - i think the landlord is renovating and selling the place, though.

met a new neighbor? Yeah, it turns out Kerry’s sister lives directly over the road lol. 

read the entire Bible? Nope.

had a smoothie that tasted really, really good? 🍹 None spring to mind right now, but it’s certainly possible!

had some significant health issues? No, just a couple of days where my back was bad.

made a lot of surveys? I don’t think I made any surveys this year.

taken a lot of surveys? Not as many as usual. I’ve gone through phases of it but work has been really busy and I’m normally shattered by the time I get home, shower and eat.

gave yourself a significant haircut? 💇‍♀️ Nope, just a couple of trims.

discov.ered a new YouTube channel you really liked? Nah, I don’t really watch much YouTube.

discovered a new favorite book? 📖 Yes! I LOVE the Alice series by Christina Henry.

re-read a book you really liked? 📖 Yeah, I re-read Neverwhere and The Night Circus this year.

debated reaching out to someone and asking for prayer, but didn't? 🙏 Nah, I’m not remotely religious.

started taking a new birth control pill? No.

experienced anaphylaxis? Nope.

...and then had to be on Prednisone for three months because of it? That’s pretty precise, lol. Anyway, no.

gained weight from a medication? Nah, my weight gain is because I love food too much, hahah. If I didn’t do the job I do, I would be so overweight lol.

...and then lost some of it once you were off the medication, but not all of it? ....

discovered you had steroid-induced diabetes? Nope.

daydreamed a lot? 💭 Yeah, I do that a lot at work.

had overdue library books? 📚 I haven’t been to a library in about a decade lol.

worn a mask? 😷 I think I did way back in January? I remember having to wear on at the dentist right at the end of 2020 so I think I must have done until they became optional which was maybe in March.

worn a mask when cleaning, because you're allergic to dust mites? 😷 Nope.

went days without washing your hair? No, I wash my hair everyday.

felt overjoyed one day and then depressed the next? Not quite to either of those extremes, but yes.

thought about how much you missed going to church? ⛪️ No.

thought about how much you missed painting? 🖼 Nah, I’ve never really been big on painting.

....and thought about how you'd like to start painting again? 🎨 Nope.

found out that someone got hit by a car and died while crossing a street that you cross all the time? No, not so far as I’m aware anyway.

enjoyed watching the snow fall? ❄️ Yeah, we had snow a couple of weeks ago.

wished you had a car? 🚘 I already do.

talked to your mom on the phone? 📱 Yeah, I talk to my mum on the phone a couple of times a weke.

talked to your mom online? 💬 Yeah, we talk on messenger most days.

realized none of your bras fit you anymore? Nope, they all still work just fine.

received a package in the mail? 📦 Loads. I do pretty much all my shopping online, including all of the food/medication for the animals, so I probably get 2-3 parcels a week on average, but they’re never very exciting.

started watching Youtube Shorts regularly? No. Never even heard of them, lol.

practiced self-hypnosis? 😵 Nope.

discovered a new food you really liked? Nothing is coming to mind, but I’m sure I have at some point. OH actually, the Sea Salt and Chardonnay vinegar crisps from Tesco are amazing, hahah.

discovered your bike had a flat tire? 🚴 No, but I had two flat tyres on my car within a month back in September.

made a new playlist of songs you really liked? 🎶 Sure, I did a few of those on Spotify.

got rid of a ton of old clothes? 👚 Nope.

ran/walked a Christmas-themed race? 🏃‍♀️ NOPE. Never gonna happen, haha.

watched your city's Christmas parade? Bold of you to assume we all live in cities, lol. The nearest city is over an hour away from here.

enjoyed eating salads? 🥗 Blah, no.

enjoyed eating chocolate pie? I’ve never had chocolate pie.

celebrated Thanksgiving alone? I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.

celebrated your birthday alone? No, I was with my husband.

didn't really have a good birthday? Nah, it was pretty good. I’m sorry yours wasn’t, though!

almost died multiple times? No. I did fall of a horse though, that was interesting lol.

enjoyed reading the Bible? 📖 Nope.

danced around your living room? 💃 Sure, a few times.

written in cursive? ✍️ Sure, all the time..

written in a journal? 📓 No. Just this.

written in a one-line-a-day journal? 📔 Nope.

accidentally dropped a dish and broke it? Yep, on Christmas Day actually lol.

went for a walk through the cemetery on Halloween? Not on Halloween, no, but one of my regular dog walks takes me through one of the local cemeteries.

not brought your camera with you somewhere, and then wished you had? 📸 No, I always have my phone on me.

discovered a new really good book? I have indeed.

read a book with a character named Simone in it? I did not.

had a doctor get irritated with you? Nope, I haven’t been to the doctors at all this year.

had a doctor not believe you about something? Nope.

broke out in acne all over your face? No, just the odd spot here and there.

found out one of your friends had COVID? 🦠 Sure, loads of people have had it.

wondered if you had COVID? 🦠 Yeah, I felt like I was getting a cold earlier in the week, but it never turned into anything and I feel fine now.

played Mahjong on your phone? 🀄️ Nope.

used a lot of emojis? 🦄 🤪 💃 I use them same 4-5 over and over again.

wore a cheetah-print mask? Nope.

worshiped God? 💃 Nooooooooooooope.

uploaded some new photos to Facebook? Yeah, loads of them.

sorted through some old photos on your computer? Yeah, a few times.

wondered why your fridge was making funny noises? Actually yes. It turns out there was a bit of wire that had come loose.

gone for lovely and enchanting walks in the fall? 🍁 Yes, most definitely. My favourite time of year for walks.

wore the same outfit for days? Like, without washing? Maybe the same jeans or jumper, but not the whole outfit.

worn slipper socks? Yes.

gone out to eat with your parents? Yeah, with my mum quite a few times. My dad still isn’t very comfortable going to restaurants and stuff.

enjoyed looking at your friends' baby pictures on Facebook? Nah, I’m afraid babies don’t interest me lol.

wondered what one of your friends was going to name her baby? No, nobody close to me had a baby anyway.

wished someone would invite you to church, but no one did? I have no interest in attending church.

took more medication than you were supposed to when you were in severe pain? Nope.

wished autocorrect didn't make so many annoying errors? Mine doesn’t really do that.

wished your cramps would go away? I mean, yeah of course.

enjoyed having a conversation with a random stranger while waiting in line for something? NOPE. I absolutely hate awkward, pointless small talk. It makes me so uncomfortable and I never know what to say, hahah.

wished you could see your cousins more? Not really.

thought about how much you used to love church? No.

had a certain traumatic incident keep coming back to haunt you? A little bit.

debated trying to get to know your neighbors more?  No.

not eaten anything sweet on your birthday? Nope, I even bought myself my own cake this year, aha.

....for the first time ever, since you normally eat cake on your birthday? No.

eaten a lot of mango popsicles? I’ve had a couple, but I wouldn’t say lots.

