#his relationship with his wife is obviously strained. his son is mentioned so far only in relation to his career

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

finally watching channel zero and i immediately have so many thoughts in the first ten minutes

[anika-ann]

Conundrum (A.B.)

Type: One-shot, challenge fic

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!reader    Word Count: 7700 (:

Summary: conundrum - a confusing and difficult problem or question

Andy Barber is a difficult man whom you have yet to understand. He certainly doesn’t make it any easier; and right before Christmas, he manages to surprise you again.

Prompt: You have to look for a gift impromptu

Warnings: a smidge of angst, a drop of awkward humour, mention of death (mild AU - both Laurie and Jacob!), alcohol consumption, feels, explicit language, reader gets called a dumbass... that’s it I hope, lemme know

A/N:  This is my submission for the Happy Hoelidays challenge. There’s no hoeing tho, shame on me. Also, if you want some music to go with this, know that I listened to ‘God I Hope This Year Is Better Than the Last’ by SYML an obscene amount of times.

Andy Barber was an enigma.

Reporters liked to think he wasn’t; almost a year ago, they tore down all the walls he had built up to protect the privacy of his family and they shed light into startingly intimate details of his life – and where they couldn’t shed light, they used their imagination and sold it with a claim of having a reliable source. Naturally, it worked; there were always people willing to believe it just so they obtained more of juicy gossip material.

There were wanabe psychologists who would address his trauma and tried to analyse his personality, the consequences he would suffer in the aftermath of the tragedy, who attempted to strip down his soul just to get a few more reads and generally talked about him as if they were best friends, as if they knew him.

It was all a load of bullshit.

The truth, you thought, was that no one knew him. If you were being honest, you weren’t sure if even his wife ever had, truly – but that was you under the influence of the little information you bothered to gather from the influx of crap that the media provided the public with.

What you believed was that the reporters and all the self-proclaimed experts on him knew nada.

Andrew Barber was and always would remain an enigma; to the public, to the little what remained of his family after the death of his wife and son, to his co-workers – the category which included you. If you could even call yourself a co-worker; you were simply a secretary. Granted, one whose previous employer let her peek over their shoulder quite a bit so you learned a thing or two about law, but Andy Barber was the lawyer. The former DA from Boston, who moved over to rule the DA office of Portland, your home.

Even after having been working with him for nine full months, Andy’s thoughts and feelings didn’t get any easier for you to read or predict. When he wanted to let you know he was disappointed, he did. When he was truly angry with someone, well, he wouldn’t let it go unnoticed either.

Other than that, however, you would have had better luck trying to decode the actual enigma-encrypted messages sent during World War II.

Small talk didn’t last longer than three sentences from you each. Work-related affaires were discussed in his office with politeness and with calm, rather dispassionate mannerism. If you caught a hint of a smile when an important case that helped people went his way (or the office’s way really), you considered it a miracle that sent your heart reeling.

He would sometimes smile only for you if you brought him a coffee without him asking first, simply because he looked like he needed one; at those times, he would thank you softly and let slip in your first name instead of referring to you with your last. Those were your favourite moments.

Well, almost.

You found him with a tumbler and an expensive whiskey on occasion when you were leaving the office late; you never commented on it, but there were four times he actually silently invited you to have a glass with him. You refused the first time and accepted the other three.

Those nights, you got a glimpse of the mystery of a man hidden behind surprisingly soft mannerism, one which was in such a sharp contrast to his shark-like demeanour he displayed in front of the judge and the jury. His scars ran deep, his hopes had been shattered, his life in the past year as bitter as the overpriced liquor. Your heart cracked for him to the point of nearly breaking altogether.

And yet, it was beating for him too; behind all that hurt, you couldn’t but notice certain gentleness. Yes, he could be scary, downright terrifying and when his temper got the best of him, the true rage on display, he was a force to be reckoned with. But oh, that gentleness. The kind shattered soul he hid so well every morning, more so on the days right after your little heart-to-hearts. Trying to build a working relationship with him – a friendship of a sort, anything you wanted to call it – was a game of push and pull and more of a string of guesses than an effort that would bore fruit.

You might have already given up on that and instead, with the ferocity you hadn’t known you possessed, you kept punching the crush you had on him; that silly thing that would always call louder and louder after he revealed a piece of him on one of the precious nights, only to shut you out completely the next morning.

Andy Barber had never even remotely showed a romantic interest in you and by God, did you not blame him for not being interested in anyone at all as far you knew. While you considered yourself a fairly capable worker and half-decent person, you were aware you could never measure up to him. Just another reason to push down the feelings you had for him, ones that seemed to bloom with more intensity whenever he raised the corners of his damn lips, when he asked a question about you during those stupid nights as if he cared— nonsense. You had to get rid of those. He didn’t even like you, barely acknowledged you in the end. Or did he? You honestly didn’t know.

Bottom line was that if you couldn’t get close enough, then the reporters knew jack shit, no matter how much reading on him they had done or how many books on psychology, criminology and law and shit they went through. Many people knew Andrew Barber’s name, but no one could hope to know him.

And yet, those assholes still called and asked about him.

It was the fourth one that day; December 23rd, over a year from the accusation of Jacob Barber, and those fucking vultures still called Andy Barber’s office. They weren’t even good newspapers and news sites anymore; obviously, because every rational decent person would have let the poor man rest. But nope. Not them.

“Portland’s DA office, secretary of Mr. Barber speaking. How may I help you?”

“Oh, wonderful! Is there any chance I could talk to Mr. Barber personally?” the chipper of a man asked on the other end of the line and just by not giving his name, he raised suspicion; was it forgetfulness caused by his distress or intention?

Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, you had to be polite. Hot-shot lawyers and other important people rarely returned the courtesy, but that was the world you lived in.

“There might be, Mr-?”

“Oh, Connor. Peter Connor.”

“Well, Mr. Connor, what is your legal issue?” you asked patiently, writing down his name automatically.

“Well, you see, I would rather talk with Mr. Barber about—my delicate situation, in private.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stopped scribbling and spared a brief glance towards the door to Andy’s office. It was opened ajar in what could be an invitation, but all blinds on both the door and the windows were down in typical fashion.

Talk in private?

Yeah, not gonna happen. You knew a few tricks that these assholes calling the office tended to pull and whoever this man was, you were growing more suspicious by the minute that he was not seeking legal advice.

You went back to your notes and wrote down the word liar right next to his name and a question mark. Was he a liar? One way to find out you guessed; you caught your phone between your ear and your shoulder, opening a new tab in your browser to google the name along with a wild guess of him being a reporter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connor, I’m afraid I will need more information before I put you through. And I will probably need to make you an appointment, my boss is a very busy man-“

“Oh, is he? Lots of cases in Andrew Barber’s new district, huh?”

The blood in your veins was set aflame even before the search was done, because in an instant, you knew for sure.

And then you had it confirmed by the results.

This jerk had even given you his real name, utterly shameless. Sure, he could have only had the same name as the journalist you found, but what were the chances? Two days after you told his colleague – who had made it through your vetting, got an appointment and even got past the reception desk before you spotted him for what he was – to get lost and not try again?

Your pulse skyrocketed along with your blood pressure. Technically, you didn’t owe Andrew Barber anything, but he was respectful enough, didn’t make much trouble and for most time, was an okay boss to you.

You owed him this much: he was a decent guy. Why couldn’t other people show a shed of basic human decency too and leave him the fuck alone?

“That depends, Mr. Connor,” you purred, barely holding the outrage locked inside. You felt both energized by your anger and achingly tired and done with humanity. You rested your elbows on the desk and leaned onto it with a sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose, eyes closed. “Is he going to have to sue your rag of a newspaper or will you and your colleagues finally get the memo and leave. His. Personal. Life. Alone?!”

You most definitely strained the last words through your teeth, but you didn’t care anymore if you were being rude. He was the fourth reporter today ready to ask about Andy’s personal matters. The FOURTH!! He was lucky you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself… explicitly.

“Are you threatening me?” the man demanded, his voice insulted, losing all traced of pretence.

As if you ever. You knew better than that, working with lawyers.

“Nice try, Mr. Connor.  I will thank you to never call this office again unless you have legal issues or a relevant question which you should direct to our PR department anyway. And if you could extend this to all editorial staff, please, preferably to all editorial staff in the United States, that would be splendid. Have a good day. Happy Holidays.”

You slammed the phone down, missing the slot for it, not caring. You were sure he would hang up on his own.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath and hid your face in your palms, grunting, fingertips sinking into your hair.

“I hope you don’t mean me,” sounded from the doorway and you yelped, honest to god yelped and straightened in your seat, head snapping up-

-only to meet your boss’ curious gaze. Hurt and anger casted shadows over his beautiful cerulean irises, but there was no mistaking the melancholy and resignation on his face either.

“Of course not!” you blurted out quickly, panic rising in your chest.

