#and a bookshelf would be nice but not necessary. i have one at my parents house that got water and mold damage like everytging else there

[newfruits]

aaaugguughfg looking at furniture on fb marketplace that i really want but have no way to pick up

[eyreguide]

Storytime for Grownups - a podcast reading of Jane Eyre

I recently received an email from Faith Moore, creator and podcaster of Storytime for Grownups, who is releasing a free podcast audiobook version of Jane Eyre - with commentary to help readers understand some of the out-dated references and words. I just started listening to the show and love Faith's voice for Jane - it's very welcoming and serene. And this seems like something all readers and Jane Eyre fans can enjoy - for the fans it's nice to hear someone read the story with background information, and for any new or young readers this might be a great way to understand the story better as they listen. I asked Faith some questions about her experience reading Jane Eyre and her podcast. Please enjoy the mini-interview below, and listen to her show wherever you find podcasts!

1. What is your "Jane Eyre" origin story?  When/Why did you first read the novel and what were your first impressions?

I think I was around twelve years old when I first read Jane Eyre. It wasn’t at all the kind of book that I normally read at that age. I loved to read, but I struggled with “old fashioned” books. The language always felt inaccessible to me and I could never really get into the classics—I was much more comfortable with The Babysitter’s Club or Matilda. But my family took me to see a stage production of Jane Eyre and I absolutely loved it. I fell immediately in love with Mr. Rochester and could tell—at a visceral level—that this was a great story. So I found a copy of the book on my parents’ bookshelf, pulled it down, and began to read. The things we do for love—love of Mr. Rochester I mean! The language was still really hard for me to understand, the bits of the plot that didn’t involve Mr. Rochester dragged, but it was all worth it for those Jane and Rochester scenes. I read the whole thing and I’ve never looked back. And, over time—and many re-readings—I’ve come to love the book in its entirety. To my mind, it’s a work of genius. 

2. Favorite quote from Jane Eyre (you can pick just the first one that pops into your mind!)

I return to the proposal scene again and again. The ribbon bookmark in my favorite copy of the book (I own four copies) always marks it. 

“Are you in earnest? Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely wish me to be your wife?”

“I do; and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it.”

“Then, sir, I will marry you.”

“Edward—my little wife!”

“Dear Edward!”

“Come to me—come to me entirely now,” said he; and added, in his deepest tone, speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, “Make my happiness—I will make yours.”

3. What made you decide to start Storytime for Grownups and have you podcasted before?

This is my first podcast! The idea for the show came to me because of my own struggles with reading the classics. You’re always being told you ought to read the classics—and you should!—but what if you literally can’t? My first idea was to somehow “translate” the old-fashioned language of classic books into modern English. But I came to feel that too much would be lost—the atmosphere and the characters are built through the language as it’s written. But then I realized that when I was an elementary school teacher, one of my favorite times in the day was storytime. When you read aloud to your students, you pause from time to time to make sure they’re still with you. You define a word, you summarize, you comment on the action. And I thought: I could do that for grownups with the classics! Each season of Storytime for Grownups, I read a book aloud, one chapter per episode. As I read, I pause from time to time to give brief explanations that make it easier to follow along. It’s like an audio book with built-in notes. Season 1 is Jane Eyre!

4. What is the most interesting thing you've learned so far while digging into the background or literary composition of Jane Eyre?

One of my favorite parts of the show is that listeners write in to ask questions about each chapter and I feature one or two questions at the start of each episode. The questions have been amazing and they’ve prompted me to delve really deeply into the text—even more deeply than I ever have before! One really interesting aspect that I’d never really delved very deeply into before is the notion of the supernatural and fairy tales/fairy stories. It’s a huge theme within Jane and Rochester’s relationship and I think it relates in a really fascinating way to Brontë’s exploration of religion and spirituality which flows throughout the entire book. 

Storytime for Grownups - Listen now!

[kumatan0720]

Bb Leo only wants to be included! 🥺

@raven-m-3​ wrote a drabble for this artwork (The Get Along Shirt) on AO3, you can read it here or by clicking below!

It took a village to put Leo Malfoy down for a nap on the weekends.

Hermione would warm the bottle while Draco read Good Night, Little Sea Otter; Draco would tuck Leo in as Hermione dimmed the lights, humming.

As for Lyra and Scorpius— well, they were to play together quietly until the necessary silencing and monitoring charms were in place.

Theoretically.

Draco was tiptoeing towards the door and Hermione was on the last verse of Hickory Dickory Dock when it happened.  

“STOP! ”

“NO FAIR! NO F— ”

Leo shot upright as Draco cursed. “Da?”

Hermione groaned and tore from the room, sprinting towards the noise.

The scene in Scorpius’ room froze her. Scorpius was jumping up and down, screaming as Lyra scaled his bookshelf like a cat. Lyra’s eyes were narrowed in beady determination, her little arm stretching for something at the top— a book.

The shelf swayed, and Hermione’s chest seized. She scrambled for her wand just as Draco arrived with Leo, slamming into her from behind.

Hermione watched her wand fly through air as the shelf began toppling. Draco shouted something, but she could do nothing but stare in helpless horror as Lyra launched off the shelf like a flying squirrel, tackling Scorpius as it crashed to the ground.

There was a groan, and a shuffling. Hermione could hardly breathe as she stumbled forward, scanning Scorpius and Lyra for injuries.  

She had barely disentangled whose blond head was whose when sound erupted again.  

“Look what you —”  

“Youw fault ! ”

They began wrangling over the book.

“Get off !”

“Give it back!”

Hermione’s nostrils flared as she turned to snatch her wand. “Accio .”

The book soared into her hands as Scorpius and Lyra scrambled to their feet, pointing at each other.  

“Mum, she took my—”

“He wouldn’t shawe!”

“—can’t even read it! Last time she tore out half the pages—””

“He never shawes! I even said pwease, but he—”  

“Enough,” Draco boomed behind her.  

There was a ringing silence.

Hermione glared down at them as Draco appeared at her side with slow footsteps. He set a kicking Leo on the floor.

“What have we told you about sharing with your little sister, Scorpius?”

“But Dad, she—”

“No buts."      

Scorpius hung his head. A look of glee crossed Lyra’s face — just quick enough to catch.  

“And what have we told you about respecting your brother’s things, Lyra?” said Draco sharply.

Lyra’s expression soured, and she jutted her lip out.

“You know what?” Hermione glanced at Draco. “I think this calls for the Get Along Shirt.”

Scorpius groaned; Lyra stomped her foot. “Mum—”

“No whinging. This is the third fight of the day. We’ve tried reasoning, we’ve tried negotiating, we’ve tried separating. Nothing has worked.” She muttered a quick Summoning Charm, and a piece of fabric barreled through the doorway and into her hands.

She unfolded it and handed it to Draco, who coughed. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

Hermione set about fixing the broken shelves and summoning the scattered books while Draco wriggled their pouting, protesting children into the Get Along Shirt.

They had Hermione’s parents to thank for it. They’d picked it up at a Muggle shop one weekend while babysitting, and as loathe as Hermione was to admit it, her father had been right.

The thing worked.

Hermione continued to lecture them as she cleaned. “Siblings love each other. Siblings are a team. You’ll need to remember both if you want to get out of the Get Along Shirt.”

Her only replies were Draco’s coughing, and a sound vaguely resembling a hiss from Lyra.

Finally, Hermione finished repairing the book she’d pried out of Leo’s slobbering mouth earlier, and sent it soaring back to the shelf.

“Call me once you’re ready to play nicely together. Until then, you have to sit here quickly and think about what you’ve done.” She tucked her wand into her back pocket, glancing around the room for Leo.

But he was nowhere to be found.

She spun to Draco, but just when she opened her mouth to ask, her eyes dropped to her two grumpy eldest. There was an odd bulge in the Get Along Shirt, situated squarely between them. She followed the shape to the hemline, where two tiny feet were sticking out.

“Leo!” Hermione rushed over and quickly extricated him from the shirt. He let out a delighted squeal as she scooped him up. “Leo, that shirt isn’t for hide and seek!”

Draco’s coughing fit dissolved into full-on laughter.

"It's not funny, Draco!"

He tried to stop himself as Hermione glared daggers at him, which only made him laugh harder. Scorpius sulked while Lyra’s narrowed eyes darted between them, searching for weakness.  

“Don’t make me put you in that shirt, Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione marched out of the room with Leo on her hip, silencing the corridor filled with Draco’s laughter behind her.

[stillwinchester]

for @floral-cas

The first time, Dean gave Cas flowers, it was just a joke.

He saw an old lady on the street with bouquets of daisies. It was a windy day, and she wore only a sweater, and he just thought it would be nice to help her a little. Small bouquets cost three dollars, the big ones five. He took one of them and give the lady ten bucks.

“Keep the rest,” he said, but the lady shook his head.

“No, sweetheart, I can't. But I can make for you a bigger bouquet, just wait a minute.” She took more flowers to added them to the bouquet. “Who's the lucky one?”

Dean scratched his head, thinking about some reliable lie. 

“Umm, I... It's for me, I just like flowers.”

The lady didn't believe him, but she smiled anyway and started talking. She talked a lot, like she missed for company. When Dean walked away, he knew that she sold flowers for years, earlier her wife had helped her; he knew she had an old cat; he knew meds were expensive; and he knew that her names was Jude. 

Dean came back to the car, he had no idea what he was going to do with flowers, he just threw them on the back seat and drove to home.

*

Cas was staring at the bouquet in Dean's hand. Of course, he was staring, it wasn't like Dean brought flowers every day.

“Do you have a date, Dean?” he asked, tilting his head. And maybe it was crazy, but Dean heard disappointment in his voice. But why Cas would be upset because of some stupid date?

“Oh, no, it's for you, actually,” he teased, giving him flowers. Cas hesitated for a moment, but he took the daisies eventually, watching them curiously. Dean wanted to explain it was just a joke, but before he even can open his mouth, Cas smiled shyly (Dean had no idea Cas could smile this way, it was adorable somehow) and smelled flowers.

“Thank you, Dean. It's very nice of you. They're beautiful.”

Dean didn't say anything, just shrugged his arms. He was cool with this, just dudes being dudes.

*

It became their tradition. Every Monday, Dean came back to the bunker with a new bouquet, always different flowers: tulips, daffodils, peonies, violets… 

Of course, he was doing it only because he felt sorry for that old lady… Right?

*

“We were together almost forty years. We were married only for a short moment, she passed away two months after our wedding. But I'm glad that we could finally do this, even if we were old then...” said Jude, showing him pictures of her and her wife. They looked so happy there, Dean knew he won’t ever have something like this, an apple pie life wasn’t for hunters.

“I have a friend, a good friend,” he confessed. “He gets all these flowers... And I think, I like him more than I should.”

“Than you should?” she repeated. “I think you should love whoever you want...”

“It's not that simple.”

“Oh, life isn't simple, boy, but it doesn't mean it's not worth to try.” She smiled to him to get him more courage. Dean for the first time mentioned Cas to her.

“The thing is... He could never feel the same, and I... Even if he does, my father would despise me, I can't do this. I can't like the other man this way.” Maybe John was dead for years, but Dean was still afraid of him to even try to live his own life.

“I see... I and Flora… I was the one, who had doubts. I knew she loved me, and I knew I loved her, but my parents, they would’ve never accepted this relationship. So, we run away.”

Dean realized that for Jude it wasn’t easy for the beginning, and it gave him hope that maybe he could do this too. Maybe it wasn’t too late for him.

“Actually, my father is dead...”

“So what stop you?” she asked politely.

“I don't know.” He shakes his head. “I think I stop myself.”

*

“Mornin' sunshine, it's for you.” Dean took new flowers from behind his back. 

“Sunflowers!” Cas grinned at him, and something shined in his eyes. He looked so happy like he just got some precious item, not just stupid flowers. Dean was surprised, not for the first time, that his angel can be so delighted because of so simple gift.

“Do you like them?”

“Very much... They remind me about Jack.”

“Ouch! Not about me? I gave them to you!” he mocked, and it made that Cas smiled even more. 

“I know, but you're more like lily.”

Dean blinked twice in confusion. Lily? The hell!

“Umm, what? It doesn't sound... good,” he shared with his doubts. Lily was flower for chicks, he should be Venus Flytrap or some other badass shit (why it was Venus, actually? Mars Flytrap sounded better). 

“Why? It symbolizes pure heart, and you, Dean, have it, no doubt.”

“I… Okay.” He didn't feel comfortable, hearing things like this. Fortunately, Cas changes subject. 

“And what about me? Which one am I?”

“I know shit about flowers symbolism,” he chuckled, but after Cas' sad gaze, he rolled his eyes and replied. “Forget-me-not. I think. They're blue like your... Blue is your color, you know, and I... I could never forget you.”

*

It was a shitty Monday, Dean was on the case, bloody vampires!, and he didn't have a time to see with Jude. And no Jude meant no flowers for Cas. Although, he stopped a car near the meadow and picked one flower, now it seemed to be ridiculous, he didn't plan to give it to Cas...

In the kitchen, Cas was waiting for him with a pie and a cup of steaming coffee.

“Oh, God, you're the best,” he said, taking the first sip. “I feel like a dumbass now.”

“What do you mean?” asked Cas, frowning.

“You prepared all of this, and I couldn't afford you flowers.”

“Dean, you're not obligated to do this. It was a nice thing, but it's not necessary. And I know, you were busy.”

It's none excuse, he thought. Cas seemed to be really okay with this, but Dean still weren't. 

“Look, I know it's not the same. But it's the only thing I could find on my way,” he said, pulling a single blue flower from his pocket. “Forget-me-not for unforgettable angel.”

“Oh, Dean, thank you! It's perfect.”

“I don't think so… It's smashed, and… Jeez, Cas, it's so stupid, I can't even give you a proper bouquet, I…”

“Dean,” he interrupted him. “Come with me, I want to show you something.” 

*

Cas took some book from a bookshelf in his room. He opened it and showed Dean what was hidden inside. There were dried flowers from earlier bouquets. One flower for each one.

“Like I said, it was perfect. It's gonna suit to my collection,” he explained. “And, Dean, I won't forget about you either. Never.”

Dean was just staring at Cas, thinking how much this little gesture meant to him, but in the next second, he caught Cas' lip in his own, and kissed him for the first time. He didn't need to wait a long time for a response, Cas hands found the back of his neck, and the angel was kissing him with passion.

Oh my God, he thought. Cas feels the same. Cas feels the same...

They pulled away and stared at each other for a while, breathing hard. 

“Is it why you gave me all that flowers? Like in the movies?” asked Cas, and Dean noded. 

“Yeah... Like in the movies.”

Cas grabbed Dean's hand and brushed it with his lips. He understood him without any words. 

“Me too, Dean.” He kissed his knuckles once again. “Me too.”

*

“This is Cas,” said Dean on the next Monday. “Cas, this is Jude.”

“It's nice to meet you. Dean talked a lot about you,” explained Cas.

“You didn't lie, boy, he really looks like an angel.” Dean's face turned red, and he mumbled something.

“And what do you have today? Roses?” he changed subject. 

“Red ones. Flowers for lovers.”

Dean smirked, of course, that roses were available on the first Monday after he and Cas got hitched.

“So, I think we'll take the biggest bouquet.”

[havertzgalaxy]

Deep Orange - Kai Havertz fanfiction (Chapter One)

A/N: First part of a series I hope to continue. Title is still uncertain for me so this is kind of a place holder. This is a little bit of a dark tale, but I love the idea of Kai in a darker role. If you enjoyed it please give it a like or anything so I know to keep writing! I have a lot more to say about this story :) 

Warnings: Alcohol, drug use, swearing, sexual references 

Summary: Kai Havertz, a rising star in the football world, has just moved to London and he's off to a rocky start. After agreeing to go to a party with one of his old friends from high school, he meets Katrin Hummels, a mysterious, German musician who has lived in the UK for over a decade. Katrin flirts with Kai at this party, and he reveals that he is in a committed relationship. Nevertheless, Kai is heavily intrigued by her and the two quickly become friends. As Kai balances his career and his relationship, Katrin invites him out constantly to parties and clubs, which distract him from his important life goals. Soon, Kai finds himself on a downwards, drunken spiral of addiction and on a collision course with Katrin.

Available here on Tumblr, but here is the link for the fic on wattpad incase anyone prefers to read stories there: https://www.wattpad.com/1094322435-deep-orange-chapter-one 

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

Chapter 1 

Let me start with the night I first met Katrin. Now, it seems odd to even think about a time before Katrin had a poisonous grip on my life, and there really isn’t anything in my life worth reciting before her. It was a quiet week in between matches in the Premier League and I had off for seven days, which was rare. I was invited to an evening out with a friend from high school who was studying in London at the time. Hesitantly, I accepted, but made it clear to myself that this was not a friend I would like to hang out with regularly. I mostly accepted to please my mother who had been pressing me to find friends from my previous life so I would eventually return home. So I called up my mother and told her I was finally meeting Leo Sauer. The most German German I had ever known moved to London. And I was meeting with him. 

I had never thought of Leo as a wild card. He pretty much stuck to the rules. A good German boy got good grades and excelled in athletics, but this German boy had blossomed out of the rulebook. Suddenly Leo was a stoner philosophy student with connections to an underground intelligentsia-creative scene, a world woefully unfamiliar to myself. I have had so few nights out in my life, due to the demands of my rigorous football schedule, but I always accepted that absence in my life as a necessary sacrifice. It was not something I ever thought I would miss as I aged, especially if I had a World Cup in my hands. But my first memories of regret started as I took a cab out to the party. I noticed the way the signs on the businesses had a fading and mesmerizing glow, like there was a specific quality of the night that was turning everything neon forever. The air was orange, then it turned red. I thought to myself how odd it felt to go out to a place where I was specifically going to socialize. 

And these feelings worsened when I arrived at the party. I was way out of my element.  I began contemplating my own death as I walked through the doorway at a frustratingly overpriced two story flat in South London. I wondered what such an eccentric party was doing in a rather lame neighborhood, and why it was heavily decorated with memorabilia from India. As I turned each corner I passed another Ganesh, another Vishnu, Brama, until I was greeted with an overwhelming scent of incense and marijuana. The house was very dimly lit and seemed to be decorated in a frantic rush for a party, with multicolored christmas lights sufficing as lighting in long and dark stretches of the house. In one corner there was a red lamp without a lamp shade that provided an intense source of light that you couldn’t look at for two long. The entire house was pulsating to a dull bass line that rather confused me and as I breathed in the display of punk, artistic, and heavily braided London set, I quickly scanned the room for Leo and immediately joined forces with him, promising to myself that I would not to leave his side for the rest of the night. 