[dadbodosamu]

only you || part i

Stepdad Osamu x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: pseudocest, stepcest, cheating, wombfucking, semi-public sex (in an alley), extremely light dumbification, breeding kink, spit kink, Osamu has a dick piercing

4.5k words. thanks to @waka-chan-out and @vanilleswtmacaron for beta reading this and reassuring me that it doesn’t suck lol

ao3 link here (aha its not too long mobile just sucks!!) part i || part ii || part iii || part iv || part v || part vi || extras || only you, too

You sighed as you tapped your fingers on the table. Your mom had decided it was high time for you to meet your new stepdad, who you had put off meeting for the past three years. You smiled as you remembered the perfectly timed appendicitis that had you missing the wedding. You couldn’t have planned it better if you tried. 

Your dad had only passed away a little under four years ago, leaving your mom to remarry only six months later. You’d opted to live with your grandmother, citing her health as a reason to live with her on her farm. Your plan had worked perfectly, and you hadn’t had to meet Osamu for three years.

Now though, with your grandmother in the hospital, your mom thought it was a great time for you to come and visit and finally meet the great Osamu.

“Osamu should be home any minute,” your mom said, smiling happily over the takoyaki she was making. “He’s bringing your favourite!”

“Yay,” you said, unenthusiastically. You glanced at the time on your phone. You were almost wishing Osamu to be here so you wouldn’t have to spend another awkward second with your mom.

You and your mom hadn’t been close to begin with, you always being a daddy’s girl from the day you were born. And after remarrying so quickly, you’d drifted even further apart. At this point, you had nothing to speak to her about.

“I’m home!” Someone called. The door slid shut behind them and you glanced around, waiting for them to appear in the kitchen. “And I brought umeboshi onigiri!”

The man who stepped into the kitchen nearly knocked you out of your seat.

He was handsome. Devastatingly, heartachingly, handsome. He was tall, with brown hair and deep grey eyes, and thick. His t-shirt was pulled taut over his broad shoulders and his thighs in his shorts were almost indecent. 

The next thing you noticed was that he was young. Probably only a handful of years older than your twenty-one, definitely closer to your age than your mom’s.

God, why had you put this meeting off? Had you known your mom was married to an actual god, you would’ve actually visited.

“Hey, honey,” your mom greeted, smiling at him. Your stomach twisted as she leaned over, puckering her lips for a kiss. Osamu pecked her lips quickly and turned towards you.

“Hey, I’m Osamu,” he greeted, smiling widely at you. Your heart skipped. “I heard ya like umeboshi onigiri so I made you some.”

“Th-thank you,” you stuttered. “I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to finally meet ya,” Osamu said. “Was starting to think ya were avoiding me!”

“More like she was avoiding me,” your mom said. “She was always a daddy’s girl.”

“Oh?” Osamu asked, looking at you. Your cheeks burned. “Well, I’d never try to replace yer dad, but if ya ever need some daddy/daughter time, I’m here for ya.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something stupid. 

“I really appreciate that,” you said. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you two are getting along already!” Your mom squealed. She carried the takoyaki to the table and smiled as she sat down. “Dinner is finally ready.”

“Itadakimasu,” you mumbled, already loading your plate up with onigiri and the other food on the table. 

“So, how is university going?” Your mom asked. 

You shrugged as you slurped up some noodles. “It’s going. Made nationals.”

“Oh? What sport do ya play? I don’t think yer mom ever mentioned,” Osamu said. You rolled your eyes. Of course she hadn’t mentioned volleyball, it wasn’t like you’d been playing since elementary school or anything.

“Volleyball,” you said. “I was on the Niiyama girls team in high school. Hoping to go pro after uni.”

“Volleyball? I played in high school! My brother, Atsumu, and I were on the Inarizaki team,” Osamu exclaimed. 

“Not Miya Atsumu, right?” You asked, excitedly. “MSBY Black Jackals Miya Atsumu?”

“The very one!” Osamu said.

“No way! They’re my favourite team! I have a signed poster in my room, it’s my prized possession!” I exclaimed. “I heard a few members are going to the Olympics this year.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me she plays volleyball,” Osamu said, glancing at your mom.

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” your mom said.

“We should go to a game sometimes,” Osamu said. “I can get an extra ticket to the MSBY, Adlers game later this week.”

“That sounds great!” You said, smiling widely.

Your mom ate in relative silence as you and Osamu traded stories about your volleyball times, only ever inputting something every once in a while. After dinner, Osamu found a Sendai Frogs match. 

“I’m currently in the nation’s top 3 setters,” you said, proudly. “I’m number two behind Takao Michi.”

“I’ll have to start coming to yer games,” Osamu said. “See ya in action.”

“I’d like that,” you said, honestly. 

“Why don’t ya come to work with me tomorrow? I can introduce ya to a few of my friends that are in town,” Osamu said.

“Absolutely,” you said.

“Don’t get me wrong though, I’m putting ya to work while yer there,” Osamu said. Your mom yawned.

“You all have me worn out from all this volleyball talk,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

“Night, mom,” you said as she stood up.

“Osamu?” She questioned, turning back to glance at him.

“Oh, we’re going to stay up a bit longer,” he said. “The Schweinden Adlers have a match after the Frogs.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. You could hear the disappointment in her voice.

Osamu waited until you heard the bedroom door click shut before speaking.

“I know this is probably too much information about yer mom but she must think I’m some sex robot,” Osamu said, huffing. “A guy can only do so much.”

You crinkled your nose. “Gross, I did not need to know that.” You tried to hold steady but laughter bubbled up through your lips. Osamu laughed loudly and you joined him, holding your gut with how hard you were laughing.

“We need- we need to be- to be quiet!” Osamu laughed. “She’s trying to- tryin’ to sleep.”

You giggled a few more times before quieting down.

“So, how old are ya?” Osamu asked, standing up. “Old enough for a beer?”

“I’m twenty-one,” you said. “Old enough for a beer.”

“We got wine coolers if ya would rather have that,” Osamu said, stepping into the kitchen.

“Please,” you said. “So, how old are you? Can’t help but notice you’re quite a bit younger than my mom.”

“Twenty-five, twenty-six in October,” he said, grabbing a beer and a wine cooler out of the fridge.

“Follow up question,” you said, “and I don’t mean any offence, I’m sure she’s great in some ways, but why my mom? I mean, surely there’s no shortage of people your age that are wanting you.”

Osamu took a long drink from his beer before answering. “Ask me after I’ve drunk a few of these.”

You pursed your lips and took a sip of your fruity drink. “Fine,” you said. “Then let’s play a game. Every time the Adlers score, I’ll ask you a question and every time the Tachibana Red Falcons score, you get to ask me a question.”

“Deal,” Osamu said.

“Oh! Score!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up. “Another untouchable spike by Ushiwaka!”

“Shush, yer mom,” Osamu giggled. You rolled your eyes and chugged the rest of your fifth drink.

“You shush, it’s my turn,” you said, plopping down on the couch next to Osamu. “So, now tell me,” You hiccupped. “My bad. Now tell me, why my mom? Why not someone your age? Because I’m gonna- I’m gonna be honest, you’re hot and my mom is, like, she’s not, like, ugly, but, like, she’s, like, fifty.”

