#he can just run off the calories and I figure he moves enough for it to not impact his health too negatively

[true-blue-sonic]

I love Silver having cursed tastes, because I also think that Shadow does as well, so poor Sonic always feels pressured to eat horrible shit because they are

As if Sonic doesn't have even more cursed tastes than those two combined, haha. He can eat mouldy food and the like in Unleashed, and even if he doesn't like it per se, it certainly ain't stopping him from yeeting it right down the hatch regardless! XD XD

I can thus only conclude Amy is is the one hedgehog with normal tastes here between the four of them but then again, she might also be the only one who knows how to cook according to Rules, Regulations, and Cookbooks, so that does check out. Whenever she has any of the boys over she will be forcing a normal proper meal down their throats so they at least eat something proper!

[jodilin65]

WEDNESDAY, MAY 31, 2006 I had an awesome money-making idea! At least I hope it is. It’s hard for me to be positive because every time I try to make extra money I never succeed, but I’m kind of excited about it just the same. To find plain mannequin heads that aren’t made of Styrofoam to use to practice painting on has proven to be rather impossible. The best I could find were forms, but they’re not much cheaper than full plain white mannequins. I could get a plain white one from the people I got Ashley from for $99. Then it hit me that for just $20 more we could save ourselves a lot of hassles, mess and additional money by getting a fully painted budget mannequin. Ashley was a high-ender. All a budget mannequin is one without painted nails and pierced ears. The high-enders run from $165 - $199, and the budgets run from $99 - $119. So maybe we should get a budget mannequin and skip the paint cost/mess/hassle and list them on eBay at twice the cost. Your average cheap mannequin these days goes for $250 - $275. A budget mannequin would be $180 with shipping. If we list it at $250 and say the price includes shipping, I don’t see why it wouldn’t sell. Especially if I take really good pictures of it both nude and in some outfits. We’d make a $70 profit each week if we could list one every Sunday to Sunday. I know that wouldn’t be much, but it’d be a start. Some profit is better than none. It’d be a little less of a profit if we got a wig with each one, in which case we could raise the price to $275. I’d like to start with Monique but I don’t know when because I really want to finish getting the Tonners and Barbies on my list. She’s listed as an ethnic but is as white as these two. She seems plenty nice enough to be stuck with if something up there is really against us and we can’t get rid of her. I’m really excited about this. The only hassle would be getting lots of brown paper to ship them in the boxes they were shipped to me in, and getting new boxes if they’re too beat up by the time they reach me, and then getting them to FedEx. If this works out we could maybe buy them in sets. We could get a 3-piece set for $350 (this includes a male) and sell each for $275 with shipping. We could get a 6-piece set for $800. That’d be an $850 profit if I did the math correctly! Since I wouldn’t have the 50 feedbacks required to list her as a buy-it-now, I’d put her up with a starting bid of $219 and set the shipping cost at $49. This would also be a great way to see their mannequins in person in case there are any I want to keep. You know how sometimes things look good online that aren’t as nice in person. Fortunately, Ashley looks better in person and so did Denise once I did her makeover. She still needs lower lashes, though.

Tom has been racking his own mind thinking of business ideas. I always did say it would be so, so ideal if we could have our own business! No one could fire or lay him off that way. It would be even more ideal if we could own just one house somewhere totally outright, but I don’t know that God would want us to have that much security and extra money. He hasn’t yet anyway.

We rode up to Circle K and Tom was surprised that I didn’t have to stop since it’s up a steep hill. I was surprised too, though I sure did come close. It was quite a workout, but it just goes to show once again how keeping in shape by working out at home has paid off. I haven’t lost any fat, of course, but I can feel the muscles firming up underneath the fat. You know your metabolism’s barely moving when you eat 1200 calories several days in a row, ride a bike in such hilly terrain, and still weigh the same!

I don’t miss open spaces, but I miss flat ones, that’s for sure. I hate riding these hills. Going downhill can get a little scary as you can pick up so easily.

TUESDAY, MAY 30, 2006 Today we rode to the street on the other side of the canal to see if we could spot the dog that’s been horrible lately with its fucking barking, then figure out what to do about it. However, we never saw it if it was there because of the high stockade fence surrounding the place. We never even heard it, either, but yesterday it was barking like crazy, suggesting its owners were out of town over the 3-day weekend. You couldn’t even go 10 minutes without it going off. Since it can’t see any street activity, then I’d say my guess was right and that it’s going off because it’s being neglected, and so if its owners are there, it’s going to bark to try to get attention. Dogs need attention. Not to be stored outdoors like old pieces of furniture. This is definitely one of the biggest differences between East and West, however. In the east dogs are considered pets that are part of the family, but out here, they’re mostly used as guard dogs, and to hell with how annoyed the neighbors may be. Either way, I’d like very much to put this old, neglected piece of furniture out of its misery, but I don’t see any way to get at it. I guess not only is God going to protect any people who wrong me from having to pay for doing so, but he’s also going to protect any dogs that drive me crazy as well!

After scouting out where the dog lives, we went to Safeway, then came back. The bike rides so smoothly uphill. The bike I had as a kid could never ride that well. I’d be peddling furiously, though you still have to do that to get up these steep hills even on modern bikes. I was just thinking that I hadn’t gotten enough of a workout when we reached this street which is uphill coming back. By then I was panting quite heavily and my heart was thumping wildly.

Exercise may not cause weight loss, but it sure helps to keep from gaining. I��ve been having 1500-2000 calories a day lately, but have been the same old 124 pounds for a while now. Riding is so much more fun than walking. It’s going to really suck when it not only gets cold again but snowy and icy. I’d rather ride in 110-degree temps before I rode in the wintertime here!

May is going to end up being my worst month for wins since going premium. I hope it only means I’ll be compensated with a biggie soon!

I can’t say I’m depressed, but for the millionth time, I have to ask why the simplest of things are so hard to achieve. All I want is to own a 1400-1600-square-foot new or fairly new house in a warm climate where the only music and animals (except for the wildlife) that we hear are ours. That’s all I want in life. Is this really too much to ask for? I feel like it is even though it seems like it shouldn’t be. But as Tom said, he’s come to hate the job because it’s obviously going nowhere. There’s no hope for a partnership, no hope for more of a raise, and certainly no hope for me to ever be insured. As much as I’d still hate to go to a doctor without something like a broken neck or close to it, having the insurance, both dental and physical, would be more comforting. He said he feels all the more motivated to get out of here because he’s at a dead-end at work, and is trying harder and harder to win money at the tracks. As I reminded him, however, my dreams aren’t allowed to come true, so whatever’s up there is going to do everything and anything it can to block us from getting to California. While it seems silly to say this since this is the fourth state I’ve lived in, we just may be forever trapped in Oregon! As long as we wouldn’t lose our stuff I wouldn’t mind being put out for a while in order to make the move, but instead I feel like we’re going to be nothing but city renters, forever dreaming of the impossible until we’re eligible to live in a retirement community. Of course by then the fucking stereos will be so damn loud that they’ll be able to reach the centers of even the largest of senior communities. Another 5-10 years and these things will be smashing windows on a regular basis and people still won’t do shit about them! It’s all the more important, as we both know, to make sure we have more than enough money if we ever can bust out of here since we’ll have no one to help us along the way. You know no one gives a shit about us, and if they do, they don’t have the means to help us.

For now, I’m going to enjoy having money since we so rarely get to have any! Having a field day with all the shopping I’ve been doing could very well be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so I’m enjoying it while it lasts. I may even give it up once I get all the things on my list if that’s what it’ll take to get us out of here. I’ve been spending $200 a month. As for how many more winters I’ll have to suffer through here – I don’t want to know. I really don’t. I’m afraid if I knew the answer to that one I’d scream!

MONDAY, MAY 29, 2006 Today was a fun and productive day with the only damper on it being the fucking canal dog. Oh, how I want to kill that thing!!! What I don’t get is why it’s been louder lately. I have to have sounds of some kind going in every single room in order to mask it, and I can’t even stand to sit in the kitchen. Maybe I can at least take back the living room at around 10:00 or 11:00 and get some peace then.

It was warmer today, so people had to make a show of themselves, of course, and I swear every other person who passed by was walking dogs. This only set off the neighborhood dogs all the more.

Anyway, the fun part was when we went riding downtown, then to Safeway for a few things, then back. I’m totally comfortable with this bike now. I just wish the seat wasn’t so uncomfortable.

As fate would have it, that skirt Two Daydreamers owed me from when I ordered a bunch of Tonner clothes, isn’t going to be produced, after all, so they refunded my deposit.

I have two ethnic Barbies on their way, and on the Friday after next, I’ll be ordering Cinnamon Swirl Tyler, High Style Sydney, and two killer gowns.

SUNDAY, MAY 28, 2006 Yesterday was a fun day. The only negatives were the cold and wind, along with a few kids here and there who were just as uncivilized and animalistic as they usually are. At least there are not zillions of them everywhere you turn like down in Arizona, and at least the one that started screaming when we were eating hushed up a bit when its mother told it to.

Anyway, it wasn’t cold to the point where I needed my ski jacket and gloves. I could get by in just a windbreaker, but it was the wind that made it seem rather chilly. When the sun came out, which wasn’t often enough, it was okay. But being both cloudy and windy for the most part, it wasn’t as nice as it could’ve been. Summer’s supposed to be back Tuesday. Let’s hope it’ll be for more than a week, too! It shouldn’t be in the low 50s in what’s nearly June.

We got off the bus which had been fairly crowded and checked out a flower shop. They had these colorful, hand-painted butterflies that were nice. Sometime I may pick one up for Joy to hold instead of the dingy white dove she’s been holding.

We ate lunch at what’s still my favorite Chinese place. I missed it a lot. He got American food, of course, and I got fried rice and egg foo young and found it to be just as good as always. The owner was there, as well as the waitress who waited on us the very first time we went there. She remembered us and said she saw us walking earlier.

I found myself half-wishing Jane had returned to work there, free of drugs and looking good.

We thought of how our lives were when we were last there a year and a half ago and were like, wow! You mean those two people were us? Those broke, homeless people who nobody gave a damn about were us? I still can’t believe his mother left us to starve and live in motels. As I’ve been saying ever since, may the rest of her days be filled with pain and misery! Some things truly are unforgivable, that’s for sure. I will never forgive her, and I sure as hell won’t forget either. The only thing that’s worse now as opposed to the last time we were there is my ear problems, and of course, God only knows how many more cavities I’ve got now. I’ve prayed for help with these things just to be ignored, so I’ve given up and have learned to live with it, though some days are harder than others. Why God would want me to continue to be plagued by these things is beyond me, but obviously He does. After all, if He didn’t care about all those who died in the tsunami or Hurricane Katrina, as I’ve always said, then why would He care if little Jodi S of Klamath Falls, Oregon suffered ear and teeth problems and continued to get more and more farsighted by the minute?

After we ate, we went to K-mart and found that they had many of those pink and purple bikes, but decided that Tom would walk up to get one today and then ride it back, since we knew we were going to be bogged down with grocery bags on the way back. The front half is pink and the back half is purple. The wheels are 26” like the wheels on Tom’s red bike, but a different brand. He’s watching a car race now, then we’re going to lower the seat, tighten things up, and head out. This is my first bike since I was 19. My hips and ankles sometimes bother me if I walk a long time, despite my jogging in place a few times a week. I used to have no problem walking long distances, but back then I wasn’t 40 years old and 25 pounds overweight. So this is why I hope biking will be better for me.

What I did get at K-mart was a Courtney doll. Guess she’s another new friend of Barbie’s. I got a new hairbrush there too, then it was off to Fred Meyer. There, I got another Lea doll and fake eyelashes for Denise while he started gathering groceries. When I was done I went to help him finish off the shopping before we took the bus back. It was very crowded at this time, but it was nice to be dropped off right in front of the house.

The eyelashes turned out to be a bust which really sucks since they’re awesome. They have glitter on them. Because Denise has no eyelids, her original eyelashes are applied from under the rim of the top part of the eye. Ashley, who also has lower lashes as well as upper ones, are applied the same way on the inner rims of the eyes. I might be able to apply the plain lashes I got on Denise so she can have lower lashes as well, but if I applied the upper glittery lashes, the glitter would be on the underside and not on top. Perhaps if I get that mannequin I hope to get at the end of the year that gazes downward, she could wear them because half her eyes are covered by her lids.

Later…

Tom and I researched getting clear plastic tubes to use as doll covers for those dolls whose outfits are hard to wash. Those are usually the glittery ones. It doesn’t look good for us getting any because they’re typically sold in such huge quantities. I’ll probably get vinyl bag covers for them. They’re the cheapest I could find.

We also researched painting mannequins to sell and that didn’t look promising either. There was no set way to do it that we could find. I guess you just use whatever you feel works best. You can put any kind of coating you want over the fiberglass, which we’re now pretty sure both of these are made of. One company needed people to paint mannequins for them and out of the 130 applicants they got, one of which was an art instructor, not one of them could paint on a 3-dimensional surface. I don’t know if I can, but as Tom pointed out, I have a way of doing things most people can’t. Yes, and I also have a way of not being able to do things others can do, too!

I still have quite a bit more stuff on my list I want to get, so it’ll be a few months before I get a cheap form and some paints to practice on, but this is only if I think I can really sell any. It’s gotten to be a rather competitive business.

We took our bikes out earlier, and for a minute there I wanted to slap the person who said that one never forgets how to ride a bike! I’ve only ridden kids’ bikes before, so I had to get used to this adult bike. Tom said it was awkward for him at first too, but after a few rides, he was fine. K-mart said we could return it for a kid’s bike if need be, but I think I can get comfortable enough with this one. If anything, the seat was the most awkward. This fat ass could use a wider one, but I think I’ll get used to that, too. I just wish this place wasn’t so damn hilly! Even MA was flatter than this. Coasting too fast downhill can be scary, even dangerous, and there are such steep hills here that you have to squeeze the brakes all the way down to keep from reaching such outrageous speeds. On level or somewhat level surfaces, it rides smoothly. We just rode up and down some side streets, not wanting to ride on this street because it’s a busy one until I’d tried it out. Tomorrow we’ll probably go downtown. With it being Memorial Day, there shouldn’t be too many vehicles or pedestrians out. Let’s just say I already got enough of a head start to see where it really would be a wonderful form of exercise. Tom says he thinks it’s the best. Walking and swimming never did much for me, and neither did the jogging in place since I can only do it for so long before my knees get irritated. Too much walking gets to my ankles, knees and hips, and you’d have to swim for many hours to really get much benefit from that, not that I could just go swimming anywhere around here. With a bike, though, you’re using muscles you don’t ordinarily use and elevating your heartbeat without putting stress on your joints.

FRIDAY, MAY 26, 2006 I’m so sick of being hungry half the time that I’ve decided to just eat when I’m hungry and forget about trying to hold my weight down where it’s at. It’s just too much work. I feel pretty certain that the intense hunger spells I have are my body’s way of saying, “Hey, when are you going to let me gain the rest of the weight a middle-aged person is supposed to gain?” Most people are 40-50 pounds heavier by the time they’re my age, but I’m only 25 pounds heavier. I only fought to keep from gaining anymore so I could save us money, but I think I’m ready to just let my body do what it feels it needs to do. I’ll still work out, though. There’s no reason I can’t keep in shape just because I’ll have more fat on me in time. I don’t look forward to not being able to get around as well, since carrying extra weight is harder on a short person, and I don’t want to have to spend money periodically on new clothes as I gain whatever I’m going to gain, but I’m tired of feeling lousy so much of the time.

I was going to quit the Claritin since it doesn’t seem to do much to curb my hunger lately but decided to stick with it a little longer because my ear’s been better overall. Tom said that sometimes things can take a long time to take effect, though I still think it’ll always be a problem. That’s what I get for having the fucking canal drilled! If only I had known. If only. Anyway, I understand that our bodies are designed to obtain a slower metabolism and be hungrier with age to protect us against illness since our immune system weakens with time, and so I’m prepared to just roll with the punches, so to speak. Tom spent most of his youth at around 150-160 pounds and then jumped to over 200. I know Paula was 120 for the longest time before she jumped to 160. I’ve calculated that I’ll eventually end up around 140-150 since my average younger weight was 100.

How I wish I could live a life with no pain, run to the dentist to get my teeth filled and sealed, then get LASIK done on my eyes!!! But these things will never happen because I know what additional trouble they’d eventually bring. God didn’t want Andy’s sister Linda to have kids, yet she forced them into her womb through in-vitro. Because of this, her kids will pay dearly. But I’m the one that has to pay for the ear surgeries and braces, and will no doubt continue to forever since I have no descendants for whatever the hell’s up there that thinks we must pay for the sins of our forefathers to take it out on. So I have to wonder if any additional procedures of any kind are worth it that isn’t a matter of life or death.

I was thinking how great it’d be to buy plain white mannequins for $100, paint them up pretty, then sell them on eBay for $250. If I sold one a week, that’d be an extra grand a month. But then I was not only reminded of the no-making-money-allowed rule fate so cruelly put on me but also that we’d need the truck up and running in order to get them to FedEx. With the cost of gas these days, that may not mean much of a profit, and there may not be that big of a market for them. Especially if most buyers were store owners wanting to buy in bulk.

TUESDAY, MAY 23, 2006 The place I got Ashley from got the new sitting mannequin they said they’d get in this month and it sucks. I definitely made the right choice! Unless there’s something fantastic about her I doubt I’ll get any more sitters because they take up so much more space than the standing ones.

It’s now been nearly two years since I’ve gotten any porcelain dolls, and I don’t miss them.

The weather’s been a lot like it was at this time last year – cold and wet. It really sucks and there seems to be no end in sight. This could go on for weeks.

My picture’s been entered into the ‘curly’ section of the Sexy Hair contest. Voting begins on our anniversary. They sent me some hairspray, not that I ever needed it, for being one of the first 1000 entrants.

I also got a letter saying the rat picture I submitted to another photo contest site has been advanced to the final round, along with being published in one of their photo books.

I won another DVD, too.

The flowers are all wilting away, but at least I’m up to 3 lavender sprouts. I didn’t realize they’d take so long to sprout.

SUNDAY, MAY 21, 2006 If it could be this quiet every day, then my only complaint would be the lack of space. Well, that and the weather. Just when summer finally arrived, we slipped right back into winter. It’s been in the 60s and we’ve even had some rain. It probably won’t warm up again for another week, but we’re still saving money because it hasn’t gotten cold enough to need the heater fired back up. I’ve been sleeping at night too, when it’s coldest. I’m just using the electric portable heater for now.

Got a surprise win, though it was just an anime DVD. Neither of us was interested in it, so it went straight to my unwanted wins pile.

I looked out the kitchen window and already I can see she’s starting to pile more bags up back there, and I wonder this: if Bill hadn’t come around when he did, how far would she go with this stockpiling thing? How many bags would end up back there? And what is so hard about bringing them to the dumpster? She does know she’s allowed to use it and she used to use it when we first moved in, so why she would refuse to put them in there after Bill spoke to her about it is beyond me. I guess it’s just a Western thing. Ask or tell a Westerner to go right, they go left. At least she’s quiet other than the occasional door-slamming.