“King Kai!” Leo gasped. He reached out his hand and pulled me in for a hug. “I didn’t think you’d make it, man!” 

I switched to German, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable for the moment in English. “Leo, bro, you look great.” I shuddered at my own words, did I usually sound this stupid? I never have this lack of confidence, what was going on with me? 

“Jasmine, this is my friend Kai.” Leo turned to a beautiful girl sitting beside him. She had her hair fixed behind a vintage bandana and wore large and thick gold hoop earrings. “Kai, this is Jasmine. Her parents usually live with her, but she’s had a free house since last Tuesday. She studies philosophy as well with me at UCL.” 

“Nice one! I’m Kai,” I extended my hand to her, suddenly overly aware of my accent. 

“So great to meet you, Kai. Leo’s been mentioning how he has another friend in London. What are you doing here?” Jasmine revealed a thick London accent, or what I presumed to be one. 

I was puzzled as to why she did not know what I was doing in London, but I responded quickly, “I play with Chelsea Football Club. Sort of recently moved to London, it’s been about three weeks so far.” 

“You’re fucking with me!” Jasmine threw her head back in laughter. 

“No, no. He’s actually totally serious.” Leo replied coldly. 

“Oh no way! That’s wicked, man. I don’t think I ever met anyone on my sixth form’s football team, let alone Chelsea. I don’t give a fuck about football, but I hope your team does well now.” Jasmine cackled some more and Leo cracked open a beer quietly. “I actually don’t think you’re gonna meet anyone at this party who cares about football.” 

Leo looked around and tensed his face awkwardly. 

I smiled and retorted, “I think that’s a good thing!” 

Jasmine darted up from her seat to reconnect with a girl who had arrived apparently called “Therese.” And suddenly Leo and I were momentarily alone. After an awkward silence between us Leo pressed me about my life. I asked him about his, and we spoke on and off about our past life back in Germany. 

For the next thirty minutes, Leo continued to introduce me to a staggering amount of substance-abusing artists, unemployed twenty-two year olds, or trust-funded humanities students. Thinking quickly, I introduced myself as another philosophy student from Germany. I didn’t want to repeat the same conversation I had with Jasmine again. Although they questioned why I couldn’t have a bump of ket or a hit off a joint. After pretending to be someone I was not, I felt nervous. My palms were sweaty and my shirt felt tight. I wondered whether I actually passed off as someone from this corner of society, or if I looked like an outsider. 

“Leo,” I turned to my only friend at this party. “I think I should go before someone takes a picture of this and sends this to my manager. I shouldn’t be at a party with anything illegal.” 

“Kai, if someone takes a picture of you at this party and does something like that they’d never be invited to anything ever again.” Leo explained, “This is a very moral group of people. They’ve certainly had more than enough time to think about their values.” Leo responded with a quick joke. “Just let loose. Tonight might be your last night of this kind of freedom.” 

So I ran across the street with a mask on in an anonymous pursuit of a Best-One and bought as many beers as I possibly could, deciding to get rip-roaring drunk. Something I had not really experienced properly in my life before that night. I returned to hide my beers in a bookshelf upstairs, downed three beers in a row with Leo, and talked to as many people as possible claiming I was this philosophy student of German philosophers. When they tried to talk to me about philosophy I just bullshitted my way through the conversation and we all laughed together. They were too high, I was too drunk. Nothing mattered. None of us were on the same page anyway. The alcohol hit me like a bullet train and I laughed and laughed at the fact that I was finally wasted. Everything felt like a dream. 

In my drunken stupor I could hardly recognize the couch from the floor, although I delicately found the last available place on a couch in the upstairs hallway of the flat. I don’t remember properly reflecting on why there was a couch in a hallway, there just was and I accepted that. Upstairs, the music was slightly softer, and it sounded like it was made years ago and was playing out of an old stereo. Although the upstairs music was struggling to make itself heard over the louder computer-made music coming from downstairs. Deep in my philosophical contemplation over the music, I forgot how my legs and depth perception worked, and I stumbled onto the couch, nearly spilling over my beer onto a girl on my way down. 

“Entschuldig-” I began in German, quickly correcting myself and forgetting how to speak English under the influence, “ah, fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” 

Short dark brown hair, a fading tan, big brown eyes with heavy eye makeup, and slightly crooked teeth turned to me at once declaring back in German, “You’re very drunk.” She locked eyes with me deeply. She was direct. Holy shit. “I don’t think we’ve met.” 

“Wow, you speak German as well?” I held her gaze for moments more before feeling something too intense. “I mean,” I stuttered, “I’m Kai. I just moved here a few weeks back.” 

“I’m Katrin.” She smiled wide and took a long sip of her drink. “Of course I speak German.” 

“Of course you speak German? Not every random stranger speaks German.” I teased, leaning my head back against the wall to stop the room from spinning out of control. 

“I’m not every random stranger.” She smacked her lips and leaned back. She had a low, husky voice. A voice that had clearly been weathered by smoking and yelling. Even if her lifestyle choices were made apparent through her voice there was something about this woman that was puzzling me in a wonderful way. She had long intense stares and big brown eyes that powered them. She spoke sharply and lit a joint. I drunkenly inhaled her smoke. “I think I recognize your face. I think you play for Chelsea.” 

Something inside me broke. I freaked out that she had some kind of power over me, as if she was threatening to blow my cover. She stared deeply at me as my lips fumbled to create a response. I raised my eyebrows in shock. Slowly I slurred a response. “Do you watch football?” 

“Not if I don’t have to.” Katrin laughed, she quickly changed expression and replied. “Sorry, I don’t mean to insult.” 

“Nah, I’m not insulted. I think the majority of the world would agree with me that it’s a sport worth watching.” I retorted fast, feeling my breath hot in my throat suddenly. In the other room I could hear some large bouts of laughter and the music changing at irregular intervals. Someone must have been skipping through songs. 

“Let’s just say you win that argument then.” She cooed. “But I must tell you...I’m only lying.” She giggled, “I didn’t even know what Chelsea was until my friend, Jasmine, told me about an hour ago that another German was here. She told me that you play football here or something. And then she was like, ‘no one's gonna recognize him here’ and I was like, ‘as I German maybe I will, is he famous?’ So we googled you and we were like what the fuck. This dude is famous as shit.” 

“Clearly not that famous.” I gestured around the room to the slew of preoccupied people, but quickly returned my gaze back to Katrin. I was utterly transfixed. Each word out of her mouth weighed heavy on my mind. Was she telling the truth? What was her story? She was a challenging conversation, making me nervous for no reason, “We don’t have to talk about that football shit. We don’t even have to talk in German.” I paused and burped. The room was spinning. I felt myself losing control of my reserve. “Sorry I’m quite drunk.” 

“You’re not the only one.” She smiled and lifted up her small bottle of cheap vodka. 

“I...I don’t usually drink. I’m not really allowed.” 

“Not allowed?” Katrin raised her eyebrows. “Says who?” 

“It’s part of my job. I’m not supposed to be rebellious, I’m supposed to be a role model.” I added nervously. 

“You’d be a much better role model if you broke some rules.” She poured a large amount of vodka into her cup before mixing it with a little bit of soda. “Fuck, you’d be my role model.” 

“You’re a rule breaker? That’s not very German of you.” I took a long swig of my beer after I spoke. She stayed silent so I spoke quickly, “Why are you in London anyway?” 

She put her hands in between her face and wiped her hair back, composing herself. “I was forced to move here from Bavaria when I was twelve. My dad got a job in London and the whole family moved except my older brother who seems to get out of everything. Forced to learn English when I was thirteen, forced to go to university, make my parents proud. Then I dropped out. It wasn’t for me. Now I’m what you call a ‘soundcloud musician.’” She explained, “And I’m also what you’d call a lifeguard for a leisure centre near me.” 

“That’s a lot to unpack.” I let out a loud laugh. 

Katrin did not respond right away to me and this freaked me out. I wondered if I said the wrong thing, maybe I should have responded with some compassion and sympathy. Surely she was looking for a more in depth conversation, something which she might find with the intellectual class around us, I was just merely a guy she struck up conversation with because he almost spilled cold beer all over her. Where did I put the rest of my beers, anyway? 

Before my thoughts spiralled off any further, she spoke again. “You have the most unusual face I’ve ever seen.” She touched my cheek with the tips of her fingers and my skin burned. As she moved her fingers across my face, her eyes flared and her pupils dilated. “Like you weren’t born on this planet.” 

Her words sent shivers down my whole body and penetrated deep into my soul. Why was she touching me? What did she mean by any of this? Do I look ugly to her? I felt awkward by her comments, so I laughed nervously and asked suddenly, “What kind of music do you make?” 

Before she could reply, the song had changed to something I couldn’t quite hear and she shouted out, “You fuckers! Turn this shit off!” She turned to me, grabbed two beer cans in her hands, dangling the joint in between her fingers, and did a dance, “I’m sorry, Kai, I’ve got to go make these idiots turn off my music before everyone with a brain leaves this party... But come to my show on Friday and you can see what kinda music I make.” 

“Where is it?” 

“Islington Assembly Hall. 7pm.” She leaned over, and I watched her lips grow closer to mine before she stopped, and whispered, “I wish I could stay longer and talk. I haven’t met anyone this captivating to me in a while… You’re a troubled soul and I can sense that. And God do I wanna fuck you.” 

Her words had floored me so much I could hardly reply, but I mustered, “Unfortunately I am already spoken for.” 

“That’s a shame. I think we were in love in a past life.” She winked, pulled back her intoxicating scent, walked off with a spring in her step before shouting back, “See you Friday!” 

As she left I felt time moving more slowly for the first time in my life. I felt a sense of impending doom, while simultaneously feeling an inexplicably intense ecstasy. I knew from the moment I met her, Katrin was a ticking time bomb. For the rest of the night I stayed on the couch in the upstairs hallway at a party in a forgotten corner of London, completely transfixed.

[sweeethinny]

@lumos-solemn asked for a continuation of the fic where Harry and Ginny discover they will be parents. - here I wanted to give Ron and Harry a unique moment, because I think they deserve it :) I hope you like it, thanks for the idea <3

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron questioned him, it seemed, tenth time in less than an hour.

They were being tasked with a mission, and if Harry could give his opinion, it was a suicide mission, much more so even than the one they did in 1998. The wizards behind them were not just a gang with more than 50 members, but also with murder techniques that Harry had never seen in his life, if the death of the two aurors was worth anything.

For the first time in six years, he didn't want to go on a mission.

Ginny was pregnant, no one knew yet as they decided to hold on to the information for a while, but that didn't cancel anything. Just today, she woke up putting everything out, and yesterday he had to Apparate almost across town looking for a specific cake that his wife had seen and wanted to.

He couldn't die and leave her alone.

''Ron'' Harry ruffled his hair, sitting at his desk with his face hidden in his hands, a little ashamed of the fear he felt

''Yes, it's my name'' The man laughed, looking at his friend and trying to put the right words in his fear of taking that portkey that would take them to who knows where, and not being able to return to raise his son. He knew what it was like not to have a father around, even though Ginny had 5 siblings (and Harry knew it wouldn't be necessary to ask Mione and Ron to be the child's godparents, because ... please) to be a good example to the baby, it wouldn't be the same. Not even for Teddy, who was more attached to him than ever, using him as a guide for everything. He needed to stay alive.

''Gin is pregnant'' It was quite a confession, he felt a little selfish about wanting to get rid of his skin, but who could judge him? Who wouldn't think of that when they had a child on their way? He could understand the fear Remus had, even if in different ways.

Harry was not giving up on the Aurors, that was still a good job, tiring, but good. However, that mission ... Robard was crazy to think that they were ready to capture the wizards, not even a month had passed since the death of the two aurors - who were absurdly good - and they were again going to the field, without even have a clue as to how they were doing to proceed with the attacks.

'That mission ... '' He denied ''We found out a few weeks ago, we went to a Muggle hospital to see how everything is and to have a little privacy and .. '' Harry felt like an idiot for feeling a UK-sized ball in the throat ''We listened to the baby's heart, Ron. Strong and fast'' He smiled as he remembered the sound and how they both cried for having the confirmation that there really was a life there ''I don't think I've ever heard anything so beautiful. And ... I can't die. Not now'' The best friend was still staring at him, shocked by the news, covering his mouth with his hand as if to prevent stupid questions like ''how did this happen?'' Escaped

''No, you can't'' He got up ''That deserves a fucking firewhiskey''

''We're going on a mission, you idiot'' The redhead walked over to the bookshelf attached to the wall, with the books, prizes, and photos that Harry kept there, as well as the oldest Firewhiskey that had won from Bill a few years ago behind

''We are not. You're staying'' Harry grabbed his glass as soon as Ron brought it in, a little in need of something strong ''Even if we have to break your arm, for Robard to let you stay'' He laughed, feeling a strange deja vu ''But in case you go, because that man doesn’t have an ounce of humanity inside him, I’ll make you come back alive” There were few moments where Ron or Harry were really afraid to go on a mission, today it was one of those ”Harry, fuck, you are going to be a father''

''I'm going'' He spoke proudly, smiling like an idiot ''A bloody Father''

''I'm so happy for you two'' Ron raised his glass ''A toast to the new daddy''

''Did you imagine that one day we would say that? Me being someone's father?'' The man shrugged after the toast, drinking and barely making a face, his cheeks already starting to boil

''Yes. I always hoped you would live ''

"Really?" Even he had no hope for himself.

''Of course. You are my best friend, I didn't want to see you dead ... Does anyone else know?'' He denied

''Gin thinks we need to wait a while, George and Angelina have barely won theirs yet ... these things'' Ron nodded, taking the rest from his glass and smiling like an idiot

''You're going to be a father ... Good luck, Weasleys kids tend to be a little ... eccentric''

''Ron, I know. We flew in a car when we are twelve-fucking-year-old'' His best friend laughed, nodding and looking amused by the memory.

''We even went to duel with Malfoy, and we barely knew how to hold the wand right. Neither is worth remembering.'' Harry laughed together, rubbing his face a little terrified at the idea that the baby could give as much headache as they did to Molly and McGonagall

''I'm going to send McGonagall a nice present for never kicking us out'' They both still smile ''You'll be the goodfather’'

"Hopefully it's not a question" Harry denied, shrugging his shoulders.

''It never was'' And it never would be, really.

''This child needs someone to trust if he wants to run away from his parents to date secretly .. Irresponsible godparents create great wizards'' Harry laughed, looking at the photo he kept on his desk, from his wedding day, Ginny and Hermione smiling at the camera while Ron planted a wet kiss on Harry's cheek just to irritate and make fun of him.

"Do you think Robard will have a minimum of humanity?" Ron grimaced, seeming to think

''I don't know, he looks very dead inside ...''

And the boss didn't care, not even when they invented the greatest excuse of the century, and Harry had to be sent to who knows what part of England (and he was being optimistic because he thought they were still in the country). Before he left, he called Ginny and promised to come back, stating that he would do anything to be as safe as possible. After they were there, Ron kept his word, protecting him in the same way that made him jump into a frozen lake to catch Harry's nearly dead body when they were hunting horcrux. Ensuring that when it was over, he left alive.

Harry was happy that they had chosen him as a godfather, a little more relieved (even if still a little terrified), thinking that if he ever died, his son would be in good hands.

[herondaleholly31]

The Book Swap  Chris Evans X Reader

Overview: You and Chris read your favourite books to each other 

A/N.....It’s been 84 years. No seriously it has been a LONG time since I’ve put something on here, but I’ve been taking a break writing imagines and I am beginning to love writing bigger projects. I’ve had lots of inspiration during lockdown however so those should start to come on here at some point. Thank you for continuing to show love to the rest of my imagines and I hope you like this one. If there’s any requests for both scenarios and people keep sending them to me and I’ll make sure to keep wokring through them :) 

Like and Reblog! 

Word Count: 2400

“Can we eat this in bed?” You jiggle the bowl of steaming pasta as you deliberately shuffle towards the bedroom. Chris looked up through his eyelashes and raised an eyebrow. 

“You want our bed to smell like meatballs?”

“But it will just make all of this perfect.” You pointed to the large windows which were dark and splattered with rain just as a flash of lightning lit up the skyline. Dodger whimpered nervously from his bed and gnawed further into the neck of his lion toy. “Dodger can hang out with us, and we can watch TV in bed and be nice and warm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you Dodger?” You cooed and bent down to rub behind the dog’s ears, holding your food high so he couldn’t eat any of it. Dodger stretched and padded to Chris’ feet. Chris looked at you both and smiled with fake reluctance. “Okay, fine. Come on Bubba,” he picked up his bowl and slowly walked towards the door, making sure not to trip over Dodger’s bounding in delight. 

“Let’s just both promise we’re not going to spill anything,” Chris said jokingly, widening his eyes in a telling expression. 

You rolled your eyes. “It was one hot chocolate.” 

“And now there’s a stain that looks like someone pooed on one of the sheets.” Chris took your bowl and motioned his head for you the get into bed first. You turned on the fairy lights and lamps and dived underneath the puffy white duvet, wrapping it around your legs and hips while shifting it, so it was easy for him to get in too. Dodger sat at the end, his tail thwacking the air out of the duvet, eyes wide and staring at the food with longing. “No Bubba,” Chris warned as he gave you back your meal, “this isn’t for you. I’ve saved you some already.” 

“You made extra meatballs for the dog?” You shook your head in disbelief. Chris shrugged as if to to say of course I would and then gently pushed Dodgers sniffling nose away. You ate in silence watching the TV, the storm growing louder outside. As stomach full, you sank into the pillows, feeling so comfortable you never wanted to leave. Chris left only once to take the bowls away and bring in cups of coffee, but apart from that, he seemed to sink beside you.

“Is it alright If we turn off the TV?” You asked a little while later, “I’m in the mood to read.” 

“Yea, ‘course.” The TV went off, and you leaned over to your bedside table, shuffling further into the pillows as you got yourself comfortable to read. You had only read a few lines when Chris asked what you were reading. 

“A room with a view,” you showed him the cover. 

“Didn’t you read that at Christmas?” 

“Yea, but I was in the mood to reread it. Is that okay?” You jokingly confronted him, leaning closer to him feign intimidation. Chris copied you and gently pushed you on the forehead, so your head moved back. “I never understood the fun about classics.”

“Because they’re amazing stories.” 

“You can’t even understand them.” 

“Only smart people can.” 

“Oh, so are you saying I’m not smart?” 