“I could just like cougars,” Osamu teased. You rolled your eyes and popped the top on your next drink.

“Tell the, the truth, ‘Samu,” you slurred. 

“Fine, but this stays between us, as best friends,” he said.

“Bee ef efs,” you slurred.

“Yer mom helped fund my restaurant,” he said. “So, I felt bad. She’s so nice and sweet. So, I married her.”

“Now you have a step kid that’s only four years younger than you,” you said. 

“Yeah, she didn’t really mention ya before we got married,” he said. Osamu leaned in close to you. “She didn’t mention how attractive ya were either.”

Your cheeks flushed. You turned your head away from him, looking back to the television.

“Oh, Falcons scored,” you said. “It’s your turn to ask a question.”

Osamu took a sip of his beer before speaking. “Why have ya been avoidin’ yer mom?”

You took a large gulp from your drink. “I haven’t been avoiding her,” you lied. Osamu blinked at you slowly. 

“Fine, fine!” You exclaimed. You sipped from your drink, then responded, “Mainly because she remarried so quickly after Dad died. And to someone only four years older than me. But we’ve never been close. She and I never really saw eye-to-eye. She was the love of my dad’s life and he was just another guy to her. Not to mention, she’s never been remotely interested in anything in my life, she’s always been so self-absorbed. I doubt she even knew I still played volleyball, that’s probably why she didn’t mention it to you.”

Osamu stayed silent as you chugged the remainder of your drink.

“I know it’s probably not comforting, but I’ll be there for ya if ya need me,” Osamu said. “Even if yer mom and I separate, I consider ya a friend now.”

Osamu’s words were oddly comforting. You nodded as you reached for yet another wine cooler. 

“I’m oddly comforted,” you said, popping the top easily. You fiddled with the top, thinking of what to say next.

“Another Falcons score,” Osamu said. “My turn again.”

“Question away,” you said. 

“Can’t think of any,” Osamu said. He yawned.

“Tired already?” You teased, elbowing him in the side. “Old man.”

“I’m twenty-five,” he argued, yawning again. “But I am going to bed. Let’s call a rain check on our game.”

“Deal,” you said, raising your bottle to him. “Might as well go to bed, too. Night, Samu.”

“Night, Y/n,” Osamu said, standing up. He stretched out before padding down the hallway to your mom’s room. 

You sighed loudly once you heard the door click shut. You gulped down your drink. “Good going, Y/n. You finally found a guy you like and he’s your stepdad.”

You finished your drink before gathering all the empty bottles and cans, throwing them in the recycling before walking towards your room. You collapsed onto your unmade bed and passed out before your head hit the pillow. 

“Two salted salmon onigiri,” you said, placing the plate in front of the professional volleyball player. “And onion soup.”

“Go ahead and join them,” Osamu said, placing a few plates on the same table. “I’ll bring you out some umeboshi onigiri.”

“Thanks,” you said. You could barely contain your excitement as you took a seat between Miya Atsumu and Bokuto Koutarou.

“So, yer a setter?” Atsumu asked, taking a bite of his onigiri. You nodded.

“Number two in the nation,” you said.

“She’s better than you were, Tsumu!” Hinata Shoyo exclaimed. You smiled widely.

“In high school, I was ranked number one under nineteen in my second and third years,” you said. “I even got to play in the junior Olympics in high school. We only won silver, though.”

“We’re playing the Olympics this year,” Bokuto said. “And a few of our friends from the Adlers.”

“Kageyama Tobio, Ushijima Wakatoshi, and Hoshimiumi Kourai?” You asked. “I’ve been keeping up with everyone considered for the Olympics.”

“Maybe you’ll be playing in the next Olympics,” Sakusa said. 

“That’s the goal,” you said, smiling. Osamu set a plate in front of you. “Thank you.”

“So our little star setter is here for the next week,” Osamu said, placing a strong hand on your shoulder. “We should play a game while she’s down, see how good she really is.”

“I’m game!” Bokuto exclaimed. “I wanna see those number two in the nation skills!”

“Probably nowhere near the level of you guys,” you said.

“We do have a few years on ya,” Atsumu said, ruffling your hair. 

“Literally only four,” you said, fixing your hair.

“Leave the kid alone, Tsumu,” Osamu said.

“Hey, she’s my niece now, I reserve the right to tease her,” Atsumu said.

“Uncle Tsumu,” you teased.

“That’s right, Uncle Tsumu and Daddy Samu,” Atsumu said. 

Your stomach flipped as the MSBY boys laughed. Osamu looked down at you and winked. You clenched your thighs together.

“All right, quiet down before ya disturb my payin’ guests,” Osamu said. 

“Lunch on Samu-kun!” Hinata exclaimed. Osamu rolled his eyes.

“Once yer finished, I want ya back in the kitchen,” Osamu said. He rubbed your back before walking into the kitchen.

“So, you plan on going professional after university?” Bokuto asked.

You nodded as the table fell into casual conversation.

“I already have offers to go play in France and Brazil,” you said, taking a bite of your onigiri.

“Brazil is fantastic,” Hinata said. “I played there for a while.”

“You liked it? I’ve been debating back and forth between the two. Can’t decide which one I would enjoy more,” you said. “Does Brazil have good food?”

“The best! Unless you’re looking for Japanese food,” Hinata said. “There’s no good Japanese food.”

“Noted,” you said, smiling.

“What are you studying in school?” Sakusa asked.

“Education,” you said. “If volleyball doesn’t work out I want to teach Japanese in another country.”

“Smart,” Sakusa said.

“So, any boyfriends? Girlfriends? Significant others?” Atsumu asked.

You laughed. “With what time?”

“Oh, come on, there has to be someone!” Atsumu exclaimed. “We all find time for a lil’ somethin’.”

“There was a girl,” you admitted. “On my volleyball team, but we both cared more about volleyball than each other.”

“Any crushes?” Bokuto asked. He winked at you and flexed his arms playfully.

You pursed your lips. “And why should I tell you if I do?”

“Because we’re all best friends now!” Hinata shouted, slamming his hand on the table. He ignored the looks from the other customers.

“There is this guy I have my eye on,” you said. “He’s tall, nice, and beefy as hell.”

“Ooo, tell us more,” Bokuto said.

You shook your head. “No use talking about him. He’s strictly off limits.”

“He’s gay,” Atsumu said, nodding his head.

“What?! No!” You laughed. “He’s taken.”

“Ah, university relationships aren’t always serious, you can probably still get him,” Hinata said, waving away your worries.

“He’s married,” you said. The boys all hissed in sympathy.

“Ask for a threesome,” Atsumu said. Your face must’ve shown your disgust because the boys all laughed at you.

“She must be ugly,” Bokuto said.

“We don’t get along the best,” you said. You sighed as you looked down at your empty plate.

“Better get to work before Daddy Samu grounds you,” Atsumu teased.

You rolled your eyes, but stood up. 

“It was nice meeting you guys,” you said. “I hope we can get a game together before I leave.”

“Oh, we definitely will,” Bokuto said.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said, smiling. You waved bye to them as you entered the kitchen.