Ok, now for the surprising news, then I’ll get to Denise, the mannequin. I was looking out the front window when I saw a snake a few feet in front of the truck! I got good pictures of it. It was about 3’ long with diamondback-like markings and a tail that tapered off to a skinny point like a king snake. Because it had no rattle or triangular head, I’d say it wasn’t poisonous. It was so brave when I walked up to it. Birds were curious about it, but wouldn’t get any closer than a few feet. It moved very slowly towards the road and I thought it would be dumb enough to go into the street and get killed, but instead it went around the side of the truck facing the street and curled up in the grassy area between the road and the utility pole. I caught the mailman and warned him about it in case it is harmful. I asked, but he said he didn’t know what it was. I’ll bet the guy’s gonna be really paranoid from now on. You could tell he was scared, but not Tom and I. We’re probably the only two crazy people here that went looking for it and taking its picture. He didn’t see it because he was still at work. It had moved on by the time he got in. He’ll still have to watch out for that and the ants she brings in when he mows. I never thought I’d see a snake smack dab in the middle of the city. I joked about feeding it any mice the filthy slob may also bring in, and as Tom pointed out, that may be why it’s here. I know she had mice when we first moved in because Bill told Tom he set up traps in her little dump.

Denise came Friday, the same day Rebecca, who I’m really glad I didn’t get, would’ve arrived. Denise isn’t quite as nice as Ashley, but she’s really close. When I first pulled her out, I thought her face was kind of plain with what we both agreed was one weird eye color. It was like a cross between gold and olive. I don’t know what the hell it was, but very slowly and carefully, I redid her face and can’t believe how good it came out! I was worried until it was done because it wouldn’t have been that easy to fix had I fucked up. I thought the lips were light pink, but once again, what you see online isn’t necessarily what you see in person, depending on how different people have their computer colors and contrasts set. It almost looked like she didn’t have any lipstick on at all, so I used pink chrome nail polish to make the perfect shade of shiny light pink lipstick that goes great with her overall coloring. Then I took a brown eyeliner pencil and darkened her eyes. Like it or not, after trying all the wigs on her, I could see that she was definitely meant to be a blond. She looks best in the blond wig, as well as with her eyes darkened. Usually, the brown eye/blond hair combo doesn’t look good, but she looks great with it, plus the pink lips. The long layered wig she enclosed is a darker shade of blond than the yellowy blond wig, which is the one I’ve got on her now. Its fine, wispy strands look so pretty against her hot pink top.

She looks a little younger than Ashley. Ashley looks to be in her late 20s, but this one looks like she’s early 20s, maybe even around 18.

The only thing I don’t get is why they didn’t bother putting bottom eyelashes on her. No big deal, cuz it’s something I can always pick up for next to nothing, though it is weird. And why is it always a case of overkill on the eyelashes they do put on them and regular dolls? Not even mine are that long! I might trim down the top ones, though they look good from a distance. They didn’t even put blush on her, but that’s another easy thing I could do myself if I wanted to. She’s almost as pale as Ashley, but she’s not as shiny and so I think that looks more realistic. Her feet are a little better detailed, too.

I polished both her finger and toenails in purple chrome. She doesn’t have pierced ears, so she’s not wearing any earrings. Just a necklace, bracelets, and a beaded ring that came with one of the dolls. Ashley’s gold pumps fit her better, so she’s wearing them. I figured they were both a size 8. I think that’s pretty standard for mannequins as is the 3” heel height. On Friday I’ll be getting Ashley shoes in black. I may get either wedges or wide heels like dancing shoes tend to have.

She was hard as hell to dress because most of the tops billow out in front what with the way she’s sitting hunched over. She might be slightly skinnier than Ashley. Her arms and fingers seem to be. Anyway, I decided she looked best in a purple skirt with pink and gold and a short-sleeved pink half-shirt.

Fortunately, she’s just as light as Ashley at just under 30 pounds. I think the reason I thought she’d be heavier is because of the 41 pounds she was listed as being at a site that was selling her with a seat. Well, that seat would’ve added weight. Perhaps they really are both fiberglass, though they sure seem like some type of plastic.

She’s sitting in the living room by my computer in the plastic lawn chair that was first my office chair and then the kitchen chair. I could roll my new office chair into the kitchen if I really wanted to, but until we have a real dining table, I just eat at my desk. She freaked Tom out a few times till he got used to her presence when he came out of his room and into the kitchen. From there you can see the back and side of her and it looks just like a person’s sitting there. Ashley, who’s now in the bedroom, did that to me too, at first. They do look very lifelike! If someone had shown me pictures of these mannequins 5 years ago and told me that one cost just under $300 and the other just over $200, I never would’ve believed it. Getting one for under $450 was unheard of and the faces sucked. The bodies were always pretty realistic, but they simply didn’t have the faces they do now.

Sometimes it’s the outfits you least expect that end up looking the best on them because you just can’t tell what looks best till you try it on them, but I was right in assuming Denise wouldn’t look as good in swimwear being posed the way she is.

I’ve turned into such a mannequin junkie and I cannot get that Asian one out of my mind or the one that looks downward! They were really beautiful and would cost about $500 together like these two did. If I got them I’d want to see close-ups of the faces first, and it wouldn’t be till sometime next year.

I both love and hate this house. I hate it cuz it’s so small, tilted, old and ugly, but I love it because it saves us money.

FRIDAY, MAY 19, 2006 There are currently 12 flowers blooming now, but 5 of them are white crocuses, not mentioned or pictured online. It’s still one of my cooler wins. It’s fun to watch them grow. Unfortunately, the old infertility waves that have always seemed to be with me have affected the lavenders. There are only two sprouts yet there must’ve been 20-30 seeds.

Tom checked to see if they updated the satellite pictures yet of our old place, but from what we estimate, the picture is about 6 years old. It shows our house, but only two rentals. If they kept recent pictures people would be suing them for spying. We’ll have to wait 5 years to see what’s going on today. Common sense tells me there’s got to be a shitload of new houses in that area by now. On our lot, there must be at least two of the four houses that were to be added.

Bill, which is the handyman’s name, knocked yesterday. I had the rat in here at the time, so I went out and shut the door behind me, using the yellow jackets as an excuse to keep the door shut, and it was true that they were everywhere! He asked if we had a problem with ants. I said no, then he said he was gonna spray in back cuz of the ants her trash is collecting, saying she’s so filthy, etc. I guess getting on her about it didn’t do any good, but hey, she’s a westerner. How often can you complain to them in even the nicest of ways and have them comply with you?

He asked if we had a pet. I said no and he said he thought she had a cat. I told him we’ve heard/seen cats around here, but I hope she doesn’t get evicted since all she gives us are car doors. As much as I don’t like it that’s nothing compared to what we could get and we know it! Meanwhile, the rat’s staying in the kitchen in case he comes back. I’d rather a bee get in than for him to see her, although he seems like a nice guy who would keep his mouth shut. Also, when they say “no pets allowed” they generally mean cats and dogs. She’s out running around now. She played with me for a while and now she ran off to play in the other room. She loves to explore.

Anyway, the ant lover back there might’ve actually gotten a job. This is the third day in a row she’s left early, but since I’ve been crashing in the early afternoon or earlier, I can’t say what time she’s been getting back. It’d be nice if she got a job. Then maybe she wouldn’t come and go as much, though she hasn’t been too bad with that lately.

Bill’s interested in buying the truck, but Tom’s going to call him and let him know he does not wish to sell right now.

I finally got a tracking number for Denise. She’s got an estimated delivery date of the 22nd, but since she left Portland last night, I can’t believe it’ll take that long to get here. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she came today.

Later…

It rained for the first time yesterday. Other than that, the weather’s been beautiful, but dry. So dry that it really dried the hell out of my skin. There’s been a little more humidity lately so I’m not as dried out as I was. I wish it were like this every day. We’d save a fortune and I like wearing summer clothes and not having to wear socks or sleep with anything on. It’s quieter than usual, too. I could use a nice peaceful day like this with such gorgeous weather every day!

I caught Bill who had come back to spray like he said he would and let him know Tom doesn’t want to sell the truck at this time. He said no problem.

THURSDAY, MAY 18, 2006 Although I still haven’t received a tracking number, I did get an email saying the mannequin was shipped yesterday and that I should have it in 4 days. 4 days from when? The day it was shipped? If that’s the case, then I’d say FedEx is going to deliver it on Saturday.

I wish to hell the doctors could know it was my ear frame that was the problem back in Phoenix and not anything inside. If I’d gotten just that removed I may not have ended up so punished since they’d only be removing something God never intended for me to have in the first place. It’s what I’m not supposed to have that he goes after. I wonder when He’ll have the bottom retainer fall out. Believe me, if it was a simple matter of reaching in my mouth and yanking it out, I would. This is why I’m afraid to consider LASIK surgery, even if they had it available in this little shit town. I was meant to have my eyesight worsen with age, not get better. So if I ever had this done, would He make sure I acquired some terrible eye disease later on? I believe He would. It may take 10 years, but yes, He’d do something. Why’d He give us the brains to figure out how to perform these procedures in the first place if He didn’t want us altering things? I suppose that’s a dumb question. I mean, I know good and well that not all rules apply to everyone. Just because someone who killed me would automatically be allowed to get away with it doesn’t mean I could get away with breaking into someone’s house.

I always wondered why He ever allowed me to be able to experience orgasms. I mean, if I was destined to be so cursed sexually that I could never get anyone that turned me on like Kate or even Teddy Bear, then why not go all the way and deny me orgasms? But then I realized that with the exception of those of us who don’t want to cum, lust and cumming go hand in hand. Therefore, you couldn’t frustrate someone with lusting for those they could never have without allowing them the ability to get off in the first place. This is the best reason I can come up with anyway, for why He ever allowed me that much.

Kim left at 5 AM yesterday and was still gone at 10:00. I’ve never seen her leave that early before.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 17, 2006 Here’s a news excerpt that made me more glad we never had kids: Last year, a middle-income family spent an average of $190,980 to feed, house, clothe, and entertain a child from birth until age 18, with the preteen and teenage years taking the heaviest toll, according to the U.S. Agriculture Department.

I realized a funny thing about this clip and that’s how they said kids cost so much “with the preteen and teenage years taking the heaviest toll.” But that’s the entire time - dah!

I also dig how the label on one of the Tonner doll boxes says, “For the adult collector, ages 14 and up.” Since when did 14-year-olds get to be adults?

I went down another pound even though I had just over 1000 cals yesterday. I don’t expect to lose anymore.

Although Tom is prepared for the fact that it could happen any day, he sees no signs of them closing their doors or firing him anytime soon, but it’s something he wouldn’t know about till it happened. I’m surprised employers aren’t required to give 30 days’ notice to people they’re gonna lay off or fire. After all, you gotta give it to vacate an apartment, but you know how it is - if it should be a law, it isn’t, and vice versa.

Since most retirement communities are trailer parks, what’s the story with Sun City and Sun Lakes? How come they’ve got real houses? I’d prefer a real house when the time comes, but I’d live in a tent in a retirement community before I lived in a palace in the city!

We’ve been having record highs lately. Tom got the AC in the living room window today. I’m still hopeful we won’t need to put one in the bedroom.

I still haven’t received a tracking number for Denise yet. If I’d ordered Rebecca, she’d be here in just two days, but I’d rather wait longer for what I really want. They say they usually ship out mannequins within one week of purchase.

MONDAY, MAY 15, 2006 If ever I wanted to strangle the cock that invented these car stereos, it’s now that it’s gotten hot out! If they weren’t so in people’s faces about getting attention and acknowledgment, I could open the bedroom window and let the fan blow in cooler air when sleeping during the daytime, but no, these needy little fuckers won’t let me. And I don’t care whether or not many others have the same problem. A problem’s still a problem whether it’s shared by several people or just a few.

Even though it will still be chilly in here during the early morning hours for some time to come, we’ve blown out the heater’s pilot for the summer, and our gigantic neighbor is back to stockpiling trash outside her door. We haven’t been back there, but we figure she is because she hasn’t stuck anything in the dumpster. I still don’t understand why most obese people are so filthy, but she’s just another one who goes to prove that not all stereotypes are mean and mythical, just like with blacks and us Jews. The blacks chose to hang onto a past that’s severely exaggerated and to use it as a crutch and an excuse to act out, but the Jews picked themselves up after the shit with Hitler and forged ahead, determined to succeed without using the past to gain sympathy.

It’s rappers like Snoop Dogg that really piss me off! This ain’t no “rapper” or “artist.” It’s a glorified gang member. He’s a murdering, dope-dealing junkie who’s made millions off his albums which are loaded with crime/hate-promoting lyrics. For the millionth time I have to ask myself – why do good things always seem to happen to bad people? Perhaps if Tom and I had been as low as that shithead we wouldn’t have had so many struggles in life!

Not much in the way of wins other than another round of Nair samples. Another thing I love about winning things is the money it costs others. We have lost so much money to others that it’s about time someone loses some to us! For so long I felt like one of my purposes in life was to be a profit to others. Hell, I’ll even be a profit in death considering all the dolls and other goodies people will get! If I were dead, though, I wouldn’t care because well, I’d be dead after all. If someone could use something I’m no longer alive to use, great. I just hope we don’t get taken advantage of again while we’re still alive. That’s the thing I worry about. My once being overly generous and too forgiving is what caused me most of my past problems, and not doing my homework on people and various things up front.

Another Mother’s Day has passed with a certain so-called mother in Florida as well as one in Arizona having to do without the daughter and son they lost and don’t at all deserve. I never give much thought to them, and when I do it isn’t in a kind way. The only ones I wish well are Andy and Lisa. I still think Lisa will eventually try to find me, not that I expect she’ll succeed, but not until she’s older, like around 30. In our 20s we tend to be more into ourselves with our desire to experience new things and find our niches in life. It isn’t until we get older that we start thinking more in terms of what’s going on in other people’s lives. Eventually, though, I’m almost certain she’ll start missing the good times we shared and will come to miss me and wonder what’s up with me.

I guess there is someone living in the house diagonally across from us because I’ve been seeing lights on at night.

I thought I was back in Phoenix last night! Some cock went down the street bouncing a basketball, not at all caring that it was nearly midnight, a time when most people are asleep.

My garden basket is just now starting to bloom. There’s a variety of flowers. It’s the daffodils that are starting first. From the picture, it looks like there’ll also be pink tulips, hyacinths, and some blue flowers.

Later…

The dogs across the street have become the problem I knew they’d be once it got hot, barking through the cracks in the fence at passers-by. I couldn’t even open the window in peace, so I blasted the stereo. I could still hear them, though.

I thought I’d lose a few pounds and realized I could do it the hard way and drag it out all summer, since 120 is worlds away from 125 at this age, or I could just crash it off and get it over with quickly. I figure if I don’t eat today (at least I’m gonna try my damnedest not to), then eat tomorrow, take the next day off, eat the next, and take one last day off, I can get at least 5 pounds off. I’ll feel more comfortable that way and some of my summer clothes will fit better. For now, I’m pumping myself really well with liquids.

They oughta invent a pill you can swallow that has some type of Novocain in it so that it numbs your stomach for hours. That way you couldn’t feel any hunger! I could never do this without the Claritin, that’s for sure.

I want to try to stay on nights throughout the summer. That way I’m up when it’s both quieter and cooler. It’s been in the mid-80s lately. I’d only want to be on days when I was expecting packages, but I’m not planning on making any more than two orders over the next two months; two Barbies from Walmart, and the big $700 Tonner/Barbie order I plan to do with the summer savings, since he may very well not get overtime again for quite a while.

Later…

I had to have a bowl of cereal to give me the energy to work out and I was just as hungry when I finished so that was a dumb idea. Hunger’s like headaches - the longer you put off doing something about them, the harder it is to nip them in the bud. On the other hand, I don’t know that I want to bother putting myself out and into so much hunger for so little. After all, one doesn’t need to be thin to be fit. I’m as fit as I am fat and I have been for years now. There are people who are 50 pounds overweight but are in excellent shape. Yes, I shall indulge! As long as I don’t go over 125 pounds, I’ll be okay.

SUNDAY, MAY 14, 2006 Some young dude went running down the street faster than lightning not so long ago. I’m amazed at the amount of sidewalk activity in this state. I’m not only amazed by how much winter activity there is, but how late they’re milling up and down the sidewalks in the summer. I thought it was only bad neighborhoods like where I lived in Springfield that had such frequent activity.

Tom got me those blackout drapes for the bedroom’s side window. They look nice and do a good job of keeping light out. They can be used in our next 50 places, although we could very well end up here for years. Without a big win or the wrong people moving in and driving us out, we just may be here for quite a while. As I told Tom, though, if we do stay long and he keeps making what he’s making, we just might need to rent a storage place!

He said that while riding the bus to Walmart, he went through a section of town he’s never seen before that was more spread out. The houses seemed to be on farm-like lots. And I’m sure we could never afford to live there either. To say that something wants us in the areas that are more congested is an understatement! The city’s like the sickos used to be – always with me, always with it. It would actually be pretty damn quiet if it weren’t for the fucking stereos, and it’d be really quiet if the dog were out of the picture, too.

It got up to 80º in here today with a high of 77º outside. It’s to hit 88º come Thursday, so we’re going to put the AC in the living room soon.

I got my flower basket today. At first I was almost sorry I won it since there’s such limited room in here, but I weaseled it in by the front window. The bulbs are in their second of three stages. This means the stems are visible, but the flowers have yet to bloom (the lavenders just started sprouting). I was shocked because when I went to water it, it jumped up half a foot in minutes! I was surprised it came in a box. They’re pre-forced bulbs that were stored in a cooler that was void of light.

There are some orange-yellow tulips coming up in front that are kind of cool. I just wish I could see them from inside the house. Why in the world do people plant things to look nice for those going down the street and not for themselves? I still can’t understand that; showing off and trying to get the attention of strangers and virtually anyone and anything that’ll notice.

Tom read that they’re training rats to identify dangerous landmines in Colombia instead of dogs. Dogs are heavier and can cause the mines to explode when they stand on them. Also, rats are cheaper to care for, have much more sensitive noses and are smarter which makes them faster and easier to train. They also say the females are smarter, but as I told Tom, that goes without saying for any animal or person! That is, with him as an exception. Yes, I’ve always said he’s a man born with a woman’s brain. Anyway, I never could understand why people would want dogs as pets. Sure some of them are cute and they’re not the dumbest animals on earth, but they’re a big expense, a lot of work, and one hell of a noise-maker!

THURSDAY, MAY 11, 2006 We’ll be ordering the Denise mannequin bright and early in the morning! I hope she’ll have a safe journey up here. She’s coming from Oklahoma.

Although it cooled down fast at sundown like most dry climates, it was a nice warm summery day, and of course the attention-getters were sucking it up and doing a fine job of getting on my nerves. I couldn’t seem to hold them off very well today. At least I only heard the canal dog bark once or twice. The dog across from next door has been going off more, but with the warmer weather, that’d bring more sidewalk activity. It could also be due to next door hanging out on their deck and porch. I’m just glad we don’t live on the other side of them or else these so-far good neighbors would be a nightmare! Especially with all the vehicles coming and going.

It got up to 77º in here today which now feels like 82º used to.

My hair is growing pretty fast. It’s sort of fried, but not as fried as I expected. They really have improved hair dye. It’s okay, though, because with it semi-fried, all this thick long hair isn’t so heavy as opposed to the last time it was really long and healthy.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 10, 2006 It’s been a very dry May so far, unlike last May. Better this year than last. Last year it delayed everyone’s antics at the duplex for a month, and the drier it is here, the less I have to worry about the mail. It may very well not rain till September. The summers are the driest time here.

Yesterday was unbelievably quiet as far as stereos go. Whether or not it was just a grand coincidence, Tom and I agree it was nice. The dog was still a problem, but not as much. I think it went off about 3 times which is better than 10, so maybe I really can influence these things.