How much had he heard? Was he going to fire you for being unprofessional? Did he figure out what was this about— of course he did, there was little room left for doubt. Your choice of words was pretty straightforward.

Andy bounced off of the doorframe he was leaning onto, not easing his stance – his arms remained crossed over his chest and had you not been so alarmed, you would have indulged in the sight of his biceps nearly cutting through the seams of his shirt.

“Why do I get the impression that whoever you were talking to was not the first person to call the office to feed on ‘the misery man’ that Andrew Barber is?” he more stated than asked, his tone unmistakably bitter.

You gulped as he approached your desk, nails digging into your palms. You had no idea what to say. Once again, you couldn’t quite read Andy; you had no idea where this was heading and how you should answer without setting him off, making him sadder or even more bitter. And without getting fired, obviously.

“I—uhm, well, I suppose you heard me, so you know he wasn’t the first—Mr. Barber. I apologize-“ His eyebrows rose a fraction and you didn’t dare to analyse why. “-if I was too loud. But--- humanity sucks.”

The moment the last two words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, snapping your eyelids close and squeezing. You were sure you were about to have bloody crescents in your palms from your nails at this point.

Did you really just say that? To your boss, no less?

Way to go, me.

“Not wrong there. Why don’t you take your lunch break now?” he offered casually.

You nodded as you felt the tell-tale burn of tears forming in your eyes; fuck, this was humiliating. Why had he had to walk in exactly in that moment? And now using that tone?

He didn’t say anything else and you didn’t dare to look at him. Only when you heard him walk back to his office and close the door behind him, you opened your eyes and released the breath you were holding, your heart hammering in your chest.

Gulping and swallowing your tears before they could escape, you grabbed your purse and your coat, rushing out to the cold air of Portland winter.

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Andy didn’t bring up the incident again when you came back. You had a short list of assignments for the upcoming days off which you went over with him before parting ways for the holidays. You mentioned you would probably drop in tomorrow despite not necessarily having to, but wished him Happy Holidays in case you’d miss him during your brief visit.

The corners of his lips twitched at that, but he wished you the same. You supposed his holidays weren’t about to be happy – more like the opposite. Last year, he celebrated with his family, even if it might have been already falling apart. This year however…

Your heart cracked another fraction for the man and you wondered if you should leave some cookies for him in the office tomorrow at least. Then you realized he would probably hate it, either being bitter about feeling like a charity case or hating the reminder of what he had lost, what wasn’t waiting for him at home anymore. Not to mention that maybe even the poinsettia, which you had placed on his office window two days ago and neither of you commented on, was already too much.

The only cookies you baked that night were the ones you knew should stay in a box with apples for over a day, the cookies you were supposed to bring to your sister’s house for Christmas, because your nephew Harry loved them.

With cheesy Christmas songs in the background and a bottle of wine for the party of one, you kneaded the double batch of dough and couldn’t but spare your achingly handsome and likely lonely boss a thought and maybe… maybe a tear or two.

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The office was empty when you arrived on 24th at around half past four; everyone left as soon as possible, which was to be expected. Admittedly, despite not knowing what you would talk about with Andy, you found your heart sinking when you didn’t see light peeking through the blinds of your and his offices. You had expected him to be working to avoid being at home; but then again, you knew next to nothing about him. Maybe he was with a girlfriend. With a boyfriend. With former colleagues. With his deceased wife’s family. It was only assumption of yours that he might be lonely on Christmas.

You shook your head at your train of thought as you unlocked your office, mentally going over which files you needed to bring home, trying to eliminate the amount as not to endanger confidential information by taking them away from the safety of the bureau.

You froze in your tracks when you found a rather large piece of paper folded into a roof on your desk. A note, you realized, frowning and slowly walking to the suspicious object.

There were very few people who could enter your space, namely three: the janitor, you and Andy. The first option was unlikely, the second impossible, the third confusing. You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just shoot you a text if he needed anything.

You halted in your steps, the air knocked out of your lungs when you noticed that the note was not the only new item on your desk.

There was a box.

A box roughly size of your extended palm. And if you weren’t mistaken… it looked like a jewellery gift box.

“What the hell?” you asked yourself breathlessly, your curiosity getting the best of you; more so as you recognized what was most definitely Andy’s handwriting on the paper.

Andrew Barber, your boss, with whom you weren’t sure what your relationship was – if there was any at all – might have got you jewellery.

Say that again?

A tiny voice in your head told you he might have just used the box for something else entirely, but that didn’t seem to be his style.

So you picked up the gift carefully, almost reverently removing the lid, your heart pounding in your chest, stomach twisting with pleasant anticipation; with the familiar rush that kids feel when opening a present with high hopes of what could await them inside.

Your lips parted in pure shock, you mind turning blank.

There were no words in English language to express how… how absolutely magnificent the bracelet inside was.

Five thin circles with symbols made of slender lines inside, looking like charms, but withing the body of the bracelet, one clasped to the next one with delicate ellipses. The metal reflected the fluorescent lights of the office, glimmering softly, appearing almost fluid, a thin stream of water trapped in a box.

You actually had to blink and it took all your willpower not to pinch yourself, because—how-

How had he known? Where had he got it? Holy mother of Jesus, how much had he spent on it?

And why get you a gift in the first place? You were… acquaintances at best. Yes, there were almost friendly moments, and then there were those nights, but this was---this- you couldn’t even---- think, apparently.

Keeping an eye on the opened box, you gently placed it back on the desk, afraid to even touch the metal itself. You blindly reached into your purse in search for your phone to dial the only number that made sense for you to dial at that moment.

It sure as hell wasn’t Andy’s.

Nothing but a dialling tone sounded for half a minute, the time seemingly endless. You fell heavily into your chair, still staring at the absolutely gorgeous and thoughtful gift.

How did he know?!

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as your sister still didn’t answer the phone and your hand automatically reached for your necklace to toy with.

And that was when it hit you.

Your necklace; one you got from your sister during the period of your biggest obsession with the Divergence series. Two arrows in a circle pointing different directions, the symbol for a ‘divergent’ person. Your eyes wandered over the five circles of the bracelet – scales, an eye, hands connected, a flame, a tree –, an incredulous chuckle escaping you.

But--- you didn’t think he would notice. You didn’t even wear it all the time, rather often, yes, and yeah, perhaps you did have a bit of a bad habit of fumbling with it when nervous-

“Hey sis! What’s up?” Amber’s voice sounded cheerily from the microphone. You jumped in your seat, startled by her as she interrupted your musing. “Please tell me you’re still coming, because Harry wouldn’t shut up about his favourite chocolate chip.”

You cleared your throat, barely able to comprehend what she was talking about, too caught up in your head.

“I—hi. Uhm- I need help actually,” you finally stuttered and you could practically feel her frown even over the phone.

“Oh? Is everything okay? You sound… a little strange.”

“That’s-“ not wrong. You scanned the office and listened in for the tinniest noise, making sure you were still alone. “I’m at the office and I--eh, I found a gift for me.”

“Awww, a secret admirer? Nice!” Amber chuckled, then abruptly stopped. “…unless it’s a stalker. You don’t think you have a stalker, right? Is that why you called me, so I could tell George? He’s not on duty-“

This time you did roll your eyes at the mention of her husband who happened to be a police officer.

“No, Amber, I have no stalker as far as I know. I’m pretty sure I can recognize my boss’ handwriting at this point.”

Nothing but silence could be heard from the other end for a good minute. You bit your lip in anticipation of… something.

And then: “You’re shitting me.”

“Not really-“

“Holy mother of-!” your sister squealed loudly and you winced, instinctively withdrawing from the phone. “Your boss got you a Christmas present?! --Wait. Is it a Walmart card? Because if it is, then this call is pointless, because that’s boring as-“

“No, Amber, he—he gave me a bracelet,” you admitted softly, your gaze once again wandering over the said object. Beautiful. Fragile. Yours, apparently. What?

When Amber only responded with silence again, words suddenly spilled from your lips, all the mixed feelings you had about receiving the bracelet released, relief singing in your veins as you vented.

“And-and it’s actually really beautiful and--- it’s thoughtful, because it has all the fractions from Divergence on it? But not like something you buy for ten dollars, only paying for the copyright or whatever and the quality is shitty, no, I mean--- it looks pretty, eh, delicate.”

It did, awfully so, which was why you still couldn’t make yourself to touch it even if you really, really liked it and wanted to do nothing but to wear it for the rest of your damn life.

“And expensive. I-- I think it might be real silver and…” you wavered, almost scared to share your last observation out loud for it seemed impossible for it to be true. “Amber, you know I looked through a lot of Divergence-related goods so I would know. It- it doesn’t look familiar at all, it’s--- I think it might be custom-made.”

You choked on the last word, tasting so strange on your tongue as you couldn’t quite believe that you were saying it. You felt--- incredulous to put it simply… and touched and- absolutely bewildered.

Silence stretched in the follow-up to your rambling and you felt your brows drawing together.