Osamu was leaned over the stove top, stirring a large pot of soup.

“Have fun?” He asked, wiping sweat off his brow with the towel thrown over his shoulder. You nodded.

“They were all super nice,” you said. “I feel like we’re actually friends now.”

“That’s good,” Osamu said, smiling at you. “Ya wanna start putting together a couple of onigiri?”

“No problem,” you said, washing your hands quickly. 

“We need five salted salmon and three umeboshi,” Osamu said. “And then out to table three.”

“Got it,” you said.

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly and smoothly. It was finally around midnight when the last customers finally left and you and Osamu could close down shop.

“Come into my office and I’ll show you how to count all the money,” Osamu said, locking the main doors. 

You followed him into his small office. 

“Okay, whenever you count the money, make sure the door is closed and locked behind you,” Osamu said, closing the door behind him. 

You held your breath as he slowly slid past you, your chest brushing against his.

“A lil’ cramped in here, sorry,” Osamu said, sitting at his desk.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, sitting in the folding chair next to him.

“So, d’ya have a good day?” Osamu asked, casually thumbing through bills.

You nodded. “It was good! It was nice meeting your friends. I really liked them.”

“Ooo, any of ‘em catch yer eye?” Osamu teased. You rolled your eyes.

“I already have my eye on someone,” you said.

“Oh?” Osamu questioned.

“He’s taken though,” you said. “Strictly off limits.”

“Ask for a threesome,” he said.

You laughed loudly. “Funny, Atsumu said the same thing. But no, I don’t get along with his wife.”

“Wife? That sucks,” he said, placing a wad of cash in an envelope. 

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“Well, I, for one, think yer a catch,” Osamu said, sealing the envelope. “Anyone would be lucky to have ya.”

“Thanks, Samu,” you said, face burning. He patted your thigh.

“Anytime, princess,” Osamu said. You clenched your thighs together at the new nickname. “Well, we’re all done here, let’s get home.”

You trailed after him like a lost puppy as he double checked all the appliances were off and flipping the lights off.

You shivered as you stepped into the cool, night air. 

“Cold?” Osamu asked, already peeling off his Onigiri Miya hoodie.

“Yeah, a little,” you said, gladly taking the hoodie from him. You tugged it over your head and breathed deeply. “Smells good. Half expected it to smell like onigiri.”

“It will soon,” Osamu said, smiling. “It’s new. Just got the shipment in last week.”

“I’ll have to get one,” you said.

“Keep it,” Osamu said. “Ya look cute in it.”

You blushed deeply. You bumped his shoulder with yours gently.

“It’s like, way too big,” you said.

Osamu shrugged. “Oversized is in. Besides, I thought girls loved to steal guys’ hoodies.”

“Yeah, guys they like,” you said.

“Well, ya took it from me,” Osamu said, bumping your shoulder. “Ya must like me a little.”

“Whatever,” you said, cheeks burning. Osamu laughed.

“Someone has a crush!” He sang.

“Shut up! I don’t have a crush on you,” you said.

“Ya did call me hot last night,” he said.

“I was drunk, so it doesn’t count,” you said. He rolled his eyes obnoxiously.

“Ya have a crush on me, just admit it,” Osamu said. “I won’t tell anyone, pinky promise.”

“You’re my stepdad, in case you forgot,” you replied. “That’s basically incest, isn’t it?”

“So ya admit it?” Osamu asked. You shoved him playfully.

“I actually have a crush on Atsumu,” you said. “He’s the hotter twin.”

Osamu pushed you into an alley and caged you against the cool bricks of a building.

“Oh?” Osamu said. “Ya think Atsumu is the hotter twin?”

You nodded slowly as Osamu looked down at you.

“It’s the hair,” you squeaked.

“Oh, yeah, forgot that girls love a guy who doesn’t know what toner is,” Osamu said, leaning down. “I think yer lying.” His nose was nearly touching yours.

“I’m not,” you mumbled. Osamu’s hands moved from either side of your head to your hips. 

“You are,” Osamu whispered, lips brushing against your ear. You shivered.

“And if I am?” You asked.

“I don’t like bad girls,” Osamu said. “Lying is grounds for punishment.”

“Punishment?” You asked.

“I’d bend ya over my knee and spank ya until ya begged for mercy,” he said. You sucked in a sharp breath.

“It’s a good thing I’m not lying, then,” you said. By now, Osamu’s lips were nearly against yours, so close you could feel the heat from his breath on your lips.

Osamu ground his hips against yours, firmly pressing his hard on against you.

You bit your lip and glanced down. His cock was straining against his jeans, eager to be released.

“Tell the truth and I’ll think about not putting ya over my knee,” Osamu said, lips softly brushing against yours. 

“You’re the hotter twin,” you said, putting your arms around his neck. “And I have a crush on you. And I want you to fuck me in this alley.”

“There we go,” Osamu said. He finally kissed you roughly, like he wanted to devour you. You moaned as he ground against you.

“Samu,” you moaned, pulling back. He wasted no time, kissing down your neck, sucking and biting at your sensitive skin.

“Been thinkin’ about pushin’ this lil’ skirt up all day,” he growled, pushing your skirt up around your waist, revealing the pretty pink lace of your underwear. 

“Please,” you gasped as he shoved his jeans and underwear down, releasing his cock. You nearly moaned at the sight of it, long and thick and leaking precum from the swollen tip.

“Gonna wreck this cute little cunt,” Osamu said, tugging your underwear down and letting them fall to the ground. He dragged the tip of his cock through your wet folds, teasing your clit and hole.

“Is- Is that a piercing I feel?” You asked, feeling cool metal against your warm folds.

“I’ll give ya a closer look later,” he said, teasingly pushing the tip in and out of your hole. “Wanna be in ya now.”

“Fill me up, please, Samu,” you begged, digging your fingernails into his skin. Your walls fluttered around nothing as he lifted you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Good girl,” he muttered, lining his cock up with your hole. “Beg for my cock, princess.”

“Please, please, please!” You cried. “Want your cock in me, need it! Please, Samu, want you to fill me up.”

“Of course, baby girl, anything for my princess,” Osamu said, kissing you softly. He rutted his hips up into you, stretching you out suddenly.

You moaned loudly and let your head fall on Osamu's broad shoulder. 

“So big,” you moaned. “Hurts.”

“Shh, shh, yer takin’ me so well, baby,” Osamu said. “Squeezin’ me so tight, wanna bust just bein’ in ya.”

You whimpered as Osamu slowly pulled out. He pushed back in slowly, giving you time to adjust to each inch. Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper until the swollen tip was kissing your cervix.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Gonna ruin ya.” Osamu pulled out until just the tip was in and slammed back into you.

You gasped loudly as his cock breached your cervix, going deeper than anything had ever been in you and stretching you more than anything ever had.

“Samu!” You cried, throwing your head back and digging your nails into the nape of his neck. “Fuck, harder, please!”

“Feel that, baby? I’m so deep in ya,” Osamu said. “Fuckin’ past your cervix, yeah?”