I had fun making my first electronic medleys. It sure beats doing them on tape. I just wish it wasn’t so hard to keep the volume balanced! The equalizer can only do so much.

MONDAY, MAY 8, 2006 When I got up at 1:00, I saw that Roto-Rooter was here snaking away at the pipes. Apparently, there was a hole in Kim’s pipe under her toilet, so the entire underside of her place is full of shit. Also, there was a clog where the two houses’ pipes meet up with the main big pipe that runs under the street. They also tried using a steamy hot high-pressure water hose to no avail. Tom said it was probably something that had taken many years to build up, and asked me to try to put a spell on it. So I concentrated real hard and next thing I know I was down in the pipe. Not literally, of course, but in my vision. I could see calcium build-up and all kinds of slimy scum which I concentrated on dissolving. Next thing we know, one of the guys goes running down the street. He then opened a manhole to see if the water was flowing smoothly and after 6 hours of working on the thing, it was! As I told Tom, I never would’ve thought to put a spell on such a thing. That’s when he told me that while he doesn’t think I could control things, he thinks I could at least influence them, and says I oughta try to influence more things in general. You may not be able to stop the stereos from booming by, he told me, but I think you could influence them so they’re not as bad, and even things like what’s on sale at the grocery store.

God knows I wish I could influence that fucking dog back there. Half the time I can’t do anything in the kitchen! I can’t cook in there, I can’t eat in there, I can’t do shit! I also have to have music or something going in the other rooms to drown it out of there too, though the kitchen’s certainly the worst room. I want to turn off my music now so I can sit and listen to my new wind chimes out front, but I can’t even do that. It’s ridiculous! Dogs have been a problem ever since I moved out west, and I wouldn’t put it past them to treat the case of a murdered dog the same as a murdered person. Still, I wish someone would kill it! Maybe then people wouldn’t be so quick to toss their dogs outside and forget about them.

I wish I could influence the bigger sweeps as well. It’s great that I just hit my 100th win, but it’s not doing anything to help get us out of here.

All the chimes are lovely except for one of the indoor ones. The one with the fountain is a complete bust. The water trickles along the chimes so gently that it doesn’t make them clank against one another, and they’re so soft anyway. The sound/vibration activator isn’t very sensitive either, and you have to practically beat on it to get the water flowing. We agreed it wouldn’t be worth returning, though, because after they took a 20% restocking fee and you deduct the postage it’d take to return it, we’d only be getting back about $8. If we can’t come up with some clever idea to improvise it, then I think it’d be a good tag sale item. The indoor one, which I’ve got on my desk, is dull-looking compared to my colorful outdoor ones, but it doesn’t take much to set it off. It chimes for 25 seconds and works by way of magnetic repellants. It sounds really pretty, too. If I cough, sneeze, talk loudly, blow bubbles with my gum, or set a cup down on the table, off it goes. It’s way cool.

Sure enough, my appetite’s increased since stopping the Claritin, I’m up two pounds, eating like a pig, and have a runnier nose. Maybe I’ll start it back up tomorrow. I was going to wait till Friday when it had been a week, but I’ll be up 5 pounds by then!

SUNDAY, MAY 7, 2006 The handyman and the owner were here today right after Tom got done mowing with the weed-eater which didn’t take too long since the yard’s so small. It looked like they were watering the bushes in back once again, but Tom went out and discovered what they were really up to which was the same thing they were up to the last two times I saw the handyman out there thinking he was watering. Kim clogged her toilet again. They were doing something that flushes the pipes, Tom explained, and said that they’d get Roto-Rooter out here if need be. Meanwhile, they put Kim’s trash in the dumpster where it belongs. Maybe she’ll take the hint and keep up on it from now on, but like most huge people I’ve known, she’s not exactly into cleanliness. The dumpster’s full now, but it’ll be picked up in just a couple of days.

He said they also said they’d replace the utility door, but Tom told them not to worry about it. It’s the back door they should replace, but we don’t want the hassles of dealing with them either disturbing us, waking me up, or spotting the rat.

The guy said that when they were doing the roof with new rafters and such, he was then going to jack the house up to make it level again until he realized that that would mess up the new roofing. That’s a typical dumb cock for you, though as sexist as I am, I realize there are a few things better about guys in general. For one, they don’t care how a woman decorates, so she doesn’t have to worry about him bitching about that. Also, if she’s like me and wants to skip out on having kids so she can have a life, she’ll never have to worry about an argument on that one either!

Not surprisingly, Tom said the dog was going crazy in back for a while when he was out, and that someone came out and yelled at it at one point. Why don’t they just take it inside or get rid of it??? What’s the point of leaving it out to bark up a storm and annoy them and those around them if they don’t give a damn about the thing and are just going to neglect it anyway??? There’s always gotta be something we have to listen to no matter where we go.

I quit the Claritin for a week to renew its kick and I’ve already eaten a pound back on. I’m 124 pounds on this scale, but of course, a doctor’s scale would tell me I was really between 132-134.

I got the lavender growing kit on Friday, and tomorrow I’ll get the chimes. I hope I get all 4 of them since this company obviously does drop-shipment.

SATURDAY, MAY 6, 2006 Ah, the peacefulness of the nighttime. It’s still early on a Saturday night, so I’m sure the city’s desperate and deprived will make enough shows of themselves with the bass, but as much as I complain about not being able to hold a schedule, it’s still nice to enjoy the best of both worlds; the peacefulness of the nights and the convenience of days.

I got a rather weird package from FedEx the other day. An empty box. Just a plain old empty box. It was from Florida and was probably from a company that sends prizes. I hope it wasn’t a prize I wanted. Some asshole probably swiped it on the assembly line. Tom emailed them, but he hasn’t gotten a response yet.

I spotted a good deal on a Janay doll, a 12” vinyl doll like Barbie, on eBay, so I got one coming from Texas. She’s black with realistic features, gold hair, and a casual yet flashy outfit.

Tom’s going to make a habit of biking it to Fred Meyer every weekend because he misses being in a grocery store that has everything. Me too! I hate this little half-assed Safeway store we usually walk to. I miss Albertson’s and the Walmart Supercenter. Actually, he’s going to Walmart so he can get me a blackout draper liner which hotels use, to put in the bedroom’s side window because that window’s going to get hit with a lot of afternoon sunlight. I like it darker when sleeping in the daytime anyway, and it’s good insulation against both heat and cold and it supposedly reduces noise, too.

This weekend he picked up a weed eater. With the yard being so small, he should be able to do most of it with just that.

We walked to the store yesterday and passed a heavy woman in her 20s or so sitting on the porch swing. On our way back an animal yelled out of the upper window, but we never saw it in the yard. There were 3 cars parked there, along with a stroller and a garden trailer on a grassy area alongside the driveway. They have yet to be a problem, and if some bass I hear is theirs I wouldn’t know it there’s as so damn many people blasting music.

Silk Splash, the new site that’s to be run by SOS, isn’t ready yet, but I’m excited about buying their ½-oz. roll-ons for a buck! I’ve got to stop using the burner and sticks cuz of the residue. I can’t wash some of the doll clothes like the glittery ones. I can personally say that a ½-oz. lasts longer than one might think, especially if I buy 50-100 at a time like I know I will. I still want to wait till after I’ve gotten Denise and most of the dolls on my list. Besides, I’ve still got quite a bit left. When I do order, I’ll get my favorites and some newbies! I still may grab a few 1-oz. sizes for the warmer. At least that doesn’t smoke or get too overwhelming.

TUESDAY, MAY 2, 2006 It’s cold again, but only at night. The heat can still be off during the daytime.

Amazingly, next door’s still been fine, not that I’m ready to say the noise curse has been lifted. All we’ve seen is them mowing, and right now someone’s edging, and then on Saturday, there was an animal in the yard for a few minutes. I heard its screams, but it was nothing like the animals that visited the fat tub of shit we lived next to last summer. Tom was right when he said the bad makes the good even better and more enjoyable. If the same people are still at the duplex now, I’m sooo glad that I’m not! If that sick bitch hasn’t been evicted, then I know that anytime now the beast of hers will be let out at 6 AM sharp, and there it will remain for hours on end. Then she’ll let it out for a few more hours along with herself in the early evenings and gab on the phone, oblivious to its barking, not giving a damn about others around her. I do not miss that shit!

Since my last entry, I’ve won a cheese spreader, a Superman action figure, and a Fine Living Chris Isaak Jazz Pack which includes: a DVD, a dozen pralines, a cooler chair, a Louisiana music CD, and a Louisiana Official Tour Guide. I also won 5 of the 2006 Best Picture Nominated DVDs and a bag of Granola Munch’ems snack packs at an ARV of $110.

We bombed on Sunday while we walked up to do the laundry. We washed my comforter and the wolf print blanket that I’ve been using as a curtain. I’ll use it as a blanket when it gets a little warmer, rather than buy a new one. Instead, I’ve got the two indoor chimes, the two outdoor chimes, and the lavender growing kit on its way to me.

The cherry and apple blossoms are abloom now. It’s too bad they won’t be for long.

I’ve changed my mind as far as the Rebecca mannequin goes. Yes, she’s nice, but she’s got a few things about her I don’t like. For one, she looks like Ashley’s twin sister, she’s also white as a ghost, and I don’t like the way one of her arms hangs. It’s supposed to be resting on her lap, but it doesn’t quite touch it, so the pose doesn’t look as natural. I’ve always liked the Denise mannequin that a couple of other sites have, but she was twice the cost so I never seriously considered her. However, I found an eBay seller selling her for $275 with shipping, just $25 more than Rebecca, and I think it’s worth it to get the one I really want. Especially since it’s something I’ll have all my life, assuming we never lose our stuff. She said she’ll throw in a long blond wig and that she’ll hold her till the 12th when we’ll have the money, but I don’t know if she comes with any kind of a seat. If not, I can always buy one or make one out of boxes or something. She has a more unique and stable pose. Rebecca sat cross-legged with one hand on her hip and the other resting a couple of inches above her lap which looked a bit odd. This one sits resting her forearms on her lap with her hands dangling by the sides of her knees. Her left hand is by her right knee and her right hand is by her left knee. Her knees are close together, but her feet are spread apart. She is also known as “The Intellectual Beauty” and measures 33-24-35, the same as Ashley, though Ashley’s waist is a half-inch bigger. She may have hazel eyes like Ashley, but she doesn’t have the same red lips.

I was contemplating saving up for Lasik eye surgery next summer if we’re still here and not broke to help get me out of glasses for a good 5-10 years. At least out of prescription glasses anyway. However, I realize that that’d fall along the same lines as having my ear operated on and my teeth straightened. In other words, whatever’s up there would not like that at all, and because I didn’t stick to the farsighted eyes I was meant to have, it could very well punish me with total blindness or something else much more horrible than just farsightedness.

I got a letter from Mary. She said she was sorry my pictures were returned and that others have had glitter cards returned to them and that it’s taking everyone 9-11 days to receive their mail from the date it’s postmarked. She said she didn’t know if it was the post office or if they were seriously reading people’s mail. As I told her, no, it’s not the post office that’s the problem, and reminded her that jails and law enforcement in general aren’t just about “justice.” It’s about power and greed, and in the case of the mail taking forever to get to her, it’s a case of control since there’s no money to be made by making sure they delay giving it to her. Whether they’re reading incoming mail or not, it shouldn’t take any more than 4 days to get to her. But they’re not going to come out and say, “We deliberately hold the mail for a week just to feel we’re in control of you, etc.” Tampering or withholding anyone’s mail is a federal offense, so I wouldn’t expect them to admit to what they’re doing. Even so, they always gotta do something to feel powerful.

She said her friend Brandi, who’s still in Estrella, said crazy Joe took away the radios. I’m surprised it took this long. I guess he decided the control and depriving the inmates of music was worth the money loss. I just thank God he didn’t swipe them when I was there!

She suggested we don’t move just because it may get noisy next door, and said that many others have the same problem with noise and to just be glad things aren’t worse. As I told her, we wouldn’t move if it was just kind of noisy or even moderately noisy, we’d move if it was VERY noisy with a capital V. The duplex wasn’t just noisy, it was insanely noisy! Yeah, it’s a noisy world and it only gets worse and worse, so we wouldn’t move unless it was an extreme situation. We also left the duplex for other reasons, as I reminded her.

Sure enough, she’s thinking of working at home when she gets out and goes to live with her brother, so I reminded her that there is no work-at-home job and that they’re all scams. If it were that easy to work at home, then just about everyone would. I told her that sure, she’d get survey invitations, alright. But what she’ll find is that they’ll always say, “Sorry, you didn’t qualify for the $2 or $5 or whatever it is, but we’ll enter you into our drawing.” Meanwhile, they probably don’t even do drawings, and if they did you’d have to count on winning all the time to be able to support yourself. They’re targeting mothers because they know they’re the most desperate for money and that they’d rather stay home than spend money on daycare where their kids could be molested and God knows what else. This is why fewer and fewer women are having kids these days. It isn’t just that so many guys don’t want to deal with the kid taking their attention from them, or because they don’t want the extra expense/responsibility. It’s because most jobs don’t pay enough to cover the adults’ expenses and the kids’, daycare or babysitter. The dollar just doesn’t go very far these days. I told her that her best bet will be to take the highest-paying job she can get, and then do her hobbies and other things she likes to do during her time off. Like it or not, we can’t do it all, can’t have it all. We gotta just make the best of the hand that’s dealt to us in life and hope for the best.

She wants to do email with me when she’s free and get a text reader. I told her email would be fun, but to keep in mind that I don’t have tons of free time anymore.

They finally moved her to an open dorm. She said she doesn’t have any privacy there, but that it’s calmer there without the constant fistfights and bickering. She said she’d still go back to Estrella if she could, even though she couldn’t have a radio, and they’re now only allowed two showers a week. The two showers a week – ugh! That’s definitely overkill, but once again, they get off on making the inmates feel as miserable as they can, not just to punish them, but because it makes them feel bigger and badass.

I didn’t know this, but apparently Adam lives in a mountain cabin. He must make a ton of money to afford the gas to commute. Is she sure the probation department will let her live in such a remote place? And is she sure she’s even going to be happy in a mountain cabin? She was always a city girl and always loved it, from what she told me.

[dcviated]

@sercphs sent: Thoughts are a plague that nobody can escape. Some can coexist with them easily, others are dragged to the depths by their weight. And then... There are those like Daemon. Those who have so incredibly long to live with those thoughts, unable to sink, unable to swim - weighed forever by them, lapsing between clear breathing and drowning in that sea of consciousness so regularly. So it is that when the sea of the mind is struck by a tsunami that things change, that the reality becomes something else entirely in that moment. That's what a single resonance did - the ancient worldview that had been left untouched for so long was suddenly upset by someone who looked just like one of its foundations.

So it is that they've not known how to face her since then. The smile on her face, like none of it happened - moving on and ready to face tomorrow with a new energy. Malkuth's expressions don't bring them anger anymore, but there's something else in the place of what once writhed. Anger falls away, and soon enough the thing that takes its place is... Sorrow. "..." So it is that their gaze lingers on her for just a little too long again, the question digging in to the back of their mind, one they've never been able to properly address: Just how can she greet the world like she does, after all that's happened? "...Malkuth." The name - her name - still feels strange on their tongue, after their fight. Like a nightmare that consumed them, rage and regrets boiling over and spilling out that same name with vitriol and hatred... Now there's a faint longing in that tone. A want to understand, even if they can't still face her. "...I..." Their gaze falls away, to the bag in their hand. It had been a difficult thing to do, but they remembered how happy she looked when they went to this place. A bag is lifted - Wendy's food. "...Got you this. For leaving abruptly earlier." It's not much, but it's a start at least.

Standing there on the Floor of History, Malkuth is ever the unassuming person at first sight. Fortunately, one doesn't always wear their history like a coat. And for as much as the past and actions can weigh them down not every decision leaves a scar on the body. That doesn't, of course, mean that such things are there. Visions of the past. Memories that may always last.

Different people, different times. And now, you figure in whole other versions of the world and herself? It's enough to give one a headache... were they to concern themselves with it. Malkuth had resorted to some unsavory methods to reconcile some manners with Daemon, this is true. But it seems to have had the right impact.

Now, if only she could find the right way to get them not to be avoidant. Anger. Fear. How many emotions would Daemon show before he accepted that she was neither her past self, nor their own version of her past self? Perhaps it'll take more than a pen to smooth things out.

How to correct? Well. Turns out. Sometimes. Things correct themselves after all. Who but Daemon themselves would appear to make amends? AND WHAT'S THAT THEY'RE CARRYING AND OFFERING?

She wants to gasp and leap and run over. But. That wouldn't be to the best ... the idea here is to get Daemon to stay, not scare them off yet again!

"Heh. If you're intending this to be an apology, Daemon..." She begins, that mischievous glint finding the flash of her eyes. Fishing a hand around in the bag for a moment, she retrieves a perfect fry. "Then I'm not accepting it unless you stay here and share some of these with me. Understand!"

A command more than it was a request. Malkuth's hand flies forward (and up) to plant the salted snack into the other's mouth. Then, she finds a proper seat near the table. Then, after setting down the bag, forcefully pats the space next to her- all while giving the biggest grin possible to the dejected and tenuous patron.

"Because I don't wanna eat it all by myself, okay?" Not that she technically needs to worry about the calories. But the idea of feeding Daemon more french fries is in itself a fun and cheery prospect. "Sit sit sit sit sit."

[cordelianewman]

Ah, so you admit, you cheated! To me that absolutely is an admission so that's good enough for me. I win. Don't ask how that works, it just does, obviously. I'll keep that in mind, I know the kids love them, especially Rosalyn, she was so messy by the end, glaze all over her face. Feel like we could tough out a few more weekends even if it dipped a little cooler, we're built for this. It's not our first rodeo with fall time. I'll even brave the colder weather outside for you at the grill. They can definitely polish off quite a few wings, not that I'm shaming them! Growing boys and burning all those calories at practice, but we also can't go broke either. We could do a wing bar one night, make a bunch of kind of wings from the grocery store, fancy them up, put on a football game, and maybe fully start indoctrinating Rosalyn into the football family. I know she's been to the boys games but for her that's run around the free areas and play until she falls asleep and gets wrapped up in a warm blanket in the stroller, and I only bring that so I don't have to hold her the whole time she's sleeping. Guess that will be up to Raf, there's going to be no contesting from her biological father, he's not on the birth certificate, there's no rights to him legally anymore, I've made sure of that not long after she was born. So, I can't imagine there's going to be many hurdles in your way. I think teenage us would be happy now, they'd be happy we found our way back to each other, and that we married. Think we made them pretty proud of those two young, dumb, and crazy in love kids. Wow, really making me feel better, babe. Telling me I moan, groan, and crack. You're not helping with the running out of time feeling by pointing that out either! I knew that once you had him in your arms it's get you thinking, I'm just going to see if Lucie can keep having you hold him and it'll eventually kick baby fever off in you too. Have you thought about maybe talking to Josh about your worries? He might be able to give you a good perspective? Give you some ideas on how to handle the nerves, how I can better help you with it? I mean I'm pretty sure we're only going to get this one chance of a little one so, it's selfish but I just kind of want to make sure we don't miss that window together to have a piece of us together. It doesn't change how much Colton and Rosalyn are ours, they're our children, no matter what. No, I get it, I'm glad he's happy in his own way, I just figured that I don't know, I'm a romantic at heart and he kind of has this cynical he's too old for anything to ever happen, and I just find that absurd. It's not like he's not attractive. I don't think there's one Newman that isn't attractive. Are you sure he's not just secretly replacing the fish but has killed the fish? Seems like something he would do. I'm sorry I find that ironic and kind of hilarious, and it's not to make you feel bad, you had valid feelings but you -- YOU fuck me up? Have you met my parents? That was done long ago, you could damage me more than what they've done. Hurt me, sure. Make it hard for a while, yes, but fuck me up, that was all my parents doing. It was, I mean we didn't talk about you, not really. Sometimes he brought you up but he knew that was a bad subject and normally we'd end up in a fight and we'd be "off" after that, then he'd come around and we'd be back "on" and I don't know. We both could never pull the trigger to make it happen and become more. Part of me thinks he had some kind of respect for you still somewhere, even if we were sleeping together, and part of me was hoping it would just be this big bandaid to fix it all and I could move on, marry the next acceptable good looking guy, and be done. He's a good guy, you know, there wasn't anything wrong with him, it just wasn't -- you. Ohhh I wouldn't be drunk texting you that, you know that would be all Lucie. Are you going to go all caveman if someone is giving me a lap dance? Need to know what to potentially prepare for or not prepare for. If I'll need bail money and Rafael on speed dial.