“I don’t see your degree,” you pointed at your framed degree hung proudly by the bookshelf. 

“You mean the degree that’s next to my THREE shelves of awards?” Chris smiled cheekily as he pointed at the collection of statues glimmering in the soft light. “I don’t see your shelves there?” He laughed when you smacked him playfully with the book, leaning down to kiss you on the shoulder a couple of times. “We know you’re smarter than me.” 

“Thank you.” You moved closer to him, so he stayed propped up near you, breathing steadily as you went back to the story. He kept his head by your shoulder, sighing deliberately, so a gush of breath tickled the loose hairs around your neck. After a few minutes, you instinctively crumpled your ear into your shoulder, whinging at him to stop. 

“Sorry, sorry,” but his tone was edged with mirth. You tried to immerse yourself again, although this time Chris was starting to read lines out, intentionally dotting around the page, so your head began to swim. 

“…Was she was wrong in this, she asked herself, reviewing her conduct for the past week or two…” 

“Chris.”

“…she reflected, feeling rather sinister again, making Minta marry Paul…” 

“Please stop.” 

“….There was always a woman dying of cancer.” He frowned and shook his head. “This sounds so depressing.” You clapped a hand over his mouth, gritting your teeth as you smiled but muttering threats into his ear as he widened his eyes in phantom shock. “I swear you better shut up I’m trying to read.”

 “I love it when you talk dirty,” Chris mumbled behind your hand. 

“Are you going to stop?” You frowned. Chris nodded. Slowly, you pulled your hand away. Chris opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but with a quick “NO,” he closed it again. He halted for a moment, then spoke again. 

“What is it about this book that makes you love it so much?” 

“The writing is beautiful,” you sighed with content, “you don’t have to fully understand what E.M Forster’s saying because you FEEL what he’s saying through his words. He can perfectly describe a feeling which I’ve never been able to put into words. Like here,” you rapidly thumbed through the pages, stopping and jabbing at a line underlined in smudged pencil. “For that reason, knowing what was before them – love and ambition and being wretched alone on dreary places – she often had the feeling, why must they grow up and lose it all?” You shook the book in delight, expecting Chris to be just as excited. When he didn’t, your jaw slacked. “Isn’t that wonderful?” 

‘If you think it’s wonderful, then it must be,’ Chris shrugged. He pointed at the multitude of lines underlined in silver, gently moving underneath your hands to peer at the next few pages. “Why do you underline so much?” 

You bit the side of your cheek in an attempt to not sound embarrassed. “It depends. Sometimes it’s lines that are written really well or things that made me laugh; mostly it’s moments which make me love the book in particular. Like first kisses or when two people are reunited. Like here.’ Flipping the page, you read “‘this is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.’ Forster could’ve just said love is excellent, but this means so much more.”

“Uh, huh.” Chris was pretending to doze off on you, but when you retaliated by starting to shuffle away, he held you back. “Stop moving! you know I like how you pick up on those things.” He held his hand out as an invitation for the book, and when you handed it over, he flipped through the pages, reading the lines you’d memorised for so many years. “Is this how you feel? The way he writes?”

“Maybe not exactly. But I knew exactly what Forster meant by that last line because it made me think of you.” You enjoyed the way Chris’ face softened, the usually prominent bone structure hiding as his cheeks filled with a smile. 

“Maybe I should read it sometime if it means this much to you,” he mused, nodding slowly. “Even if it is all about ladies dying with cancer.” 

“Please do.” You half rolled over, your eyes drying out as you tried to look pleadingly at him. “I would die if you did that for me. I’ll read your favourite book if that persuades you.” You frowned. “I don’t even know what your favourite book is.” 

“Easy,” Chris said “Ferdinand the Bull.” 

“That’s a children’s book.” 

“So?”

“Well, it’s not exactly emotionally challenging.” 

“Hey, I cried at Ferdinand when I was a kid. Mom used to read it to us all the time. Didn’t you have Ferdinand in England?” 

“Probably, but my parents didn’t read loads to me.” 

“Aw man, you gotta read Ferdinand.” Chris swung out of bed, and half walked half skidded out of the room, Dodger tearing after him in excitement. You heard doors opening, lights being flicked on and bound books being dragged against wooden shelves, and then Chris came back down the corridor, turning to pick up the leg of Dodger’s stuffed lion and pulling both toy and dog back through the door. Dodger easily winning the tug of war sat underneath your vanity, chewing on his prize and Chris climbed back into bed, holding a battered picture book in triumph. It was obviously ancient. The red front cover had faded at the spine and at the edges due to sun exposure and a faint green stain which looked like paint coated the bottom. Chris still held it like it was a photo album and as he opened to the first page, he emitted a small gasp in wonder. 

“Oh my God, I haven’t read this in so long! Look, there’s my name.” He pointed at a scribble in the corner of the page, barely eligible. You smiled and nodded, not having the heart to tell him that he could’ve written a swear word and you wouldn’t have been able to tell. “It’s exactly how I remembered it,” Chris spoke fondly, and he adjusted the lamp by his head, so it shone brighter on the pages. “I’ve got to read this to Stella next time I see her,” at the mention of his niece he softened even more, and his expression went slightly gooey. 

“You can read it to me if you want,” you offered.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep reading your book?”

“Nah, I want to see what all the hype is about.” You gently closed A Room With A View and tapped on Chris’s arm, to which he lifted it up so you could lie between the pillow and his side. He shifted himself up so he could read and pushed your head to rest on his collarbone. “Can you see the pictures?” He spoke in a mocking baby voice but didn’t start until you’d stop shuffling and were comfy. Then he began to read, soft and slow at first but a couple of pages in he seemed to forget you were there. His voice started to rise and fall and get more expressive as he told the story of the bull who loved to smell flowers, and he laughed at the spindly drawings. You felt your eyes becoming droopy, and you shook your head to stay awake as he started to stroke your arm with the back of his hand, propping the book upon his knee so he could keep turning the pages. 

“…And for all, I know he is sitting there still, under his favourite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly.” Chris nodded once in satisfaction, and the story was over. Putting the book on the floor, Chris shifted you slightly to rest back into him, smiling. “Did you like it?” 

“I loved it,” you nodded, my head bobbling slightly as it bumped over his collarbone, “I especially loved your animated voice halfway through.”

“Stella insists on giving each person a different voice, even if none of them actually speak. Apparently, it helps her ‘become friends with them.’”

“That’s going to be fun when you start reading her Harry Potter.” 

“Eh, it’s good to practise.” 

“For what?”

“When I get to read it to my own kids.” He laughed at your widened eyes and lips which had now pouted out in surprised, “are you getting a little emotional thinking about me with children?”

“No,” you lied. 

“Sorry, not my kids, OUR kids,” Chris’ eyes twinkled mischievously. You had to turn away then as a wave of motherly instinct you didn’t know was there filled your stomach, and your breath caught momentarily. “With their little curly hair and Boston accents.” 

“I’m going to have to sleep after this.”

“And we can read to them loads and eat spaghetti with them…”

 “you’re really mean, you know that,” you scowled, but you couldn’t help but see these children, running around in your mind in that teetering away all toddlers do on their chubby legs. 

“You know what will be great too?” 

“I swear if what you’re about to say is going to taunt me in my dreams-“

“Disney-world trips.” 

“For God’s sake, Chris!”

“They’ll be so cute though!” 

“Yeah well, now I’m going to dream about that.” You rolled over as if to try and sleep, but Chris rolled with you so now you were spooning, his knuckles continuing to stroke your skin in half soothing, half taunting way. “Our kids will be adorable,” you mumbled as you smiled into your pillow, “and they’ll love Ferdinand.”

 “And I hope they see the world like you do,” Chris peppered a couple of kisses behind your ear and down your neck and then turned off the last light, so the room plunged into darkness. Dodger was finally settled and asleep, and there was a moment of creaking as Chris settled back into the spot he was lying in. For a moment, there were only the sounds of breathing, but you were now wide awake. You felt your mind whirring away, and you didn’t know if you wanted to punch the man next to you or kiss him. 

“Okay so technically,” you spoke into the dark “we don’t want to have kids for a while.” 

“Right.” Chris agreed. 

“But there’s nothing wrong with practising.” You felt the arm around you tense suddenly, and his shadow popped up like an excited dog.

“No!” He cleared his throat. “No, there isn’t at all.”

“You said the Disney comment on purpose didn’t you?” You held a finger out as he leaned forward. Chris shrugged unapologetically and grabbed your arm to pull you on top of him, his chest already rising and falling quickly with anticipation.

“I might have done.” 

“Ooo, maybe I should go sleep in the spare room then,” you teased and started to wriggle off him, but with a low laugh, Chris’ hand moved from your arm to the back of your legs.

 “You’re not going anywhere,” his voice was gravelly as you became lost in each other. 

[citrineghost]

Humans Are Historically Known for Being Terrible

Hi I’m here with an opinion today. Let’s see how many words it will take for me to adequately get it across on this very fine 15th of January

I personally believe canceling things from the past* is fruitless, pointless, and accomplishes about as much as censorship does

*We aren’t talking about shit like nazi Germany, let me elaborate further

So, as I occasionally do, I have seen a post on my dash today criticizing something historical that people are ‘problematically partaking in.’ That thing today was the wellerman sea shanty due to its ties with colonialism, slavery, and so forth. 

I’m not going to dive into this specific example, because I don’t know enough of the details and am not interested in going to find them out because I’m not planning to defend it or its history, so there’s no point. I learned what I needed to know from said callout post and it’s enough to work with.

To me, it is important that we remember that people, in general, have been historically pretty terrible.

There’s colonialism, there’s slavery (of all kinds, including chattel), there’s thievery, murder, genocide, sexism, the murdering of queers. There’s lying, manipulation, propaganda, and so many more things that I couldn’t possibly list them all. I’m not saying that everyone was equally shitty. I am aware that, especially in the most recent couple hundred years, white people, especially Western Europeans and Americans, have been pretty Shite.

Am I excusing them for their actions? Absolutely not. I think it is always important to bear in mind the way they played a part in cultures’ growth, death, and, ultimately, development from one year to the next.

The reason I’m pointing this out is because the result of people being historically shitty is that most, if not all, of our historical content, our history, is steeped in horse manure. 

There is not one thing you can enjoy from centuries - even decades - passed that is not here because of something inhumane, unjust, or otherwise terrible.

The only thing keeping us from canceling every other historical thing that we enjoy is our lack of awareness of how each thing ties into the whole mess.

So, we’ve learned that wellerman was sung by slavers and thieves and colonialists. What about that nice little folk song from uh, idk, Ireland or something? Let’s take this metaphorical song and ask the question, “who wrote it?” The truth is, for many folk songs, we just don’t know. There is a very very good chance that 90+ percent of nice, soft folk songs about lying in the grass or feeding chickens or baking bread for your spouse were written by racists, sexists, abusers, homophobes, and so forth.

Does that make it wrong to enjoy that song about lying in the grass and looking at the stars? I don’t think so. No one is profiting off of you listening to it, regardless of who wrote it. It’s hundreds of years old. Do you even know the name of who wrote it?

Remembering that times were different may not absolve something of its wrongdoing, but it does provide us context.

We have to allow ourselves to admit that most, if not all, historical things, came from or benefitted from atrocities or injustices that we would not stand for today. That’s just how human progression works. Frankly, if people 200 years from now don’t look at US, CURRENTLY, and think we’re terrible assholes, I am actually very concerned by that. 

The nature of humanity is to get better and better over time and to build a world and a society where we don’t feel the need to be controlled by greed or to consume unethically. The problem is, it takes time. It takes lots and lots of time. Would it take less time if certain people weren’t terrible, terrible people? Yes it would. But they are, and so it doesn’t.

The fact is, human progression and improvement will never reach its end because, as things improve, our perception of our past actions will change as well and we will begin to realize that what we were doing wasn’t acceptable and is no longer necessary nor excusable. 

Hate Jeff Bezos? Look around and see that 90% of people still buy from Amazon, because it provides the only affordable source of many products for people who don’t make enough money under capitalism to buy from a small business.

Hate Bill Gates? How many of us are willing to switch to Linux to quit using Microsoft? Speaking of Microsoft, they own Minecraft. Do we stop playing Minecraft?

Think Steve Jobs is a terrible person? Why are people still buying iphones, ipads, and macs? Why don’t we stop buying those so that he and current CEO, Tim Cook, quit making billions of dollars?

These are just a tiny amount of examples, using big names. We also must consider, if you have 100 books on your bookshelf, how many of the writers of those books are racists, homophobes, sexists, or abusers? I guarantee you it’s a non-zero answer. The thing is, an author who’s relatively nobody is not someone who gets canceled. No one knows anything about them but that they wrote a neat work of fiction and it’s a good book.

The question is, should we be expected to quit buying, consuming, and enjoying things made by problematic people?

In some cases, the answer should be yes. If someone is currently profiting massively from people consuming their media or products and people are ignoring their atrocities, that person could end u making millions or billions of dollars despite being terrible, which is something that undoubtedly affects all of us, economically.

In the other cases, the answer should be, do you want to? If you’re not comfortable with something, you should, of course, stop consuming it. If you can ignore the thing, you might not need to bother. And, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re excusing it.

If we look at all of humanity, even in the present day, mathematically speaking, 50% of people are more bigoted and terrible than the rest. There’s no other way for it to be. Less than 50% would be a mathematical fallacy. Does that mean we only consume content from the better 50%? Does that mean we rigorously research producers and creators and their personal lives only to decide it’s not worth the risk of ‘contributing’ because they have no trace online except for a private Facebook account? Is them having a Facebook account enough of a ‘sin’ that it’s not worth it to buy their book?

This brings us to the censorship point

If you know your history, you know that censorship is a nasty thing. When one person decides who or what is unethical to consume from, they sometimes seek to get rid of that thing so that no one has a choice - so that no one is Allowed to consume that thing.

This has led to book burning, the destroying of decades and centuries of research about sexuality and gender. It’s destroyed religious texts. It’s destroyed content created by women that painted any single man in a bad light. It’s destroyed progression.

“But I only want to get rid of the bad thing that everyone agrees is bad!”

It doesn’t matter. If you open the door to censorship for yourself, those who wish to use it for worse reasons will become just as justified, in their own eyes, to do the same. You’ll have Christians saying it’s okay to get rid of gay content because it’s objectively wrong according to the bible. You’ll have conservative parents burning books with complicated topics like abuse and assault because they don’t want their children to have access to anything controversial or complex like that.

You cannot open the door to censorship for one group without opening that door for everyone. And that is why we do not censor things.

The question then becomes, but what of the people consuming that media? Even if it’s not censored, consuming it still makes someone bad, right? 

Not necessarily. People consume problematic stuff all the time - things considered objectively bad. However, people don’t always consume said media because they support it being normalized in the real world. For example, fanfiction or books with rape in them may be something a victim reads to cope with their own past or present. A book with abuse depicted may actually make a young teen aware that what they’re going through is abuse. Content largely seen as ‘problematic’ can often play a part in solving the problem it portrays.

Then there’s historical, problematic media. Now, this is an area where I feel things have actually been OVER complicated.

Because everything historical has some tie to injustice, there is no ethical way to consume it. 

There is no ethical consumption under passed time.

So, how do we judge whether something should or shouldn’t be consumed? It is my opinion that something historical should stop being consumed and become shunned when its meaning is well-known enough and its message is still pervasive enough that it is actively causing problems.

For example, we generally try not to consume content when it is made by someone who is a known nazi. This is because nazis are still a problem in our society, presently. We have antisemitism all over the place. Therefore, we cannot let the message become that it is okay to be a nazi by way of us treating nazis like normal people and allowing them to succeed in society without consequence.

However, there are certain problems that are no longer particularly prevalent or which are agreed to be terrible on a large enough scale that consuming the content does not necessarily imply you believe it is okay. For example, if you look at literally any media from the 1800s or which is placed in the 1800s, you will see a lot of casual sexism and gender roles. Should we despise that time period because sexism was readily available at every turn? Should we refuse to enjoy 19th century fashion or culture because it had problems? I think not. I think it would be pointless to refuse to consume, read about, or otherwise engage with the 19th century. It wouldn’t change the past and it isn’t going to somehow undo the progress we’ve made on women’s rights. 

As a matter of fact, if someone merely suggested that perhaps the people of the 19th century were right for forcing women to wear long dresses and darn socks all day, they would be laughed into oblivion and called a shitty, sexist incel (which would be correct).

Does enjoying media from or placed in the 19th century mean you support sexism? I certainly hope not, since I enjoy it very much and know a lot of progressive people, women especially, who do enjoy that kind of thing. It is common sense enough, at this point in time, that people don’t generally believe that the sexism of the 1800s was acceptable. I am not going to see someone watching a period drama and assume they desire for our present-day social laws to be like what’s portrayed. That would be a ridiculous assumption. However, I could not assume the same about someone I saw watching openly antisemitic content. I would quickly wonder if they’re an antisemite/nazi/white supremacist.

So, what about that one thing I heard had a sordid past?

Listen, if we’re being honest here, most things from history have a sordid past. Sea shanties? You bet. But then when we talk of sea shanties being steeped in colonialism, we have to look at the bigger picture. What about pirates? Pirates were, by and large, a huge contributor to slavery, theft, colonialism, and murder. Does that mean enjoying media with pirates is glorifying or contributing to slavery, theft, colonialism, and murder?

(I’m about to talk a lot about pirates but this can be applied to anything that was historically bad but is no longer prevalent)

Pirates of the Caribbean is only a movie, but pirates did once exist and they did kill people. They did raid ships of merchants and tradesmen and they killed them and stole their goods. They took many good men from their families and even killed working children aboard the ships. Does that make enjoying pirates in media a contributor to these things? No. It doesn’t. We are looking at a dramatised, cleaned up version of the original piracy. I think most people are aware that pirates, in the real world, are bad and harmful and should not be supported. That doesn’t make pirate media any less fun in theory, and under our own terms.

Then we arrive at our perception - because most of this does come down to perception. When you watch pirate media, should you enjoy that, are you able to divorce yourself from their actual history enough to enjoy the media? If you can, you might enjoy it a lot. If you can’t watch a movie about pirates without thinking the entire time about how terrible they were and how much damage they did, then pirate media just isn’t right for you. But, it doesn’t mean you should attempt to take it away from others. Your opinion and perception of pirate media is not the global perception.

I have to ask, do you think others view it the same way you do?

When you read that question, you may be wondering what exactly I mean. What I’m asking is, do you believe others view that media with the same “clarity” that you do? Do you believe they understand the atrocity of real pirates and Feel that the entire time they watch the media and still enjoy it anyway?