You nodded as you bit back your moans as Osamu pounded into you. You buried your head into his shoulder and bit down, quieting your too loud moans.

“Next time, ‘m gonna have ya somewhere ya can be loud as ya want,” Osamu grunted. “Wanna hear yer pretty, little moans.”

You let out a soft moan in his ear and he snapped his hips up harder into you.

“Ah, Samu,” you moaned, struggling to keep your volume down. “Gonna cum.”

He pinched your clit as you gushed around his cock. You looked down to where your bodies met and watched as your juices leaked down his cock, dripping on his heavy balls. You moaned.

“Gonna fill ya up, baby,” he growled lowly. “Come ‘ere.”

He pulled your head up by your hair and squeezed your cheeks until your mouth fell open, tongue lolling out. He gathered spit in his mouth and spat it on your waiting tongue.

“Don’t swallow,” he said. He kissed you deeply, licking into your mouth and sucking your tongue. He kissed you messily, spit running down your chin and a thin strand of it connecting you two when he finally pulled back. 

“Such a messy, little slut,” he said, slamming his hips against yours. “Taking my spit so well. Gonna take my cum like that?”

You nodded, unable to speak beyond gasps and moans as his cock abused your cunt.

“Can’t speak? Fucked ya dumb, huh?” Osamu asked. He chuckled. “My cock makin’ ya dumb, little baby?”

You whined. God, you wanted him to fill you up so bad. 

“Cum. Inside.” You gasped out.

“Oh? Want me t’ breed ya? Make ya big and swollen with my baby?” Osamu asked, hips moving faster.

You nodded furiously. He rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles.

“Cream ‘round my cock one more time, baby,” he grunted. 

“Samu!” You exclaimed. Your stomach tightened as your walls fluttered like crazy.

“Yeah? Gonna cum again for me?” Osamu asked. You let out a high pitched moan as the coil in your stomach snapped.

“Fill me up, please!” You moaned as you came. Osamu’s hips stuttered as he pushed into you deeply before painting your womb white. You cried out, letting your head rest against his shoulder as he moaned.

“Fuck, yer still so tight around my cock,” he hissed. Your walls fluttered. “Perfect little cunt, princess. Milkin’ me dry like a good girl.”

You whimpered as he slowly pulled out. Your legs went limp, falling from his waist.

“Can’t stand,” you mumbled, legs shaking with the weak attempt you made. Osamu held you up as he pulled his pants back up and pulled your panties back on.

“Come here, baby,” he said, swooping you up bridal style. “Let’s go home, princess.”

You nodded lamely as he carried you. You must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing you heard was Osamu talking to your mother.

“She was practically dead on her feet,” Osamu said. “Fell asleep while I was counting the money.”

“You could’ve called, I would’ve brought the car,” your mom said. You felt Osamu shrug.

“It was no problem,” Osamu said. 

“Well, go lay her down in her bed,” your mom said. “Then maybe she’ll be out for the rest of the night.” You frowned at her suggestive tone and cuddled deeper into Osamu’s chest.

“I’ll go lay her down,” Osamu said. He carried you down the hall and entered your bedroom carefully.

As he laid you down, you grabbed his arm and whined, “Don’t go.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I gotta go to my own bed.”

“Don’t- Don’t fuck her,” you mumbled. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, princess,” he said, softly brushing your hair out of your face. “It’s only you from now on.” You nodded. Osamu kissed your forehead before leaving you alone.

You blinked once, twice, before you were asleep.

[professorthaddeus]

Mother, Father. This will be my final letter.

You know, I used to find the two of you everywhere. I would see the love I betrayed in the faces of families who are whole. I would hear your terrified screams in laughter. I would see your bodies twisted in agony in the flickering of a campfire. I would feel your blood on my hands every time I cast a spell.

I would find you everywhere, and so I held fast to the possibility that I would bring you back.

Today, I relinquished the chance of it ever becoming a reality.

I could have gone back and saved you. It would have worked. There were puzzle pieces in that chamber that I would have clicked into place; there was magic buried in those relics that I would have unlocked and unleashed.

I would have joined the ranks of mages of myth. I could have unraveled everything.

The chamber is nothing but ashes now.

I still find the two of you everywhere. Your dreams for my potential are in the spells I learned from Essek. Your hope for the Empire is in Beauregard’s pen as she fights for our people, stroke by stroke. Your love is in the grin that Veth shines on her son when he fires a toy crossbow at the ass of a local shopkeeper.

I miss you. I love you. I am sorry.

I hope I can still make you proud.

~

Caleb closes that worn, leather-bound book for the last time. Tucks it back beneath his arm, stands, walks to the entryway of his tower. His hand shakes as he reaches for the handle.

Well, you and the Nein got me to the door. Now I have to walk through it.

He takes a deep breath, then takes his first step outside.

He arrives in Blumenthal alone, visits their graves, leaves his letters in the ground.

And he gets to work. But in this, he is not alone.

Beauregard is there, matching every armload of books he carries with two of her own. They spend their days compiling records and narratives, wielding the truth both in court and behind the scenes—children of the Empire leaving their home better than they found it for the children who will come after them, just as they always vowed.

What wasn’t planned is this: a couple times every week, Beauregard drags Caleb out of the library. They teleport to a remote cottage in a location that few are privy to, where Yasha will have started preparing the ingredients for a new recipe from Caduceus. The instructions are often passed through a jumbled chain of Jester’s messages, and there always seem to be a suspicious number of bugs included for supposedly vegetarian dishes, but they make it work all the same. On more than a few occasions, Caleb plays referee while Beauregard and Yasha spar, safe in the knowledge that their attacks are of their own free will and they will never truly harm each other again.

Jester and Fjord spend much of their time on the open sea, but Jester’s voice is never far from Caleb’s ear. She tells him of everything from her newest tattoo victim to an encounter with a dragon turtle with a grudge, from a shanty about dicks she came up with on the fly to an update on a young half-orc girl Fjord has taken under his wing. Every once in a while, Jester will demand a reunion, too. Some of them are out of necessity—such as when Uk’otoa finally comes knocking and Fjord can no longer sail the other away—but many are not. They meet in Nicodranas when the Nein Heroez docks for a pastry run, they meet in Hupperdook for a night packed with drinking contests and celebone sticks and hugs for Kiri, they meet on Rumblecusp when life becomes too much and the nine of them sorely need to fuck off to a vacation. Soon, even Darktow is open to them, once Kingsley has unseated the Plank King and lifted their ban from the island. His reign is long, and it is magnificent. Until he grows bored.

Caduceus joins them for every mandated reunion, but for the most part, he tends to his garden or explores the world on his own. But he is never out of reach, and when he does not come to the rest of them, they go to him. It is not uncommon for Caleb to arrive in the Blooming Grove to see Beauregard already meditating by the pond. Other times, Fjord will be there drinking tea with Caduceus, and the three of them will share a quiet conversation, each far more secure in their words than they’d been over fish and chips all those years ago. Often it is just Caduceus and his parents and siblings, and Caleb will be invited to a family dinner in a home that Ikithon could not burn down.