I'm always going to be a mama bear it's in my blood. I can't help it I want to make sure they don't get it too badly that it's unfair. I know how football and cheer team practices could be sometimes. Shawn is great, couldn't ask for a better kid to be staying with us.

You can't defeat lobster in Maine, I think that the worst chef in town could have showed up with grilled lobster and would have ended up winning, I just used my smarts on that one. But for what it's worth, if you wanted to make those donut shortcakes again, I would not say no to that. We might have a couple more grilling weekends before the weather gets cold, you know. Yeah, no kidding, wings aren't exactly cheap as it is these days, if we're trying to feed the two of them…? But we could always get them at the grocery store and doctor them up at home and save a little money compared to getting them at a restaurant, I guess. Small victories. I'm pretty sure as my lawyer, it's in his wheelhouse, regardless. So don't worry, we'll make it work, get everything in motion. It would be nice if we could get everything approved before the wedding, but I'm not sure what the timeline on something like that looks like, you know? Still Cage, just with a little better facial hair than the peach fuzz I was trying to rock in high school? No. No, it doesn't matter at all, I just think about it sometimes, what they would think of us now, and I think they would be happy. I just never imagined as an eighteen year old kid packing up my truck that I'd be running my own business and raising two teenaged boys and a little girl and talking about having more kids with the girl of my dreams, given that I thought I was throwing everything away. I'm just… I feel really lucky every time I look at you. Hun, I listen to you moan and groan every morning when you get out of bed, I hear your knees pop when you lean down to pick up Ros, I know you're in your thirties. That's why I love you, you're just like me. No, the shiny ring was never meant to be a distraction, I promise you -- I just got to the point where I knew what I wanted, and what I wanted was to be married to you. I do, and I can't lie and say that holding him doesn't make me remember Colton being that little, and make me think that maybe I could do it again, and I want to, I will, I'm just nervous. I think that it's just different for him than it is for us. For you and me, happiness is each other, and Colton and Ros and our farm and our family, and Kellan has found a genuine happiness in running the farm -- which doesn't mean we can't drag him out for pizza nights or push him to talk to pretty girls at carnivals, but he does have those goats and Gregory! He's a good dog. And the fish, which he has not killed yet. Surprisingly. I think a part of me thought the opposite, that if I stayed, I would fuck you up, that I wouldn't be able to live up to the expectations that we had, that our parents had, that the whole world had, you know? So yeah, you're not wrong, I was worried about that. A lot, yes. But not recently, for what it's worth. I got it out of my system. I won't say I never had casual sex since moving back home, I have, but not… a lot. I can understand it. Honestly -- I get it. Familiarity. Not just the cheerleader, football vibe, but also someone that you knew, someone that knew me, it kind of makes sense in a way? What stopped you from making it serious? You say that, until you're drunk texting me pictures of you getting a lap dance a week before our wedding, baby. I think they're getting used to your mama bear ways, for what it's worth. Shawn seems to be fitting in pretty well, don't you think?

[squelsh]

good morning, 2424. welcome to the world

it's weird how i treat taking my medications. at night, i take the white capsule with a green stripe. the triangle white tablet with a cut in the center. the huge colorless tablet vitamin, "for my immune system" (who am i even trying to impress with it?), water, the little blue pill i keep under my tongue. that's enough for me to take care of what's wrong with me without me needing to keep what they are in my mind. they don't have names, they don't do anything. i just treat myself to look at and sort colors like a crow trained to put the right shape of blocks in the right shape of hole.

it's not ignored to me; if someone asks, i can list off what i'm taking and how much. it is true that i take w, x, y, and z medications every day. it is true that the schwarzschild radius is a gross oversimplification of black hole formation. it is true that the sky is blue. these are just facts of reality. what do they have to do with me? the medications i take, and why i take them, aren't a part of me. they're just a part of the reality around me, which is the same identical reality surrounding you. my meds don't matter to you. it's the same reality. why should i care either if nothing between us changed? i can ignore what's wrong with me so long as i know it's real.

it's 14 minutes left of christmas here. my present was painful burning in my throat, but also my first experience with chest tenderness. it was in the house without any knives. i spent the last three days surrounded by family. i didn't have a moment to myself even when i was asleep. i guess i am too weak, but i figured if there was something sharp nearby i could stab myself and go to the hospital. bad choice in the long run, but i'd be able to have some time to myself, at least. i looked around in all of the drawers, but the furniture had only just moved in, so of course any cutlery wasn't there either. i just slumped down on the wall and cried.

two days later i got a nice flannel jacket, a cookbook, and that feynman memoir. i cried then too. it felt weird over the last 40 days seeing the family attitude around me change. "it feels like your entire life you were staggering in place, and you're only now moving forward." he doesn't know about that fourth medication i take every night. would he still think i'm moving forward anymore? but it got me some security, oh well. the meds are stored in a false-labeled box behind a false back in my locked filing cabinet.

that filing cabinet, and what's inside of it, is the only thing i think i own. my dad said that after my oldest sister moves out, he's not moving anyone else ever again. he's getting old. i phrased it like a joke, to hide the actual concern i was testing: "oh, looks like i'd better move out soon before she does so i can get moving help while i can!"

"there wouldn't even be anything to move, i couldn't help you with anything in the first place"

the cat is so so large. she's not overweight, i've found; she really is just an impressively huge and thick cat. she loves me way too hard. i'm worried for when she moves out with my sister.

i'm eating a lot more. over winter, my parents stay home more often, so it's the only condition in which there's actually food around. i really want to gain weight, and i hope i keep whatever weight i gain this season. i've learned some good skills for food preservation and calorie maximization the past year as well. hopefully the next one should be easier thanks to that.

The model 2424 Analytical Nephelometer is a special adaptation of the Hach 2100A Laboratory Turbidmeter designed to minimize the effects of color interferences in turbidity measurement.

[leam1983]

Normalcy

I head to bed still sort of mourning the last two weeks. I miss being the peppier of the two of us in bed, the discussions we'd have until Walt's voice would trail off into snores. Normalcy means going back to unfulfilling interest rates and to the very occasional case of a client giving me the impression that we've landed them a good deal. Normalcy means going back to listening in on juniors who toss all caution to the wind and figure they're authorized to shit out APRs on the spot.

It's mildly irksome, and I mention as much to Walt. He has me scooch closer while he squirms his way into his groove in the mattress.

"It's not like we deal with Nissan; these people aren't in do-or-die situations. Mercedes, Audi, BMW - these client bases don't move unless they want to. We're just paid to give them a little nudge," he tells me.

I glance up at him. "So everyone's satisfied?"

Walt rolls his eyes and smirks behind his mustache, rubbing my scalp with a hand as he speaks. "Look at you, all anxious about work performance when Sarah and I both know you're the armchair Marxist of the three of us."

Coming from him, this is high praise indeed. I reach up and kiss him.

"Hey, mister bourgeoisie - wanna see this prole rebel in bed?"

That rips a chuckle out of him. "Let's not get too wild, I'm in more of a cuddling mood and Sarah needs some shut-eye."

I'm starting to realize that Walt's responsiveness is correlated to how intense we get. If I don't want loud effusions because one of the polycule is actually sleeping, I just need to keep it slow. We do just that, which results in Walt giving me the warmest gaze in existence at the end of the proceedings.

I've got the old CEO on the brain. "Promise me you won't let this job get to you again," I tell him. "I remember the cabin, how desperate you felt."

Walt gently grasps my head in both his hands. "Not ever again. I'll be the complete inverse of our old boss, hon: soft and pliable, not an ounce of athleticism, wholly devoted to the pursuit of our family's pleasures, and ordained by the Church of Cholesterol."

I laugh, and so does he. He's not serious, obviously, but acts like he is. "No, seriously! All the men in the family that were lucky enough to reach their eighties or nineties ate like whales, smoked like chimneys and devoted most of their calorie intake to being devoted husbands! Uncle Vernon, the outdoorsman of the family, died at fifty-three from lung cancer. He was an ultramarathoner and a non-smoker."

By that point, doubt creeps on. "Shut up. - you're serious?"

He signs himself and raises a hand. "Serious as can be. All the men in the George family seem to be genetically predisposed to be around my weight, and those that aren't or that fight against their own metabolism either die young or end up miserable."

I hang for a second, then feign getting out of bed. "I'm heading to the corner store and buying you Mrs. Butterworth syrup or whatever; it'll probably start featuring on your 'scripts from the GP."

As he knows I'm not serious, Walt pulls me back in while chuckling. "Let's not overdo it, though," he cautions, smirking as he does.

A few moments pass. I feel him drift away, but know he's not gone yet.

"So, we're a family?"

He grunts in the affirmative. "Beyond our usual fetishes, kiddo. You, me and Sarah. The usual advice is family shouldn't run a business, but the Steinbergs and Péladeaus might disagree..."*

I'm made aware of how lucky I am. A different work placement referral could've landed in my lap and I never would've met Walt or Sarah. I never would've developed the fundaments of my current job. I'd be someone else entirely, doing something else entirely.

I wouldn't have this family. My former execs are grieving, and I feel like I jumped off of a leaking eighteenth-century brig and onto a small, if sleek and spacious ultramodern yacht.

"Thanks, Walt," I then say. Either he's too far gone to ask why or he just gets it, but Walt just squeezes me a little closer and mutters "You're so welcome, Grem," before drifting off into snores.

Thanks, Walt.

Never have two words felt so inadequate in expressing the true scope of my gratitude. It's a little too late for effusions, though...

*The Steinberg family ran one of Quebec's formerly-prominent grocery store chains for decades, and the Péladeau family heads one of our biggest telecom providers

[beaniebaneenie]

So, I’ve had a request from Floral for Danny and spicy foods :D 

I definitely headcanon that the accident did a LOT to our boy- I think Danny’s body chemistry is different enough that he doesn’t technically count as really human anymore. 

In the real world, scientists have recently discovered that every human (except those from sub-Saharan Africa) has roughly 2-3% of Neanderthal DNA in our genetic code… and we’re all still human. So Danny could have some significant changes to his biology and still debatably be within the range of Human vs Non-Human. 

In another post, I’ll probably get into the other side-effects I think his powers have given him… migraines, chronic pain, etc- I’ve put them in my fics too. I also think that as his body tries to figure out if it’s alive or dead, his metabolism would jump all over the place. Some days, it would be really slow, and other days, he wouldn’t be able to stop eating, or moving. 

Some days, his metabolism is so fast that it burns through the pain meds he takes on his bad days, and when he gets older and starts drinking, he figures out that some days, he’s completely toasted after half a beer…. Other days, he’s like Steve Rogers and can’t get drunk at all. 

Another side effect of his powers- and his ice core- is that he runs cold… several degrees colder than normal humans. He doesn’t notice so much, except for that one time before Undergrowth. He tries to use his cryo-powers enough that it’s not a problem, but he can’t turn off his core, and his chill, without putting his existence in danger. From what we see, Danny doesn’t get hugged a lot… and his external body temperature might have something to do with it. 

I think he is a big fan of cuddles and hugging… but he spends so much of his time helping other people that he forgets to ask for what he needs. He doesn’t want to be a burden, so he just doesn’t ask. 

But Danny also isn’t really aware that the inside of his mouth is cold too- warmer than the rest of him, since that’s the case for normal humans… but still pretty cold. His tastebuds are severely dulled… and as a result, he can’t taste a lot of things. 

For a LONG time, Danny doesn’t really notice. The cafeteria food is only “food” in the sense that it’s technically edible, and theoretically contains calories. And growing up, he’s eaten enough ecto-contaminated food over the years that didn’t taste quite right, so he’s not really used to the normal tastes of food anyway. 

But after the accident, he loses a lot of his sense of taste. It’s not until he starts squeezing half a dozen packets of Nasty Burger Special Sauce on his burgers and nuggets that Tucker points out that something might be up. Yknow, because Danny says that he can’t taste it otherwise, and Tucker and Sam both look at him like he’s nuts. Which is saying something, because they’ve rolled with a lot of punches.

And then there’s the day that the A-Listers are suddenly nice to him… and kick Nathan away from the loser table in the cafeteria, and bring Danny his lunch. And stand there and wait to watch him eat it. Danny knows that with his mother’s lack of cooking skills, the ecto-contamination at his house, and the fact that he can literally reach inside his stomach to pull out anything that he really shouldn’t have eaten, whatever they’ve done to his lunch won’t really hurt him. And it might get him a couple days free from bullying if he goes along with it… so he does. 

Only, as he eats it, he can’t tell that they’ve done anything to the food. It actually tastes… good. Way better than the cafeteria food normally tastes. And even though some part of his brain knows that this is suspicious, he can’t bring himself to care. It’s been months since he enjoyed something he ate. 

Turns out, the football team thought it would be funny to put ghost peppers in his lunch… because of the “ghost” part. Except… ghost peppers come in at over 1,000,000+ Scoville units (standard unit for measuring spice/heat levels), over 400x hotter than jalapeños. Danny knows that a normal human’s mouth would practically be on fire right now, but he feels fine. 

…and he knows he shouldn’t. He knows from Tucker’s ravings about food that ghost peppers can (and have) killed people from eating them. But he thinks they’re delicious. Which is when he figures out that maybe his powers have done something to his tongue.  

As Danny gets older, he starts to learn what exactly happened. And exactly what the rules are. Spicy food is great- the capsaicin is hot enough to warm his tastebuds to the point that he can taste the food again, so he just starts drenching everything in hot sauce. When Tucker tells him that he can’t put hot sauce on ice cream, Danny listens, because if even Tucker won’t eat it, it’s probably gross… and learns that he can taste cold things too. 

Temperature extremes mean that he can actually enjoy food… and to anyone who doesn’t know his secret, he’s just one of Those People who put hot sauce on everything… which is by far the least weird thing about any of the Fentons, so everyone pretty much lets it go.

[miraeluc]

you have an eating disorder

prompt: “you never had issues with food - that is until your boyfriend makes a remark about your weight.”

pairing: katsuki bakugo x female! reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: MAJOR TW!! anorexia, there’s swearing

genre: fluff, angst 

NOTE: this is not proofread at all and it’s kinda short, i was struggling to finish it a lot, sorry :(

you were never one to pay special attention to your diet or anything

life is short, why spend it worrying about how your body looks?

food is food man, and you need it to live 

there was no fun in dieting either, it’s not like you were ever fat anyway - with daily training you were in shape!

sure there were thinner girls, but like i mentioned, you just liked enjoying food without having to worry about losing weight all the time 

your boyfriend, bakugo, just does not know how to express himself 

he’s not the type to really pay any mind to your figure, he finds you pretty anyway 

and its a plus anyway - whenever he feels full he can just push his plate towards you and you’ll gladly finish it for him 

that is until one day

you were sitting with the baku squad at lunch

mina was telling you about a new tiktok trend she had stumbled upon and found hilarious 

denki was currently fighting for his life against bakugo after saying his hair looked like he was just hit by an electricity quirk before he proceeded to zap him lightly 

kirishima was regretting all of his life decisions when he decided to try and help denki 

sero was just sat there,, recording it so he could show them just how stupid they looked afterwards

kirishima finally managed to pull said angry-boy away from kaminari 

you always said he’s like a little angry pomeranian when angry lol 

back to the plot omg i got carried away

after bakugo was calm enough to take his initial seat beside you, he was already too full and just overall not hungry

so he pushed his plate towards you 

“eat up, fatass.” he grumbled out

you just looked up at him with wide doe-eyes, not expecting an insult to slip off his tongue

it was bakugo, what’d you expect lmao 

you looked down at the plate, suddenly feeling very not hungry anymore, instead pushing the plate away as you grabbed your bag to stand up

“actually, i’ll head up to my room, i feel a bit sick”

you immediately left after that, not seeing the confused glances the table exchanged, mina smacking bakugo’s head

you went to your room and laid down, not knowing why bakugo’s comment had made you feel upset

you never get upset when he makes dumb remarks!!

so why now!!

oh 

you realised it when you were stood in front of the mirror, shirt lifted, staring at your own body

you did gain some weight.

you were upset at yourself because you usually didn’t mind!!

you know weight fluctuates, you know the small amount of chub you have will eventually pack it’s little bags and leave again 

but it hurt because you wanted to be pretty for your boyfriend.

how could you be when he says you’re a fatass?

eventually, you ended up scrolling through your phone, looking at thin girls all day

you also looked up a few diets that worked very fast 

by the time bakugo was aggressively knocking at your door you had closed all of the pages you were previously looking at 

as soon as you swung the door open he strutted in, seating himself on your bed

“what was with you running off at lunch today?” he looked at you 

you were still stood at your door like.... mm ok i guess make yourself at home 

“huh? i told you, i felt a little sick.” you mumbled, closing the door again, it was getting late and you were not looking to be beheaded by aizawa

he scoffed “if you say so.” he laid down, kicking your blanket to the side

“i brought you some snacks - incase you got hungry..” he said, his face looking like >:( 

he didn’t get them because he knew you liked them and wanted to make you happy! not at all!!

he just didn’t want to put up with you being whiny

that’s for sure the reason 

you giggled, throwing yourself ontop of him - sounds of protest coming from him but he did wrap his arms around you 

“since when are you so nice, katsuki?!” you teased

lol wrong move 

in 0.01 seconds you were flipped over and held down as he started tickling you 

“i’m not nice!”

the next morning you left extra early to avoid getting breakfast with bakugo

he didn’t seem to be bothered by it, he also has days where he just doesn’t feel like eating early in the morning so 

it does start to bother him when that one day of skipping breakfast turned into every day

his google search bar is like 

‘why does my gf not eat’

‘do girls not eat breakfast’

but this bitch is also too scared to approach you at first because he doesnt want you to know he truly cares 

his ego is still too high for that 

but you know better

you know he cares but sometimes you don’t feel good enough for him

you can’t help but compare yourself to other girls at your school

you distance yourself unknowingly, lost in the counting calories and exercising every day

everyone but you notices that you’re literally spiraling 

you don’t notice that you look sick, skin paling and cheekbones getting more prominent every passing day 

you don’t notice the growing eyebags under your eyes 

all you notice is other pretty girls and how you want to look like them.

at first, your friends decide to give you some space, thinking that maybe you have to fix this within yourself and need space

and you do, but someone needs to snap you out of your little bubble 

that someone is bakugo 

so it goes like this 

during training, he noticed your legs being a little more wobbly than usual 

and he noticed that you were unfocused, not being able to dodge all of the enemies attacks 

but something inside of him snaps when aizawa has to stop the fight because you were not even fighting back anymore

before aizawa even arrived in front of you, your world went black and you collapsed

bakugo was so angry at your training enemy 

didn’t they fucking see your struggle?? 

did they really have to be stopped by their teacher??

would they even have stopped if it werent for aizawa?? 

probably not

but he didnt have time to go and yell at them because he was running towards you 

aizawa let him pick you up

“bring her to recovery girl.”

of course he did 

everyone watching was so shocked 

because bakugo didn’t let out a sound the entire time 

his face was pulled into a frown, as usual, but he wasn’t speaking- no, yelling

he showed past his classmates, walking towards recovery girl’s office

“ribbit, why was he so quiet?”

recovery girl was like ?!?!?! what the fuck happened when was the last time she ate

she had to give you a total parenteral nutrition

(that means nutrition/fluids are delivered into your body via a catheter placed in a vein of your body, usually lower arm)

when you woke up bakugo was sat next to the bed, reading the back of some medicine bottle he found there

when he noticed you awake he perked up a little, shoulders visibly relaxing

“what happened?” 

he narrowed his eyes, wondering for a second if you were serious 

“you’re starving yourself to near death, that’s what happened.”

you immediately grimaced

“did i pass out in front of everyone?”