Perhaps that’s why your response to someone enjoying something you feel guilty partaking in is, “these people all must not care about the real-world damage pirates did. The fact that they can watch this (despite sitting here and feeling the same things I do) makes me sick.”

However, if that is the case, you must remember that for a lot of people, the awareness of real world consequence is suspended during dramatised depictions of it. It doesn’t mean they have forgotten about the real-world consequences of piracy or that they don’t know it at all. It just means they are choosing not to think about it in that light while consuming media.

There is also the assumption that people must not know about something when partaking in it. You may think, “How can they enjoy this media? They wouldn’t be able to stomach it if they realized what really happened with pirates.”

In many instances, you would be correct. A lot of people are ignorant to what pirates have done in the real world. If you told every ignorant person the truth, maybe 5% of them would then become turned off by pirate media, and the other 95% would keep the truth in mind and then divorce themselves from it to continue enjoying said media.

There are realities that it is safe to divorce yourself from, and there are those that are not.

Is allowing yourself to enjoy dramatizations of pirates making you ignorant to present day conditions? Not largely. There are still pirates today, but not nearly enough for the average Joe to need to take them seriously. Those who need to know about them and do something to stop them are aware.

However, it is not safe to divorce yourself from, for instance, the holocaust. Divorcing yourself from the holocaust and seeing it as merely a dramatic setting with dramatic events and not a present-day real-world problem is exactly the kind of thing that leads to young teens being sucked in by white supremacy and naziism as well as what leads to many average conservatives believing the rise in white supremacy isn’t actually real or is not a big deal. They have distanced themselves so far from the real-world atrocity of the holocaust that they have forgotten it was real and that real people, like them, were contributors. They don’t want to believe that everyday people had any power in it and that it was tiny acts of willful ignorance that made concentration camps so successful. 

All in all, there is a different answer for everything we consume.

Want to know if something you’re consuming is okay to consume? Ask yourself: is this produced by someone who is contributing to present-day conditions? If the answer is yes, quit consuming it. If the answer is no, ask yourself, does this media make me uncomfortable because I’m aware of its roots? If the answer is yes, stop consuming it. If the answer is no, it’s probably fine. You are most likely not doing any damage, so long as you are aware of what is wrong with the content and are not using it as grounds to perpetuate harm. 

If, when thinking about something problematic in an old piece of media, you cringe? You’re on the right track. If you feel inclined to make excuses for it or justify the wrong in it, it’s time to step away and reevaluate why you feel the need to do so. If you’re doing so because you feel guilty for consuming it, you need to realize that it is actually more harmful to make excuses for the wrong in order to justify your consumption than it is to admit, “Yeah, this media is problematic and contains a lot of sexism, but I still enjoy it for its other qualities.” It is better to admit that you enjoy something problematic than to spread the message that what is happening in it is okay.

Some of you may be thinking, “Or, just stop consuming problematic media.”

I think in many cases, especially recent media, where your consumption has an effect on production, this is true. However, for media that is no longer being produced, I will remind you that most things have something wrong with them - yes, even pretty recent stuff.

Supernatural kills off women constantly, queerbaited the fuck out of its viewers, and sent a huge character to fucking mega hell for confessing his love.

Scrubs has no end to its sexism, transphobic and homophobic slur usage, and other problematic content.

V for Vendetta glorifies and shines a heroic light on a character who kidnaps and tortures a woman for what appeared to have been weeks or months so that she would be forced to understand his trauma and “no longer be afraid.”

Star Wars has incest, the producers/directors abused Carrie Fisher and sexualized her as a young teen, and probably a lot more that I’m not aware of because I haven’t seen the movies nor read the books.

I don’t even need to start on shows like Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, Community, That 70s Show, and so many more. Almost every popular piece of media has something worth canceling in it. There is no point trying to curate your media consumption to only unproblematic content, because it simply can’t be done.

Curate where it makes a difference. Sigh heavily the rest of the time. Make yourself aware what and how things are problematic. Put critical thought into how your consumption is capable of supporting or perpetuating a problem and how it is not. Make informed decisions.

Do not feel guilty if you are unable to flawlessly live up to the standards of purity culture. None of us can - not really.

[rotationalsymmetry]

I do stan Marie Kondo though.

I recognize that her approach works best for people who can afford all of what they need and most of what they want; if you can’t just afford to replace a thing you don’t like with a thing you do, the approach doesn’t work so well, and there are potentially some problems with assuming you can just buy whatever you want whenever you need (even for people who can afford the money), especially right now. It is also intrinsically individualistic.

That out of the way though, for people who are within the class bracket she aims at it’s a good approach.

People who have more money than space and more money than time. People who have more stuff (often entire rooms full of stuff) than they need. Because:

Her approach values stuff appropriately. You thank your possessions. You care for the possessions you keep and showcase the possessions you appreciate the most. But you don’t keep stuff just because you feel obligated to — the stuff is there for you, you do not exist for it. (Either extreme is bad: a logical extension of valuing sustainability is taking care of your stuff so you don’t have to replace it as often; but valuing stuff over how well your life is going is backwards. Oddly enough people can fall into both extremes at the same time.)

Her method emphasizes getting in touch with your feelings and desires. This is good. Likewise it emphasized having a vision of how you, personally, want your life to be. This is also good.

A lot of us inherited attitudes toward keeping all the things that made sense in situations of scarcity but don’t make sense any more. It’s necessary to directly confront and challenge those attitudes that make sense in some contexts but not the present context.

A lot of us also inherited attitudes that housework is beneath us, through whatever mix of sexism/classism/whatever. So having some push back against that (for instance, holding up folding clothes as a thing worth doing, and not just a thing that has to be done by someone) is good.

I’ve seen some criticisms that may well hold for distorted/oversimplified understandings of her approach (but every idea can be distorted) but which I don’t think hold for the method as understood correctly. One such critique is the idea that it encourages people to just throw things out and replace them, and therefor is less sustainable. I think this is a distortion. She doesn’t really give examples of people tossing stuff that they need but use infrequently. It’s stuff like clothes that you never wear because you don’t like them. And goodness knows people who have disorganized homes buy duplicates of things they already own all the time. I’ve done that. Who hasn’t? Not being able to find a thing is fundamentally the same as having thrown it out…except it’s still taking up space.

Another critique is the book thing. This is not accurate. Kondo personally doesn’t own a lot of books. But she doesn’t assign people arbitrary maximums either. The person using the method is always in charge of what they keep, and sometimes they end up keeping some extremely arbitrarily things; certainly someone who’s an avid bookworm isn’t going to be giving up cherished books that they love rereading or love just being reminded they exist. On the other hand, I like many people have books I’ve bought but never read on my bookshelf, and sometimes people should be given explicit permission to let those go.

Which gets me back around to one of the main benefits of the method, albeit one that’s underemphasized both in the books and in the TV show: holding onto that mentality when deciding whether to buy something new can really help clarify things. For instance, if I’m considering buying new brush pens, I don’t just think “do I want these?” but also “am I willing to commit to spending time doing a thing that will use them?” Same for books. Not just “am I intrigued?” but also “realistically am I going to read this and when?”

Some people might also think “do I have a good place for this to go”, especially with larger purchases. I’d love a beanbag chair, but I don’t know where I’d put it.

And on the flip side, with things I tend to underbuy (I tend to barely buy enough clothes to keep me covered, and I tend to be at a loss when events requiring nicer clothes come up) I have more confidence in spending money on things knowing that I do in fact need them. (And sometimes am willing to spend more on a higher quality item that will last longer.) Years ago I intended to buy a meditation cushion, when I was meditating regularly, but never did. This past year I finally did it (a bench actually, but same idea) and it’s … appropriate. Sure, I was making do without it before, by sitting on a yoga block instead. (My yoga gear is probably the soundest purchase I’ve ever made. Next to “oh shit my last pair of jeans has a hole in the inner thigh, time to get a new pair right now.”) But it is reasonable for me to have a piece of specialized equipment for a thing that I do every day, and which is designed exactly for that purpose.

Also having encountered the method years ago…I’ve become aware of what sorts of things (mostly art supplies) I will go for years without touching, only to suddenly want them on a moment’s notice years down the line. Useful information. So any time I’m deciding what to keep and what to let go, moving forward, I can do it with that information about myself.

Sometimes people go overboard when getting rid of stuff, and get rid of things they regret later. This is always a risk; change is always a risk. I do think the “spark joy” approach minimizes that risk while still promoting the benefits of a more organized, less cluttered home. There are also risks to not changing, and specifically risks to not dealing with disorganized conglomerations of stuff.

(And in some ways the risks are higher for people with less money. When I have too much stuff I can store it at my parents’. I’m not paying storage fees on stuff that I might never use again. But yeah, it would be nice if Kondo spent some time addressing the issue of “mostly my clients can afford to hire me; let’s talk about tidying up when you can’t afford to buy everything you need.”)

[hideawayintheimaginationworld]

I am Machine Chapter 11

Here's to being human

Taking it for granted

The highs and lows of living

To getting second chances.

Alec was taking a chance.

He had been gone longer than he realised.

He was sitting on a bed they had gotten for him which was in the corner of the room in front of Lefty's bed, he watched Lefty in deep sleep, the lights were off but Alec could see everything, from the current time of 8:27pm on the clock on the desk, the titles of the books on the shelf and even the small writing on the post-it notes that Helpy scattered all over.

The key was hanging on a hook, on the side of the bookshelf, at such a height that only Lefty could grab it, most likely to stop Helpy from grabbing it, Alec huffed, but I need to get it now.

I have a chance.

Alec moved the desk chair, used it as a step, jumped up and reached his hand up.

Not good enough.

He climbed up the back support, slightly unsteady, shaking but he was now able to swipe the key with his paw.

He got on the ground, opening the bedroom door and walking away.

He kept looking around paranoid that Lefty would wake any minute and see the key was missing and instantly connect the dots, as he knew Lefty was intelligent. He didn’t like to think about what would happen, Helpy had more than once told Alec that Lefty had a bad temper and Alec had actually seen him nearly physically attacking Bonnie when he appeared saying: “You hurt a bloody child! If you so much as leave another bruise on him, you’ll pay with your life!!”

This needed to be as quick as possible. No one should see him.

His eyes looked at the Prize Corner, Security was off somewhere else, most likely with the other animatronics, so it was unattended.

He saw a skateboard.

That would do nicely.

It certainly sped things along, Alec was able to use a cardboard box (presumably it was a delivery box) to stand up and reach the lock, he jammed the key in and turned it in a anti-clockwise direction like how he saw Lefty do and the door swung out slightly. He looked behind himself to make sure no one saw him, even if someone like Helpy saw him, he’d immediately go tell Lefty what he was up to, regardless of him being asleep.

He was still for a solid two minutes until he decided it was safe to move.

Once outside Alec pulled the box outside and use it to step up again and relocked the door so Lefty didn’t know he left, even if he noticed he wasn’t in the room, maybe Lefty would reason he's hiding somewhere. He knew he needed to cover his tracks so no one would notice he left.

This was the first time he had been outside in months, because of how dark it was, his eyes had lit up in a green glow so he could see around even with the street light on across the road, the parking lot was empty and it was silent.

It was peaceful. No one in the streets as he managed to use the skateboard and he felt like it significantly reduced the time he was taking to go. Luckily he knew which way he had to go, he did see car headlights occasionally wash over him but it appeared they didn’t care enough to look at him, still he was wary, somebody could steal him and no one would know.

About halfway there, Alec started to wonder if Lefty was still asleep, he had that look often of being very tired even when he just woke up. He also thought about possibly never going back if he was accepted by his family, but he knew that Lefty was still actively searching for a method to swap him back into his body and he really didn’t love the concept of this body being forever. He had seen Lefty reading very complex looking books which Lefty had informed him they were in “Latin”, Alec did at one point studied French years ago in middle school because it was compulsory, he really didn’t see it necessary to learn Latin, which was also offered. He did tell Lefty this and he replied:

“I could teach you some basic Latin if you wish.”

Finally familiar sights entered his vision. He breathed relieved and lend to turn into Rylanders Street.

There was Marcus's house, that was Mr Simon's house across the street, the neighbour Lauren.

His house.

It looked the same. The light was on in the living room and kitchen, he turned to the driveway, and stopped, he dragged the skateboard behind him as he snuck quietly to the kitchen window.

There was his mother.

She was washing dishes in the sink, obviously from dinner. Wait. Somebody else was there.

Aunt Gigi.

It appeared she came over for dinner most likely.

“What do you mean? I don't understand why you keep insisting...” His mother was talking.

“Meg, I’m telling you one last time, something is wrong with Alec.”

“Just because he wants to help out more?”

“Something happened at Hazel's birthday party, he's acting different.”

“I think it’s nice, Alec is being more open with us,” His mother replied as she scrubbed away at a plate that was half submerged in the water.

“And one other thing, me and Alec use to talk frequently, we don't anymore and that’s very strange!”

He didn’t think about that. He could have gone to Aunt Gigi, she was most likely to believe him, believe this happened, his parents wouldn't believe him because there was no real ground to say he was the “Real Alec”, the imposter by this point most likely learnt a lot from conversation and was mimicking Alec perfectly. But if he convinced one person, it would make a big difference.

He wondered where Hazel was. Maybe she'd believe him too if he gave the genuine heart felt apology he wanted to give her, he could sneak in maybe, go into her room and tell her, but entering his house wasn’t going to be easy, everyone seemed to be awake still, and he was certain Freddy wouldn't give up without a fight, while here he was outnumbered by his family, Maybe Lefty could help me get inside the house at some point.

“He’s busy with school work..” He was paying attention to his mother again.

“For months on end?” Aunt Gigi asked, “Something is not right here! I had a dream that Alec was someone else! He was an imposter and the real Alec... well he didn’t look how he should but he was Alec alright!”

“That dream means nothing, maybe you’re just stressed because of everything....” His mother suggested.

“Maybe... But I swear a child doesn't storm off angry and come back like nothing happened, completely new!” Gigi got up from her seat, “Goodnight Meg,”

“Goodnight Gigi,” She replied as she disappeared from view, most likely leaving through the front door.

He pondered for a second, should he go to Gigi and tell her what happened? He could stay with her, maybe through her, he could convince his parents.

No, I shouldn’t, his mind decided. There were far too many risks with that.

He watched Aunt Gigi leave then he looked back into the window.

“Mom?”

Hazel. His heart stopped. She appeared. She was exactly as he remember, curly blond hair and light green eyes. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for feeling hatred to her, he wanted to beg for her forgiveness, he wanted to be the brother she deserved. He knew now there was no good reason why he hated her, he was ready to make it right then and he hoped now, months later, that it wasn’t too late to do so.

“What is it sweetheart?”

“Could me and Alec have some ice cream?”

“Yes of course! You both did well at school recently! It's the first time your brother has gotten a B in a while.. Considering how he muddles things up.”

That should have been suspicious!!! Alec wanted to scream. His hand writing was usually messy and it was quoted by some to be “unreadable”, the teachers knew that!! His parents knew that! Well at lease he thought they did!!

“Hazel?”

He finally appeared.

If Alec could, he would strangle him. He felt engulfed by rage, why did he do this to him? Why did no one see what was wrong here? When he saw “Alec” smiling, he wanted to scream, “Imposter! Imposter! That's not me! That's not me! I'm the real Alec! I can prove it!! I can prove it if you would just listen me! Listen to me for once in your life please! I'm still here! I’m here! He stole my body! He stole my body!! I am Alec! I am!!”

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒄? 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚. 𝑾𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒑𝒂𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓.

He was watching what was going on, his rage was slowly turning into realising he was seeing his worse nightmare.

They love him more.

He slowly dropped down to the ground, he heard their happy laughter, a perfect family. That didn’t include him. He was the reason why the family wasn’t perfect and now he was gone, everything was good in the house.

“I thought they would love me for who I was.... And that’s not me...”

He was alone. More than ever.

On a dead end street, can't go back, can't go forward. Nowhere left to go.

Alone. Alone. Alone. No friends. No family. He was unwanted.

He really was just a Lone Freddy. Tears rolled down his face, nothing would be fixed. Nobody loved him or even cared he was gone. Lonely Freddy won and Alec was now left behind like a distant memory or children’s toy, it made him cry even more.

He now only realised he really did lose everything.

“Alec.”

It took him a minute to realise that was from behind him and not inside the house, he turned around and saw Lefty, he was wearing a cloak to cover himself but Alec saw his glowing yellow eye looking directly down at him.

“I knew you'd be here,” Lefty said, “As soon as I realised you and my key were missing. I knew you came here...”

“You've come here before...” Alec said realising.

“I did, I didn’t want to tell you,”— Alec should have been shocked Lefty just admitted that, but he honestly wasn’t. “I came here while you and Helpy slept about a week ago, found the address and I got curious. They looked happy... I didn’t want to tell you anything... That was wrong I know... I didn’t want to hurt you more than you already are...” Lefty told him.

“They don't love me anymore.”

“Yes they do, Yes they do love you,” Lefty tried to assure him. “They just don't realise that imposter,” Lefty pointed at “Alec” inside, Alec saw that he was making Hazel laugh. She was smiling.

“Isn’t you,” Lefty finished.

Alec felt like he was looking at a life that didn’t belong to him anymore, a life he never had in the first place. Lefty continued talking, “Your family love you, Alec, they only love you, if they ever realised that is not you, they would be heartbroken to learn that you're out there somewhere alone, without them at all, to protect you, to love you... I will make this right, Lonely Freddy will pay for what he did, and you will go home.”

“But what if I can't? What if this is all for nothing? What if there is no way to reverse this? I'll be stuck this way, I'll be a robot forever, and my family will never know. I could never go home...”

His voice chocked up as he tears intensified.

He felt like a child.

He was a child.

A scared, lonely child who just wanted to have his family back.

Lefty had immediately kneeled down and scooped him up, hugging him close.

Alec noticed how soft his fur was, then he recalled a conversation where Lefty explained his fur was super soft as a “sensory” thing for children.

“Even.... Even if we cannot undo this.... I will do everything I can, I'll talk to your family, explain everything... I'll find a way to make it work Alec.... Even if you aren’t human anymore, you still need your family. Your family would want only you...”

“But that's the thing, I'm not human... I'm a robot like you....”

“You have a soul that is a human..... You belong with your family.....” Lefty said.

“I'm out of place here... I just wanted to see them.... I'm alone.”

“But you aren't, I'm here right now and I came to find you out here...”

He was a friend.

He didn’t feel alone anymore.

CRASH!