“…Amber? You there?”

“Oh yeah, I’m here,” she assured you swiftly, mischief curling around the tone of her voice like a smirk on her lips you couldn’t see. “Just wondering how could you not tell me you started sleeping with him-“

“What?! No!” you protested instantly, straightening in the chair. “I’m not—I’m not his sugar baby or whatever! This is not a ‘thank you for letting me fuck you raw’ gift-“

“Not that you would complain from what I heard and saw-“ she hummed playfully.

She was right. But shush!

“Screw you!”

“George does, that’s why we have Harry in the first place,” she sassed you. “But… sis? What kind of a gift it is then?”

And wasn’t that the question.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, you should, because from what you told me, you guys aren’t even friends. Nota bene, this isn’t exactly a gift you give to a friend,” she pointed out, addressing one of the million issues concerning the damn (gorgeous) bracelet.

“I-- I guess?” You were sure, in fact. This was something to give to a… well, to a lover, to a partner. “But- Amber, he doesn’t--- that’s not-“

“What did the note say?”

“Huh?”

“You said you recognized his handwriting,” she reminded you slowly as if speaking to a five-year-old. “What does the note say?”

You glanced at the note again noncommittally, remembering exactly what it said. Pretty much nothing. Definitely nothing to go on.

“Uhm… Thank you. Happy Holidays.”

There was a beat of silence, again. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Eloquent.” You rolled your eyes at her sarcastic tone. She should see him at court. True though, on personal level, he wasn’t exactly chatty. Unless he opened up a bit over a glass of whiskey--- anyway, she had a point, obviously. “What are you gonna do?”

That snapped you from your musing like a shot of life into your bloodstream.

“That’s why I’m calling! I should-- I should get him something too, right?” Right?! Absolutely. “Oh god, I hate last-minute shopping. And I don’t even have a fucking clue what to buy! Well, a good whiskey is always a safe bet I guess, but supporting his drinking habits doesn’t sound like a good idea. Plus, it’s kinda… impersonal with comparison to what he gave me.”

Though if there was one thing you learned about Andy Barber, it was that he could appreciate the high-quality liquor, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been as impersonal as one might think.

“Well, I don’t know him so I can’t really help, but what you got from him should definitely give you a clue.”

“A clue?” you parroted, confused.

“I don’t mean like a clue for what you should buy him. But… look, even if you didn’t suspect that it’s custom-made, which whoa, he has to pay a lot of attention to buy you something like this. Much more attention than you thought.”

“…okay?”

“He likes you, you dumbass! It doesn’t matter what you get him, he’ll be happy you got him anything in the first place!”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you deadpanned, unsure which statement you were referring to. That he liked you or that you shouldn’t take care to choose something that would really bring him at least a little joy.

You tried your best to ignore how your heart skipped the beat at the former.

“Whatever. Harry’s throwing a hungry eye on me, I gotta go fix him a snack unless I want him to eat all the candy again. Good luck!”

“Amber!“ you called out in honest despair, panic rising in your chest, only to get no answer.

You pulled the phone from your ear to look at the screen, already knowing what awaited you.

Disconnected.

Fuck.

It seemed you were on your own. Wasn’t that wonderful?

You shot your sister a simple ‘I hate you’ text, the gears in your head already turning frantically in order to figure out what you could get Andy.  

Amber replied with a set of laughing emojis within seconds. Bitch, leaving you alone to deal with a situation like this! What a sister she was.

You sighed, admiring the delicate lines of the bracelet again, torn between indulgence and guilt. There was no questioning whether you should buy Andy something too.

Say yay for the last-minute shopping for a man out of your league and whom you had no idea what you should get.

You were utterly at loss, growing anxious not only about the difficult choice of a gift, but also about possible delivery, wondering what should you even tell him and when.

Maybe though…. just maybe, you were getting kinda excited about what you were about to do too.

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Three hours.

You spent almost three hours at the mall where you could barely breathe because of the crazy crowds and yet you were none the wiser; your excitement left you quickly, once again replaced by despair. It took you three hours and passing the lingerie shop four times, a shop with pieces on display that barely covered anything, intended for either bedroom games or a swimming pool, before it finally hit you.

You cursed under your breath, calling yourself an idiot in murmur loud enough to have few people around you look at you in surprise.

“Dumbass, I’m such a dumbass,” you continued your monologue as you fished out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts.

To say that the person on the other end was shocked to hear from you at this time of month and hour was an understatement.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Lee. I have… eh, a favour to ask…”

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You were being ridiculous.

Absolutely and utterly ridiculous as you stood on a modest porch in front of a small family house, the roof hiding you from the intrusive drizzle but not keeping you quite safe from the wind as you clutched your handbag to your side as if it was your lifeline, cursing yourself for not wearing a scarf in December.

Your nose was practically freezing, your cheeks burned from the wind and your hands were cold too, because you were stupidly underdressed; as if you haven’t lived in Portland your whole life.

But that wasn’t the main issue; an Uber dropped you off about five minutes ago and still, here you were, standing outside and trying to convince yourself to ring the bell.

The plan had been to finish packing a bag and leave around 10 p.m. to your sister’s house, where you would spend the night so you could be with her family on Christmas Day from the very beginning. But then Andrew fucking Barber, your fabulous boss, left a gift in your office, a breath-taking bracelet now sitting low on your right wrist, and it all went to hell.

Maybe you could still make it to your sister’s house – it was shortly after nine, your bag waiting on your bed, so maybe you should just call another Uber and be on your way. Maybe you could leave the silly envelope in the post-box just so you wouldn’t have to deal with Andy’s reaction; after all, he had chosen the same approach; cookies be damned, there would be more left for Harry then-

But you really, really wanted to thank him. And you might be shitting your pants, but the prospect of seeing him in a domestic environment, possibly more relaxed, perhaps nearing the man you had had the honour to see on those nights… you couldn’t make yourself to pass on that opportunity.

At the same time, you kept reminding yourself that Andy did not expect to see you tonight, he might not even be home – you were pretty sure a dim light was coming from the living room, the TV on probably, but yeah, you could keep lying to yourself – and that he might be grieving and genuinely might hate you for invading his privacy since you had to search his home address in the official documents.

Yeah, you definitely should just spin on your heels and-

“Oh for God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath and pressed the doorbell, your heart suddenly hammering in your ribcage as you realized there were no takebacks now. “Shit.”

Maybe you should just run. What if he had fallen asleep already and you just woke him up?! Oh, he was so going to be pissed and he might even show that emotion, screaming you down like he did one with that intern-

A scruffle on the other side of the door snapped you from your hopeless expectations and you sucked in a horrified breath.

And then the door slid open before you could react and you were certain you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, a semi-frozen deer to make the situation worse and--- there he was.

You quickly dropped your gaze, only then realizing how rude that was and that you should meet his eye no matter how much you did and did not want to do so at the same time. As you gaze travelled up, you found that a domestic Andy was everything you imagined he would be; black socks, loose dark grey sweats, pale t-shirt slightly wrinkled. One of his arms hung loosely by his side, the other still at the door-knob as you continued your inspection, gaze caressing the line of his bare forearm, reaching the sleeves that were hugging his biceps precisely. Broad shoulders, perfectly trimmed beard framing plush lips with the slightest hint of a curious smile.

You smiled awkwardly as your eyes met his watching you with interest, dimmed with a hint of a doze-off you must have woken him up from. You tried not to dwell on the inconspicuous redness surrounding his irises.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up!” you blurted out quickly, rewarded with a light shake of his head and a stifled yawn; subtle.

“You didn’t. Hi,” he greeted you, only to make you realize that 1. you forgot to say hi and 2. his post-nap voice was a thing from wet dreams-- which was definitely not relevant at that moment.

“Hi,” you offered unsurely, eyes roaming his face, searching for any trace of anger. All you found was bewilderment; if pleasant or not, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry for barging in. I just… uhm- I wanted to thank you and-“

The hint of a smile on his lips grew a fraction, expression softening at your admission and before you could find your footing, he opened the door further, subtly extending his hand to usher you in.

Your heart skipped a beat, the strangest feeling tickling your gut, teeth sinking into your lower lip, the grip on your handbag growing stronger. Yet you accepted, taking two reluctant steps inside. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing whatever fate awaited you.

Attempting not to look too nosy, you turned back to Andy rather than scanning the hall.

Words got stuck in your throat. As tired as he looked, worn to a bone by everything but physical exercise, you couldn’t but marvel at what a handsome man he was, even without his smart suits and ties and neatly styled fluffy hair; it was still very fluffy, just more of a mess than a fashion statement.

God, wasn’t he beautiful.

He kept looking at you too in mute anticipation of something, appearing mildly lost just as you were, giving the impression of a man who couldn’t tell what to expect.

Your gaze locked with his, unyielding, a gorgeous trap and you knew you had to say or do something before your heart gave out entirely.