“is that seriously what you’re worried about?!”

you remained quiet, looking away

“y/n, look at me.” he gently guided your head to face him

“i don’t know what drove you to do this to yourself, but i need you to stop. you’re going to die if you don’t stop. what idiot made you think you need to do this to yourself?! i’ll kill them!”

..

“you told me i was a fatass”

his jaw dropped

fuck

“you know i don’t mean when i insult you! i hide the fucking fact that i WANT you to eat by using insults! i’m so sorry..”

his voice went soft at the end

he truly felt so bad :(

he was the one that was supposed to protect you from others hurting you yet here he was, being the one that caused you to hink you weren’t worthy enough

“i know, but there’s so many much more prettier girls than me, i was afraid you’d lose feelings if i wasn’t thin enough.”

“are you kidding?! you’re the only one i have eyes for! all those other extra’s can fuck off, i don’t give a single shit about them!”

you were kinda tearing up

“do you promise?”

god, he felt so bad.

he sat on the edge of the bed, reluctantly pulling you in a hug 

“i promise”

from that day on he made sure to remind you to eat meals, even if it was just something small

he ripped everyone’s heads off if they made a comment about your eating habits and/or weight

and he made sure you were the only one he loved

the day he saw you collapse something broke inside of him

it opened his eyes that hiding his emotions from you wouldn’t help you in your relationship

so while he supported you to build your feelings of self-worth and eating habits, you helped him start to open up, teaching him that showing emotions wasn’t embarassing

no one else knew how soft he could get with you and it should stay that way

you had a long way to go but it was all worth it in the end

he was your little angry pomeranian <33

requests: open

read rules before requesting.

[veilder]

"I thought you left" "Nope, just making pancakes" - Convin

Okay, so, I love this prompt and I promised I'd try to write it so... I actually did this last week at like 2 am and have been too busy to edit it until now. But I'm kinda sick of trying to puzzle it out so just take it please, omg.

(Prompt from this post if anyone's curious.)

Stay

The sun was already high in the sky when Gavin finally blinked awake. He could tell because there was one fuckin sliver of window he could never manage to cover with the blackout curtains hanging up in his bedroom and the goddamn sun was shining right in his fuckin eyes, Jesus Christ! With a groan, he rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to go back to sleep. But even that small burst of cognizance had its consequences. Gavin could feel the awareness creeping in fast, God fuckin dammit. Was a little shut-eye too much to ask for? But there was something... Something niggling at the back of his mind. It itched at instincts well-honed by over a decade on the force and not even his most earnest desire to return to oblivion could keep it at bay. Restlessly, Gavin huffed out a disgruntled sigh as he kicked at the covers, frustrated despite himself at being roused after the night he’d had— Like a shock passing through his body, Gavin’s eyes snapped open, memories of the previous evening flashing through is mind. But just as readily, a heaviness settling deep in his heart as he took in the other side of the bed. The sheets were mussed and the pillow indented, a clear sign of its former occupant. Evidence as plain as day told Gavin that last night hadn’t been some delusion or dream. And yet… He reached out a hand, an involuntary, desperate motion, tracing the outline where his partner had lain. Where Connor had lain. But just as he’d feared, the sheets were cold. They matched the ice filling his heart. Slowly shuffling upright, Gavin leaned back against the headboard as memories of the previous day filled his waking mind. Flashes of the case he and Connor had worked together rushed by in a flurry. The tip-off for the perp they’d been tracking for weeks and the reckless chase that followed. The abandoned warehouse. The shootout. Vivid Thirium across dirty concrete. Connor had taken a bullet for him. Gavin remembered staring up into those brown eyes, watching as a splatter of blue burst from his chest. "I'm fine," Connor had said, "the bullet didn't nick anything important." And even though the android had gotten right back up and proceeded to almost single-handedly take down the rest of the hostiles attacking them, it was still a moment Gavin knew would haunt him for a long-ass time. Shit was enough to give him nightmares. It did give him nightmares, in fact. Which is how the two of them had ended up back here. In Gavin's apartment. Together. Because after that little fiasco, after the gang had been arrested and the hostages recovered and both he and Connor had been checked over by a medic and technician respectively, it still left the job far from complete. Needless to say, Gavin had eventually nodded off at his desk after a long night of interrogation and paperwork, the rushes of adrenaline and fear more than even his beloved coffee could contend with. He only meant to rest his eyes for a moment. Just a moment and then he'd finish up. But when he awoke some indeterminate time later, it was to his own voice screaming, Connor's name upon his lips, Connor's blue blood scattered across the darkest corners of his mind, Connor's hand upon his shoulder jostling him awake. The android’s LED was flashing a violent red as he stared Gavin down, his brown eyes wide with worry. Gavin couldn't help but cling to him, something twisting, clenching in his heart and demanding he hold on tightly. From there, things had passed in a blur, though he remembered Fowler's imposing figure ordering the both of them to take the next few days off. Too tired and distressed to argue, Gavin agreed immediately, only too glad to get the fuck out of there and go home. And Connor? Connor insisted he drive Gavin home. Connor insisted he make sure Gavin got to his door. Connor insisted that he get Gavin to his bed. And Gavin, still clinging to the android with every last bit of his flagging strength, let him. Over and over he let the android steer him along, trusting a partner fully for the first time in... For the first time

in far too long. And when Gavin had finally settled, comfortable yet shivering in his too-large bed, he took a moment to insist right back. "Stay," he'd said. One word. One plea. A lifetime of wanting to not be alone wrapped up in a single syllable. A few short weeks of shifting worldviews and growing affections cradled in four letters. A wealth of experience in loss stealthily couched within a breath. Gavin insisted. And Connor stayed. Or, at least Gavin thought he had. Because here and now, in the stupidly bright light of day, he was alone again. Like always. He didn't know why he'd expected otherwise. He really should've known better. After all, why would Connor want to hang around here? Especially after his fuckin embarrassing little act last night, fuck. He probably had loads of things to do. Important... android things... People to meet. Places to be. He wouldn't waste his entire day sitting around in Gavin's shitty apartment while he slept like a log. How fuckin stupid would that be? It didn't mean anything. Gavin told himself this over and over again as he shifted, swinging his legs out from under the covers and onto the floor. Just because they could be considered friends now didn't mean Connor had to drop everything for him. Just because he'd begging him to stay didn't mean Connor owed him anything. He'd probably felt uncomfortable as hell last night, what with Gavin whining and bitching at him like a fuckin child. Probably said what he could to mollify him before getting the hell out of Dodge. Gavin couldn't even blame him for that. Fuck, Connor'd just had emergency maintenance done! Because of Gavin! Like hell he'd want some handsy human all over him for ten straight hours, Jesus Christ. It didn't mean anything. Even if he wished it did. His stomach picked that moment to rumble, thankfully interrupting his little pity-party. Thank fuck. It was too early in the morning (or afternoon technically) to be crying over stupid shit. He was probably just hungry. Yeah, that's it. He's all fuckin emotional cause he hadn't eaten in almost 24 hours. It didn't matter that Connor fucked off ASAP, Gavin could get some waffles delivered. Waffles never fuckin betrayed him. He could trust waffles. With newfound resolve, Gavin stood, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand before scrolling through his food delivery aps to see if he could get waffles from anywhere at two in the fuckin afternoon. With heavy tread he stepped out into the hallway, mouth already watering at the prospect and stomach rumbling again in agreement. Fuck, he could almost smell them already. Wait. No, he can smell them? What the fuck?! Before Gavin could do anything more but stand there in his pajamas, wide-eyed and mystified, a figure stepped into view. Instinctively, Gavin's heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins as the threat of a home invader cycled through his brain. In that fraction of a second, he was prepared to dive into an all-out brawl with the bastard. He was not in the mood for this shit! But then said bastard's lips quirked into a dazzling grin and a brown-eyed gaze sent Gavin reeling in disbelief. While his brain was preoccupied with keeping his suddenly-weak legs standing, his idiot mouth opened up on it's own: "I thought you left,” he said, choking on his disbelief. Connor (because of course it was Connor) only quirked his head to the side in that cute way he does, looking for all the world like the dogs he so adored. His LED flashed a single, swirling yellow before settling back to blue and he said, "No, I was just making pancakes. I thought perhaps you might be hungry." A strange hesitance entered his voice, some dour note falling across his features. "Did you want me to leave?" "No!" Gavin blurted out in a moronic, high-pitched squeak because again, he was nothing if not an idiot. (And one destined to embarrass himself at every possible moment at that.) Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I mean, you can do whatever you want. Doesn’t matter to me." (He's lying through his teeth. It obviously did matter to him. It

mattered a huge fuckin deal!) Connor blinked at him, the only sign of the awkward atmosphere between them the flashing colors at his temple. "Your words run contrary to both your body language and your involuntary actions," he said, "And they are a direct counterpoint to your request last night." Gavin fidgeted, knowing the damn android was right but never in a million years wanting to admit it. "Stop analyzing me, dipshit, it's too early for this." Finally, Connor's face relaxes a bit, a smile smile stealing across his lips. "It is two thirty-three in the afternoon, Gavin. Far from early." "Oh, can it, Poindexter! You know what I mean!" With a huff, Gavin moves forward, sidling past his annoying house guest. "What was that about pancakes?" Connor beams at him as the two of them enter the kitchen. "Ah yes. I determined that you would be hungry after going so long without food. I managed to make due with your atrocious grocery selection and have prioritized calories over nutrition for the time being. But just this once.” While Connor seemed dead set on critiquing the apparently-lackluster pantry he’d been forced to bravely overcome, Gavin only had eyes for the heaping pile of flapjacks sitting at his breakfast nook, fluffy and golden brown and still steaming. Fresh off the griddle, holy shit. How did he…? Despite his hunger, Gavin looked over at Connor questioningly. It was almost like the android could read his mind (which was a scary fucking thought) as he answered his unspoken query immediately: "I calculated your sleep cycle based off the Circadian rhythms I observed during your convalescence. I'm glad I timed it right. I wanted you to enjoy your breakfast." "It's past 2 pm," Gavin retorted with a smirk, "can't be breakfast now, hotshot." Connor's answering smile made Gavin want to melt into a puddle and he quickly turned away, staring at said breakfast with a helpless desperation. "Indeed," the android said, heedless of his partner's distress. "Regardless of the time of day, I wanted you to enjoy your meal, nonetheless." And something more vulnerable finally stole into his voice then, the merest shadow of his quiet pleas from the night before. "I thought, perhaps, you might consider them an offering." Gavin tore his gaze away from his not-breakfast then, looking up at his partner with enough confusion to drive out all other complicated emotions. "What offering? What the fuck are you talking about, tincan?" And now Connor was the one to look away. "It's just that..." He drew in a deep breath (though Gavin knew it was only him mimicking humans. Fucker didn't actually need to breathe) and continued, "yesterday... Yesterday frightened me. When I saw that gunman aiming at you, I—" He clenched his eyes shut, LED flashing a dangerous red. "In that moment, I preconstructed a multitude of outcomes, many of them where you did not survive. In which that bullet found its mark. And the thought of it, Gavin!" he wails. "I couldn't—! The thought was unbearable! And so I calculated the best result. And I determined my course of action. And you lived. You lived. And I thought that would be the end of it. But..." Finally, Connor looked up, his eyes meeting Gavin's head-on once more. "It was like a glitch. The preconstruction, it— It kept resurfacing again and again and again, every time you were out of my sight. And I... I disliked the feeling immensely. I think perhaps I hated it, even. And so I did my best to linger. I didn't want to leave you. Even though I knew you were safe, I still... It was so irrational but I still wanted to verify that you were okay. I still do." Before them the pancakes were growing cold, but neither paid them any mind. Connor looked away again, eyes shut. "I thought that, perhaps you had figured this much out last night. Which is why you asked me to stay. Because we are friends now and that's what friends do. But I worried that I may have... forced the issue... in my desperation. And I-I... I wanted to do something for you in return for your generosity." Looking down at the cooling

breakfast, Connor's face fell further. "I know it's not much but I thought at least—" Gavin had heard enough. "Okay, okay, okay, hold the fuck up, dumbass!" He stood, breakfast forgotten, and approached the shocked android with a fierce determination. Jabbing a finger directly into Connor's chest, he stated as sternly as he could, "You don't owe me a goddamn thing! For fuck's sake, Connor! You fuckin saved my goddamn life yesterday! You took a fuckin bullet for me! And even after that, you still fuckin stayed with me and made sure I got home safe!" A growl rumbled through his chest as Gavin poked Connor again. "I was having a fuckin nightmare about you dying! When you woke me up in the precinct! Did you know that?!" Connor shook his head but Gavin only poked him a third time, this time with much less force. He left his hand there, palm splayed across where his heart would be were he human. "That shit kept replaying for me, too. Over and over again. So I get it. I get wanting to 'verify.' I was doing the same thing. That's why I asked you to stay. Because I fuckin—! I wanted you here, okay?! Because the idea that you were hurt or injured or fuckin dead had me panicking!" He brought his other arm up now, slinging it around Connor's broad shoulders in a half-embrace, and leaned in, burying his face in the android's neck. "That shit's unbearable to me, too, tincan. Thinking of this fuckin trash heap of a world without you in it is—" He sucked in a breath. "Can't stand the thought." They stood there for what felt like an eternity (though it was probably only a few seconds) before slowly—tentatively—Connor brought his own arms up to squeeze around Gavin. He held him with a brittle tenderness, his touch light and careful as if he was afraid Gavin might break. And fuck, maybe he would. Maybe Connor could shatter him into a hundred-thousand little pieces. But shit, he'd take it. Because Gavin would never have been in this situation in the first place if Connor hadn't broken right through his walls first, scattering him and leaving him adrift in a strange, new world. And when he’d managed to build himself back up, it was into something—someone—stronger. Someone who could look at the world and see progress instead of oppression, opportunity instead of limitations, people instead of just machines. Connor had shattered his body once before down in the archives. He'd shattered his mind too over these last few months. It’d only make sense for him to shatter his heart as well. But he didn't. He wouldn't. And as Connor held him like a thing to be cherished, Gavin felt again that perhaps he'd been right last night. Perhaps this was a partner he could trust. A partner who could trust him, too. And perhaps he would— "Stay."

_____________

Bonus:

Connor: "Okay, but only if you eat your pancakes. I didn't download an entire cooking catalogue for you to let them go to waste, Gavin." Gavin: "Fuckin bite me, we're having a moment here." Connor: "Is your stomach rumbling part of that moment?" Gavin: "God fucking dammit, I fuckin hate you." Connor: ^_^ "False!" Gavin: "Fuck!"

And they lived happily ever after. ♥

[pigeonp0st]

Hi!! Can you possibly write a head cannon where y/n is kurts twin and is dating Quinn? Sorry if this isn’t specific any storyline is ok.

Quinn Fabray x Reader #3

Words: 2,024

Warnings: Mention of Car Crash, Hospital

Notes:

I was reading a story that involved a car crash and just...sort of took inspiration from that for more direction. I hope this is what you were looking for, thank you for requesting (and sorry for spelling mistakes)

———

You got into a car crash.

It wasn’t really your fault, it’s not as if you could have known that some dude driving a truck wanted to push you off a cliff…well, you’re sure he didn’t exactly want to; but that’s not the point, you think.

The point is that you got into a car crash. A car crash (or truck crashing, really) that you should have died from, but you didn’t. A car crash that should have presented lifetime injuries, but it didn’t.

And you’re lucky. That’s the magic word that keeps going around. You’re lucky.

Yeah, fuck that.

You don’t feel very lucky, laying down in your hospital bed and feeling so much pain everywhere, laying down in your hospital bed and not even being able to go to the bathroom by yourself... this doesn’t feel lucky. This feels miserable and shitty and—

Quinn. Quinn is here.

Quinn is sitting in the corner of the hospital room, reading a book with red rimmed eyes and shaky hands.

Quinn she— she wasn’t here yesterday. You wonder for a moment how she could have found out, and then you realize…

Kurt.

Kurt went to school today. You figure he must have relayed the news to the Glee club. If you had been awake yesterday, or even the day before—the night you got into the crash—you would have told him not to tell her.

Quinn doesn’t deserve to find out about this the way she probably found out about this. Quinn doesn’t deserve the worry she’s probably feeling...you know it would have been better for you to text her yourself so she knew immediately that you were fine. So you would be able to downplay the injuries.

Kurt likes being dramatic, and Quinn likes to panic.

“Quinn, you can’t be here,” you rasp out, your throat dry from lack of use. Her green eyes immediately snap up towards you.

“Y/N,” Quinn breathes out, voice full of relief as she sets her book down and moves towards the side of your bed to cup your cheek. “They said you woke up earlier but I had to see it to believe it.”

You give her a weak smile, not able to resist nuzzling your face into her hands. Her eyes watering with more tears almost makes you regret it. “Baby,” you whisper, “Kurt...my dad...what if they see? Where are they?”

Quinn’s face morphs into something guilty and apprehensive. “They both... sort of know about our relationship now…” she rushes to continue when she sees your wide eyes, “they were shocked, but they seem to be doing fine with the news.”

You blink at her, once, twice, and then drop your eyes closed with a wince. “Kurt’s gonna bother me so much about this,” you mumble. “How did they find out?”

You feel Quinn tense before you manage to open your eyes to see it.

“Me yelling at the nice lady up front to let me see my girlfriend probably told them as much,” Quinn says slowly, as if she expects an angry reaction. You don’t feel much anger. You haven’t really cared about them knowing for a while now…

In the beginning it just made sense to keep it a secret from them. Now, not so much.

Plus, nearly dying put some things into perspective for you.

“Does Finn know?”

Now it’s Quinn’s turn to wince. “I’m not sure,” she admits quietly, then adds, “i’m sorry if i’ve made things awkward for you.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, a laugh that turns into a coughing fit, and then turns into a whole bunch of growling while you grit your teeth in pain. “Fuck, fuck, that really hurt.”