Alec jumped in fright slightly and began to look around frantically.

“The storm! I forgot!” Lefty exclaimed looking over his shoulder.

“I was starting to think you lied about that to keep me away from here!” Alec exclaimed.

“No I didn't! I wouldn't lie about that!” Lefty answered, “We need to go back to pizzeria now!”

“We might not make it!”

“We have to try!” Lefty stood up, holding Alec close, as he looked around.

“Maybe we can hide in the garage!” Alec suggested.

“Won't we risk getting caught by your parents??” Lefty questioned him.

“I'm just scared we won't get back!”

Lefty thought for a minute, “Would it be locked?”

“I know where Dad hides the key,” Alec immediately answered.

Lefty was quiet again, “If you can get the key quickly, go.” He nodded.

Alec dropped down, they snuck around the side, Alec managed to climb up the back fence and opened the latch on the other side so Lefty could walk in. Alec approached the door to the garage from the back garden, he pointed up and Lefty saw a key hanging on a nail. He pulled it off and used it to unlock the door, they quickly stepped in and Lefty closed the door behind him.

“We have to be quiet, this connected to the house, Dad might look in here if we make too much noise,” Alec warned Lefty, who nodded.

“I suppose we can wait out the storm just as long as your parents or your imposter doesn’t catch us in here,” Lefty answered, “Is this your father’s car?” he asked as he pointing to the car in front of him.

“Mom’s,” Alec corrected.

“I’ve seen this car numerous times when I'm out and about,” Lefty nodded, “Is your mom a nice woman?” He asked not knowing a lot about Alec’s parents aside from their names.

“Yes.”

Lefty rose his eyebrow, “You sounded uncertain.”

“No! It's not like she's hurting me or anything if that's what you're thinking!!! Mom tried to manage my behaviour and I really hated it... She... She and Dad... they didn’t really listen to me most of the time... But she wanted to help me, and she was at the end of her rope as to how.”

“I said before that it would be good to sit down with your parents and talk,” Lefty reminded him.

“I feel like I've done a lot of bad things to them...”

“They love you Alec, they are your mom and dad.”

“I’ve... done so many bad things.”

Lefty argued, “But the future is unwritten and you dictate what path you shall take, Lonely Freddy will never change who he is... but you can change, you chose who you are in the end.”

“What.... What was the worse thing you ever did..? If you don't mind answering... How did it go...?”

“You're asking my biggest regret in life?” Lefty questioned.

“I’m curious... What would you have done that is bad? Surely you aren't perfect....”

Lefty frowned, “This may scare you.... But eight years ago... I hurt somebody on purpose.... I attacked a man in the bathroom, I slammed him against the wall and chocked him until there was no breath left in his body..... The man was hurting his kids... And they begged me to help them. I was so enraged that a father would hurt his own kids... I flipped out and lost my sense of judgement, I should have called the police on him... I nearly killed him Alec..... Somebody found him a couple of minutes after I left, they called an ambulance... He went to prison.... But if they found out what I did... I'd be deactivated. It happened eight years ago... I'm still wary someone will connect it back to me... They said someone attacked him but they didn’t know who....”

“Worse part..? Somehow, even after all these years... There’s a part of me that keeps telling me it was right. It did feel right at the time, like my purpose was actually to rid the world of scum... Alec... I wouldn’t hurt you if you're scared of that!!”

Alec had been told something major, he knew he needed to keep it a secret, “I understand why.... I didn't nearly kill anyone but I acted in anger with my sister... I regret hurting her.”

Lefty frowned, “That.... That actually could be why Lonely Freddy preyed on you....” Alec looked confused at him so Lefty resumed speaking, “Lonely Freddy might have gone after you because of your family relationship. How rocky it was, how emotional you were. Emotion is key to everything,” Lefty had poked his finger at Alec's chest, where the speaker was.

“Monsters often go after kids who are frighten of them, they will not waste their time on kids who won't feed into their hunger for fear. Lonely Freddy very well had already spied on you, saw you were a perfect candidate, a perfect victim to attack, and he waited until you were at your weakest, no witnesses, in a dark room, he entranced you, body swapped and left you in this body... Thankfully you seem to be the only one.”

Lefty looked strangely relieved by that, so Alec kept silent about his time in that bin, he didn’t want to make Lefty freak out, even if it sounded selfish to not tell him about it... about them.

“Speaking of which.... Could you tell me... What happened after you were swapped...? Like feeling wise and at exactly what point you hid from everyone. It could help me.”

“I didn’t realise initially, but then I saw myself in a mirror and realised what happened. It was like a nightmare...”

And we end here with Lefty and Alec hiding out in the garage....

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[pu-stories]

My Son, My Miracle (Ch.1)

Starting information here! Please read it, it will give background information on the characters and explain some of the last names!

A tall man with light brown hair stuck a key inside the small keyhole playing with it for a second before opening the door taking a step in the tranquil place. The man took off his coat and hung it on a clip attached to the wall near the doorway after shutting the door. With a click, it locked and he made his way to a room. The room was quite simple, a desk, a bed, a side table, a few shelves, a dresser, one door leading to a bath and closet, and a bookshelf of knick-knacks and books. The man set a large mailbag on a shelf above the dresser adding his dress shoes between the doorway and dresser with two more pairs of shoes. A relieved sigh left his lips as he rid of the normal button-up shirt and other work clothes.

Now in something more comfortable the same brunette walked to the kitchen with a wistful smile. A pink note with cursive black writing sat abandoned on his counter. With a heavy sigh, he read over the note.

‘Logan, as you can guess it's me R! We have a baking thing Sunday that came up. I need you there, no excuses! See you in two days, sis! Here’s the address- XXXXXXX rd XXXX

-R’

The man known as Logan let a chuckle at his friend, grabbing all things needed to make a small pizza deciding on the Italian dish for dinner.

-Sunday-

Logan arrived at the address staring at the large building labeled ‘Morris Orphanage and Academy’ and dropped his head. He liked baking with his friend, but he didn’t want to deal with a mass amount of screaming, crying, and unsanitary children. With a final heave, he set off to find his short, coffee addicted friend. Past the gate and small courtyard, Logan found his traitorous friend. Starbucks in hand, cuffed ripped jeans, a short-sleeve shirt with bold letters of ‘More Espresso, Less Depresso’, and a leather jacket hanging on by the inside of his elbows. The man’s clothes drastically compared to Logan’s own more formal style. He, himself wore work boots with steel toes, jeans, a tucked-in white button-up, and a messenger bag, this time a black compared to his previous leather one. “Remy, I’m here. Why are we cooking at an orphanage?” Remy leaned on one leg leaning towards Logan, coffee in hand, “Hun, we get to make sweets with the good kids to teach them. No, you can’t leave. You are helping me,” with a clap in between each word on the last sentence.

Even with the half-foot difference, children of all ages could see Remy dragging Logan with an irritated look. Making their way to the kitchen a few kids stood around the room, all but two with an adult or at least an older teen. “Hi! I’m Chloe, I should be cooking with Remy Vasil?” A ten-year-old stood in front of us dragging the other behind her. Remy quickly dragged her off to their own station to create pastries. “I’m Logan Berry, are you by any chance my partner?” I watched the small kid in front of me fiddle with the hems of his sleeves. With a stutter, a nervous voice came from under the hood, “Ah- Y-yes. I’m Virgil S-storm. It’s nice to m-met you, sir.” I nodded and scanned the room for the open area to cook before walking to the section with the tiny presumed boy behind me. “We can make scones, fifty minutes to make on average, and we can make an infinitesimal amount of flavors,” he gives a confused glance and in a slight whispering voice, Virgil speaks again, “Sir. Um, in-infinitesimal means r-really sm-small, not b-big.” My eyes widened and I pulled out my phone to search the word, and sure enough, it does! I give a small smile and a ‘let's start’.

By the end of the evening, I had become attached to Virgil. We made a multitude of scones of an ample of flavors. I think… I wouldn’t mind having some company around the house. Eventually, we had to part ways, leaving me to walk partially with Remy in a pleasing silence. Arriving home I read up about parenting, children, their needs, room decorations, anxiety, and other symptoms he showed for possible depression, trust issues, etc. While balancing work and my own well being the quest bedroom had been completely transformed. Glowing stars filled the ceiling, lilac purple fairy lights lined the walls, the queen size bed covered in fluffy blankets, the walls were painted a dark purplish-blue, a black wooden desk was put under the window with black curtains, a dresser sat in the corner, a small bookshelf neighboring it, and a closet with shirts and hoodies that would be big on the small boy I met, the drawers full of jeans, and PJs. The room had everything Virgil likes, from the clothes, stars, and aesthetics. I hope he’ll like it.

With paperwork in hand, I approached the front desk of the orphanage I was at just a week ago. “Hello, I have all the necessary paperwork to take home Virgil Storm. I talked to the person in charge of a video conference, I believe you should have an email saying I could take him home now?” With a bored look, the woman gave me a glance before speaking over a walkie-talkie and motioning to a nearby bench. The few minutes I waited felt like hours, I went over everything in my head. Take him home, let him adjust, talk it out over sweets, schedule therapy with Emile if possible, use all my vacation time to hang out with him for a while, and set him up for school. Thousands of thoughts ran through my head before a person was calling out my name, “Logan, sir. Mr. Berry.” Virgil. Virgil was pulling on my sleeve with a black trash bag behind him. “Oh! Ah. Sorry, I was lost in thought. Hello again Virgil,” I flash a smile standing up as he plays with the hems of his hoodie. The woman that brought him gave me a strange look, “Good luck with him.” I ignored her and started to walk out of the building trying to get a conversation out of my new…

Son.

[simplythebestbug]

Day 1: Bed Sharing AU (Felinette)

AO3

@auyeahaugust

“So, I was thinking maybe we could head to your place after school today.”

Félix tensed, “Won’t your parents miss you?”

“They might miss you,” Marinette giggled, “Maman always wants to make sure you’re eating properly. But I’m sure they’ll be fine for one day, and I think it would be good to have a change of pace. What do you think?”

He just liked going home with her so much better. It was warm and full of life. He thought maybe if he spent enough time there… 

“Félix?” 

He was fully prepared to say no. He knew she wouldn’t push the issue, would accept his answer, and never bring it up again. She was sweet like that. But then he saw the look on her face- nervous, hopeful. Not even he could say no to those eyes.

“Fé, we don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s not a big deal.”

He sighed, “No, we’ll go to my house.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes were furrowed, concerned. He would never understand why she cared so much.

“Anything for you, Nette,” He said, smiling slightly at her flushed face, “Besides, you’re correct. A change of pace will be nice.”

She grinned so brightly at him, he briefly wondered how he hadn’t been blinded.

He returned to his work, something almost resembling hope welling up in his chest. Marinette brought sunshine everywhere she went. Everything will be fine.

The day passed quickly- too quickly in Félix’s opinion. The thing that almost resembled hope, had slowly evolved into dread. He had almost changed his mind three times now, but everytime he attempted to inform Marinette of this, she just smiled at him like he hung the stars in her sky, and, try as he might, he could not bring himself to disappoint her. He hadn’t had any problems dismissing people before, but Marinette was different. Marinette was always different.

So he put aside the discomfort weighing down his feet, for her. He masked his unease, for her. This will be fine.

It’s not like there was anything wrong with his house, it was just… cold. And Marinette was so very warm. She didn’t belong in such a place. Of course, he was cold as well- no matter how much she would deny it- and she managed to tolerate, even enjoy, his company, so this will be fine.

He knows this will be fine.

This will be fine.

At the end of the day, he gave himself one last chance to back out. She would be disappointed, he knew, but she wouldn’t question it. She’d smile at him with the same understanding she does everyone, and link arms with him, and drag him to the bakery, where her parents would fuss over them to her playful irritation, and his subtle enjoyment. And everything would be warm and happy, for just a little while. But he looked at her, waiting for him, giddy, bouncing on her toes. She saw him. She smiled.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing at his door. It was large and formidable, as was the house. He took a deep breath, sparing Marinette a nervous glance. She smiled obliviously back at him. He opened the door. They stepped inside.

The walls were white and spotless, as they always were, the few spots of sunlight standing in stark contrast. There were steep steps leading to the second story. The floor was hard and wooden. There were no pictures or decorations on the walls, just some sparse furniture and some folded blankets.

The door shut behind them.

Félix shuddered. This place always felt haunted and empty, but with Marinette there… it also felt intrusive. Like it was trying to leech the light away from her. He shouldn’t have brought her here. When he looked around, all he could see was memories. Crying when his parents left. When he realized they wouldn’t be coming back for so very long. When the butler was cold and distant. When his parents finally, finally came back. When they left again, a week later. When they kept leaving. When he was alone in his room at night, and there was no one to look for monsters. When he had to learn how to look for them himself. When he realized he’d had his childhood ripped from his hands. All he could see was tears, pain, and loneliness. 

A hand slipped into his own, squeezing gently.

He looked down at the girl by his side. She looked uneasy, but determined. As if she, too, could see this place’s demons and was ready to hunt them down one by one herself. He almost believed she could, if she put her mind to it. She could do anything.

She looked at him, a steely glint in her eyes, “Where’s your room? We should get to work on homework.”

He nodded, uncomfortable, and led her up the stairs without a word. It was only when they reached his room that he realized she had never let go of his hand. His face warmed, and he tried to pull away from her. It didn’t work. If anything, her grip tightened. He was definitely blushing now. This doesn’t mean anything, he told himself. She’s just a very affectionate person. He knew that. This was just a gesture of comfort- though it was impressive that she was aware of his needing comfort. She had no reason to believe he would be uneasy in his own house. And yet, there they were. Hand in hand.

“Félix?”

He looked at her. She was impassive, masking an unknown emotion. It made him nervous.

“This is your room?”

He swallowed. It was large, and empty. It had a bed, a closet, and a bookshelf with carefully organized books. And nothing else.

“Fé?” She prodded.

“Y-yes. Do you… like it?”

She looked around, then back up at him, “No. No, I don’t.”

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes prickling. This was fine. She didn’t have to like his room. It didn’t mean she didn’t like him, right?

She was waiting for a response.

“I see,” He said, not sure what else to say. Not with the emotions bubbling up like acid in his throat.

“Félix,” she said, “This room isn’t you. This house isn’t you. The only thing I have seen that is you, is that bookcase.”

He bristled, “Marinette, I am a very organized individual and-”

“Organized, yes! Empty and cold? Never! Not once.”

“Some people would disagree with you there.”

She scowled, “And some people can kiss my ass. You and I both know that’s not true.”

He looked away.

“We know that, right, Fé?

“... I am cold, though, Nette.”

She sighed, pulling him over to sit on the bed with her, “Alright, we’re gonna talk.”

“We should do our homework.”

“Fuck homework. Félix, you are not cold. Or empty. You are kind, and protective, and smart, and analytical, and blunt, and snarky, and- and so many other things! You’re amazing! The people who say that you aren’t don’t know you. And this,” she gestured to the room, and by extension, the house, “This is not you.”

He blinked twice, his face hot and flushed. She spoke with such confidence, getting so angry on his behalf. He didn’t deserve that.

“What happened here?” She took a deep breath, steeling herself, “Fé, where are your parents?”

He shifted, staring intently at a spot on the wall, “Not here.”

“Obviously,” She rolled her eyes, “When will they be back?”

“Marinette, I don’t see how this pertains-”

“Félix.” She cut him off with a fiery glare, “When?”

“... December.”

She froze.

“Nette?”

“What did you say?”

He had never seen her this upset. He never wanted to see her this upset.

“Did you say December? As in, four months from now, December?”

“... Yes.”

Silence.

“They also visit in July, and I’ve grown quite used to the solitude. The butler makes sure the place stays clean, and that I am fed. Other than that, he leaves me to my own devices. When my parents visit they seem nice, so truly, Nette, there is nothing to complain about.” He knew how bad that sounded. How bad it was. He just didn’t want her to worry. She didn’t deserve to have to worry.

He felt her arms wrap around him, and tug him close. She squeezed him tightly for a long moment. He didn’t want her to pull away. He dreaded seeing pity in her eyes.

He should have known better. Marinette Dupain-Cheng did not do pity.

She was angry. Furious, in fact.

She took several deep breaths.

“Nette?”

“This,” She practically growled, “This is not a home.”

Félix was silent.

She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath, and stood up, “You said that the butler cooks, right?”

He nodded.

“Give him the night off, then meet me back here. I’m staying the night.”

He blinked, “What?”

“You heard me. We’re gonna have a sleepover. It’s Friday, and I know for a fact you don’t do shit over the weekends, so you can’t get out of it. Now, go give him the night off.”

He stared at her.

“Go!”

And he went, he found the butler in his rooms, he gave him the night off, saying he would handle dinner. He went back to his room.

Marinette was still there, but now she was holding a red and black spotted polaroid camera.

“Where did you get that?”

She blinked up at him, “Get what?”

“The ladybug themed camera.”

“I’ve had this all day.”

“Oh,” He frowned, “I must not have noticed.” 

Strange. He usually noticed things Marinette-related.

“Anyway,” she said, “We’re gonna fix up this room. Make it more you.”

“And how, exactly, are we going to do that?”

“Well, we can’t do it all tonight. Tomorrow, we’re going to go out and buy you some fluffy blankets and fun pillows- don’t give me that look, I saw you pretending to hate them at the store the other day-”

“I was fascinated! Why are they necessary? They sparkle, it’s ridiculous!”

“We’re gonna get you some fun pillows with extra sparkles, and we’re gonna get some paint that you like- probably light blue or gray, knowing you- and we’re gonna paint this room.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “We should at least hire a professional for that.”

“You’ll have more good memories of it if we do it together. If we’re lucky, we might even get into a paint war.”

He took that to mean that they would definitely get into a paint war.

“You’ll stay at my place tomorrow night and most of Sunday to give the paint time to dry, and then I’ll come over on Monday to help you put pictures and posters and things up.”

“Nette, I don’t have any pictures or posters.”

“That’s what this is for, Fé,” She pointed to her camera, “And also, I have a poster I made for you a week back. It was supposed to be for your birthday, but I can make something else. It’s got your favorite quote on it.”

“Nette,” His throat was closing up, “You do not have to do all that. You take on enough as it is.”

She closed the distance between them, putting an arm on his shoulder, “I care about you, Félix. I’m not going to let you keep coming home to somewhere so… devoid of happiness. No wonder you try to spend all your time at my place.”

He frowned, looking away, “I can certainly decrease the amount of time I spend there, I didn’t realize-”

“No, Fé!” She grabbed his face and made him make eye contact with her, “That is not what I meant. You are always welcome at our house. No matter what, ok?”