Your mouth opened, no words coming out and you cursed yourself, simply opening the bag and pulling out a Tupperware box with half the cookies you baked last night, practically shoving it to Andy’s capable hands.

He accepted the item with eyebrows shooting up once before settling back, eyes misting for a moment. His fingertips brushed yours as he took a firm hold of the box, the not-quite-there smile of his remaining on his lips.

He seemed perplexed.

You felt like an idiot.

“This feels so silly now,” you admitted with a sigh, realizing the absurdity of the situation only accented by the fact that you stood there in the hall of his home in your coat and high-boots, ridiculously overdressed in comparison to him.

“It’s not,” he whispered finally, forcing the corners of his mouth to rise higher. “Thank you. Didn’t know you baked. Should have figured.”

You shrugged. “Never came up.”

Something shifted in his expression as did in the air; you knew he sensed it too. The unspoken hung between you, that you meant not in your daily routine at the office, but on your private nights, so rare and precious, so desperately pretended to be non-existent the next morning.

Your gaze lowered as the silence fell on your pair again and you awkwardly shifted your weight from one leg to the other. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“So, uh-“

“Thank you for the bracelet. Really. It was-” you licked your lips, meeting his eyes again, so deep, so blue and somehow soft and you forgot what you were about to say. “Eh- I wasn’t expecting it. I-- I didn’t think you’d… notice. And--- care.”

His brows furrowed for a bit and he placed the box on the shoe rack next to him; an action he soon regretted you guessed, because his fingers went for his wrist as if he wanted to readjust his cufflinks, a nervous habit of his, only to meet bare skin. Good to know you weren’t the only one iffy in this conversation.

“But you liked it?” he asked almost shyly and the corners of your lips rose on instinct as did you right hand, the sleeve of your coat sliding down a fraction, enough to reveal the new accessory.  “Looks pretty on you.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers gently slid over one of the symbols, brushing over the sensitive skin of your wrist. His gaze returned to yours, a flicker of something heated in his eyes, calling butterflies to your stomach.

Lord have mercy.

“Thanks- uhm--- thank you. Here, I got you something too.” You quickly reached into the handbag again to hide how flustered you felt – for a different reason than awkwardness.

He had touched your wrist and you turned into a blushing mess. Fabulous. And to make the matter more humiliating, now a twinkle of amusement played in his irises.

“You gave me a plant. And cookies.”

“Yeah. Kinda? But that was more of a… gesture?” you offered reluctantly as you handed him the envelope. “I uh—this is probably stupid, but, uhm--- here.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” he muttered darkly, causing your cheeks to burn hotter. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.” Pulling out the firm colourful paper, he blinked a few times, seemingly surprised. Ha, you bet he expected a Walmart card! Instead, there was a voucher for five entrances to the swimming pool where your friend Lee worked at. “Oh. Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

A stone the size of Texas fell from your stomach and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief. Andy seemed genuinely pleased by your choice of gift and you felt your whole body relax.

“It’s just… eh, just for half an hour each and you can pick them on a horizon of three months. I’m not sure how often you like going, so… uhm, my friend works at the place, so you just give her a call and it shouldn’t be a problem to book it for mornings right before the opening hours,” you explained lamely, earning a puzzled look.

“How did you know I liked going when no one’s there?”

That caused one corner of your lips twitch in slight amusement and your eyebrow arch, even if his reasons weren’t exactly funny; his cheeks flushed a hint of red, a sight to behold for more than one reason. It was nice to have the roles reserved, you making him feel flustered for once.

Really? The rather quiet lone-wolf Andy Barber, followed by reporters still, just asked you this? Cute.

“…that’s fair,” he said and for a brief second, you were afraid you had shared your thoughts out loud. But he didn’t look offended, so probably not. The self-awareness then. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m-eh, glad you like it.”

You stood there again, both smiling – a little reluctantly, a little soft – and once again you had no idea how to proceed.

What you did know was that you enjoyed talking to him, even if it was awkward like this. You enjoyed seeing him in his natural habitat, in his home, relatively relaxed. You thrived seeing more of this Andy Barber, just a handsome guy, not Andrew Barber, the hot-shot lawyer.

He was the first to break the silence, hesitantly gesturing further into the house.

“Would you—would you like to-“

YES! was what you brain screamed.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother…” was what you told him, mentally cuffing yourself on the head.

“You’re not,” Andy opposed lowly. The whisper of your name that followed made you shiver.

His gazed trailed all over your face, so intense you would swear he saw right into your soul and further. You felt naked, but for some reason not too vulnerable – Andy seemed to like what he saw, expression genuinely inviting and yet. Yet there was a subtle promise of this not being a friendly invite which was as exciting as unsettling. The air appeared the crackle and you found yourself yearning to taste the electricity on your tongue.

“May I?”

He beckoned to your coat, suddenly free hands already rising and all you could do was to nod, automatically placing your handbag on the floor and unbuttoning the garment. Once if fell open, revealing simple black jeggings and a light pink sweater, Andy sidestepped you, fingers sliding under the hem, cautiously skimming over the bare skin above your collarbones, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.

The warmth of his fingertips seeped into your flesh and yet you shuddered, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You watched Andy put your coat away with care, turning back to you torturously slowly. He filled all of your personal space, so close and too far. You weren’t sure when exactly the air turned so heavy in your lungs, but as your gaze travelled to his lips, not missing how his sought yours in return, you felt all the oxygen leave the room.

“Andy,” the word rolled off your tongue, nothing but a soundless breath of his name.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips again and back before he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse.  

“Am I imagining it?”

He didn’t have to say what and still you knew with absolute certainty that he was addressing the unbearable and delicious tension, the one that had been building and coming to life during those three nights you had spent talking in his office late--- and now it was back with smouldering intensity.

“You’re not.”

You shivered and gulped when he cautiously took a single little step further into your space, your gaze falling to his chest, lowering in sudden surge of the deep-rotted insecurity, whispering about your and his world being thousands of miles apart. And yet, your heart raced in anticipation, your hopes dizzyingly high that you might touch heaven, even if for a few moments.  

When his fingertips grasped your jaw, tough light and oh so careful, your eyelids fluttered close, already indulging in the sensation. God, his touch was so soft despite the roughness of his fingertips…

As if he wished to torture you or to indulge that sweet little moment before lips met lips, he stopped an inch from his destination, his breaths as wavering as yours, the words whispered straight into your mouth just a little broken.

“I’m fucked up.”

Your brain basked in blissful fog, but this got across, causing you to tense briefly.

You couldn’t deny what he was saying, you both knew he spoke the ultimate truth – well, you guessed. What had happened to him, having his life dismantled and then losing his family, that sort of thing was bound to leave a scar. Confirming it bluntly though, that felt unforgiving, only adding insult to injury.

“We all are,” you whispered instead, not only because you wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’, the words too harsh.

And it wasn’t trivializing the tragic turn his life had taken. It wasn’t downplaying the depth of his wounds. It wasn’t necessarily implying that you had been through something equally horrible either. Most importantly, it wasn’t you mocking him.

And somehow, he understood that; even if he could have interpreted it in every wrong way imaginable and shove you away, insulted, disgusted.

But no, in that fleeting moment that meant everything, Andy understood that this was your acceptance; this was you telling him that you were willing to try; take whatever he offered and give anything you could in return.

Finally, his lips brushed over yours, slightly chapped and oh so warm and delicious, withdrawing too soon, leaving you to savour the taste as your ran your tongue over your own lips. You inhaled shakily, overwhelmed by everything that was him, powerful, electrifying and then your hand was somehow on his chest, your palm laid over his racing heart, your fingers twitching as his ribcage expanded with a sharp inhale.

Blindly, your mouth searched his again, his whiskers tickling softly and scratching at once, a pleasant sensation on your sensitive skin as he grew bolder, and truly attached your lips in a kiss that made you feel lightheaded with the emotion poured into it. Your hand curled around his nape, an instinct to pull him closer, fingers toying with the short soft hair there, drawing a hum from within the expanse of his chest.

You granted him access to your mouth when he wordlessly asked, but it was him who retreated shortly after that, his heart now appearing as if in pain with its furious beats under your palm. His breaths started coming out short and it dawned to you what was wrong. How fast this could have felt to him, even if he was the one to start it.

‘I’m fucked up,’ he had said. Too caught in the moment, you hadn’t fully realized the extent of his words perhaps.

But you did now – at least a little better than before.

So when he rested his forehead against yours and a breathless ‘sorry’ slipped from his lips, you shook your head lightly and planted a kiss on his cheek, hand still on the back of his head, fingers running over his scalp in a hopefully soothing motion.

“I’ve got you, Andy. You lead.”

You had no strength to keep him close when he pulled his face away, your eyes snapping open in fright that you had said something terribly wrong.

But Andy’s cerulean eyes were big and glassy, grateful and softly speaking about him being… moved by your proposition. Your heart felt like it just grew twice its size, too big to fit into your chest at what a breath-taking picture he was.