Quinn’s hand is trembling again. “Do you want me to get the doctors?” She asks, with no small amount of panic. She’s terrified, and has been terrified since the moment Kurt told her you were in an accident.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure her, ignoring the pull of stitches that feel like they’re everywhere, and the hurt in your ribs. “I’m sure Finn will get over it eventually, when he finds out.”

“It’s not as if you two were siblings when I dated him,” Quinn jokes, though her eyebrows are furrowed with her worry.

You give her a smile that you hope is reassuring and try to relax into the hospital bed. Your eyes are heavy with tiredness, and you feel extremely drugged (yet at the same time not drugged enough), but you want to stay awake for Quinn.

Quinn has other plans.

She kisses your forehead, then promises against the skin there, “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

And right before you drift off into the dream world, you hear her say; “please don’t do this to me again,” in a voice that’s so weak and scared that you want to open your eyes again and reassure her.

You fall asleep instead.

——-

Quinn is there when you wake up again, but so is Kurt.

They’re talking. About you, you realize bitterly. About the crash, and the physical therapy you’re going to need to go through for your shoulder.

They’re talking quietly, as if to not disturb you, and it’s weird hearing the two most important people in your life talk. Especially since you know that just a day ago Kurt was terrified of Quinn.

Maybe not terrified...he was intimidated. Everyone is of Quinn.

(Quinn admitted to you once that sometimes she thrives in their fear, and other times she just feels alone. She told you that she doesn’t want to hurt people anymore just because she’s hurting, and that she’s trying to make people comfortable around her again.

The intimidation used to be from fear, now it’s from awe, so you suppose her plan hasn’t really worked. People worship the ground she walks on.

You worship the ground she walks on.)

Quinn is more deep than you expected though, and more deep than you’re sure everyone else expects. She’s more funny, more smart, more self-deprecating, more hurt, more nerdy, more goofy—than you ever realized.

She’s just a person full of surprises.

“Y/N?”

You jump in the hospital bed in alarm, your side and shoulder aching in protest. Yep. Quinn is full of surprises.

“Are you okay?” Quinn asks, giving you a sad smile. “Sorry for shocking you.”

Kurt pokes his head over her shoulder (it’s weird seeing them so close), “you don’t look so good,” he points out, as if you hadn’t already figured that out. The glare you send him has him shrugging.

“I’m fine, babe.” You ignore Kurt’s smirk at the nickname. “Could one of you just ask the doctors for about twenty pills for the pain?”

“And a hairbrush,” Kurt jokes, though his eyes are lined with the worry he thinks he’s hiding well, “got it.”

“You try getting pushed off a small cliff by a truck, see how you look afterwards!” You yell at Kurt’s retreating back.

There’s a tense silence the second Kurt is out of the room. Quinn’s eyes are focused on a spot on the hospital sheets, and she doesn’t look at you, even as she tries to make a joke for some levity;

“Twenty pills is a definite overdose. I hope Kurt isn’t actually asking for that amount.”

You snort, shaking your head. “They wouldn’t give it to him even if he asked.” Then, quietly, you ask; “Quinn, are you alright?”

She shakes her head. “You almost died,” Quinn mumbles, and she says it like an explanation, you suppose it is one.

It was terrifying, those moments when the truck hit, and those long moments after when you were still conscious.

“I keep thinking about what would have happened if you weren’t even a bit as lucky as you were,” she admits, closing her eyes. “You almost died. The only reason you're here now is because you were lucky.”

“Quinn—”

“You can’t die,” Quinn says, her eyes desperate when they snap open to look into yours. “You don’t get to leave me. That can’t be an option.”

But it is, because nothing is really guaranteed in life. Quinn knows this, has known this since a very young age, you imagine.

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing you can manage to say in the face of Quinn’s sadness.

Quinn seems to get a hold of herself after your apology. She just shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair and she’s Quinn again. “It’s not your fault. Just work hard at getting better soon so you can help me get through the school days.”

You nod, then hesitate. “Will you love me if I never drive again?” It’s meant to be a joke but it comes out more seriously than you intend. Quinn’s eyes immediately go soft and loving.

“Yes. I’d love you even if you didn’t even want to sit in a car again,” she says, and you believe her. You believe her.

“Then you’d have to walk everywhere with me,” you laugh, even as tears fall down your cheek. Quinn immediately bends down to kiss them away.

“The more calories burned, the more junk food I can have,” Quinn reassures, and you love her.

You love her so damn much.

——

Kurt is eyeing you and Quinn with something like wonderments in his eyes later that day.

Quinn can’t bring herself to care much though. What he thinks about her relationship with you in the least of her concerns right now. The only thing she really cares about right now is you.

She cares about you looking at her the way you’re looking at her right now, with a dopey drug induced smile. She cares about the fact that you’re looking at her at all. You’re looking at her right now because you’re alive.

You’re alive, Quinn reminds herself. The what if’s don’t matter.

“Quinn, will you marry me?” You ask, words slurred together. It brings Quinn straight out of her thoughts and into the real world.

She blinks at you for a couple of seconds and then nods uncertainty. You won’t remember this anyways, Quinn assures herself, but as she looks over her shoulder at Kurt’s wide eyes she realizes that he will.

Welp.

“One day,” Quinn continues, for appearance sake. Kurt snorts behind her.

She can’t be whipped enough for her girlfriend that she accepts a proposal this young. (She is though. She hates to admit that she’s incapable of saying no to a question like that from you, but it’s the truth.)

“I wanna get married now,” You protest, and Quinn doesn’t really know what to say to that.

“Y/N you can’t force the girl to marry you. Have some respect,” Kurt says, laughter in his voice. Quinn’s thankful for his intervention, though she won’t show it.

You pout at Kurt, and then at Quinn, “Fine. Just tell me when you’re ready, okay?” You ask, and Quinn loves desperately. She loves.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Not even Kurt’s rambling about ‘the disgustingness of love’ keeps her from the lightness in her chest at seeing you smile at her the way you are now.

You’re going to be okay.

The both of you will be, Quinn realizes, when Kurt cuts off his complaints to start planning for your wedding.

“We won’t be getting married for a while,” Quinn reminds the both of them. She gets blissfully ignored after a side glance from Kurt and another pout from you.

She’ll be okay, and even—Quinn realizes—Kurt will be. She wasn’t paying attention to how devastated he seemed earlier today, but in the face of his relief and happiness the differences between his behavior now seem obvious now.

He was devastated, but he’s okay now, because you’re awake. Quinn’s okay now because you're awake.

“Quinn, will you wear a suit for the wedding?” You ask, bringing Quinn out of her thoughts for probably the fifth time today.

Kurt snickers at Quinn’s resounding grimace, and his amusement only raises when Quinn mumbles, hesitantly, “we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“That sounds like a no, dear sister.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

I hope you are having a great day.

I wanted to tell you that I love the way you write and how you show the personality of your characters in so few words.

Also if you have time, for the Bad Things Happend Bingo, could I ask for a Soup for the Sick? (Maybe a villain whumpee)

Thank you for the ask! And especially thank you for that lovely message attached to it, it means a lot!

Soup for the sick... here you go, I hope you enjoy! I did, I had lots of fun writing this one.

Personalized Caretaker

@badthingshappenbingo

Warnings: drug abuse mention, feverish whumpee, talk of medications, mean caretaker, delirium, fever, pills (tylenol)

... there may be more so tell me if there is so I can list them.

~

Civilian wished that she didn't live in the most heavily super-powered city in the world.

Yes world.

Villains and heroes all running around like teenagers, not caring for the lives of innocent civilians... or the heroes were meant to, Civilian started to think that the whole "we will protect you" was all phony propaganda aimed to get the city to fund their organization.

But the daily bombings and increasing death toll was not the issue with the city. It wasn't even the large mass of heroes and villains. It was only one.

One.

Of all the heroic figures and devilish snakes, there was only one that ticked Civilian off.

Villain.

And not because he was the King of Monologues. No, it was because the bastard made Civilian his own personal caretaker.

Was she asked to tend to his very needs? No.

Was she hired? Paid? No, but she should be getting a salary for the tedious work of stitching wounds and feeding his greedy stomach. The bandage bills were adding up and Civilian's meager wage was completely wiped out from having to buy a pack every day.

She was an inch away from going on a rage and robbing every bank in the city.

No, she wasn't. She just happened to live on 489 Deertree Avenue, where six months ago the murderous villain decided to collapse unconscious on her doorstep to bleed out like it was no problem.

Like it was a leisure, a recreational activity. Probably to him, waking up in a warm bed, doped up on painkillers with the sickening sweet smell of caramel candles burning around him, it was.

But not to Civilian. She had to manually help the injured individual drink water, get dressed, and even use the bathroom.

UGGGHHHH!

The man had millions of henchmen, billions of wannabe minions at his beck and call.

But he just so happened to have a crush on the red door of 489 Deertree Avenue.

But it was a bad case of unrequited love of the highest order, so no hope of a romantic candlelit date at the most expensive restaurant in the most famous city in the world.

Dairy Queen.

The pure hilarity of that fact. Even the Avenger Tower did not hold nearly as many powered or high-tech individuals as the city and the most fanciest restaurant was a chain fastfood restaurant at the corner of main street.

Civilian clenched the towel she was holding. As much as the stupidity of the city got on her nerves, it was very unpatriotic of her to go on and embarrass the area even more.

Civilian was scrubbing the mirror in the bathroom. The walls of the whole room were stained in the most disgusting brown and red from all the grime and blood radiating off a singular person's- not even the owner of the house- body.

Those would never go away unless Civilian paid for someone to come and mega-wash the bathroom. Not that she had any money to invest in such a delightful gift, her bank account was too busy supporting the prescribed pain medications. Like, Civilian was probably on the watchlist for utter bankruptcy and for being a possible candidate for drug addiction.

Who needs two whole containers of opioids and a canteen of valium every three months?

Not a normal civilian washing floors at Walmart, that's for sure.

But then again, Civilian was far from normal. She worked as a personalized savior during her freetime.

Civilian clenched her teeth and took a deep breath in. Her ward hasn't made his grand appearance in over a week. She actually had time to relax, make some popcorn and actually decompress. It was like vacation, peaceful, tranquil and full of serenity, free of any-

Knock, knock, knock.

Civilian's moment of bliss was unceremoniously ended by the all too familiar beat of a fist on wood.

"You have my permission to make out with the door Villain! You don't need to ask anymore!"

Civilian hoped Villain was coherent enough to internalize that as an invitation to bleed on her couch.

Just so she could have one more moment. One more moment of her coveted break.

Cough.

Civilian's head perked up. That was new. She never, ever heard Villain cough in a sickly manner- she never let him get bad enough to get sick, or he didn't permit himself to wait around until infection and fever set in.

She set down the towel, worry settling into her bones like it always did- not that she liked the heart dropping feelings and nauseating pit in her stomach each and everytime Mr. Needy had blood on him. Or everyday that he didn't show up for a bandaid, or a "kiss-it-better".

Yes, the pure humiliation when her delirious patient painfully begged her to kiss his knee better. Like, the puny scrape on his leg was by far the least severe wound on his bloodstained body, but of course, Civilian complied and gave him a little peck on his Olaf bandaid.

Civilian ripped open the door and the scene in front of her chased away those obnoxious memories.

Villain collapsed into her arms, head lolling pathetically against her shoulder. His forehead felt like it was doused with gasoline and then lit by a torch five times over. Civilian's shocked arms involuntarily wrapped around his equally scorching body. Yes, it was not a conscious act. Not in a million years would Civilian muster up the compassion to actually comfort the villain more than the deed of "saving his life" called for.

No, no Civilian hated Villain. Completely and totally loathed each and every cell on his body.

But she dragged him into the house and shut- more like slammed- the door anyways because she couldn't let him die, it would be like murder's sidekick.

Especially since Villain trusted her. Oh how he trusted her. Trusted her to bathe him, to feed him, to give him medicine, but most importantly not to kill him. With all the horrors he committed, a swift knife to the throat would be more than justified. In fact, Civilian would likely be commemorated for such bravery.

Public approval, fame... all a deliciously yummy cake.

Not worth it. Too many calories.

Civilian sunk to the ground and put Villain's upper body in her lap. He nestled into her, pressing his cheek deep into her side with a small, contented smile on his pale face.

"Don't drool on me," Civilian snapped, jostling Villain who woke up. Before he had the chance to get his bearings, Civilian spoke up again, "Are you hurt?"

The villain stared at her for a while before breaking into desperate tears, shaking his head.

What the heck?

"Stop crying or I will punch you," Civilian threatened, but she rubbed Villain's back soothingly.

"Dying," Villain sobbed.

"You are not dying, buddy, you have a cold."

"No, I'm dying," Villain asserted. Civilian rolled her eyes. Did he have to be so dramatic?

"I don't think a cold will kill you. Stop acting like the world is ending now, or I will throw you in the trash."

Villain whimpered and pulled himself closer, still crying.

He really was sick. So sick to the point of being delirously delusional.

"You don't need to be a Disney princess," Civilian said, still rubbing the villain's back. Villain's cries turned into sobs and then into wails.

Okay this was getting out of hand. Civilian stood up and dragged Villain's body over to the couch. She marveled in her strength for a while. When Villain first made his appearance in her otherwise boring life, she was as skinny as a twig. Now? This girl was a freaking hulk, baby.

Okay stop that, Civilian chastised herself, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. She laid Villain on the beige colored couch and rested his wet head against a pillow that was metaphorically marked with his name.

Now that the villain was completely stretched out, Civilian- to her relief- found that he was not bleeding, therefore, she didn't have to waste her precious supply of gauze and bandages tonight.

But he still was very, very sick. His face was a gray mask of pale complexion, his hair snarled and matted in sweat. His lips were tinged blue as unfocused eyes gazed around the room, landing on the TV.

"You want to watch something?" Civilian asked, though the question was more than unnecessary. Villain always watched a movie as he dozed off, warm and comforted by the mound of blankets strewn over him.

But still, like a habit, he nodded weakly each and every time. Civilian smiled, the tiniest of grins, and connected the tablet to the television. When the screen popped up with the classic Amazon Prime Video layout, Civilian asked what movie.

"Boss Baby," Villain mumbled, lips hardly moving.

"You want to watch a movie with baby superheroes? Why don't we watch Toy Story or something?"

Or something a bit more adult-ish.

"Mhm," Villain groaned, eyes slipping shut. "Baby superheroes."

Now it was Civilian's turn to groan, loud and exaggerated. But, still he was her unwelcome guest so she had to please his obnoxiously childish wants.

Like how old was he? Five?

Civilian put in the movie and sat down next to Villain, putting his legs on her lap. She tapped lazily at his jeans as the opening credits showed. Leaning her head back, Civilian allowed her gaze to drift away from the stupid fat-faced animated figures and to Villain.

He was nearly asleep.

Civilian shifted her weight and rested against her arm to watch him. Even sick, she had to admit, the evil and annoying villain was shockingly handsome.

What was she thinking?!

Pushing Villain's feet away, Civilian stood up and aggressively shoved her palm to his forehead. It was buzzing with heat.

"You are paying for the bill," Civilian growled and went to go get some tylenol.

Upon returning to the sickly man's sweaty side, Civilian thrusted the pills into his mouth and washed them down with water. She didn't even give him a chance to wake up fully, the motion was instinctual. He swallowed on reflex.

Next, Civilian cussed herself for this, she cupped his cheek. Villain sunk into her palm, chewing silently, and continued to sleep.

When Villain first visited, Civilian couldn't get over how touch starved the poor guy was. It was to the point of absolute fear of touch. He would shiver before violently flinching away, glaring daggers.

He still didn't allow hugs or a highfive when he was in his right mind- not that Civilian saw him fully conscious ever apart from a couple times.

"Hungry?" Civilian mumbled, more to herself than anyone.

Still, Civilian placed Villain's head back onto the pillow and went into the kitchen to make some soup.

Chicken noodle soup with rice... her specialty. Chicken breast and rich seasoning, even one's dampened taste buds could taste the utter deliciousness of the watery broth.

Then the rice. Sometimes when Villain was on the mend, she would add some wild rice or lentils to the dish. Spooning some basic white rice into the bottom of the bowl, Civilian tapped her foot aimlessly.

The kettle on the stove whistled, Civilian pushed it off the heat and added the seasoning and celery. The savory scent wafted into her nose earning itself a tiny smile from Civilian.

Once the soup was done, she presented it to the still sleeping villain. His mouth hung open, desperate for air that his clogged nostrils couldn't deliver.

Dang. Poor guy was really ill.

Civilian sat next to Villain, so close that she could feel the rise of his chest. She shoved his face upwards. Villain blinked his eyes open and settled his gaze on Civilian's annoyed, but worried, face.

"Ghm," he moaned, rumbled in the back of his throat in a fatigued manner. "Cow hopping."

"Shut up," Civilian scolded and helped Villain to a seating position. He complied, but had no strength left to actually hold the stance.

So Civilian was forced to lay him against her chest and feed him by giving him a big old bear hug. Spoon after spoon went to his mouth until Civilian was just dumping it into his mouth without any natural swallowing reflex.

She took a wet rag and cleaned his face before laying him back onto the couch. Civilian smiled and tenderly touched his eyebrow.

Why did she have to care about him so much?

[rocorambles]

Redemption

Pairing: Ushijima x Reader

Genre: NSFW, Fluff and Smut

Warnings: Slight Size Kink

Summary: When you find out Ushijima is a virgin, you offer to be his first and help him out. But in reality, you might be the one who needs some help.

Requested by Anon

There’s a comfortable quiet atmosphere between the two of you as Ushijima hands you a clean towel while you pant for breath. Technically speaking, there’s no reason why the two of you need to be together today on one of the few days the Schweiden Adlers had off, but you had a soft spot for the pro-athlete, so when he had asked if you wanted to go workout together at the team training gym, you agreed. You couldn’t deny you needed some exercise. Being a team manager didn’t mean you worked out much yourself, so you looked forward to sweating some extra calories. But you really should have known better than to expect just a normal workout with Ushijima sternly overseeing your routine. 

“Ushijima, you do realize I’m not a pro-athlete like you, right? You can’t expect me to keep up with you.” 

“Anyone can do anything if they set their minds on it and work hard enough.” 

You roll your eyes before fondly looking at the tall man beside you. Was he a little dense and a little too blunt? Sure. But you saw the heart of gold and genuineness within him. You’d always wondered why the man was still single. You know he’s sometimes an idiot when it comes to social cues and can’t hold small talk to save his life, but you’d seen far worse and less deserving men end up tricking some poor damsel into their spider webs. Surely you’re not the only one who sees the diamond in the rough that Ushijima really is? 

You don’t realize you’re intensely staring at him until he uncomfortably shifts. “It’s rude to stare.” You blush and quickly turn away from him, opting to chug your water as a distraction. Checking your phone, you gasp when you realize how late it is. “Shit, sorry, I really need to run…” You trail off and Ushijima narrows his eyes at you as a mischievous grin spreads across your face. He’s all too aware that the look doesn’t mean anything good for him. 

“What are you doing tonight?”

There’s a long pause before he grunts out “nothing” and you suddenly seem more intimidating than any opponent he’s faced across the net when your eyes light up and your head moves until it’s only inches away from his own. 

“Cool! So you’re going to a party with me then.” 

He blinks once at you before completely shutting you down with a resounding no. But really, after knowing you and working in such close proximity with you almost every day, he should realize how relentless you are once your mind is made up. 

“When’s the last time you talked to anyone outside of the team, coaches, trainers, and managers? And Tendou doesn’t count since he’s still technically volleyball related.” 