He blushed slightly, nodding.

She released his face, “Good!” She grabbed the camera, turning it around to get both of them in the shot, “Now, say cheese!”

Click.

She tucked the photo into his breast pocket, and looped the camera around his neck, “You ready?”

“For what?”

“To have fun!” She laughed, and ran out of the room.

He followed her, as he always did. As he would always do.

“Fé, where do keep your sleeping bags?”

“Why?”

“Because you have stairs, so we need one.”

He blinked, “Sorry, why?”

“I’m gonna have a talk with your parents,” she growled under her breath, “Just go get a sleeping bag.”

And he did. He was in a daze- Marinette came up with plans so fast, always rushing about. He still wasn’t used to all that frantic energy. He would get used to it, though. Eventually.

When he got back, she was eyeing the stairs critically, her head tilted, biting her lip in concentration. He loved watching her think.

She turned to him with a grin, “Alright! Step one to a classic sleepover, being very reckless around stairs!”

He blanched, “Marinette, please. You can’t even walk correctly. Do not say you are going to be ‘reckless around stairs.’ If you want to be reckless- you know what, no. Do not be reckless. You are only mortal.”

She grabbed the sleeping bag and stuck out her tongue, “I’m not going to be reckless, Fé. We’re gonna be reckless!”

“Marinette, no!”

“Marinette, yes!” She hissed under her breath, climbing inside the sleeping bag, “Come on, Fé!”

“You still haven’t clarified exactly what it is we are doing.”

She held out her hand, “Do you trust me?”

Of course he did. Which is how he ended up sliding down the stairs at breakneck speed, clinging to Marinette. He wasn’t sure which he was more concentrated on, the Marinette, or the breakneck speed. On one hand, he didn’t wish to die by stairs, on the other hand… she was very warm. And soft.

By their fourth time down the stairs- no, he doesn’t know how she talked him into that- he decided that cuddling clinging to Marinette for dear life was far more important.

“Alright, alright,” she said, clambering out of the sleeping bag, “Next up is making proper use of all this wood floor.”

Félix staggered to his feet, light headed, “What are we doing this time?”

“We’re gonna need fluffy socks.”

“I don’t own fluffy socks,” He said, frowning.

She gaped at him, “You don’t own fluffy socks.”

“No.”

She sighed, shaking her head, “Let me see if I can find some.”

“Nette, you can’t just-” And she was gone.

She returned less than a minute later, muttering about cookies.

He stared at her, or more specifically, the two pairs of ladybug spotted fluffy socks in her hand.

“Fé! I found some!”

He swallowed, “I can see that. Nette, where did you get those?”

“Oh, just around,” she said, waving off the question.

“Those aren’t mine.”

She winked, “Guess I must be good luck, then!” She tossed a pair of socks at him, “Put these on.”

He stared at the socks, befuddled. He knew these weren’t his. Maybe they were the butler’s? He hadn’t known he was a Ladybug fan. Shrugging, he pulled on the socks. 

“Alright, you know what we’re doing right?”

He shook his head. He thought perhaps he should be concerned, considering her last choice of activity.

Before he could think any further, however, she had pushed herself off the wall, and came skidding towards him. On instinct, he caught her, hands sliding to her waist.

“See?” She smiled giddily up at him, “It’s like ice skating!”

“Nette, I am not having you die on my watch.”

She shook her head, laughing, “Come on, Fé,” She grabbed his hand, pulling him with her.

Slowly, Félix got the hang of it, Marinette stumbling alongside him. That doesn’t mean he stopped holding her hand. For stability, of course.

She pushed away from him, towards a wall, sliding down to the ground. She was breathing heavily with laughter, a smile stretched across her face. She looked so happy.

His fingers brushed against the camera, and before he knew what he was doing-

Click.

Marinette glanced up at him, “I knew that would come in handy!”

He looked away, pocketing the picture.

The rest of the night passed quickly, Marinette dragging him through a variety of activities. Microwave s’mores, horror movies (he didn’t care that she clung to him, he didn’t), 2 AM pancakes, hide and seek, a pajama dance party, and more.

By four in the morning, they were dead on their feet, but smiling. Happy. Marinette was happy, trying to stay awake next to him. Félix was happy, with her by his side, dragging her along to his room, picking up the sleeping bag on the way.

“Ok,” he said, “You take the bed, I’ll use this thing.”

“No, Fé,” Marinette whined, “I’m not kicking you out of your bed. Gimme,” She reached for the sleeping bag.

Félix shook his head, “You’re not kicking me out of bed, I’m offering you the bed. It’s different.”

“Not happening,” Marinette said, pouting.

He sighed, “I’m too tired for this.”

“Then let me have the floor!”

“Nope,” He said, promptly picking her up and tossing her on the bed. He turned to set up a place to sleep, but was yanked back by a surprising amount of strength. He yelped, falling onto the bed.

“You’re not taking the floor.”

“Well, you are not taking the floor either, Nette.”

She frowned for a minute, before smiling, “Guess we’re both stuck on the bed, then!”

“Wha- but-”

“No buts!” She said, climbing under the blankets, “Get comfy, Fé, we’ve got a lot of shopping to do tomorrow.”

He shifted uncomfortably, “I don’t know, Nette, I doubt your parents would-”

She sat up, looking him straight in the eye, “Félix, either lay down and get comfortable right now, or let me take the floor. Your choice.”

Swallowing, he lay down stiffly next to her.

“Good,” she smiled at him, “Now get some sleep.”

She snuggled deeper under the covers, and he followed her lead. 

Soon, she was out like a light. Félix however, couldn’t sleep so close to her. How could she look this devastatingly… cute? While sleeping, of all things. He laid there, watching her sleep, for what seemed like ages. He wished she could always be this peaceful. She had so much on her shoulders. He wished he could protect her from all that. Eventually, he drifted off, dreams full of sweet girls allowed to be happy.

When he woke up the next morning, Marinette was tucked in close to his chest, breath grazing his neck, his arms wrapped around her. Without thinking, he pulled her closer, and pressed a sleepy kiss to her forehead. He glanced around his room, not seeing all the bad memories, everything that was. Instead he saw the happiness, and everything that would be.

He smiled. He shouldn’t have been worried about this place being too cold for Marinette. She always managed to make places warmer. And he felt so very, very warm.

He closed his eyes, dozing off once more, with his favorite person in his arms.

He was home.

This could be home.

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Decimal 70.4 The Fawn (Spencer Reid)

Imagine Spencer finding you curled up on the floor between bookshelves at his local library.

Decimal 70.4 The Fawn -- Spencer Reid x genderqueer!reader

Description: Spencer just wanted to grab a few books from his local library on the way home, instead he found a fawn sitting in his favorite spot, reading his favorite books.

Warning: absolutely nothing, its all fluff

Genre: Fluffy fluff with a cute uncomfy boi

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Genderqueer!oc/reader

A/N: not my gif, credit to the creator. This shot was made specifically for an oc, guys, so sorry if you'd rather read an x reader. All of the dewey decimal series is gonna be with an oc, unless I lose inspiration. You'll see the others soon enough.

and awaaaaay we go

Words without A/N: 2031

Masterlist

<—————————————>

He knew he needed sleep, that was obvious. After a week of stress, hunting down a mentally ill redneck with anger issues and one hand, and very little sleep, he knew he should be home, sprawled across his bed with a half-read book on his chest. However, on his way home from finally hitting the ground at the airport, he realized his dire need to find some new books to devour.

However impressive his bookshel(ves)f might be, you could still bet that he'd read every single book twice, thrice, and then some. So, here he was, walking through the front doors of the public library that he frequented. He visited this one so regularly that the Librarian could probably write an biography on him.

Waving at said librarian, (her name is Grahilda, she's a sweetheart) and sharing a few hello's and how are you's, he made his trek towards his very favorite part of the library, hidden under the decimal 70.4. He had memorized the paths so well that his feet took him towards the place he loved so dearly without him even having to command them too, and took him nearly all the way around the corner before he made them stop on a dime.

Mumbling. Soft, warm mumbling. Coming from his spot.

Quietly as he could manage, he leaned around the end of the bookshelf that he hid behind, his bobbly hair bouncing with his head as he peeked. At first he was almost upset, for some of reason. He had no right to be. It wasn't really his spot, technically, but in his very core he felt an odd jealousy of someone sitting there. How dare they take his-but-not-really-his spot.

However, that feeling of unrealistic jealousy was quickly washed away as he layed eyes on the object of his problems.

Sat right in the middle of the floor, cross legged with a pencil in their mouth, was a very intriguing looking person. Though he couldn't quite figure out why they appeared so quizzical to him, he knew he unreasonably enjoyed it.

Brown hair tucked into a turquoise slouch beanie, big, purple and black rimmed glasses were pushed back up their face by a hand hidden in the sleeve of a purple sweater that had to be at least three sized too big. Legs crossed like kindergartners are told to do, with an absolutely monstrous book laid in their lap, one small hand gripping the cover like it might run away at any moment, one curled up by their mouth, pressing the fabric of their sweater against a mouth that mumbled the words that they read. Black skinny jeans leading down to mismatched high top converse (one a checkerboard of green and purple, one grey with sharpied-on red markings), he couldn't help but think that they were absolutely adorable. Around them was a ring of books, some stacked four high, a nest of literature completely encircled their small frame. They couldn't have been more interesting, he decided.

However, one small problem came to his mind as he watched the beanie-clad figure read aloud to themselves. They were sat right in front of the section of books that he needed to get too, and there was absolutely no way he would be able to ask them to move. The thought of just talking to them alone was enough to have his chest contract with anxiety.

Screw you, social anxiety.

He could deal with psychopaths and murderers and monsters all day long, but a cute little fawn sitting in his spot was too much for him? Wow.

Only then realizing how creepy it was for him to be staring at the poor soul like he was, he pulled himself back behind the edge of the shelf again, and ran a soothing hand through his hair. Genuinely debating just leaving, he almost turned around right there and escaped. But, knowing he'd hate himself if he went home without the distraction of a good book, he chose to try and deal with it.

It's just one person, right? They wouldn't bite, c'mon, Reid!

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward around the shelf — only to immediately pull himself back again the second his eyes landed on their small body once more. A dramatic face palm, and a quick breath later, he actually did start to turn away like he initially planned, only to be stopped by the softest, warmest voice he'd swear he'd ever heard.

"Ya know, it's not generally nice to creep around corners like that. Especially not while a guy's busy reading."

However much the being caught made him blush, the sound of the humor in their voice was enough to bring him finally around the corner.

Blushing stupidly, he bashfully glanced at the person, a small, timid smile coming across his face as they grinned encouragingly at him.

"I, uh, sor- sorry, I, uh, I wasn't meaning to stare or, uhm, anything– its just that you're in, well not technically my, but, uh, see I like to thin- no, um, I-I-I-I mean, I uh... I'm just making this worse, I'm sorry, I'll just—" he tripped all over himself, blushing furiously and refusing to look up, only to be cut off by a cute, lilting laugh.

Unsure whether they were laughing at him or not, he quietly glanced up, expecting to see them making fun of him somehow. Instead, what he saw only furthered his flustered-ness. Their eyes were wrinkled up at the edges with their laughter, one small, sleeve covered hand coming up to cover their mouth, the other reached out towards him, its easy to say that he had no idea what to do.

"N-no, no, don't go, you're precious," the fawn giggled wholeheartedly, trying to wrangle down their laughter enough to form proper sentenced. Their compliment only served to make him flush even brighter, he resisted the urge to turn around and leave before his head exploded. Not, uh, literally, obviously.

"S-sorry," they finally calmed down enough to speak semi-normally. "Sorry, its just, your stutter is absolutely adorable, and lookit how flushed you are!" They promptly burst into another set of giggles, which only served to make him even more red.

Once they calmed down once again, there was an odd silence that hung in the air as Spencer took to staring at the ground, whilst the little fawn sitting in his place simply stared at him with a stupidly bright smile on their face.

"Heh," he cleared his throat lightly, unsure where where go next, "uhm, so, uh..." trailing off, he realized he didn't even really know what he was going to say in the first place, and he suddenly wished he had the power to just melt into a puddle and disappear beneath the bookshelves.

The unnamed giggler giggled softly once again, before speaking.

"I'm guessing you're here 'cause you want something in this section?" they assumed, scooting over a bit to make room inside of their nest of books, "well come on over then, lanky."

Smiling encouragingly, they patted the seat beside them, staring up at Spencer. Almost wanting to say no, he finally looked up at them enough to make eye contact, only to immediately agree and have his body start moving towards them without his command. Something about the innocent way they looked at him, the soft smile on their face as their startlingly blue eyes stared into his... He was stepping over the ring of books and sitting awkwardly beside them before he could really figure out what happened.

Oddly enough, though Spencer usually despised holding eye contact with a person for more than a socially necessary amount of time, ("the eyes are the windows to the soul, you know," his mother would always say) he found himself nearly unable to break the contact with their eyes, there was something in them that just mesmerized him. Be it the amused wisdom that hid behind them, or the odd, central heterochromia that shown bright in their stunning iris's, he did not know, and at that very moment, he decided that it didn't really matter, he just liked them in general.

A godawful wheeze came out of Spencer at the thought, and he immediately flushed dramatically again, quickly turning his head away. Stewing in uncomfortable silence again for a moment, they fawn decided to speak up, trying to break the odd spell that had come over the both of them.

"So, Mr. Legs, what's your genre?"

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

Spencer really didn't know where all of the time had gone. One moment, it had been five in the afternoon, and he had been coming into the library to pick up a few (ten) books and leave, and the next it was nearly ten o' clock at night, (Grahilda, upon seeing her two favorite customers both finally looking genuinely happy for a change, had taken pity on the two and had stayed open a few hours later than usual just to let them keep talking, bless her soul) and he was still carrying on the most interesting conversation with the person he had only just met that afternoon.

They had swapped stories, and talked about the things that they enjoyed, and ranted about work (and school, it turned out the fawn was a literary major with a thing for fantasy) and everything in between. He had learned that their name was Milo, and that they were genderqueer and living on their own now, that they had a huge love for anything alien related, and had had a very not-so-nice relationship with their parents before the move. They had learned about his mothers disabilities, about his occasional struggles with work and the escape that he found in reading. For a guy who very rarely spoke all of his thoughts, he found that he had spoken more tonight than he thought he had in weeks, and all simply because of his new comrades smile. He wagered it could melt even the baddest of baddies into blubbering blobs of "awes" and "cutes".

Now, a few hours later, (eleven thirty-seven, to be precise) the two were still amiably chatting away, walking down the road with a pile of books in both of their arms.

"—and that is why I strongly believe that it is a soup, and people are just too stubborn to want to see it!"

For the last several minutes, the fawn had been going on some tangent about how they strongly believed that cereal was, in fact, a soup.

"See, I would agree with you on all of those points, except, what about the mindset? You couldn't possibly eat cereal when in a soup mood, and you would absolutely *never* eat soup whilst in a cereal mood. So, how can they possibly be the same thing if they bring such different emotional responses?" Spencer stubbornly argued.

For nearly an hour more they argued and talked and discussed and gossiped, and, to both's surprise, by the time the midnight bell had begun its ringing, neither of them really wanted to separate. Both doctor and student felt a sad ting as they neared the doors of Milo's apartment building. Standing outside a moment, the two looked for the stars in a sky filled with light, before sadly glancing down. Setting both piles of books down to rest their arms, the duo both found themselves shaking the tired muscle out lightly.

Turning towards each other once again, neither really knowing what to say now that their little adventure had come to its end, they simply stared into the inky blue vastness of each others eyes. For a good few moments they did nothing but stare, before Spencer's eyes flickered down a touch. Knowing he was staring at their lips, the fawn couldn't help but wetten them, unsure what to do next.

They had only just met that evening, though stranger things have happened to newly-met people. Nonetheless, the two took a tentative step forwards at the same time, glancing into each others eyes for a moment more, Spencer finally broke the tension.

"Can, uhm... can I kiss you?" So shy, so timid, how could they not say yes

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Boys & Girls (Sriracha, Part 40.)

Series description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: Family life suited you both and what was better, this time it was going to work out for real.

A/N: And we are officially back in business with ma boi Jim. Also, greatly inspired by Jim Croce since Hopper really loved his music.

Warnings: Weepnig and whining messes on the end of the chapter.

Word count: 4K

Tagging: @nemodoren @missdictatorme @ysljordy @creedslove​ @hopperlover​

Series master list: H E R E

GIF SOURCE

Even if the things were slowly settling down, with you and Jim being definitely in the honeymoon phase again and not being engaged for some unknown reason, it still took some to make all the things right again. You needed to help Jim with making a new ID, you had quite a long scrum with the bank and authorities to even believe that Jim is really and Jim just for him to get a hold on his former conto with the money you both saved over the time. You didn't have access to the money since James was the account holder - but at the end of February, you finally were allowed to use the money and you started to look for a new home - it was incredibly awkward that you both had to live at your parents’ house no matter how many times your ma told you it’s fine.

Jim started to visit a therapist and group therapy sessions in a nearby town and so far, it was doing him justice. He felt better to know some more Vietnam veterans who've been through the same thing he was through - these men had gone through. He called his former colleague Rosario Delgado to ask her about her well being - it was almost ten years since the New York incident and she stopped sending him Christmas postcards. James was trying to get his life together; he wanted to sort everything out after almost twenty years. And he was doing good.

You proceeded to study at the university, still having your old part-time job at the bistro, being there at least three days a week. Jim’s salary of a police officer wasnt bad, not at all, but it still was a downgrade from his Chief salary. It wasn’t that you suddenly were on the edge of poverty, especially with your savings, but you felt the missing money - especially when you were looking for a flat in the downtown. But in the end, you hadn't settled down on a flat; you chose a small house which was still significantly closer to the downtown than the suburban houses.

It was nice - this wasn’t his trail or his cabin where he had already been moved in; this was the first time when you chose, paid, and started to live on a place together. This was the fresh start drawing a flat line behind the Hawkins Lab incident, behind Russia, behind both Vietnam and New York - with endless love, Jim was leaving Sara and Diane behind.

The first few weeks in the house were the best - you hadn't got any TV, any couch, not even a bed or a wardrobe. You had only one mattress on the floor where you were sleeping, a few kitchen appliances, boxed with all of your stuff, and an old gramophone. You couldn't count the running shower which was already there. When you weren't at work or school, you were painting the walls on your own since you didn't exactly have the money to pay a professional painter.