The next thing you knew, he dropped a chaste kiss to your forehead and pulled you into his arms, an almost protective embrace, kissing the top of your head for a good measure and you melted against his large frame, smiling into t-shirt.

“Thank you,” he murmured breathlessly into your hair and your smile widened, remembering the note he had left with the exquisite gift that had started everything that led you right here into this moment.

“Happy Holidays.”

Thank you for reading! I’ve been sitting on this since the beginning of damn November. I hope you enjoyed.

It was my first (and maybe last) time writing Andy, so I hope it was alright. Feedback always appreciated.

P.S. – sorry if the nosy reporters thing offended you.

P.P.S. - …I know, the prompt was veeery loosely filled. Shush.

Pretty divider by whismicalrogers.

[oh-to-be-a-seeker]

Tanaka Naruaki Profile

IDENTITY

Name: Tanaka Naruaki

Gender: Male

Age: Variable on content

Birth Date: 22 April 18xx

Species: Human

Blood Status: Pureblood

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Alignment: Neutral good

Ethnicity: Japanese, and slightly Filipino

Nationality: Japanese

Residence: Tokyo, Japan, before his relocation to London, England

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ISTP-T - “The Virtuoso.”

~~~~~

THE MAGE

1st Wand: Cherry wood, fox spirit whisker core, 12 ¼ inches and quite flexible

2nd Wand: His father’s; technically stronger than his first wand, but he rarely uses it. Bloodgood wood, oni horn core, 11 ⅔ inches and swishy

Animagus: N/A

Misc Magical Abilities: Parselmouth

Boggart Form: A gaunt, skeletal form of his mother, rotting away and blaming Naru for her death and the decline of their relationship

Riddikulus Form: His mother flops down as though boneless, although Naru has considerable difficulty facing down boggarts

Amortentia (what he smells like): Black licorice, the spray of a waterfall, and a cherry orchard in blossom

Amortentia (what he smells): Early morning dew, burning incense, and his mother’s udon

Patronus: Jaguar

Patronus Memory: A day he spent in his first year at Hogwarts, by the lake, with a few of his new friends who had managed to make his life not so lonely anymore, and make him feel at home so far from the only place he had ever known

Mirror of Erised: Him and his mother, happy at home in Japan, eventually including his aunt as part of their family

Specialized/Favourite Spells:

Confringo

Incarcerous

Obliviate

Wingardium Leviosa, mostly for pranks

~~~~~

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Ito Kentaro

Voiceclaim: Ito Kentaro

Game Appearance: N/A

Height: 5′10″

Weight: 130 lbs

Physique: Slim but fit

Eye Colour: Brown/black

Hair Colour: Black

Skin Tone: Tawny

Body Modifications: N/A

Scarring: Naru has a scar on his left hand between his index finger and his thumb from a giant storm petrel nip he received in his early childhood, when he was being ferried back and forth between his home and Mahoutokoro

Inventory:

his wand (later, his father’s wand as well, once he acquired it)

a photograph of him and his mother when he was a young child

class textbooks and notes

his old Mahoutokoro robes, still very carefully folded

(he somehow never has any money on him, it’s something of a bad habit)

Fashion: Naru doesn’t like to dress extravagantly, he finds it pretty stuffy and uncomfortable, so he likes his clothes to be as simple as possible, which is generally something like a button-up with a few buttons left undone and some breeches

~~~~~

ALLEGIANCES

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House: Thunderbird

Affiliations/Organizations: The Tanaka family; the Genji family; Mahoutokoro School of Magic; Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Slytherin House

Professions: Mahoutokoro student (7-14), Hogwarts student (15-17), Auror (18-)

~~~~~

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: ◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Charms: ◆◆◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇

DADA: ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◇

Flying: ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

Herbology: ◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

History of Magic: ◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Potions: ◆◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇

Transfiguration: ◆◆◆◆◆◆◇◇◇◇

Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures

Divination

Quidditch: Seeker

Extra Curricular: N/A

~~~~~

RELATIONSHIPS

Tanaka Hiroto: Naru’s father. He was an infamous Dark wizard that terrorized the East Asian wizarding world for multiple years, as he was expelled at the age of 17 from Mahoutokoro for being discovered to practice the Dark Arts. Hiroto hid his identity and lived as Tanaka Minato in Tokyo until his wife, Kirika, discovered his true identity. She, an employee of the Japanese Ministry of Magic, revealed to the Ministry that she knew Tanaka Hiroto’s location, which culminated in a duel of epic proportions between Hiroto and the Ministry that resulted in his death. Naru was only three years old at the time, and has no recollection of his father. However, Hiroto has still managed to act as a dark cloud hanging over his son for most of Naru’s life.

Genji Kirika: Naru’s mother. Unfortunately, he and his mother maintained a very strained relationship for a good portion of his life, despite, deep down, both loving the other very much. Once Naru began attending Mahoutokoro at the age of seven, he was often resentful that he felt ostracized and lonely because the other children were scared of him from hearing about his father’s reign of terror. It was a frustration that he often took out with his mother to find someone to blame, and what with her job at the Ministry and Naru spending more and more time at Mahoutokoro as the years progressed, they simply didn’t see each other enough to heal their fractured relationship--one that simply soured further as Naru grew up into a stereotypical rebellious teen. When Naru was nearly fifteen, Kirika was tragically murdered by another wizard practicing Dark Arts, and leaving too much unsaid between them became Naru’s greatest regret.

Genji Sara: Naru’s aunt. After his father’s death, his aunt moved away from Japan, across the world to London, England, where she began working for the British Ministry of Magic. Naru, consequently, didn’t remember meeting her at all until he met her again after his mother’s abrupt death led to Sara being his only living relative and, consequently, legal guardian. Because Sara lived in England, Naru was forced to do as she had and move across the world from Tokyo to London, which also meant his transfer from Mahoutokoro to Hogwarts. The two didn’t get along very well at first, which can be attributed to Naru--it was only after his first year at Hogwarts that he came to terms with his mother’s death and began the process of trying to move on, and let himself start to grow close to his aunt and grieve with her. By the time he was seventeen, Naru and his aunt had a very good relationship.

Yamashita Shotaro: Naru’s rival. At Mahoutokoro, Shotaro was typically the instigator of conversations involving Naru’s relation to the infamous Tanaka Hiroto, which inevitably led to them consistently conflicting over the years. Shotaro was another reason it was particularly difficult for Naru to make any good friends, because he tended to scare people off with mentions of Naru’s ties to Dark magic.

Rival: Yamashita Shotaro (Mahoutokoro)

Enemy: TBA

Dormmates: TBA

Pets: Adzuki, his aunt’s bull mastiff. Growing up, Naru was never allowed pets, but moving to England taught him that he loves dogs.

Closest Canon Friends: N/A

Closest MC Friends: TBA

~~~~~

BACKGROUND/HISTORY

Pre-Mahoutokoro: Naru was born in Tokyo, Japan, to Tanaka Hiroto and, at the time, Tanaka Kirika. He was a quiet child, and certainly a mother’s boy when he was young--obviously, this was especially true after his father was exposed as a Dark wizard and killed when Naru was three. Only four more years passed, mostly cheerful ones during which he and his mother were quite close and happy, until he began attending Mahoutokoro at the age of seven.

1st Year: Naru began attending Mahoutokoro, and quickly discovered that he did not really like school. Once people learned his surname, he felt as though students began going out of their way to avoid him, finding him suddenly ‘creepy.’ It was a lot for a seven-year-old to handle, and impacted him negatively.

2nd Year: Much of the same events as the first year, though this was the year Naru was nipped by a giant storm petrel on his hand, a wound that scarred over. Furthermore, it was the year he was revealed to be a Parselmouth, the rumored sign of a Dark wizard. The year was also the beginning of the decline of his extremely close relationship with his mother.

3rd Year: The first year Naru finally began to make some friends, as children matured and realized it was an unfair judgement to compare Naru to his father immediately. His school life began not being completely horrible.

4th Year: Naru began Quidditch training, something Mahoutokoro was incredibly serious about. He was only ten years old, but had been recognized for talent, and trained over the stormy waters in pelting rain to join the team in two years. Being scouted for Quidditch also increased his social standing.

5th Year: Naru’s first year boarding at Mahoutokoro, which meant an absurd amount of training for his first year in Quidditch next year and a lot more conflict with his usual antagonist, Shotaro. For eleven-year-olds, they got into trouble quite often.

6th Year: His first year on the official school Quidditch team, as the new Mahoutokoro Seeker, which somehow led to even more training than he’d been doing originally. Subsequently, as Quidditch was his main focus--something the school supported--Naru didn’t get the best grades, which caused some issues with his mother at home.

7th Year: The ten-year anniversary of his father’s death, and weirdly, his all-time high of social standing. Being amazing at Quidditch, a very serious topic in Japan, had earned him more friends than his actual personality. The more people Naru had to interact with daily, though, the less comfortable he got, as his father was still something people brought up regularly and he was learning that too many people at once could be a bit overwhelming for him.