Ok, so maybe you had a point there. 

“We don’t even have practice for the next few days! So you’ll have time to rest up and recover and be totally back to 100% for the next practice.” 

You smile when you see his determined look slip a bit, but your jaw drops at his next words. “I’m not going to a party where you’re just going to ditch me to have sex with someone and then either complain or brag about it to me the next day.” 

You frantically cover his mouth with your hands as you nervously look around to make sure no one around had heard him. “USHIJIMA! I tell you these things because I expect you to keep quiet about them. Not just blabber it out for everyone to hear.” 

He impassively stares at you and you sigh as you remove your hands from his face before determinedly looking at him again. “But actually since you’ve already brought it up, I noticed you never have any spicy stories to tell me! It’s not fair if I’m the one who’s always sharing. When’s the last time you even had sex? It has to be stressful to not let off some steam in a more enjoyable way than volleyball.”  (Although you secretly wonder if Ushijima finds volleyball more pleasurable than sex. You wouldn’t doubt it.) But you squint as he suddenly seems less stoic than usual and...are his cheeks pink? 

“Ushijima, are you embarrassed? I literally tell you about all my sex exploits and you’re embarrassed by me just asking you when the last time you did it was?” Your voice trails off when a suspicion begins to form and your eyes soften as you more gently nudge him. “It’s okay if it’s been a long time. I know how busy you are. It’s not a reflection of you, I promise. But isn’t that more reason to come out with me tonight?” He mumbles something and you lean in, unable to make out the words, but when he repeats them, you freeze. 

A virgin? Ushijima was a virgin? 

You know you should say something instead of just staring at him like an idiot, but shock numbs you and only when he makes a move to get up and leave do you hastily grab his arm. Your mouth flounders as you try to come up with a response, but when you observe how vulnerable and sensitive the topic seems to be for him, your heart goes out to your friend and you shake the lingering surprise from you. 

“Hey, it’s not a big deal. I think it’s kind of sweet actually. Your first time should be special, with someone you really care about. You shouldn’t ever feel ashamed about the fact that you haven’t done it. Hell, I wish I hadn’t been so quick to lose my virginity to some asshole in college.” 

You smile when you see his shoulders straighten and maybe it’s the slight upturned twitch of his lips or maybe it’s the way dark olive eyes glow when they look at you, but you don’t even register the words that come tumbling from your lips until they hang heavy in the air. 

“I could be your first if you wanted.” 

You are a fucking idiot. You scramble to figure out a way to take back those words, already preparing for Ushijima to angrily end any friendship the two of you had, already dreading how you’re going to manage a team when one of the starters hates you. Your mind is reeling so hard from the dark future you’ve painted for yourself in your head that you almost miss what Ushijima says. 

“Okay.” 

Suffice to say, all plans to go to your party fly out the window and you send an apologetic text to your friend. Ushijima and you go to your respective locker rooms to wash up and freshen up before trekking back to your apartment. The walk isn’t uncomfortable per se, but there’s an electric energy radiating between the two of you as you walk silently next to each other. And shit, you’re not the virgin, but why is your heart beating so hard and so fast that you think it might literally explode from your chest? You scowl at yourself as your hands tremble when you unlock and open your front door and when Ushijima’s back is turned to you as he removes his shoes, you mentally slap yourself to get it together. 

With renewed confidence, you firmly grasp his larger wrist and tug him along to your bedroom where you gently push him onto the bed. You take a moment to revel in the power you feel from being in charge of the stronger, larger man underneath you and arousal stirs within you from Ushijima’s submission and willingness to let you have your way with him. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him and your heart warms as you lean down to softly kiss him, smiling against his lips when you feel him tentatively reciprocate. Kissing Ushijima feels like what you imagine completing a satisfying day's work on the farm feels like. You can almost taste the sturdiness, the comforting warmth of a fireplace burning as you return from the fields, and the authentic, humble roots on his lips. There’s no frills, no pretenses. It’s purely Ushijima and you love it. 

You think you could spend all night just kissing him if you wanted to, but you remind yourself of tonight’s mission. You trail your fingers down his chest until you reach the hem of his shirt which you begin to roll up until it reaches the top of his torso and he helps you fully remove it. Sitting upright on his thighs, you can feel yourself salivate as you take in the broad expanse of his upper body on display for you. You’ve seen it before, but in the dim light of your bedroom and splayed across your bedsheets, it’s mesmerizing and you can’t help the way you unconsciously run your hands across every inch of taut muscle and kiss random lines across chiseled lines. You smirk when you feel Ushijima’s groin thrust up when you coyly flick a nipple with your tongue and you stare at him as you begin to suck on the hardening bud, drinking in the sight of the usually reserved man letting out breathy moans as you continue your ministrations.

You want to tease him more, coax more sounds out of him, but the feeling of something hard prodding your stomach keeps you moving on and you pointedly tug on the waistband of his pants until he gets the memo and raises his hips to allow you to remove everything until he’s completely bare before you. And any confidence you had built up shatters. 

If you’re entirely honest, you’d had your fair share of wet dreams imagining what Ushijima was hiding underneath his shorts, but when faced with reality that’s somehow even larger than anything you had even dreamt of, you bite your bottom nervously as your pussy clenches at the thought of trying to fit him inside of you. You’re not sure if it’s lust or nerves that has your stomach twisting as you wrap a hand around his impressive girth. Probably both, you think, as your throat goes dry and your thighs squeeze together when you see how your entire fist barely covers less than half of him. 

Your attention is brought back to the man underneath you when you hear a low groan as you stroke your fist up and down his shaft, giving some extra attention to the leaking slit at the tip. Your other hand reaches underneath your panties and circles your clit. You’ll need to be absolutely drenched before you can even think of trying to take him. But it’s not hard for your cunt to become a sopping mess when you stare in awe at the way Ushijima writhes underneath you, releasing low breathy pants and grunts that you can feel rumbling throughout his body. Already feeling a wet spot seeping through your clothes, you affectionately kiss him once more before briefly getting up to quickly strip down. His eyes hungrily devour the sight of your naked figure as you crawl back above him and adjust your position until you feel his tip nudging at your entrance. 

You close your eyes and moan as you slowly lower yourself onto him, but even as wet as you are, you can barely take half of him inside you as he stretches you far beyond any person or any toy has. Yet, despite the discomfort and borderline pain of the stretch, you feel even more of your arousal dripping down your thigh as you continuously lift and lower yourself, always pushing slightly harder, slightly further than where you’d been before. Your eyes roll back from the feeling of being so full and your nails dig into Ushijima’s shoulders as you desperately continue to work his entire length into you. But you reach your limit and you swear you can feel him inside of your womb even though there’s still about a quarter more of his cock waiting to penetrate you. You take a deep breath and exhale as you try to sink further down, but you let out a broken moan when fingers twist and tug your nipples. 

Ushijima intensely observes you as he kneads your fleshy mounds, playing with your hardened nubs until he sees the tiny furrow on your forehead smooth out. He sits up and bends his neck to soothingly kiss you. A primal instinct in him had been entranced at the sight of your much smaller figure struggling to take just a part of him and he had to use every bit of will power he had to not instantly cum at the feeling of your warm and wet walls squeezing around him. But when he saw the hints of pain you tried to push past written all over your face, a desire to make you feel only pleasure had overtaken him. 

He continues running his fingers across your chest as your tongues twist and turn against each other and you moan into his mouth as you reach a hand down to furiously rub against your clit until you feel another surge of arousal and more fluids run down your inner thigh. You guide his hands to your waist before continuing to rub your clit and you urge him to help you as you clash your lips against his once more. But you tear away from his mouth in a silent scream as he grabs you and forcefully pushes you down and down until your lower bodies press tightly against each other, any space between them removed. Ushijima’s eyes are glued to your face and he takes in the way your eyes widen and your jaw drops open as you claw at his arms, leaving angry red trails as your body tries to adjust to literally being stuffed full. He patiently waits until your nails stop their frantic clawing and he drops his forehead to your shoulder with a groan as you begin to rock your hips up and down. 

He can feel the sloppy mess you’re making as you continue to flood the sheets underneath with your seemingly never ending arousal, but he can’t bring himself to care as your pace speeds up until you’re practically bouncing in his lap as you desperately chase your end. You scream when he tightens his grip on your waist and assists you, slamming you down and easily picking you up before slamming you down again, perfectly matching your rhythm until everything blends together and you don’t even know who’s doing what anymore. All you know is the feeling of Ushijima’s cock sliding and pressing against every inch and every crevice of your pussy, filling you so well you wonder if you’ll ever be satisfied with anything else inside of you after this. 

You can’t even bring yourself to feel ashamed by the wanton wail you let out as you reach a higher peak than you’ve ever reached before and your entire body shakes with pleasure as Ushijima continues to lift and lower your body even without any support from you until he harshly pushes you down one last time and holds you still as he releases thick spurts deep inside of you, so deep that even in the haze of your orgasm you’re grateful you’re on birth control because you’re sure he’s coating your actual womb with how far inside he seems to reach. You slump into his chest and let yourself be maneuvered by him until the two of you are lying side by side, facing each other, your lower bodies still intimately connected. 

The two of you lay there for a while and you instinctively nuzzle your face into his chest as his arms tenderly wrap around you, pulling you even closer to him and you both take quiet comfort in the sounds of your heavy breaths filling the air. But when your heart beats slow and your breathing evens out, you cringe in embarrassment. 

“Ushijima, I’m so sorry. This was your first time. I should have been the one taking care of you, but you ended up needing to step in and take charge.” There’s a stretch of silence before you feel one of his arms move and a hand lightly nudges your head up to look at him. Your heart flutters when you see the most gentle smile you’ve ever seen on his face.  

“Wakatoshi. Call me Wakatoshi.”

You see a flash of uncertainty in his usually confident eyes as he hesitantly inches his face closer to yours, but you grin as you meet him halfway and your lips slot against each other like two puzzle pieces perfectly connecting. You close your eyes and relish the peaceful moment for a bit before using the element of surprise and pushing against him until he’s on his back underneath you once more. You playfully clench your pussy walls and smirk at the way he throws his head back and hisses at the feeling. You can feel him begin to harden once more inside of you and when he looks back at you, you shoot a wink his way. 

“Let me redeem myself, Wakatoshi.”  

[nat-20s]

what’s poppin everyone please have this fun lil writing warmup/short story inspired by me thinking “Dancing in the Moonlight” was definitely 100% about werewolves

~*~

“So, this your first transformation?”

The counselor? Leader? Tour guide? Asked this with a perfectly jovial tone, as if the typical social mores surrounding, ugh, lycanthropy, didn’t apply to her. They didn’t know what exact title to call her, and her name tag just said “Luna”, which, reflecting on it, either was a joke on her part or a reflection of her parents’ sense of humor.

Picking at the scabs from last month, they cringed and replied, “No. Uh. Second.”

Luna lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That sucks. Guessing you got bitten rather than inherited the ol’ wolfman gene?”

“That’s...kind of personal?”

Unlocking the front door of the log cabin that served as King Harvest’s Headquarters, Luna shrugs and says, “Shit, sorry. Forgot the whole weird stigma around your source of the once monthly nightmare, as if it fuckin matters. Also, I know, I know, ass out of you and me. Hey, you got any dietary restrictions? Gluten, peanut allergies, the like?”

Voice flat, they tell her, “I’m vegetarian,” and waits for the obvious response.

As they wander through the cabin towards the kitchen, Luna flipping on the light switches, generic club music starts to filter in. Instead of the obvious response, Luna asks, “You like veggie burgers? Or maybe pasta? I’d offer salad, but that’s really not gonna cut it for tonight.”

“I ate before I came.”

With a snort, she tells them, “Oh yeah? Did you have about 4000 calories?”

“No? Why would I have?”

Sweeping out her arm, she gestures at the food laying out on the counter and tells them, “Then eat up! 4000 is really a minimum for the night if you don’t want to feel like someone physically beat out all of your energy in the morning. 6000 is more the target area, but we got, hmm, about 15 minutes before things get uncomfortable, and half an hour max before things get dire.”

They glance down to the food, and, admittedly, the broccoli alfredo does look pretty appealing. Still, they have to ask, “Is this a cult?”

Luna lets out a bark of a laugh that has nothing to do with her (maybe) being a werewolf. “Okay, first of all, what kind of cult is like ‘fuck yeah, we’re a cult’? Secondly, despite the first thing, I can say that we’re not a cult. I know how “King Harvest: Center for Movement Therapy” sounds, both clinical and vague enough to be suspicious as hell, but I didn’t come up with the title, blame my long deceased dad for that one. Plus, ‘King Harvest: Bitchin’ Wolf Dance House’ probably wouldn’t look good on the grant applications.”

“Grants?”

“Oh yeah. This bad boy’s been publicly funded since its opening in 1972. Hence no membership fees.”

“Is that why animal control is giving out your business card? Are they one of your sponsors?”

“Nah, that’s just Jack. Me ‘n’ him go way back, hell, to his park ranger days.  I mean, yeah, I think he’ll campaign for us, but mostly I think he just hates capturing a wolf in the night only to have a naked, trembling human in the morning, and he knows that our program significantly reduces the odds of that happening, at least in this neck of the woods.”

They let out a hum, then glance back down to the food. As appealing as it down look, they’re still about..30% convinced this is an elaborate organ harvesting operation. Or sketchy sex thing.

Apparently sensing their hesitation, Luna says, “You got a favorite chip?”

“Salt and vinegar.”

Grabbing a sealed family sized bag from the overhead cabinets, Luna tosses it to them. “If you come back next full moon, either eat enough in advance or have a real meal here. That being said, excuse the turn of phrase, you should wolf that down. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.”

They catch it, and the bag opens with a puff of air that speaks to a reassuring lack of tampering. As they toss a chip into their mouth, Luna grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it down next to them. “So? Any questions for me? We’ve still got about ten minutes before we have to go out there.”

Rolling their eyes, they tell her, “No. None at all.”

“Great! Soon as you’re done eating we’ll get you started.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, no shit, smart-ass. Seriously, what are your, we haven’t got much time.”

“I don’t know? The whole..thing? I mean, how is it supposed to..work? Like? At all?”

“You ever see Amok Time?”

“Is that relevant?”

“It’s a yes or no question babe.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then the explanation is going to be a lot more technical and take a lot longer, ultimately to likely make less sense.”

“...I’ve seen it.”

“Great! So, Pon Farr is basically this chemical blood imbalance that results in fuck or die disorder, yeah? But then Spock neither fucks nor dies, and eventually the vulcans get their shit together and find out that an intense fight can serve the same function, and the blood fever chills out. Lycanthropy operates on a similar enough basis for comparison. You’re compelled to act out on energetically heavy base instincts, returning to the ways of the wolf or whatever. Traditionally, that’s done through running and hunting, which has, historically, been a crapshoot at best. Theoretically, sex can also get the job done, but I’m sure you can imagine how that gets extremely dicey extremely quickly. Either restraints or isolation has been implemented for a while, but, c’mon, they’re bandaid solutions, and they’re far from foolproof. Luckily for us all, my grandmother decided to connect back with her ancestors, and there was a handful of stories having huge festivals to deal with ‘moon violence’. She tried it out, and, yeah, dancing works.”

“That sounds…”

They don’t know how that sounds. Made up, mostly.

“Like a bunch of hippie bullshit? Yeah, it kind of is, Grandma Josephine was a huge hippie, but it’s hippie bullshit that works. In fact, let’s go see the others, it almost always makes things clearer.”

Figuring that whatever they’re about to see can’t be worse than their transformation last month. They head through the sliding glass door out the back, the thump of the music suddenly loud enough to be felt in their chest. The sight that awaits them makes them drop their chips and let out a gasp. Barely able to speak, they exhale out, “None of them...they’re not wolves. How..how??”

Indeed, the roughly forty people jumping to the pulse of whatever they’re listening to (some to the in house DJ, some, apparently, to what’s playing over the large headphones they have adorned), resemble the image of a wolfman much more accurately. They bare claws, fangs, elongated snouts, upright ears, and  serious amounts of hair, but they’re on two legs, and moving like humans. Some of them are even singing along to the lyrics, which really shouldn’t be possible.

Luna grins, making it obvious that she’s used to this level of shell shocks. “Ultimately, you do have to give into some damn rigorous instincts. But dancing is a human instinct, not a canine one, so you end up, well, humanoid. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“And they all..they all keep their minds? I didn’t...they don’t blackout?”

“Not since we banned alcohol in the 90s! Here, watch this.”

Luna nods her head at the DJ, and the DJ, obligingly, turns down the music for a moment. The members of the crowd not listening to their own music pause, then look towards the door. She cries out, “Hey gang! HOW WE ALL DOIN’ TONIGHT?”, and gets a mix between a howl and “WOO!” cried back. The DJ then turns the music back up, and the general movement of the crowd resumes.

They should be more skeptical. They want to be more skeptical, they were just minutes before, but it’s hard to disagree with something right in front of you. “This will work for me? I just..have to dance?”

“Well, it’s not guaranteed. Few things are. But we have yet to have someone turn violent on us. If you start to fell yourself slipping from consciousness, though, I do ask that you start heading further into the woods, as to not hurt other guest. If you find yourself just getting tired, there’s beds inside, and a fair amount of pillows around the edge of the quote unquote dance floor, if you end up in more of a nesting mood. Also, I recommend taking off your shoes before you start.”

“What? Why?”

Luna gives a pointed glance at the dancers’ feet, which, ah. They’re about twice as large as normal and at least twice as sharp. The converse on their feet would be no match. “Ah.”

“Ready?”

They shove off their shoes and place the remainder of their chips aside. “As I’ll ever be.”

Good thing, too, as they’re starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their chest that was the prelude to disaster last month.

Luna strides to the center of the dance floor, which is really a plush lawn surrounded by forest. The crowd naturally moves around her, and she yells out, “Aiyana! Play my song!”

Aiyana gives a nod, and the opening notes of “Dancing in the Moonlight” start to sound out. “Seriously?”

Luna shrugs, grinning like a fool, and says, “It’s a classic!”

“It’s cliché at best.”

Luna shrugs, and then begins dancing. She’s hardly elegant, but she is dazzlingly joyful in her uncoordinated movements. As the song reaches the first chorus, she gives a twirl, and in the split second it takes, she’s transformed. They blink in shock, not knowing you could transform that seamlessly, that quickly, that painlessly. Luna in half wolf form is just as expressive as the human Luna, and she gives a nod over her shoulder as if to say Come on.

Feeling somewhat foolish, they start to bop their head to the tune. Luna lets out a huff and grabs their hands, spinning them around and forcing them to get moving. At first, it’s them indulging Luna, but as they let themselves get lost in rhythm, they feel a stretching sensation in their face and limbs. It’s not unpleasant, more like when you wake up and work out the tension in your spine. They open their eyes and look down at their hands, now covered in fur in and made for slashing. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and they’re still themselves, and they had no idea that full moons could be like this, maybe for the rest of their lives.

They turn their head to the night sky, and their body can’t help but continue to dance. Despite all their fear, all their dread, “movement therapy” worked, and they can admit, at least to themselves, that they feel warm and bright.

[thepartyresponsible]

For the wip ask (they all sound very interesting ngl it was hard to pick just one!) LostSteve

lost steve! yeah, so. what if shield defrosted captain america, and he broke out and just...kept running? what if they lost him? what if he ended up hiding out in tony’s tower, away from the fight for long enough to get his feet underneath him?

this fic is mostly about steve and tony finding each other first, so they can form the heart of the avengers, instead of the fault line that splits the team in half. here’s the first part of it.