"This is supposed to be a pomelo orange? Are you sure about that? Haven't you took a different bucket on accident?" - Jim yelled at you while you were swabbing a room you decided to have a living room in. You stopped your work and swiped the sweat off your forehead, listening to Jim Croce’s Operator. You unpacked each of James’ Jim Croce vinyl records and moved it into your new place as well, usually listening to Croce while you were working.

James was looking healthier and healthier with each passing month - he gained a few pounds, you couldn't see his ribs anymore, he let his hair grow and his significant ’83 beard was back again. He was looking hot, especially in an unbuttoned shirt and a new Jim Croce shirt you ordered him for his name day - which was more than three months away, but you loved it so much that you couldn't stop yourself.

He was standing there looking at the wall, the orange paint was all over his body, but not on his shirt as he held the paint roller in his palm. Yeah, you could see what he was talking about - it was more peachy than a pomelo, but you liked it nonetheless. - "Maybe it’ll be looking better once it dries up, hm?" - You whispered and hugged him from behind slowly. You were still careful with the touches and freaking him out, but it was undeniable that it got better. Gently, you kissed his shoulder and smiled at the work he had done.

"It looks great Hopper." - You nodded with a grin. He circled his palms around yours and swayed his hips in the rhythm of the song. You did so as well. Slowly, he turned around to face you, smiling down on you. You smiled back, expecting a kiss - only to have the paint rolled all over your face. You closed your eyes and grunted angrily.

"Oh yea, I can see the pomelo color now. I think you were rite. Why don't you have more clothes in this color? It suits you." - Jim grinned before he pressed his face to yours so some of the paint pressed on his skin too.

"This was unnecessary - so now, I will angrily continue the things I was up to before you called out." - You said with fake drama in your voice, being the drama queen you always were. You had already put your arms from his hips, pulling away, when he leaned in for a kiss. You felt the paint on your tongue, which was indeed disgusting.

"It was completely necessary, in my defense, miss Y/L/N." - James yelled at you after a while. You chuckled, yelling back at him why he thinks so, continuing with cleaning up the room. - "Isn't that obvious? My girlfriend now has to take a shower before the paint settles down in her hair and since I have it on my face too, you know that does that mean." - Jim suddenly stood up the doorframe, watching you on the floor trying to clean up the fucking wooden floor.

A burst of unbelieving laughter came out of your lips as you watched him. - "This is a genius move for a dumbass like you, Hopper, I gotta say. But you'll have to play Speedball Tucker if you want to see me undressing." - You stood up and bit your lip, having Jim already walking to the gramophone.

"Why is it that this song does things to you?" - Jim asked and stopped the music to put in Life & Times by Croce. You shrugged your shoulders with a nasty smile, already unbuttoning the first buttons.

"I don't know. Maybe it’s because you hum it all the time? But play me You Don't Mess Around With Jim in the bed and I'll show you things you haven't seen yet." - Your short snort resonated through the living room as you turned around to walk to the bathroom. - "You sure will." - Jim snorted back, already throwing his shirt on the floor.

Eleven was over her heels when she came to visit Hawkins on spring break with Joyce. While Joyce was staying at your mum’s, her sons were at Wheelers’, Eleven was staying at your place in her room - it was also the only room which was finished - she had a bed there, a bookshelf for schoolbooks and comic books, a large table you bought on a flea market with a chair in the pair and you told her that she can have some posters and as many photo frames as she wants to. It still needed small touches, but it also meant one thing. It was a silent promise that soon enough, you'll be a family again.

In the end, you decided to put up some of Sara's photos. You knew it was really important Jim, but you needed to talk him down into it. You loved one of the photos from her kindergarten which you put up in the kitchen. When Joyce saw that you hung the picture up, her eyes teared up as she smiled. It also sparkled a rather interesting conversation between you and James.

"How was it like?" - You asked when you were preparing dinner. Jim was sitting at the improvised table; you still had an empty living room, hall and the master bedroom was consisting of the mattress only. He looked up from a detective novel he was reading, looking up at you.

"What? You mean seducin' you? I'm a piece of cake so you gave in pretty easily." - He grinned, having a smile from ear to ear. It was around five p.m. and Eleven was soon about to come home. Tomorrow, you had a family dinner at Enzo's in the plan - Mike was supposed to come, Aiden and Lena drove from New Orleans in the evening.

"Hold your horses. A) you're wrong because I'm a sex bomb and you were all over the place from me and b) no, I don't mean this... I mean... How was it like to have such a small baby girl?" - You answered from concentrating on having the pepper perfectly cut. Hopper closed the book, holding the page with his fingers. His eyes widened and cheeks filled when he slowly inhaled some air.

"It's somethin' you can't even describe. It's fillin' up to the bottom of your soul, you more than love every second of it. When the child hugs you, you just feel sorta warm next to your heart. You only want them to be safe and happy every day, you'd do every little thin' just to see them smile." - Hopper got out with noticeable pauses - he wasn't good with his words, but you could hear that he means every letter of what he had said.

"That sounds just... Lovely." - You sighed and let's be honest, the smile on your face was freaking James out. He was watching you without looking away. - "What would you say..." - You bit your lip and looked Jim in the eyes. Hopper's eyes widened almost unnoticeable.

"If you'd have a chance to do it again?" - You whispered and at that moment, Eleven entered the house, so panicked Hopper didn't have a chance to answer. Playfully, you rose your eyebrows happily and turned back to the pepper. - "Just think about it, yeah?"

Of course, this was about to come. You were young, your thirties were almost six years away and one day, this question was about to come his way. Kids. You never talked about having kids - you already had one. But not about really settling down to have a real family life. With small kids.

Was James even ready to try it again? Or was he simply too old to raise a kid? Or two of them? Sure, you'll soon be done with university and your parents would help you with every little thing you'd ask them, yet James couldn't forget that this was Hawkins in Indiana. This place was dangerous. Especially for James Hopper.

But you said it out loud. That you want to have kids. Sure, El was your kid, your baby girl and you'd kick ass to anyone who'd try to harm her. But there was an itsy bitsy thing - you didn't give birth to her which could do a lot. You proclaimed her as your rightful kid, you were written down in her birth certificate.

James was out of the world for both the following evening and he was even more stressed out the other day when you were supposed to go to Enzo's.

Your question had pulled some damn switch inside of him; he wasn't able to properly fall asleep the whole night thinking about the kid thingy. The only thing James could say for sure was that if you'd have a girl, she would look like an angel; because you were one. But that wasnt all.

"Are you having nightmares or what's wrong with you?" - You mumbled from somewhere under your blanket. You mostly were doing that during winter and in the early spring - only your head could be seen because your whole body was curled up under the blanket to keep you warm. You moved around a bit before Jim could register your face.

"Should somethin’ be wrong with me?" - James hummed and brought you closer to warm you up. You were as cold as ice. Carefully, you wrapped your leg around his waist, leaving out a long sigh.

"You're turning around all the time and make the mattress move. Something on your mind, Hop?" - You yawned and put your temple on his shoulder, closing your eyes again. You were smiling without realizing; just smelling him and feeling him close was making you happy. And you fell asleep again almost immediately.

Jim wanted to ask you to marry him on the family, this time, he made sure he adhered to the traditions - first, earlier that day when he was dropping El at your parents’ house before she was supposed to see Mike, he talked with your father. Both he and Molly couldn't understand why did he cancel the engagement in the first place, just to ask them.

He did the best to tell them that he's now trying to turn his life around, starting from a literal zero - he contacted his old colleagues like Rosario and Vietnam comrades, he said goodbye to Sara, bought the house with you and renovated it. James just wanted a new life and he wanted to start it in the right way with you by his side. That was what made your dad give him his blessing.

On top of that, you were controlling how much did he smoke and how much Tuinal did he take - it wasn’t meant in a bad way and James knew that - he was just fucking grateful that you took the role of his guardian angel. You couldn't be described any other way than being a guardian angel.

But if he proposes to you, then marries you... Kids were just the next step, right? When Jim finally fell asleep, it was while he held your waist and tried to think about what would it look like. James was almost forty-four years old. He would be sixty when the kid would be sixteen, sixty-four when they would be twenty. Which was horrifying and more than that. He was thirty when Sara was born which was an ideal age in his opinion. He was thirty-seven when she died. Would he be even able to be a good dad? Jim thought that he was in a fairly good condition, thanks to his police work, but a kid...  

The other evening, Jim put on his best shirt and tuxedo, looking at himself in the mirror as he was adjusting the small details - this tuxedo he had at the first family dinner in your house. Eleven peaked into the room before she entered.

She was a grown-up since the last time James had seen her - she had longer hair, she was more tanned, taller and even her face seemed to be more adult. James admired that Eleven was always an adult in some way. Ever since Jim met her, in some things, she was drastically more matured than kids her age - she knew things people her age didn't have a single idea about. Yet now it seemed that her personality had deepened even more than before.

Eleven had a nice dress on and you helped her put her hair in a messy bun. She smiled at James and checked that the door is closed.

"Are you okay?" - She asked excitedly. Right at the moment, you were in the living room with Mike and you two were chatting while drinking some lemonade you made. He was supposed to make you occupied while Eleven went to check up on Hopper.

"How can I be okay?" - Hopper said with an unnerved laugher and went to sit down on your bed. Eleven laughed as well and sat next to him; she hugged his shoulder and shook him a bit.

"Mom said yes before and she loves you. She will say yes again, I'm sure." - Eleven smiled and put her temple on Jim's shoulder, letting him kiss the back of her head. She could now speak as kids her age did. Eleven was talking fluently, without hesitation, but yes, sometimes she still thought about how to put a sentence in a certain way. - "Grandpa said yes too, he knows you two should be together."

"How did you come to that conclusion, kiddo? Hm?" - Jim chuckled at her words. He knew what Eleven was trying to tell him, but it was too adorable not to make fun of.

"I've heard that in a movie I was watching with Joyce and Will." - She smiled and at that moment, they both turned their heads to the door, hearing as you called out for them. It was time to go. Eleven got up first, giving her palm to Hopper to help him get up. - "You can do it. Its just one question."

"Geez, you're a smart one, kiddo." - Hopper chuckled, following her out of the room. You and Mike were waiting under the staircase. Even if Jim saw you before and he knew how would you look like, he was wonderstruck when he saw you in your blue dress with your hair styled masterfully.

"What were you two up to, huh?" - You asked both of them, tying up his tie again, properly this time. - "Are you having secrets again?" - You joked, making Eleven smile innocently as she stood up next to Mike and entwined her elbow with his. After taking too many photos and embarrassing the hell out of Mike, Jim laid in with his dad jokes that time, yo rode to the restaurant.

Mike on the backseat was visibly sweating. He always thought that Eleven has Hopper and you - he forgot that you have a brother and parents. If he was worried about something, it was that he won't make a good first impression. Which would embarrass him to death? Yet, you were telling the whole time that he's perfectly fine. It was strange to realize that Aiden was only six years older than them. That wasn’t too much. And you weren't much older either.

Seeing your family gather around one table was a thing that made you so happy, that smiled didn't leave your face the whole afternoon. Mike, in the end, was happy too - he and Eleven befriended your cousin Andrea who was at their age, so these three had so many to talk about and so did you, the adults sitting there. The food in Enzo’s was delicious and this time, you hadn't got any surprise which would make faint. Even the fine wine you loved so much was ordered and Jim offered that this time, he would drive home - which meant that you had nothing to be worried or angry about.

Everyone shut up when a man stood up from the chair he was sitting on and you were looking at him with awe. Your palm circled Jims as you watched your younger brother getting himself to propose to his girlfriend. Which was kinda scaring Jim, since that was his plan that evening?

The things Aiden told her were one of the sweetest you had ever head. With a contained smile, you leaned to James’ shoulder, watching Aiden getting on his knee with a face that was showing his emotions. He was lost over the heels for Lena, his heart was surely beating for her. You didn't notice your dad having intense eye contact with Jim since he was waiting for the older man to do the exact thing his son had just done.

And you asked what's wrong when Jim took a deep breath in, trying not to faint. He was stressed. He was facing stress. The last time he was doing this was behind a locked door to his office. Not in a restaurant, let alone your family being present.

"Jim, are you having a heart attack?" - You put your palms on his jaws, looking at his reddened cheeks and completely sweaty forehead. Hopper shook his head, having his eyes widening with each passing second. It was now or never situation. Naturally, everyone was extra-surprised when Hopper suddenly stood up as well and exhaled loudly.

It didn't take you too much time to figure out what's happening there. You had seen him this nervous once already and boy oh boy, here it was again. It was nice and you knew that most likely, he had encouraged himself for weeks before he was ready to get on that damn knee again.

"My dear Y/N." - He started, watching your father as if the man would tell him what should he say next - and the funniest part was that your father watched him as well in the same way. Then Jim’s palm took a hold on the back of your chair, the man leaning down a bit. The guests inside Enzo’s were nervous. One proposal was a classic, but two at once? That was extraordinary.

"I want... To... Tell you..." - Jim started slowly as he tried to get his self-confidence back. You nodded and caught his other palm to show him that he's fine. Nothing could ruin his moment. - "I love you. Very much. And that I know you hadn't got it exactly easy with me past couple of months. And neither of the people had it easy with us. It's just how it is, and I'm grateful for everything you've been willing to give me - family, a new home, the feeling of being safe, and useful. You made me see a million things I haven't seen before meeting you and I have to thank you and your family for that." - Jim looked around nervously, having you still smiling in front of him.

Joyce surely wrote this speech too. She was a mister of romantic words full of love, which wasn’t exactly Hopper’s area. He was more about showing love than telling the words yet you liked that about him. This was just Joyce’s work.

"And for that, I would be honored," - Was the part where he got on his knees finally and this time, it felt like a proposal for a wedding. Not some Hopper’s ’I would be up for marriage if you want to’. This looked like a real ’Do you want to spend the rest of your life by my side?’, which brought happy tears to your eyes. - "If you'd like to become my wife and have me by your side until the day we both get old and wrinkly."

That was maybe the best Hopper could get out of himself, but let's be honest, it left you a whining and nodding mess, since you couldn't say a single word at that moment. The last thing you remembered clearly from that evening was when Hopper gently picked you up from the ground when you had the ring on, weeping here and there as well.

[marshmallow-phd]

Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: Soon after your second birthday, your parents were killed and you were adopted by your father’s best friend, taken away to their home country where you lived your life in peaceful ignorance. As far a as you knew, your parents simply left you large fortune to be released to you once you reached your twenty-third birthday. At least, that’s all you thought you were inheriting. When a famously ruthless mafia boss discovers your existence, you are left at his mercy. While under his roof, you learn more about your father than you ever wished you had, including the part of your inheritance that made you the most valuable person in the underworld. Hidden in a bank in New York City were files that held the darkest secrets of the mafia families and everyone in their pocket. With another terrifying leader’s eyes trained on you, you’ll learn to watch your back… and guard your heart, before your father’s past becomes your doom.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I Final

**

You were starting to realize that you had no real stubborn streak to speak of. No matter how much you wanted to just stay in that bedroom and stare at the ceiling or the wall, avoiding all contact with the inhabitants of this penthouse for the rest of the evening, you had to admit, you were getting bored. And thirsty.

Just as your resolve had broken, a knock came from your door.

“Who is it?” you called out.

“It’s Chanyeol. We have your stuff.”

Practically running to the door, you gladly yanked it open with excitement. Sure enough, there was the giant with several cardboard boxes beside him. Chen and Kai popped up behind him and the three of them started carrying the boxes inside your four walls. While it may seem a little trivial, having your things that belonged solely to you made you feel less isolated. This place would never be home, but at least you could be surrounded by familiarity.

“We grabbed most of your clothes,” Chanyeol grunted, putting the box in his hands down next to your bed, “but I think your sister took a few pieces, claiming them as hers.”

You shrugged. “It’s whatever.”

Chen dropped the two smaller boxes he was carrying into your closet and started opening them up to take out the clothes stored inside.

“You don’t have to do that,” you exclaimed, scrambling to try and stop him. Seeing as they all wore expensive suits, you didn’t want them judging your frugal style. You didn’t believe in spending a lot of money on clothes when you could enjoy what you wore for cheaper prices.

“In all honesty, I will unpack everything for you,” Chen volunteered. “The longer this takes, the longer we can stay away from Junmyeon.”

To not take too much advantage of his help, you started slipping shirts onto the empty hangers. “Is he that mad?”

“I’ve seen Junmyeon yell at underlings and shove things,” Chen admitted. “But this is new. He’s obviously pissed, but he’s forcing himself to hold it in. I think he took what you said to heart and doesn’t want to take it out on Baekhyun. Usually, Baekhyun is livelier, but he talked back to Junmyeon about bringing you here and then got forced to pick you up as a consequence. So, if it’s possible, don’t be mad at him, he was just doing his job.”

Your hands froze on the heavy sweater you were currently wrestling onto a white plastic hanger. Baekhyun had a puppy-like face that didn’t match the scowl he’d worn around you, making it easy to believe Chen about his usually more peppy personality. “I’m not mad at him. I just can’t figure out how I even got into all this.” Staring at the clothes that now occupied the once empty bars, you sat down on the floor. “I had plans, you know. I wanted to travel, see the world. Maybe find out where I came from. Discovering my father’s shady past and then being handed over to a mafia boss for a fake marriage wasn’t exactly on the outline I made.”

“You never know,” Chen offered sympathetically. “You could still do that someday.”

You laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, right. I’m stuck in this jail cell.”

“Junmyeon likes to travel.” Chanyeol popped into the closet, his hands in his pockets. “He likes the anonymity of it. I’m sure he’d take you along.”

For a moment, you contemplated Chanyeol’s suggestion. But then the thought of how you’d most likely have to share a hotel room with Junmyeon to keep the appearance as his “wife” and the image just grated on your nerves.

“If that’s my only choice, then I’ll just stay here,” you concluded. “That’s not real freedom.”

Chanyeol shook his head at your willfulness. Behind him, Kai rolled his eyes with sigh.

Xiumin, the eldest of the members, stepped into the walk-in and cleared his throat. “Boss wants to see us all.”

You got a few apologetic looks thrown your way as they all filed out of the closet. Left to finish off the unpacking on your own, you checked the items off the list you had made the previous night to make sure everything was present. One of the boys being kind enough to leave it on the bed before they slipped out.

There wasn’t much you had to call your own or that you really wanted to be brought over here. Most were just essentials so you could shower and not walk around naked. Only two picture frames, gently folded between your blanket and a few jackets, were important enough keepsakes to remind you of your old life.