8th Year: Another uncomfortable year of being well-known at school--being liked for Quidditch and being gawked at because of the identity of his father. Unbeknownst to Naru, it would be his last year at Mahoutokoro. At the very end of the school year, just after Naru came home, his mother was tragically murdered, and he had to move to London to live with his aunt, which meant his transfer to Hogwarts.

Pre-Hogwarts: Naru spent the remainder of his 8th year summer in London with his aunt, mostly ignoring her attempts to get to know him better and talk about Kirika’s death.

5th Year: Naru began his first year at Hogwarts having to integrate into a student body that had been growing and forming friendships among themselves for five years, as well as being only semi-fluent in English and having to learn it as he progressed through the schoolyear. He was sorted into Slytherin House and tried out for the Quidditch team as soon as he could, becoming the Slytherin Seeker. His only relief was Quidditch, as well as the knowledge that very few people at Hogwarts knew anything about his father.

6th Year: TBA

7th Year: TBA

After Hogwarts: TBA

~~~~~

PERSONALITY

Impulsive: Naru isn’t one to plan, and is very prone to spur-of-the-moment decisions that don’t always end the best for him. In fact, his impulsivity got him into trouble pretty regularly at both Mahoutokoro and Hogwarts, and with his guardians.

Caring: Although he’s arguably obtuse and slightly emotionally stunted, Naru’s capacity for love is enormous, and he cares an immeasurable amount for the people he loves. Although he’s bad at showing his affection through words, he tries to show it through gestures such as taking care of something that had been bothering someone, or buying someone a gift, or cooking someone a meal.

Protective: Naru also developed very protective tendencies that only grew stronger after his mother’s death, and he would do anything to prevent the death of another loved one. He tries not to limit anyone’s freedom with this trait, but it does mean he’s very often on guard and keeping an eye out to make sure everything is in order and everyone is safe, and rarely relaxes.

Observant: Naru is particularly good at noticing things; moreso than most. He pays attention to small details, and treats insignificant things as though they are important. This typically means he’s quite good at deducing things about people based on body language, or spotting a hidden door, or something tucked away in a corner. It also means he pays quite close attention to his friends and family--for example, noticing a friend prefers a specific flavor of pastry, and making sure there’s always some left for them.

Secretive: It’s not that Naru actively keeps many secrets, but he also likes to keep things to himself, especially when he’s concerned people might judge or dislike him for revealing anything. He’s a tough shell to crack.

~~~~~

MISC

Naru wants to move back to Japan someday, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever leave England

he absolutely loves dogs, something he only learned after meeting his aunt’s bull mastiff, Adzuki

Naru was sorted into Slytherin based off of his cunning, not his ambition--he’s not the most ambitious, or proactive

he never loses his Japanese accent, but his English does significantly improve during his time at Hogwarts, mostly from help from his British friends

in London, at home with his aunt, they speak Japanese, so Adzuki’s commands are all in Japanese

when asked about what Mahoutokoro is like by Hogwarts students, Naru will often make up completely fake facts about it to confuse them

“We don’t have any Quidditch coaches, we learn from storm petrels. That’s why we keep winning the Cup.”

Naru became an Auror after Hogwarts to chase down Dark wizards and officially leave his father’s legacy behind

at fifteen, he received an inheritance from his father in the form of his wand

Naru is unable to produce a Patronus using any memories from Japan, because the only ones potentially powerful enough were with his mother

[pruinesce-a2]

about all your recent posts for fuyumi i can understand how she feels & the constant fear & anxiety she has. to have incompatible parents & your the eldest so it's always a small trigger could make everything fall apart & your trying your best to keep everything together. you over analyze everything action and word to know if things are still okay or is something going to happen? to want everyone and everything to be fine. the amount of responsibility (1/2)

and sometimes you do want to just crash but you physically can't because it's how you've trained your mind to be always 'breath ur fine breath it's okay breath & get up & fix things it'll get better one day. maybe' you wish you had someone who could take off the weight for just a little bit but what if they don't do it right, what if that means i'm getting weak what if what if what if and it is just a nightmare (2/2)

Also because fuyumi's situation reminds me of mine, you feel terrified of romance and don't believe it actually exists, you have the fear of this repeating but with your own family and you dont want your kids to go through the same thing. Also you've never been responsible for only yourself so you're wondering if you ever will figure out who "you" are really. There's so much of yourself defined by the situation you are in that if it's gone, you don't know who you are (3/2 😭😭)

i’m incoherent bc i just got outta class but yes to pretty much all of this. and also, my friend, me too ! fuyumi is a HUGE comfort character of mine because i relate to her so much for the same reasons - and now i wanna go bit by bit n talk about all the stuff you mentioned because i’ve mentioned it in pieces on this blog but never in full and i just go crazy thinking about her. 

trigger warnings for child abuse, death, and just. general unpleasantness.

first of all in all honesty, there’s really no situation in which endeavor could ever be compatible ( which isn’t a jab at you - just want it to be clear that this is beyond parents that don’t get along ! ). he’s straight up abusive and drove his wife to a complete mental break, as well as, as i’ve said before, y’know. beating the shit out of his kids. i wanna also clarify some things on the timeline before i get started ( i’m not sure if you’ve watched/read bnha, but also this is for my mutuals that haven’t ) - fuyumi is now the eldest living. the todorokis had four kids: touya, the firstborn, then fuyumi, then natsuo, and then shouto. and i want to follow that by linking you to this page, where we find out that..... touya died AFTER rei’s breakdown and subsequent hospitalization.

AFTER.

i honestly don’t know the timeline of touya and shouto’s training.... bc in this panel we see that baby touya didn’t have any burn marks, no bandages, he was fully capable of playing and running around. i also think if he would have been trained the same way shouto was, rei’s break would’ve come a lot sooner, and we wouldn’t have panels like this - i think before shouto, while the todoroki family was incredibly dysfunctional, they still had some semblance of a normal family, and that’s why fuyumi is so desperate to try to have a family again; because she knows and has seen that they were a family, or at least were in her understanding as a child. this seems particularly reinforced for me because natsuo, in the light novel, talks about how he always wanted endeavor’s attention as a kid! he thought it was unfair that shouto was the one who was getting it all, so it implies to me that.... one, they had no idea at first, and two, they had to have had at least a decent relationship with him before.

so i think what happened was.... after shouto’s quirk manifested, endeavor began to change. he started training shouto because he developed the quirk he wanted, all that stuff we already know, and the stress of it all drove rei into pouring the boiling water on shouto, and then we know she was put into psychiatric care. fuyumi was 12.

rei leaving was, obviously, hard on all of them. i think fuyumi was the most disconnected from her mother, because rei saw so much of herself in fuyumi and couldn’t stand it at times. natsuo in the light novel also mentioned he didn’t mind the lack of attention because he had his mom! so it hurt fuyumi, a lot, but she was able to be strong for them because a) she was older and b) she and her mother had a strained relationship anyway.

i headcanon fuyumi was the one who found rei and shouto. she heard the kettle whistle, the screaming and crying from the kitchen, and when she rounded the corner she saw her mother and shouto on the floor as we’ve seen in canon. it was incredibly scarring. fuyumi gets frequent flashbacks and invasive imagery from this event, especially when she hears that kettle whistle / sees her brothers in the kitchen. i’ve said it over and over but she hates them being there, shouto in particular - and i think this is backed up in the light novel when she immediately makes the boys leave the kitchen after shouto tries to come in and help.

i also think endeavor thought shouto was ruined after that. his “masterpiece” was ruined because there was a very strong possibility he’d never recover from that injury, and so endeavor, in desperation, turned to his first-born son as a replacement. his wife definitely wasn’t going to be giving him any more kids, and shouto as far as he knew was out of commission. fuyumi had an ice quirk and natsuo was practically quirkless, if not ENTIRELY quirkless. but touya.... had his flames. i don’t think endeavor initially wanted to train him because he wasn’t the perfect combination that he kept trying for with rei - but here, he’d reached his own breaking point, and touya was the only option left to continue his legacy.

but it’s implied endeavor pushed too hard, or was somehow directly involved in touya’s “death.” i put this in quotes because y’know, dabi is a todoroki theory. and this obviously just made things worse. i’m linking to this page again because it says that rei got worse, too, so much so that she couldn’t see shouto anymore - but it also implies to me that natsuo and fuyumi would still visit. but anyway ! touya dies, rei gets worse, and surely soon after endeavor finds out that shouto, while he’d have that scar on his face, would recover... and still be able to be trained.

so ummm.... now i can talk about fuyumi. all that and we’re JUST getting to her.