Veth remains a constant in Caleb’s life. Of course she does. Sometimes, when the two of them are teaching the neighborhood kids how to point a copper wire, or reminiscing over a glass of sherry, or simply talking while she weaves flowers into his hair on the beaches of Nicodranas, he’ll think back to his old fears of losing her to her family and laugh. After all, how could such a thing be possible when he is a part of her family himself?

There are others, too.

Countless students who pass under his tutelage and grow into young mages who know that power should be used to protect, not to manipulate. A cat—well, there are many cats, but there is one in particular that Caleb does not own, a snowy white fey cat who slinks in and out of his classroom as he pleases, whose eyes seem to flash when the Martinet arrives to have a word, who settles into place around Caleb’s shoulders with a purr when the rare nightmare returns.

An unexpected kinship with Yeza, forged at first through mutual respect and an understanding in their love for Veth, but eventually growing into a friendship in its own right. It is one that unfolds in quiet nights by stacks of books, in gleeful debates when comparing notes on magic and alchemy, in exhausted evenings watching over Luc together while Veth takes a girls’ night out to cause some chaos with Jester, Beauregard, and Yasha.

His old friends, who, try as they might, never seem able to sever the threads that have always tangled their fates together. It is Eadwulf who comes around first, with the silent offering of a bottle and a grim smile as he and Caleb crumble the bricks of Vergesson to dust. Astrid takes time. It makes sense—she has always been a fantastic dancer, and for a while, it appears they will be trapped in a precarious political tango forever, stepping around each other in their roles as the Archmage of Civil Influence and a simple teacher who may or may not be practicing treason in his classroom. But in the shadows, Astrid pulls a few strings to keep Caleb out of prison. Caleb hears a rumor and sends the might of the Cobalt Soul after a colleague who wants Astrid dead. And eventually, she begins joining him and Wulf on their evening walks through the streets of Rexxentrum. They return to the dance hall. They get lunch. They share memories, relearn each other’s old scars, and discover that solace can still be found in each other the way it was when they were children. It will always be complicated. It starts to become beautiful.

And of course, floating by Caleb’s side every step of the way is Essek, a drow who has learned to curb his ambition and care for others, who has decided to make his own amends. The former Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, who now spends his days picking up cupcakes for Jester in Uthodurn, planting seeds in the Blooming Grove. Sitting in on Caleb’s lessons with a different face each week, sketching runes into the floor of Caleb’s home amongst scattered papers and spell components, curling up on a couch beside Caleb and begrudgingly getting through Tusk Love because he promised. A traitor, a hero, a lifelong friend. A steadfast love.

So when Caleb Widogast arrives at the final page of his story, he is no longer shrouded in guilt, or grief, or regret. No, he is surrounded by the warmth of his chosen family when he takes his last breath, when time has run its course and he is finally ready to meet his parents again.

(And even before he sees their faces, he knows. He knows he made them proud.)

—————

also on ao3 | my other cr fics

[crackedoutwalnut]

Will you consider writing Diana Prince x Fem!Reader who has anxiety, and she frets endlessly over Diana when she’s away on missions? Diana constantly assures her she’s fine and even jokes it off to seem like missions are no big deal, let alone a threat, to her. But, then, there finally comes an instance where the news or something announces no one/or very few of JL survived some unbelievably dangerous, world saving mission. Reader, of course, believes it and her anxiety takes over from thinking Diana is gone. Basically, I’m asking for angst that ends in a whole lot of comforting fluff! Sorry this if this is long and too much detail!

A/N: Heyyyyy,,,, sorry this took so long. Writer's block is a b*tch to deal with ;/. Hope you still enjoy though!

Word Count: 2k

--

When you first started dating Diana, she quickly grew fond of calling you her "little worrier." You were always flitting and hovering around her before and after a mission. Even after she insisted she felt completely fine, you would drag her into bed and make her rest after a battle. Amazonian or no, your girlfriend still had her limits. You were both yet to see a said limit; however, you were not keen on finding out what it looked like.

Currently, you were pacing a hole in the living room of your shared apartment. Your hands were clenched into fists at your side as you frantically looked between your girlfriend and the window.

"What could Bruce possibly want you for that requires you to be gone for a week?" You asked, running a hand through your hair.

Diana gave you a sympathetic, if a touch amused, look before making her way over to you. She cut your frantic path short by wrapping her arms around your waist. Her nose burrowed into your hair as she squeezed you closer. "My love, I'm not made of porcelain. If I was concerned about my safety, I would make sure to bring extra backup. I promise you this mission will be no different than the rest of them."

You groaned and hid your face in the crook of her neck. "But what if it isn't?" You melded your body impossibly closer to her own as countless gruesome scenarios rattled around your head.

You felt two large calloused hands cup the sides of your face as Diana tilted your face up. Begrudgingly, you complied and met her soft gaze. "My little worrier, I promise I will not take any unnecessary risks. I will be back home before you know it. Okay?"

You sighed and fell into her once more. Your cheek rested against her collarbone, and she traced circles up and down your spine. "Just come back to me in one piece, okay? I like your scars but not enough to add to the collection."

Diana grinned and planted a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. "I promise, my little worrier." The two of you clung to one another for a moment longer before the demigoddess finally pulled away. "I have to leave now, but I will be back before you know it. I promise, my darling."

You huffed and pressed a kiss to her jaw, "You better. After having sex with an Amazonian for two years, it would be nearly impossible to replace you with anyone else."

Diana chuckled and lifted you into your arms. You yelped in surprise and wrapped your legs around her waist as she pulled you into her. Your lips met in a slow, melting kiss. "I will see you soon, darling." With one last lingering look, she left.

--

You were certain they had added new days to the week. It had been three days since Diana had left for her mission with the Justice League, and you felt as if you were about to explode. The confidentiality of the threats that the League faces meant you were left entirely in the dark. No status updates, no calls, not even a damned text was allowed. Time had a funny way of making the complete severing of communication even more painful.

The four days remaining felt like an entire century as you spent most of your time flipping between news stations just in case one of them had something- anything - of use. Sighing, you scrubbed your hands over your face and shut off the TV. It was around three in the morning, and even though you had work in four hours, sleep evaded you. Rest was not an easy thing to come by when Diana was away. The combination of a cold bed and the unknown danger she faced was enough to keep your eyes stapled open.

Still, that didn't mean you couldn't give it a shot. After taking well above the recommended dose of Melatonin, you opted to wear one of Diana's hoodies to bed. The sweatshirt fell down to your lower thigh and wrapped you entirely in the familiar scent of her perfume. A soft smile settled on your face as you buried your face in the collar of her hoodie.

Ironically, Diana had bought the hoodie more for your benefit than anything else. After you complained that all of her clothing was too fancy to steal, the demigoddess went out and bought one. After it started to smell like her, you snatched it from her closet as often as possible. The comfort provided by the well-worn cotton was what finally managed to lull you to sleep nearly an hour later.