                                                          —  

There’s an alert from Nick Fury that Tony chooses to ignore, for the sake of his convenience and Fury’s ongoing character growth. JARVIS announces its arrival and then diligently reminds Tony about the message twice before Tony tells him to mute it until morning.

“If it’s really that important,” he says, “they’ll just send someone to break in anyway.”

Which is why, on some level, he’s not at all surprised to find a man sitting on a couch in his penthouse twenty-seven hours later. He will admit to being caught somewhat off-guard by the specifics of the situation, though, because Steve Rogers has been dead for longer than Tony’s been alive.

“Zombie?” Tony asks. “Hallucination? Oh, clone? Are you a clone?”

Steve Rogers looks at him the way people look at wax sculptures. Like he’s interested in the details of the creation in front of him, but doesn’t believe for a second that what he’s looking at is real. “Mr. Stark,” he says, politely. His voice is deeper than Tony would’ve guessed.

“Robot,” Tony theorizes. “Sexbot? Updated Trojan Horse? If I let you inside me, are you gonna--”

The man’s brow furrows, and his mouth twists down, and his eyes are too sad for circuitry. No one would code that kind of grief.

Tony pauses for a moment, rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. He studies this intruder carefully. Someone sent him a Steve Rogers lookalike in a white t-shirt and stained khakis. He’s hale and healthy, built like a god, but his feet are bare and dirty.

Bloody, too. There are bloody footprints on the carpet.

“Wait,” Tony says. “Wait. Who the hell are you?”

There’s a long beat of silence. The man on his couch just stares at him, eyes tracing over Tony’s face, his shoulders, looking at him like he’s starving for something. He’s quiet and small, somehow, in a way that doesn’t relate at all to the amount of space his body takes up.

And then he stands, light and graceful on his bloody feet. His jaw tightens, and his shoulders pull up, and he’s an American Hero, suddenly and decisively, like he’s made some kind of choice about it.

“Mr. Stark,” he says, again, “I’m Captain America.”

And he is, Tony thinks. The same way that he’s Iron Man. Because once you put on that kind of armor, whatever else you used to be is irrelevant.

                                                           —

He’s Captain America, and he’s back from the dead. SHIELD had him and lost him, and Nick Fury wants Tony to go looking for him. That’s the message he left with JARVIS over a day ago. And Tony can’t imagine he was the first name on their list, which means Steve Rogers has been alone in the wrong century for an unknown but considerable amount of time.

“Hey,” he says, calling out from where he’s slouched against the kitchen island, watching Captain America dutifully eat through every scrap of leftovers Tony had in the fridge. “How long have you been here?”

“I was born here,” he says, through a mouthful of fried rice that he hides behind a napkin. He chews, swallows, and jabs his fork over Tony’s shoulder. “In Brooklyn.”

Tony knew that. Of course he knew that. He memorized everything about Steve Rogers back when he thought he could become enough like him to make Howard consider him worthwhile. “No, I mean,” he says, waving his hands, “in this century. How long have you been--- Jesus. I dunno. Awake? Aware? Unfrosted flakes?”

Steve blinks at him. He stares for a second and then ducks his head, stirs his fork through the open takeout box in front of him. “Spent a couple days,” he says. “Looking around.”

Looking around. Steve Rogers, unwitting time-traveler, barefoot in New York. What had he been looking for? Why did he come here?

“Why didn’t you get any shoes?” Tony asks, instead of any of the more complicated questions.

Steve tucks his feet under his chair. He washed them half an hour or so back, walking uneasily into the bathroom Tony showed him and then locking the door behind him, like he thought Tony was some kind of pervert who would bodyslam through the door to catch a glimpse of him sudsing up his bare ankles.

“Didn’t have any money,” he says, surprisingly mulish about it.

“You couldn’t smash and grab a pair of Sketchers?” Tony shakes his head. “If you get lockjaw, you’re gonna have to tell Fury you caught it from somewhere else. Fuck’s sake, when was your last tetanus booster? 1943?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t seem concerned. He’s busy eating his way through enough calories to keep your average winter-starved grizzly happy.

It’s hungry work, coming back from the dead. Tony remembers the unholy things he would’ve done for a cheeseburger.

“Didn’t have any money,” he repeats, scraping his fork around the sides of the takeout box, diligent and serious, like it’s the very last scrap of food he’ll ever get.

Tony clears his throat, hip-checks the counter to heave himself to standing. “I’ll get you some cash.”

                                                           —

There’s a weird moment, when Tony gives him the money. It’s just a few hundred dollars. He’s not Tony’s problem, not his project raised from the dead, but he still doesn’t want to give Steve Rogers the means to get himself truly lost in a world he doesn’t know.

Five hundred dollars will get him some food and somewhere to sleep for a few days, but it won’t get him far enough out of SHIELD’s orbit to get himself in trouble.

He looks up when Tony gets close. There’s a well-worn wariness in his eyes. He watches him the way a dog from a bad home might watch him through the bars of the shelter’s kennel. Resigned instead of hopeful, like he knows how this goes, like he knows he can survive it.

“Here,” Tony says. He leaves the money two chairs away from him, within easy grabbing distance. “And I have shoes your size, if you want to borrow them.”

“I don’t need that,” Rogers says, pointing at the money.

Tony lets his mouth tip up sideways, smirks like this is the part of the whole situation he finds truly unbelievable. “You’re going to come into my house,” he says, “uninvited, unannounced, and then you’re going to refuse to accept my hospitality? Rogers, what would your mother think?”

There’s a stall point in Roger’s stare, like watching a bird fly into a window. There’s a moment, right around the word mother, when those blue eyes blank out, and Tony’s just staring into empty space.

“She didn’t,” he says, and it’s fascinating. He’s stitching himself up right here at Tony’s dining table. Tony can practically see it happening, vertebrae stacking up, pulling him taunt like a needle tugging on a thread. “She never liked charity.”

Tony is familiar with pride. He has something of an overabundance himself, although he comes by it honestly. He knows hurt pride hates an audience, so he looks away.

“I imagine she hated the idea of you starving, too,” Tony says. “Probably worked very hard to make sure that didn’t happen. Going to waste all her work now, Rogers? Seems ungrateful.”

He’s half-taunting by the end of it. He’s not sure why. He finds weak points like a magnet finds iron. Sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s pulling on until after he’s accidentally ripped out someone’s heart. It’s not one of the traits he’s proud of, but, like his pride, he knows where it came from.

Rogers glares at him, but he hooks the next takeout container over anyway.

“I’ll get those shoes,” Tony says. JARVIS has already measured; Rhodey left some boots that should fit.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but, when Tony comes back, the money is gone, and so is he.

                                                           —

Tony doesn’t tell Fury a damn thing. If Fury lost a national icon, that’s his problem. And anyway, Tony’s still not completely convinced that the blonde who materialized in his penthouse was actually Steve Rogers and not some kind of really confused, really well-built homeless man. Or a stripper.

Tony’s never actually met a stripper who showed up in khakis, refused to disrobe, and then ate ten pounds of takeout before silently disappearing, but he’d be willing to pay another five hundred dollars for a repeat performance.

He figures out how the maybe-Steve got into his penthouse. He upgrades the security, but he tells JARVIS to let him in if he ever comes back. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but he’s too curious to lock him out.

                                                           —

There’s a bit of nothing that kicks off in New York, some Hammer tech that goes haywire. Tony puts it down like the cheap knockoff that it is, but he gets stuck in debrief with Phil Coulson afterwards, because he’s not quite quick enough to abandon the scene after the fight’s over. In his defense, he was holding a car above a partially-trapped bicyclist, and Coulson caught him before the EMTs could finish disentangling her.

He makes it back to the Tower after an hour of mostly-wasted time. Steve Rogers is sitting at his dining table. Tony bites back the ludicrous urge to “honey, I’m home!” him.

“Hey,” he says instead, as he steps in from the balcony, stripped down to the skintight suit he wears under the armor. He didn’t expect company. “You get something to eat?”

Steve seems somehow offended by the question. “I didn’t break in here and steal anything,” he says.

“Okay,” Tony says, moving past him. “Well, that’s a gold star and an empty stomach for you, Rogers. We’re all very proud.”

“It’s not my food,” Steve tells him. If he had hackles, they’d be raised. Tony wants to pat him on the head, but only because he’s always had a sort of neurotic tendency to see how hard people bite before he decides whether to trust them.

“Yeah, and a twenty-dollar grocery bill is really gonna break me,” Tony says. He takes a smoothie out of the freezer. “You want pizza? I’m gonna order pizza.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment before he shrugs. “I could eat,” he says.

“Great,” Tony says. He has JARVIS order three pizzas, because he wants at least half of one for himself, and Steve Rogers is a human garbage disposal.

Steve takes a shower while they’re waiting. He asks first, which Tony supposes is the polite thing to do, and he takes his backpack with him, like he’s worried Tony’s going to steal his wallet.

“You know,” Tony says, when Steve remerges, wearing another knockout set of some grandpa’s Goodwill khakis and button-down shirt, “you keep showing up like this, and it’s gonna get harder for me to lie to Fury about having no idea where you are.”

Steve flips open a pizza box and carefully selects a slice. His hair is wet and neatly combed back from his face. He’s handsome from a distance but damn near devastating at close range. Tony takes another bite of pizza, hopes it’ll help swallow back the urge to sink a few grand into war bonds.

“Fury’s the guy with the eyepatch?” Steve doesn’t settle into a seat. He takes his pizza and wanders over to the window, stares out at the skyline.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Tony says.

Steve makes a face. Tony can see it, dulled and faded, in the reflection on the glass. “He’s persistent,” he says, slowly. Not like it’s a compliment.

“Yeah,” Tony says, again, “that’s him.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. Tony finishes his slice of pizza, eats another one. There’s an ache in his right shoulder from being wrenched around by Hammer’s ridiculous creation, and he should be icing it, but he doesn’t want to. Not with Steve Rogers here.

He’s never liked looking human in front of an audience. His problem has always been that he couldn’t figure out how to stop. At least, not until he built his armor.

Steve comes back when he’s out of pizza. He’s catlike in his wariness, in the way he seems pissed at Tony for daring to exist in his proximity.

“That fight,” he says, apropos of approximately nothing at all. “Earlier.”

“Oh,” Tony says, rising out of his chair and moving toward the bar, giving Steve the room to loom over the pizza like he’s defending his kill. “You see that on the news?”

“Saw it on the street,” Steve says. “Heard the screams.”

Heard the screams and came running. So he’s still in the hero business. Fury will be happy to hear it.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Steve tells him. He sounds angry about it. At Tony, not the situation. “Where’s your backup?”

“Backup,” Tony repeats. “Cap, c’mon. Read a newspaper. I work alone.”

Steve Rogers looks up from his pizza perusal just long enough to roll his eyes. It should feel like a slap across the face, and maybe it does. However it feels, Tony likes it. Wants more of it. There’s always been something grounding in being dismissed, like Tony’s never known where he stands until someone shows him how he doesn’t measure up.

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” Steve asks. “Men who work alone die alone, Stark. And they’re not very effective when they do.”

Tony knows he’s meant to be offended. He is, probably. But he couldn’t bite back his smile for anything. “I think I liked you better when you called me ‘Mr. Stark.’”

“Seems to me,” Steve says, “you want everyone to call you Iron Man these days.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Tony says, “surely they had that line about glass houses in the ‘40’s?”

Steve frowns at him. “I never asked anyone to call me Captain America.”

“And yet,” Tony says, tipping a bottle of whiskey his direction, “that’s how to introduced yourself to me.”

Steve gives him a look like he thinks Tony’s being deliberately obtuse. “That’s who I am,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes and flips a tumbler right side up. “But when I start using a stage name,” he says, “suddenly I’m a narcissistic asshole who doesn’t--”

“Do you think,” Steve says, looming up suddenly, shifting gears like something mechanical, going battle-ready with more decisiveness than a faceplate clicking down, “that anybody spent years, spent—I don’t know. Millions of dollars? Do you think anybody did that for Steve Rogers?”

Tony’s caught wrong-footed. He did it again. Drilled until he found the nerve, cut until he broke the skin.

“I think you don’t get one without the other,” Tony says, trying now to soothe. But he’s not very good at it. His instincts don’t run this direction. His whole life, the only things he could ever repair were machines.

Steve shakes his head. He steps away from the pizza. He looks around, eyes zeroing in on his backpack.

“Stay here,” Tony says, sidling out from behind the bar, whiskey now in hand.

Steve straightens up like a cobra, like he’s going to spit venom in Tony’s face. Tony wants to put his mouth on him, which is probably only half because he’s always been hellbent on his own destruction. The other half is that Steve Rogers is beautiful like something made in a lab for aesthetics alone, carefully designed for universal appeal. Tony likes to tell himself he has a taste for the exclusive, but the reality has always been he wants exactly what everyone else does.

“You don’t want SHIELD to find you,” Tony says, “then stay here. Trust me, this is the last place they’d think to look.”

He’s not standing between Steve and the exit. He was careful about that. Whatever SHIELD might think about him, he doesn’t have a death wish. And also, when he’s thinking about it, he’s not usually deliberately an asshole. It’s just that, most of the time, he’s not thinking about it.

“Why should I trust you?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs. Hell, he has no idea. “Why’d you come here? The first time. When SHIELD lost you, you came here. Why?”

“I went home,” Steve says, argumentative, all squared shoulders and tight jaw. “I went to Brooklyn. But it wasn’t there anymore. None of it was—I couldn’t find…”

He trails off, shakes his head, sharp and agitated, a horse bothered by a fly. It’s hard to look in his eyes. There’s something in them that Tony doesn’t want to see. It’s like watching a statue bleed.

“I heard there was still a Stark in New York,” Steve says. “I read about you. I thought maybe you’d--”

“You thought I’d be like Howard,” Tony finishes for him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I thought you’d be like me,” Steve says, which doesn’t make any sense at all.

“You,” Tony says. And then, a little helplessly, “What?”

Steve looks away. He shrugs, looks back. “I saw the suit,” he says. “On the news. I saw what it can do. I didn’t think--- things have advanced a lot. I didn’t understand. I thought Howard had…”

Tony squints at him. “You thought Howard did a Rebirth redux and tested it on his kid?”

“I thought a lot of things,” Steve says, snappy. “It was a very confusing couple of days.”

Tony can imagine that it was. “So you thought I was Rebirthed, and you wanted--”

“I didn’t want anything,” Steve says, and there’s that flash of exposed nerve again, that look like a sinkhole in the backs of his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

Tony takes a sip of his whiskey. It settles, warm and sweet, into his stomach.

I didn’t want anything.

I shouldn’t be alive, unless it’s for a reason.

Tony holds the tumbler out. Steve needs the warmth more than he does. “Here,” he says.

Steve takes it, seemingly on reflex. “I can’t get drunk,” he says.

“Well,” Tony says, circling back toward the bar, “not with that attitude.”

[mneiai]

PROMPT REQUEST! Did you know I almost forgot that you were doing this today? How tragic (for me) would that have been if I hadn't remembered? So, my first prompt. Jango/Obi-Wan: Obi-Wan is having a nice, easy mission that somehow hasn't gone wrong yet when he stumbles on a half-dead Jango. Obi-Wan being the helpful person he is gives aid. Cue reverse Florence Nightingale effect where Jango falls in love with the person who nursed him to health (and possibly isn't willing to let said person go.)

Haha as if I wouldn’t take prompts from you at other times!

*****

"K'atini," a voice comes to him as he wakes up and he relaxes almost immediately at the sound of Mando'a. Jango tried to speak and choked instead, gentle hands hurrying to help him sit up, a cup pressed against his lips. He took a few sips, knowing that there was no reason to poison him when he was already so week. Water, just water. And the soft voice, letting him know he'd be okay in fluent Mando'a. The next time he woke, the voice was back, and the hands, they were gently wiping him down and it felt so nice to just lie there and be taken care of he didn't try to make a noise.

It went on like that, Jango too tired to even open his eyes, for what seemed like days. He felt safe the whole time, as if the person taking care of him--and he was sure it was just one person--was projecting comfort. He hadn't felt like this since...not since before Jaster had died. Eventually, he could not keep putting off looking at this person, putting a face and name to them in his mind, one that might betray him. "Hello there," the voice said, and a figure moved into his line of sight. A human or near-human, masculine, wearing a casual tunic. They helped Jango sit up, drink water, as he had many times before, but this time he was offered food as well. Bland ration bars, what he would expect to find deep in the Republic, not on the Outer Rim world he last remembered being on. His caretaker chuckled. "I know, they're not great. But it was what I had on the ship that would be easy on your system." He chewed through as much as he could stomach, knowing he must need the calories, before addressing the tauntaun in the room, as much as he didn't want to. "Who are you?" "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi," the name, thankfully or not, meant nothing to Jango. "I was on my way back to the spaceport when I came across you. I brought you back to my ship instead of dropping you at the local hospital because, well, someone running around in full beskar'gam out here probably isn't too fond of the authorities. Might I ask your name? You didn't have any identification on you." They were smart enough to answer his next questions, at least, even if they just created more. He studied Obi-Wan, the soft fall of their hair, the gentle eyes, the moderately attractive features made all the more interesting by his attitude and smooth Mando'a. Could he really trust this Obi-Wan? Could he not, when it was clear they had spent a lot of their time, and probably no few resources, on him? "What do you want me for?" Fixed up, he'd be a decent enough slave, though past his prime for playing the attractive bodyguard for some sleemo who cared more about impressions than actual safety. But most wouldn't bother. Hell, leaving him stripped down and taking his armor and weapons would be worth about as much as he'd be, anymore. "...Nothing? I know, it's odd," they gave a wry smile, a look that struck Jango for how perfect it was on his face, "but...something told me I shouldn't just leave you there. Perhaps the Manda called to me." "Jango," he said, finally. "Jango Fett." Obi-Wan blinked, frowned, and Jango could see the exact moment that the name registered. "...Truly?" He barked out a laugh, then stopped with a grimace, realizing he wasn't quite up to that, yet. "It doesn't mean anything, anymore, unless you keep up with bounty hunter news." "Only vaguely, I'm afraid." "I wasn't expecting more." He looked himself over, shifting here and there to get a feel for how he's recovering. A datapad appeared in Obi-Wan's hand, held out to him. "This is all your scans and what I did to heal you up." Jango took it with interest, finding thorough notes. "So you can continue treating yourself." Jango stared harder at the notes, the proof that the caring hands and words had existed in some way. "Kicking me out so soon?" "Oh, no! I simply assumed that's what you would want. As opposed to staying here with a stranger." "Not such a stranger, are you, Obi-Wan? Considering the state you've seen me in?" He was gifted with a laugh in return, which seemed to brighten the whole room. Altogether, he stayed for five more days. He thought he wasn't the only one finding reasons for his delay. When he left, he clad himself in beskar'gam that Obi-Wan had expertly cleaned and fixed. But back in his ship, alone, even the armor didn't bring him comfort. He missed Obi-Wan. If Jango had been a less talented bounty hunter, he may have never found Obi-Wan again. Yet, he had long ago learned to memorize all the information he could and to find people even after they'd disappeared into the depths of the galaxy. Finding out that Obi-Wan was a Jedi did not change his mind, not when they had spent weeks together with not a single sign of that wretched culture. Not when he knew that Obi-Wan had known who he was, but had never stopped helping him. He'd save him, as Obi-Wan had saved him.