i’m kind of starting from the last ask here, but you’re entirely right - since the age of 13, fuyumi has never been able to define herself. from here on, she was entirely shaped by her trauma, and by roles she was never supposed to have fulfilled - i.e., motherhood. as a reminder, shouto was 5-6, natsuo was 9-10, and fuyumi, at age 13-14, truly began to step in rei’s place. so fuyumi starts taking care of the two of them while touya was the one who became isolated while he was trained. and like i said in a couple other posts, her brothers rejected her mothering them at first - i.e. natsuo lashing out and saying she’s NOT their mother and shouldn’t act like it, and shouto begging for their mom all the time and not understanding where she went. fuyumi barely had her own time to process what was happening and process the loss of her mother.

and then touya died. fuyumi probably feels partially responsible for his death, too, in the same way she and natsuo have said felt responsible for not helping shouto - she often thinks she could’ve done or said something to prevent that, too. and as you said, she overanalyzes everything and she’s incredibly hypervigilant to her father’s moods, because his satisfaction is, essentially, paramount to survival. touya died because he couldn’t meet her father’s standards, or maybe because he made endeavor angry, or whatever the case.

and you’re also right about the fact that she has no one to share the burden with - or, at the very least, feels like it. the one time natsuo tried to make it easier on her by cooking dinner, their father forbade him from never doing it again. i can only imagine what this fight looked like, and how scared fuyumi was of something so small turning into something irreparable. fuyumi says on this page they “take turns”, but i only think it ever happens when endeavor’s not home.

not to mention, as a defense and coping mechanism, became the image of a perfect mother to her brothers, and a perfect daughter to her father. always putting the boys first - i headcanon when either of them were sick, fuyumi would stay home from school to take care of them. always making sure her father was pleased and mediating between him and the boys. she developed this personality that consists of nothing but love and gentleness and understanding. i talked about this in my post about her and complex ptsd, but i’ll add the relevant excerpt here, too:

it’s also very common for these survivors to re-experience emotions from trauma intrusively - particularly when triggered. these feelings are often disproportionate to the present situation, but are equal to the intensity of what was required of them at the time of a trauma – also known as an emotional flashback.

fuyumi’s trauma has always put her in situations where she plays the peacemaker, the level head, the kind and gentle and understanding one. and because fuyumi is CONSTANTLY re-traumatized and exposed to her triggers because that entire house is one, it’s become her entire personality.

so fuyumi doesn’t really get to discover herself, at all, outside her trauma. her live revolves entirely around her brothers and her father. i think this also contributes to her desperation to repair her family now, because.... she doesn’t know what else is beyond that.

she’s stuck here. she can’t heal or move on right now.

fuyumi is a busybody because she KNOWS if she ever stops moving, she’ll crash, as you said. and it happens on occasion - but always behind closed doors. she has these.... quiet breaks, before she’s “fine” and moving on the next day. shouto and natsuo have never seen this side of her. she keeps this perfect facade of being put together tight under wraps.

i think the last thing to address with this ask is the aspect of romance and family - and once again, my dear friend, you’ve hit the nail on the head ! to start, fuyumi is deeply afraid of romance. she’s in love with the idea of it, as we can tell from her obsession with soap operas and trashy novels, but in reality it takes a long, long time for fuyumi to ever feel comfortable enough to define or initiate things between herself and someone else. it’s why she’s also always involved in people who are very straightforward, who won’t keep secrets from her, because she needs clarity in a relationship always. not to even mention a family of her own - fuyumi is so terrified of becoming her mother. even now, it’s why she refuses to let her brothers in the kitchen with her - because she knows how alike they are.

what’s really incredible to me is that despite all of that, fuyumi’s love and optimism and empathy and all that kindness and gentleness for the world is still very real and true. you can see it in the way she smiles, it’s in the way she sees the little things in people and remembers them, it’s in the unconditional love and understanding she gives to her friends and partners, the care she takes in tending to the family garden, the attention to her students - she truly embodies the good of humanity, the good of people - an aspect of her character that i love is how entirely mundane she is, and yet... she’s so, so special. her path to healing will always begin with forgiveness (though once she’s able to get away from endeavor, she’ll never be around him again), because she’s not a person that can live with anger in her heart, and i will always love how that’s presented as an entirely valid thing to do.

as a final addendum to this post, nearly no one knows about any of that. fuyumi won’t talk about it unless it’s entirely unavoidable, and even then she tries to make excuses and dance around it. like.... she stops up, she can’t speak. she freezes and completely stops functioning. ironic considering how openly her brothers will talk about it.

so anyways. i don’t think you expected this long winded answer, but i couldn’t help myself. thanks for sending this in !

[therevralphbirk]

[ RALPH BIRK. 53. MALE. HE/HIM] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ 4 YEARS ] and are originally from [ SAN FRANCISCO, CA ]. They are a [ REVEREND ] and in their downtime love [ PLAYING PIANO ] and [ GRILLING ]. They look a lot like [ MADS MIKKELSEN ] and live [ ON REDCLIFF ST ].

Last character I will bring you lovely folks. And no, no he is not a cannibal thank yOU. Introducing Rev. Ralph. Honestly not your everyday Reverend of a church but listen it’s ~fine~... I’ll try to keep this short but no promises.

tw: cult mention

Ralph was born in the bay area to a community that he now as an adult knows was a fucking cult which is oh so traumatic but, ay, let’s move on.

He has about 5 siblings, and really didn’t know many other children other than the ones in his family and in his church being that... it was a cult.

I won’t go into the rules and regulations of his childhood but if you really want to know he’s not shy about it. If anything he welcomes talking about it to people in hopes he might help someone else.

Has he made a TedTalk? Perhaps.

Needless to say he had a strained relationship with his parents and by the time he was 17 he was already plotting a way to bust out of there.

But his parents had other plans for him, one last hoorah before they shipped him off to theology school: Surprise! We’ve arranged your marriage.

At this point Ralph knew he was gay, so the idea of marrying a woman was just about the last thing he wanted to do. But it only took one dinner for him and his wife to figure out that he was queer and she was queer so  maybe they could play the system.

Which is exactly what they did. His ex-wife is still his very best friend to this day. They got married and with a hop, skip and a jump bounced from their childhood community.

On paper they were married but their relationship was so open. I mean, of course it was. 

His wife couldn’t have children, but when the question arose they decided to adopt. And then adopt again. And again. They were serious about getting kids out of the foster system and raised their family as far away from the wackos that would be the  kids’ grandparents as possible.

This situation worked well for them for years. They had always had an understanding that after their kids were off to college they would think about separating and when the time came it was amicable. Literally the least messy divorce ever. Ralph moved to Silver Lake and his ex-wife traveled the country or toured Europe or whatever she wanted and it was great. They literally still have Easter and Christmas together with their kids, it’s just deciding who’s going to host each year.

As far as Ralph’s job goes he is obviously pretty dang liberal. He’s one of those pastors that has the pride flag out on the front lawn of the church.

He also has a music program for Silver Lake and LA area kids to learn piano, guitar, etc.

As a child he was the son of a organ player and music has always been a major part of his life and ministry, if you will. He’s a pretty otherworldly musician honestly. It brings him a lot of joy but he has no interest in doing anything with it. It’s a hobby and he likes to keep it that way.

He also loves to bbq, this man is a beast on the grill.

Personality wise he can be a little sassy, to be fair, you know, he can be a lil sarcastic. Also a bit of a know it all. He’s also one of those people that is like “I don’t like drama” but secretly gets out his binoculars when drama goes down, you know? He likes sipping some tea here and there.

Other than that he’s really caring, he adores his family, and really does have a great relationship with his religion. All around cool dude. Catch him chilling in a hammock in his back yard or walking his dog or doing a crossword puzzle in the park.

If you’re lucky he might share a cigar with you but like you’d have to be super special.

TL;DR Gay Reverend just wants to be left alone most of the time but will totally let you talk to him about how your husband is getting on your nerves or give you advice on your cover letter for that job you want. Will also send you a card and $50 on your birthday. Thanks, dad!

[minsyal]

[Mistakes, Dean x Reader]

Summary: A case in Lancord, Indiana leads to new discoveries and a deeper look into the readers life. When the details are uncovered, will the reader face off with fate or succumb to the past?

Created for @spndarkbingo Square Filled: Murder Pairing: Dean x Reader Tags/Warnings: Character deaths, injury, mentions of drugs, mentions of abuse, tinge of angst Word Count: 4.06k To the Bingo Masterlist To my main Masterlist

12:00am

The witching hour passed by quickly in the small town of Lancord, Indiana. A group of rebellious teenagers idled by the train tracks, smoking stolen Lucky Strikes, discarding the butts on the ground below. Boisterous laughs filled the air, drowning out the chirping of crickets and hissing cicadas that sang through the hot summer air. The night was still young in their eyes, there was still a lot to do and an entire duffel full of alcohol supplied by their older siblings to empty.

“Did you hear that?” A thin brunette girl dropped her hand to her side, tapping the cigarette to drop the ash.

“Hear what?” The jock-type said, ignoring her concerns. “You’re just a little buzzed.”