--

Hours later, your fitful sleep was abruptly cut off by the feeling of your phone violently vibrating beside you. Groaning, you cracked your eyes open and peered over at the alarm clock. Who the hell was calling at 5:30 in the morning? Cursing, you fumbled for your phone and peered up at the caller ID. Your heart dropped when you saw who it was: Diana.

Your girlfriend only risked calling you while on a mission for one reason; something horrible had happened. Quickly, you slammed your thumb against the accept call button and lifted it to your ear.

"Diana? What's wrong? Did something happen?" You sputtered, sitting up.

"Y/n I don't have much time. I just wanted to let you know that this job might take a bit longer than I originally thought," your girlfriend sounded uncharacteristically rushed. In the background, you heard the sounds of panicked shouting and something gut-wrenchingly similar to gunshots. "Everything will be fine; just stay safe for me. Okay?"

"Diana, what's going on? Is everyone alright? Are you alright?" Your fist clenched the sheets as you kicked the comforter off.

"I don't have time to explain. Just stay safe. I love you." You opened your mouth to protest. However, the call ended before you had a chance. Cursing, you threw your phone to the side and rushed to the living room. Scrambling around in the dark, you finally grasped the TV remote and flicked it on. On the news was a concerned-looking reporter standing behind a battle-torn field. Bodies, both alien and human, were strewn across the ground lying in charred craters with billowing smoke.

"Just hours earlier, a rogue alien fleet attacked a small village just on the coast of western Italy. The Justice League confronted them in a gory battle. Unfortunately, two members, the Flash and Batman, were gravely injured during the fight." You gasped as a video of a bloodied Barry Allen in his now tattered suit was rushed away on a stretcher. Your chest clenched painfully as you paced in front of the television screen. "The location of the rest of the Justice League is unknown at this time."

You blindly slammed your finger against the power button on the remote and chucked it against the couch. Diana was okay. She had to be. How else would she call you if she wasn't? These thoughts did little to soothe your fears as your legs gave out from under you. Your knees collided with the solid wood floorboards as you tried desperately to keep your sobs at bay.

For the first time in your relationship, you had no clue where Diana Prince was. Was she still in Italy? Were the others with her? Had she been kidnapped? Was she okay? The thought had you heaving out wheezy breaths. You had to calm down; you refused to have a panic attack at 5 in the morning. Squeezing your eyes shut, you roughly dragged yourself onto the couch. A clenched fist was pried open as you rested it over your stomach. Breathe. In. Out. Repeat.

After the oxygen returned to your lungs and your vision was no longer blurred with tears, you shakily stood from the couch. Diana would be okay. She had to be. If Diana was okay, you were okay.

--

Nothing was okay. It has been a month since your girlfriend's ominous phone call, and there was neither hint nor mention of her anywhere. It was hell. The whole world mourned the death of the Justice League while you clung desperately to a glimmer of hope that grew dimmer every day. As the idea of Wonder Woman being alive started to diminish, so did you. You had lost quite a bit of weight over the month. Your clothing was smelled of weeks worth of unwashed grime.

Since your work allowed you to work from home while you got your life back together, there was no point in leaving your apartment. For the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to be completely consumed by grief. What else was there to do when the love of your life was either never coming back or lying face up in a ditch somewhere? The process of living was more of a day-to-day chore that you forcibly dragged yourself alongside. Not quite alive, but not nearly dead enough for it to be a relief. You were simply there.

This was still the case when your friends decided to drag you to the mall. After not hearing from you for nearly three weeks straight, they had decided that it was about time to get you out of the apartment. You hardly gave a shit either way. Currently, you were scrubbing dry shampoo into your long-abused scalp. You rubbed your nearly used up deodorant on and decided on which almost clean outfit to wear.

After settling on one of Diana's old hoodies, you threw on some sweatpants. The clothing you stole from your girlfriend had long stopped smelling like her perfume so, you reapplied it yourself. Your phone buzzed with a message from your friend's group chat, letting you know they were outside. With a resigned sigh, you forced yourself out the door.

Nearly three hours later, you finally pried yourself away from your friends. You refused to let them give you a ride home as you opted to take the bus instead. The mall had been agonizing. Every high-end clothing store was like a painful reminder of who you had lost. She seemed to be everywhere these days in billboards, mall food courts, and in crowds. Her memory seemed to follow you like a phantom limb. After nearly falling asleep on the bus, you stumbled up the stairs and into your apartment.

You were nearly halfway to the couch when you heard an odd noise coming from your bedroom. It sounded like... shuffling? Furrowing your brows in confusion, you grabbed the pepper spray Diana had insisted you buy from your bag. Carefully, you crept down the hall. Your heartbeat hammered in your chest as you slowly opened the door.

Time stood still. There, sitting on the bed so casually you could have believed she had been there all along, was Diana Prince. The pepper spray in your hand hit the carpet with a soft thud as you gaped at your girlfriend. She looked up at the sound and nearly leaped to her feet at the sight of you. "Y/n, you're here!" She cleared the space between you in two long strides. Her hands were cupping your cheeks with a familiar sense of love. "When I got home, I saw that you were not here, and I feared that something had happened," Diana explained as she cocooned you in her arms.

At the familiar sensation of her strong arms wrapped around your abdomen, you finally broke. You crumbled into her chest as sobs wracked your body. Your hands grasped at the back of her shirt as your tried desperately to get closer to her. Diana tutted quietly and cradled the back of your head. "You- you were dead," you heaved hysterically. "Ever-Everyone thought you were dea-dead."

Your girlfriend carefully guided the two of you onto the bed. She lounged on her back, allowing you to lie entirely on top of her. Frantic hands clung to her. If you didn't hold on tight enough, she would crumble to sand and dust, like a castle on a beach. Diana ran her hands up and down your back, quietly shushing you whenever you gasped or cried. "Shhh, you're alright, everyone's okay, my love. I'm here now." You felt a gentle kiss being placed onto the crown of your head.

A long beat of silence stretched between you two as your cries died down. "Where were you."

"I will explain everything later. For now, all you need to know is that I'm here. I'm here, and I'm never leaving you again."

[homoose]

Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just— I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’  for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

[softlystarstruck]

✩ softly reading, sep 13 - 19 ✩

hello hello! hope y’all have been having a good week, here’s what i’ve been reading :) short & sweet, pocket-sized, and non-drarry under the cut!

✩ - a fave | 🔥 - hot | purple- reread

spotlight rec

✩(Intimidating) Brave New World by @snarkyships-drarryside [M, comic]

Draco's nervously perusing a sex shop for the first time when he sees a flash of dark hair across the store. He'd know it anywhere, but why is Potter here? And what on earth is in that box he's buying?

why i rec this: this comic is so! endearing! snarky’s art style works SO well to show draco’s flustered nervousness and harry’s confidence. i love the premise and i can definitely imagine where their relationship goes from the ending of the comic 👀

longer reads

✩ A Star Danced by @ladderofyears [E, 65k]

Draco Malfoy has the world as his feet. He's twenty-three, first pick Seeker for Puddlemere United, has brilliant friends and a life he adores. The very last thing Draco wants is an unplanned pregnancy, especially one where the other father just so happens to be Harry Potter. Life, however, has other plans for him.