One was the only evidence you had of your birth parents’ existence. The three of you were on a picnic blanket in a green park filled with trees and a blue sky painted the backdrop, smiling at the camera like an average family that knew nothing but happiness. Like there wasn’t a dark secret hidden behind the façade. The picture was obviously professionally done, with the lighting and colors adjusted just right to complete the look. In a fit of anger, you shoved the photo in the nightstand drawer, slamming it closed with more force than necessary.

The other picture was the one you preferred.

Taken on your third birthday, the first one you’d spent with your new family – your real family – it meant more to you than any expensive portrait. It wasn’t as nicely put together as the other, but that’s what made it special.

Minah was crying because she couldn’t have the first bite of the cake while Mingyu was absorbed in his video game. The pointed hat on your head off kilter and you had a spot of sauce on your shirt. But none of it mattered. Even now, you smiled down at the picture, your own goofy, toothy grin shining brightly. Taegun and Hyunmin were hovering over you, smiling at the camera as well. Little did Hyunmin know that just a second after the camera flashed, her nose would be covered in frosting and Taegun would be running away to the bathroom to hide.

Missing them terribly, you placed the frame on the nightstand where you could say good night to them before you went to sleep.

The last box was filled with little knick-knacks that you’d collected over the years: a jewelry box no bigger than your palm decorated with white roses, a beauty and the beast snow globe you’d bought when the family went to see the musical, among other odds and ends. They weren’t terrible important. You’d mostly put them on the list out of spite. After putting them in their places on the desk, you turned back to look for the more important items from your list.

However, there were only about four or five books thrown into the bottom of the box. Apparently underlining the word hadn’t been enough of a clue to whoever packed your things. Not only that, but your album was nowhere to be found either.

Seething, you snatched up the list and marched down the hall to Junmyeon’s office. Letting the anger drive your bravery, you pounded on his door with your fist.

“Come in.”

You stomped inside, pushing past the see of grown men to Junmyeon’s desk.

“What do you need, (y/n)?” Junmyeon asked with a very uninterested voice. He didn’t even bother to look up from the papers in his hand.

You slammed down the list on the desk, forcing him look up. “I wrote down the things I wanted brought here and most of them are here. But some were left behind and I don’t appreciate that.”

Sighing, Junmyeon set the papers down, staring up at you as he folded his hands in front of him. “And what was left behind?”

“When I asked for my books, I meant I wanted all of them, not just four.” You tried to keep your voice even and reasonable. Junmyeon was a leader and therefore used to negotiations. Being a hot head while he was still mad from this afternoon’s encounter was not the answer. “Also, the photo album isn’t here either. I even wrote down that’s under my bed so it’d be easy to find.”

Junmyeon glanced at the boys behind you. Following his gaze over your shoulder, you found Chanyeol looking guilty while Baekhyun just seemed annoyed.

“How many books do you have left?” Baekhyun’s voice had a layer of reluctance in it. If he was smart, he knew to just give in to keep the peace. You’d go along with most situations to make it easier for everyone, but this was not something you would compromise on.

“Enough to fill a whole bookshelf,” you replied.

Xiumin, who was standing behind Junmyeon, sneered. “We’re not delivery boys. You can live with–”

Junmyeon threw up a hand to stop him. “That is an awful amount of books for my men to carry up here.”

“Fine. They can leave the bottom two shelves there,” you compromised. The bottom was where you kept the books you didn’t read anymore as they were well below your interest and reading level. You’d kept them around simply for nostalgia’s sake. “But I also want the album.”

That seemed to satisfy him a little. “Agreed. In a few days, we’ll go back–”

“Actually, boss,” Chen chimed in. “I can go tonight. I’ve got all my work done for the…,” he flashed a concerned look at me before continuing, “for the thing you’re setting up. I’ve got the time.”

“I’ll go with him,” Chanyeol volunteered.

“Same here,” Kai added.

You gave each of them a small smile, appreciating their effort into making you more comfortable.

Junmyeon ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, just go.”

Feeling a small victory, you walked out of the office with your head held high. You stopped by the kitchen and reheated the food Kyungsoo had made for you earlier, your appetite at an all-time high since breakfast was your last real meal. Being in a slightly better mood, you were able to enjoy the food with more enthusiasm this time around. It was better than any restaurant.

“Barely here a day and you’ve already got most of them wrapped around your finger.”

Baekhyun sauntered into the kitchen, slinking down across from you at the island. You continued to eat, trying to put on the air that he didn’t intimidate you. It was a lie as you still remembered your introduction to him, but Chen had asked you not to go too harsh on him. Besides, you believed what you had told Junmyeon. You blamed the feared leader more than anyone.

“I think they’re just trying to make up for the fact that I’m here against my will,” you corrected. You chewed over a mouthful of rice before adding, “I’ll admit I wasn’t the nicest yesterday either, so I think we should just let yesterday slide and start over. Let bygones be bygones between the two of us.”

He narrowed his eyes as if he was studying your expression. There was a moment of silence.  Ignoring it, you just continued to eat, letting him answer when he decided to do so.

Letting out a long breath, he extended his hand out towards you. “I’m Baekhyun, pick-pocket and conman extraordinaire.”

The giggle couldn’t be helped at his introduction. Taking his hand, you grinned, “Nice to meet you, Baekhyun. I’m (y/n).” You pulled on his hand, causing him to lean forward over the counter. Trying – and most likely failing – to be menacing, you lowered your voice. “If any of my stuff goes missing, I’ll stab you.”

He chuckled, sitting back and letting go of your hand. “You’re not exactly frightening, but don’t worry. There’s no fun in taking from you. Not to mention Junmyeon’s already on my ass.” He slapped the table, getting up from the stool. “Well, I have to get going. Don’t eat too much.”

Baekhyun was practically skipping out of the kitchen as he left you alone.

**

Three weeks went by and you slowly became accustomed to the new surroundings. While you thought you would go crazy being locked up in the penthouse, you sanity was kept at bay by the revolving door of babysitters. They hardly left you alone, unless you kicked up too much of a fuss about your privacy.

To pass the time, each one taught you about their role in the group, save Xiumin who was never around. Apparently, he was Junmyeon’s second-in-command so he went with him to all the meetings and work related events that the others didn’t have to attend.

You already knew Yixing as the on-call doctor, but that was about all you had really learned about him. He’d only helped watch you twice during the beginning and both times he’d been called away to patch someone up. After that, it was decided it was just better for him to come check up on everyone occasionally.

A slight sadness came over you every time he had to leave, but you didn’t protest. Not verbally, at least. His gentleness and child-like sweetness drew you to him. Even though you enjoyed everyone’s company, you hoped the others didn’t notice your special attachment to the doctor. His demeanor gave you a sense that this world you had been drawn into wasn’t all darkness and that it wouldn’t change you like you feared.  

Chen, as the vanguard, was the one you were especially worried about picking up on your change of attitude when Yixing was around. He was highly observant and a master at extracting information without the subject even knowing it. If he was detecting anything about you, though, he never brought it up.

Kai was probably your second favorite out of the boys, although there was nothing romantic behind your enjoyment of his company. He was kind and charming, making you laugh easily. Kyungsoo warned you of his womanizing ways, but then backtracked, insisting that you were in no danger as the fiancé of their leader. You had no interest anyway, simply enjoying Kai when he was around. The boy practically lit up when you agreed to let him teach me how to count cards. He was the gambler of the group, able to swindle money out of even the most professional players. It was incredible the memory he had and his ability to calculate the math within seconds.

Kyungsoo didn’t approve of teaching you the tricks of the trade, but, it seemed, he didn’t approve much of anything that involved letting you know too much about their illegal business. He was a loner - something you identified with - preferring to stay away from the action behind his computer screen, hacking away.

What surprised you the most was Chanyeol’s position. He was the muscle and the surveillance. Security was his top priority, which would explain why he was your most frequent guard. He was so lively and laughed so much, it was hard to wrap your mind around the picture of him as the first to throw a punch despite his size.

The biggest mystery, however, was the youngest of the group. With just one look, Sehun could name the make, model, and year of any gun and take it apart before putting back together again perfectly. He had connections all over this side of the world to get the arms they needed for any job. But he was quiet. He often kept his distance, only occasionally joining in on whatever antics the boys were up to in order to keep you entertained.

Junmyeon was the one who was around the least. He was usually gone by the time you rolled out of bed and made it home around dinner time or a few hours after. Personally, you preferred the latter. Meal times with just the boys were animated, including the occasional sporadic food fight. When that happened, you would immediately hide under the table until the coast was clear.

In the times that Junmyeon joined the dinner table, the boys were more subdued. They still joked around, but their interactions with you were limited. At the head of the table, Junmyeon stayed silent. He didn’t allow business talk while eating, but every once in a while you would catch the smallest hint of a smile whenever Chanyeol did something clumsy or Sehun made a snarky comment. If eye contact was made with you during his rare smiles, it would quickly fade and his eyes would drop back down to his food.

This particular night, he was smiling more than usual and they lingered far longer than you’d seen before. His eyes soften when they met yours instead of going hard and indifferent like they usually did. You couldn’t understand where this change was coming from. It was making you uneasy.

When everyone was finished, you helped Kyungsoo clean up the kitchen. It made you feel not so useless since whenever he was around you weren’t allowed to even touch a frying pan to feed yourself. The noise from the dining room died down as everyone filed out to their own apartments scattered around the area.

Eventually you were left alone with Junmyeon retreating to his office. Though the sun was beginning to disappear under the city skyline, you were restless and not ready to turn in for the night.

Wandering the halls, your album that you had made such a fuss over popped into your head. Typically, you only went through its pages when you had something to add to it, but now you felt the need to leaf through it just for a sense of comfort, even if it was imaginary.

Taking it from its hiding space under your mattress, you made yourself a cup of tea and settled on the couch in the living room, your legs wrapped up in a blanket. You flipped through the pages at a moderate pace, stopping every once in a while to smooth out a picture or read a description you had scribbled down as to why you wanted to visit that particular museum or monument. Some places held legends or stories while others so imposing and fascinating that you needed to experience them for real.

You only made it halfway through the album before your eyelids began to droop. Around Greece, they were becoming too heavy to fight. By the time you made it to Sienna, they were closed completely.

**

The sun had set when Junmyeon finished reading through the security papers Chanyeol had put together for the event tomorrow. His back was aching from being erect so long and his head was pounding, demanding rest. Locking the papers up in the side drawer, Junmyeon sat his elbows on the desk, massaging his temples with his finger tips.

If he was honest, he was actually surprised at your behavior since you came here. The first twenty-four hours had been rough, but after that, things quieted down. You never tried to escape, you didn’t act out or trash the place. In fact, you seemed settled in and got along with his men. That was the only thing that bothered him.

You seemed to get along and genuinely enjoy the presence of everyone else, but would clam up the moment he walked into the room. Jongdae and Chanyeol were constantly telling stories about your sense of humor and how, though you were a decent blackjack player when following the rules, you couldn’t count cards or keep a straight face during poker to save your life.

“You know,” Jongdae had clicked is tongue, staring out the window during their driver earlier in the day, “you could actually try to get to know her yourself. Since you’re set on keeping her around to get the files, you could spend some time with her. Sure, she’s not like the other girls you dated in the past, but maybe that’s a good thing. Hell, maybe this could work out for real, you know?”

Junmyeon had to suppress a groan. “You talk too much, Jongdae. Besides, you heard her, she doesn’t like gangsters.”

“Yup,” he nodded, “I did hear her. She said she likes gentlemen. I’ve seen you in action, hyung. You can practically be Prince Charming when you want to be.”

Prince Charming. Junmyeon almost laughed. Since when did Charming run one of the largest underworld operations in Seoul?

“She’s not my type,” he insisted.

“She’s beautiful,” Jongdae pointed out. “In our world, that makes her everyone’s type.”

Back in the present, Junmyeon stood up out of the chair, rubbing his hands down his face. Part of him wondered if just breaking into the vault in New York would be easier. He could send Jongdae over first to dig up information to find out which bank the Closer had used to house his findings and then take it from there.

No, not possible.

Junmyeon already had targets on his back in his own country. No need to take it international.

Exiting his office, Junmyeon took two steps towards his bedroom before noticing the living room light was still on. Slightly irritated, he huffed his way over to turn them off. Though he could afford it, he tried to preserve energy when he could.

Just as he put his hand on the switch, he noticed you fast asleep on the couch. Carelessly lying on the floor was the album you’d thrown a fit about. Junmyeon picked it up, expecting baby pictures and documentation of your growth through the years. What awaited as he opened to the first page was something much more.

The first page was just covered with handwritten quotes about traveling and seeing the world. Each new sheet in the album was filled with pictures and brochures and little notes about different places you wanted to see. From what Junmyeon could make out, most of the places were related to your favorite books. You wanted to go to visit your favorite classical author’s birthplace. Some retelling of Romeo and Juliet had taken place in Sienna and, according to the print out folded beneath a photo of a two story building, you could stay in the same hotel that the main character did in the novel.

Junmyeon stared in disbelief at the woman sleeping on the couch when he came to the last decorated page. You weren’t as timid or simple minded as he’d thought. Part of him hated himself for what he had done. This was a girl with dreams, with expectations of where your life would go, and he’d taken them away just to fulfill his own.

Perhaps, when this was all over, he could allow you to go to one of these places. Not alone, of course. He had too many enemies for that. But maybe you wouldn’t mind if he tagged along, just to keep you safe. Even if he didn’t have enemies, it was dangerous for a young woman to travel the world alone.

Tucking the album under his arm, Junmyeon carefully lifted you off the couch, constantly checking to see if he’d woken you up. But you stayed fast asleep as he carried you to your room and laid you down on the bed. He pulled the covers up to your chin and placed the album on the nightstand. After brushing the tips of his fingers against your face, Junmyeon walked out of the room, praying that you wouldn’t hate him after tomorrow.

[beneath-our-masks]

I was going to come up with an elegant summary, but basically, Riley hates therapy. A lot.

Shockingly enough, there are no content warnings aside from mild language (I think there is one (1) swear).

--

Imani smiled as Riley walked into the office. “Hey Riley, come on in and sit down. We didn’t get off on the best foot before, but I do want to say I’m sorry for reacting so harshly toward you. How are you doing today?” she asked.

Riley rolled their eyes and leaned on the doorframe, not fully entering the room. "Why is this mandatory?" they asked, frowning.

"You hacked into most of the files; you know that most of your peers acquired their powers under traumatic circumstances. And those who didn't at least need check-ins, since being a teenager is already a lot without having powers, being a hero, and everything else," Imani explained pleasantly.

Groaning, Riley entered the room. "Yes, but why do I also have to partake in this horrible charade?" They asked, going up to a bookshelf and scanning over the books, frowning at the fact most of them had to do with queer studies and superpowers. "Why do you care so much?" Riley motioned at the books. "Like who cares about this shit?" Yes, Riley was queer, but they didn't really understand the newfound obsession people have been taking to it.

"The vast majority of psychological research has been done on privileged straight white college students, so bringing in queer identities is important to me, especially as a queer person. And, well, you can imagine why I care about powers. And to answer your first question," Imani continued, doing her best to school her expression, "it's a program requirement. It was in the informational packet people received. Helps ensure safety and minimal risk and all that."

Riley grimaced, "Is there any way for me to get out of this?" They leaned against the back wall, arms crossed over their chest, as they looked at Imani.

"Nope, it's mandatory to ensure that all of you are safe. So, just so I make sure I'm referring to you correctly, what name would you like to be called in these sessions and what are your preferred pronouns?

"Let me guess, if I refuse to play along, I can't be on the team, correct?" Riley frowned.

"I mean, you can, but you'll just prolong your torture," Imani joked. "Whether or not you talk to me, we have to do enough therapy each week for me to get the information I need. Usually that's an hour, but if I'm not getting what I need it can be longer."

Giving in, Riley sighed and went to sit down. "Riley. They/Them."

"Okay, perfect. So, Riley, how do you feel about being here? Do you feel alright about your roommate situation, about everyone here?" Imani asked, ready to take notes.

"Fine. Everything and everyone is fine."

"Do you get along with Dakota?"

Riley shrugged.

"Okay. How is school?"

Scowling, Riley tried to keep his voice level, "It's fine."

“What school do you go to?" Imani asked, noticing that Riley wasn't happy about this topic.

Their scowl deepened, "Only the most privileged private school in the city."

"You say that like you don't like it. Are there things in particular about it that you dislike?"

"What's there to like?" Riley rolled their eyes.

"Okay, you tell me. What's one thing about school that you don't hate?" Imani asked gently. “I’m sure you can come up with one.”

"Nothing. There is nothing to like." Riley hissed out.

"Okay, we can drop it for now. But I do have to ask you---do you feel safe at school?"

Riley barked out a laugh, "Yeah, totally. People are afraid to come near me since they know who my parents are."

"What do you mean?" Imani asked.

Riley shrugged, "Does it matter?"

"I'm just curious. It could help me if I understood. Your moms aren't scary people, at least from what I see--am I wrong?"

Riley groaned, "They are mama bears, tiger moms, and frankly, I wish they weren't with me. Now can we move on?"

"You wish they weren't with you? What do you mean by that?" Imani asked.

Riley's left leg began to bounce from irritation and anxiety, "Next question."

"Alright. How do you get along with...your little sister? I have that right?"

"Yes, you do. And we get along great."

"That's great! Can you tell me a little about her? How old is she? What's she like?"

Sighing, Riley spoke, "She's four. Adopted at the same time I was. She's a bubbling little ball of energy with budding illusion powers."

Imani smiled. "What do you two do together?"

"Is this necessary? All these questions?"

"I mean I do have to get some information to show that these sessions are achieving something with you. I could keep asking other questions, but I get the feeling this line of questioning is one you'll  actually answer."

Sighing again, Riley rolled their shoulders, trying to relax. "Fine, whatever. I take her to the park after I pick her up from pre-school."

"That sounds nice. Is there anything I can do besides abandoning these sessions entirely to make you more comfortable here?"

"No." A slight smirk flitted across Riley's face.

"Okay, well, let me know if that changes. We can do the sessions outside the office if you hate the office, we can restructure how we do it. So let me know. Anyhow, I know you don't want to talk about your parents, but I do have to ask--do you feel safe at home?

Rolling their eyes, Riley nodded, "Yes. Now oh my god please stop talking."

Imani chuckled. "Well, since you asked so kindly, I think we can end this session early. Any other thoughts or requests for me regarding next time, aside from scrapping it altogether?"

"No."

"Alright. Well, thank you for putting up with this, and I'm looking forward to talking with you more next week," Imani replied with a smile. "Feel free to head out."