Colloquy by @dracoladon, @lazywonderlvnd [E, 30k]

Harry's not gay, Malfoy just smells good.

Love Shot by @isamijoo [T, 16k]

Harry and Draco meet on the first day of university. Harry has his eyes on the basketball player, while Draco thinks there's nothing exciting about the volleyball Harry plays. [Quidditch Fest 2021]

Unkisses Kisses and Songs Never Sung by Femme [M, 12k]

I sit silently in the shadows, staring at the tiny, pulsing ball of light that tells me my Harry's still alive. (untagged infidelity)

✩ Third Time’s Not a Charm by @manixzen [E, 10k] 🔥

It’s Draco’s least favourite time of year: the mandatory annual work retreat for employees of the International Quidditch Association. There’s nothing quite like being forced to stay in a remote lodge in the middle of nowhere with your coworkers, especially when there’s one co-worker, in particular, you need to avoid. [H/D Summer Vibes 2021]

short & sweet (< 10k)

Good to Me (And I’d Be So Good To You) by AWickedMemory [G, 8.9k]

Everyone returns to Hogwarts after the war, but nothing is quite the same. Harry's groupies are creepier than ever, Ron and Hermione are snogging all over the place, and the once-proud Draco is shuffling around like a kicked puppy. But that's okay: Harry's got a plan.

Their Shining Star by @ladderofyears [E, 8.5k]

Draco tries to negotiate life after late-stage pregnancy loss.

No, he whispered. Until the answer became yes. by @itsjamethyst [M, 7.2k]

When it's the end we'll meet again. In another time and another place, the clock will reset, and we shall retrace. But for now, if you'd allow, let me make one more wrong turn. Then we can say our goodbyes and take our final bow.

✩ Bitter Beans and Bickering Idiots by donnarafiki [G, 3.7k]

Several years after the war, everything has changed. Harry runs a coffee shop, Draco turned into an overworked student, and old friendships have slowly worn down to loneliness.

That’s Okay ‘Cause So Are You by @lqtraintracks [E, 1.8k] 🔥

Because they’re a couple of dumb, traumatised, super horny teenagers. And also Draco has a thing for Harry’s hands.

✩ Red Roses and Rousing Rumors by dracogotgame [T, 1.4k]

Draco's taste for rose water tea puts him in hot water.

What if… you don’t have to? by @gnarf and @iero0 [T, 1.3k]

Draco Malfoy is pregnant. And Harry's mind is blown.

✩ Every touch a kiss by @malenkayacherepakha [E, 1.1k] 🔥

Nothing affects Harry quite like Draco's hands.

✩ spin something out of nothing by bluedreaming [G, 1k]

In which picnics are had, blankets are woven, and jumper curses do not exist.

pocket-sized (< 1k)

✩(Re)build by Kirani [T, 942]

Draco loves storms. The way they wash everything away to start over, the way they smell on the breeze, the way they can take you by surprise.

non-drarry

✩ Under the moonlight by Tedah [Bill/Fleur, E, 3.6k] 🔥

Bill is no werewolf but the full moon is still A LOT for him to deal with. Luckily his wonderful wife knows how to take care of him.

shine by @onbeinganangel [Ginny/Luna, E, 1.4k]

It’s different now they share a bed. It’s different now they share a life. It’s different now Luna is not in her blue trimmed uniform, wrapped in a brown tatty blanket. Luna is in their bed, in their house, and she wears soft silk nightgowns in pastel colours with thin lace straps.

✩ Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time by @lqtraintracks [Pansy/Ginsy, E, 1.3k] 🔥

Just a couple of horny women at a boring party.

[thewatercolours]

The Waystop Woman: "The Other John"

Previous installments here.

John and Nelia cross paths a fair amount, at least by the standards of Minos’ Palace. Usually they’re ships in the night, but she always nods to him as she passes. John always wears a half mask now, but she recognizes him. Now leaned against a corner corridor, picking scabs from his knuckles while Chastain mutters numbers from a clip board. Now hurrying down a hall with half a dozen other fighters, all dead silent. Now seemingly alone, but glancing about, as if sure he isn’t alone after all.

It’s like watching a creature’s evolution and devolution at the same time. He moults. One day his colourful clothes are gone, and he’s shivering in just his plain shirt and trousers. Then he grows new colours – bruises in green and purple, and gaudy costume pieces. And wings.

The way John moves changes too. At first every twitch is full of fear, every footfall nervous as a deer’s. Then all the energy drains away. Has he surrendered, or is he biding his time? Only a few weeks later, the energy returns, more self assured and with a growing strength. Perhaps it’s from the matches in the arena, or knowing the turf, or just the fact that they let him walk alone more and more. Yet even now she feels he’s keeping his head down, lying low. There’s a caution even in confidence.

Sometimes they talk. By chance, their shoes wear out around the same time. She’s just before him in line at the commissary to get them replaced. At first John is awkward about what to say. “Thank you for saving my life after that overdose,” probably feels like a bit much when you’re standing in a queue. So Nelia asks what he’s there for, and they crack lame jokes about the coincidence of the shoes. He notices that her old ones were worn down at the heel, and explains that he’s about to cut taps for his new shoes out of his old belt to prevent that kind of thing. Would she like it if he fixed her new pair that way too? They go back to the "bar" together. He nails little leather guards to both pairs, and the awkwardness is all gone.

It seems they call him Icarus now. A doomed name. A name for a son who meant so well, but was so far from his father’s side when he fell into the ocean that there was never any hope of diving after him, and pulling his head above water. What a name to go into a fight with.

When Nelia calls him Icarus for the first time, he thinks a moment, then glances away over her shoulder. “I don’t mind if you still want to call me John.”

So she does. They don’t talk often, but when they do, she almost has to be careful not to overuse the name. John, John, John. It’s so good to be saying it regularly again.

It’s pretty silly, if you think about it. This boy doesn’t remotely resemble her son beyond being the right age. Her John was a mountain around the time she lost him, with broad shoulders, and huge hands that could knead enough dough for three loaves at once. This John hasn’t even begun to fill out, and is only a couple of inches taller than Nelia. Her John was the strong, silent type. This John starts off quiet and hesitant, but once she gets him talking, the words are like water from a burst pipe.

She is not going to make this Icarus into a stand-in for her son. No.

But sometimes on the long nights, after poring over her maps and formulae and experiments with samples of the combatants’ potions she’s swiped, it gets hard. For every pawn Nelia advances, Odden seems to capture another rook or knight or bishop – and he doesn’t even know he’s playing. How well would he play if he became aware of the game?

Knowing him, he’d probably flip the board.

So it helps to have the other John in back of her plans, just for morale’s sake, even if the whole thing’s a bit silly. To cross paths here and there with someone in the same situation her own son was in, to call him John and sometimes see hope behind the slight cloud of potion in his eyes, well, it keeps her plotting and preparing. Besides, putting all sentiment aside, having an ally could be useful if her main plan should fail.

Nelia pencils another map section onto her grid.

---

This piece is a respectful spinoff of @goddessoftechnology's "And Icarus Fell."