The horn of a train sounded.

“A case?” You peered over the leather interior of the Impala, hands dangling on Dean’s chest, brushing lightly against the soft fabric of his flannel button-down. Sam nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line as the white light of his cellphone cast shadows across his face.

“Bunch of teens found…” he cringed, craning his neck to the side, “ground into the tracks.”

“Sounds like a train accident.” Dean leant back in his seat, adjusted his legs, and rubbed his hand against yours. “Last I checked, I’m not Hanks. Isn’t our problem.”

“Hanks?” Sam narrowed his eyes, drawing his brows inward, staring blankly at his brother who only scoffed in return.

“The Polar Express?”

“Whatever, dude.” Sam let out a strained breath as he continued wordlessly scrolling through the articles on a local paper’s website, his lips moving as he read. “Anyway,” he shook his head, “this is the third time in the past four months this has happened – the tenth time historically.”

“Kids need to learn to stay off the tracks.” Dean commented, earning yet another strained breath from Sam who was not pleased.

Despite being shot down with every sentence, Sam continued. “Just bodies found every time. They’ve never identified a train in the incident and there’s no record of any conductors being out at that time of night.”

“So, a ghost train?” You cocked your head to the side, amused at the thought of an eerie white train haunting through the night. “Spooky.”

“Did it wear a white sheet too?” Dean poked at his brother.

“Can we just check it out? It’s not too far away and if it isn’t our thing, we leave.”

“Fine, where to?”

“Lancord, Indiana.”

Your heart stopped.

The Winchesters had taken you in a few years ago after meeting on a hunt in Ruth, Montana. They were heroes in the hunter world; nearly ever hunter knew about them and just to meet them was an honor. Your parents had mentioned someone named Bobby, but by the time you reached out to him, he was gone. Dean was the first to show any sign of attraction of the two of you. One drunk night in Virginia led to another in Georgia and by the time you got back to Kansas, you were a thing. You immediately moved into the bunker and straight into Dean’s room. Between the apocalypse, the leviathans, and a few archangels, you had your ups and downs through the relationship, but you always found home in one another.

The motel Dean had chosen was in one of the roughest parts of town, but he wouldn’t have known that. The impala rolled into the parking lot, gravel crunching under the wheels. You felt something run up your spine, cringing as the drug-addicted loons stopped their deals to turn to see who was disrupting their weekly stock-up.

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” You watched judgmentally as the boney men decided you weren’t worth their time, turning their bodies quickly to make the exchange and then run back into their respective rooms. “It’s kind of…” you racked your brain for the right words but came up short, “you know?”

“Sketchy?” Sam chimed in, obviously in the same mindset you were.

Dean hadn’t a care in the world as he pulled up to the front office, not paying the two of you any mind before waltzing in and paying for a double-queen room. The room was exactly how you expected it to be. The two beds had ugly orange comforters on them with no bed skirt to hide the box holding the bed up from the floor. A small kitchenette was in the back of the room, stocked with a microwave that looked as if he hadn’t been cleaned in months, a broken fridge, and a complimentary phone book with the pages of local eateries marked. Beside that was a seating area with one wooden table set with two chairs and an armchair that Dean was pleased to find out was actually a recliner.

“Okay,” Sam slapped his hands against his legs as he rose from the bed, “let’s split up. I’ll head to the scene and you two the station?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The station’s tile-coated floors reflected against the fluorescent lights that were embedded in the cheap ceilings. It was exactly how you remembered. The secretary was a woman around your age; her hair was tied back into a tight bun and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses hung from her nose. She eyed the two of you, focus falling over Dean for a moment too long, before speaking directly to Dean. “Can I help you?”

“Gabriel,” he flipped open his badge, then tilted his head in your direction, “Collins. We’re here to investigate the recent accidents out on Old Petersburg Road.” She didn’t bother examining your badges, instead picked up the phone and paged an officer who came out from the back room.

“Agents.” He greeted, eyes falling from Dean to you as a smile crossed his face. “[Y/N]?”

“Mr. Miller?”

He had aged considerably since the last time you had seen him, but you hadn’t seen him in 10 years. “You’re workin’ for the F.B.I. now.” Before you knew it, you were pulled into a bear hug by the old family-friend. “That’s pretty damn impressive. Y’know, here we all were thinkin’ you and your family ran off.”

You let out an awkward laugh, returning the hug before finding yourself back at Dean’s side. “Always had a dream of saving people.”

“You’re a bit late for that.” He turned on his heel and motioned for you two to follow him into the back. “Just had another incident last night, a few miles down the track from the last one. Twenty-somethings were out there with a broken-down car, hopped on the tracks, and,” he let a hiss out through his lips, “kaput.”

“Kaput.” Dean repeated, the first word he had actually spoken to Officer Miller since meeting him. He had been idling at your side, allowing you to take the reigns and drive the horse. Typically, Dean was the one to be in control during hunts; this was something new. It felt nice.

“Ka-put.” Miller fingered a manila folder stuffed to the brim with scraps of paper that fell aimlessly to the floor. “Eres’ what we got so far. Yesterday’s was four teens – Jaime, Kyle, Veronica, and Patrick.”

“But there were only three bodies.”  The folder was substantial, weighing heavily under your grip. “Patrick, your son?”

“He’s in the hospital, then headed to the psychiatric ward. Says some ghost attacked them. I think he’s in shock.” A yearbook photo of Veronica fell from a folder, her smiling face looking back at you.

“How do you know him?” Dean watched as you clicked away on your phone, texting Sam to get an update on where he was at in the case. You had finished looking through the files, looked to be what Sam originally hypothesized – an unrestful spirit.

“Family friend.”

“Family? I thought your ‘rents were dead.” He relaxed in the driver-side seat. “I mean, uh,”

“It’s fine, Dean. They are. We knew him before we got into hunting. I was probably four or five when we met.”

“So, you lived here?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nodded. “For a little while.”

“What’s up with this Miller guy?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s kind of a creep.” Dean turned the key in the ignition, letting out a sigh as the engine roared to life. “Don’t get me wrong, seems like a real nice guy, but he doesn’t seem to have all his marbles in check.”

“He’s got a lot of problems, Dean.” You shrugged off your blazer and discarded it in the back seat. Then inched across the front seat to settle against Dean’s chest. “First wife cheated on him, second is currently cheating.”

“How do you know that?”

“Facebook.”

“I don’t get it,” Sam kicked his legs up on the bed as he scrolled through historical archives that the Lancord civic center had provided on a flash drive. He occasionally narrowed his eyes, focusing on the text before him. Your stomach turned as you thought of all the people you knew who were being affected by this. Was this really what you thought it was? “If it’s a vengeful spirit, then who? The deaths began five years ago – a total of 30 victims – all killed in similar manners. They go near these tracks, they die. It doesn’t seem to be specific with age, vic’s are anywhere from 5 to 80.”

“It’s an all-inclusive spirit. Kills everyone.” Dean had eaten half of his burger by the time you got back to your motel and expressed his intent on finishing off half of yours too. You didn’t think you could get it down anyway. “Okay, so we figure out who it is, salt and burn the bones, and hey,” he clapped his hands together, “we’re scott free.”

“Scott free.” You sighed, taking a long drag from your cup of coffee, something you surely didn’t need this late at night. Something wasn’t right here. “So, who do you think it is?”

“Veronica was related to Henry McAlister, distantly.”

“McAlister was murdered in his sleep fifteen years ago.” You added, receiving a look from Sam. “We heard about it a lot when I moved here with my family. Big news even five years later.”

“You lived here?”

“I know!” Dean said with an open-mouth, hand coming to rest on your arm, “She didn’t tell me either ‘til the Captain was all up on her.”

“He hugged me, Dean.”

“A little too long.”

“Okay, anyway,” you rolled your eyes, “McAlister’s brother killed him, then disappeared.”

“and McAlister is probably kind of pissed off about that.”

“So, how about a little grave-digging tonight?”

McAlister wasn’t hard to find, he was in a shallow grave of four feet in the rural Sunrise cemetery just outside the county lines. Sam and Dean dug up the coffin with ease, salted the body, and threw in a match. “Another one in the bag.” Dean snaked an arm around your waist. Flames licked at the leather toes of his boots as the thick smell of ash filled the air surrounding you.

The screen of Sam’s phone lit up, drawing his attention away from the fire. “Hello?” Sam excused himself, walking to the backside of the Impala, taking the two dirty shovels with him as he loaded them into the trunk. “Ok, we’ll be there. Yeah. Thank you.”

“What’s up?”

“Another body turned up.”

“Dad has a new job here, [Y/N].”

“He’s killing more people, I know.” You grunted, hopping down from the truck bed that you had been riding in. Your mother closed the rear window, choosing to speak to you face to face instead of through the thin cracked grass.

“He’s doing what’s right.” She rustled around in the trunk and pulled out her carry-on-sized suitcase filled with her clothes and jewelry. “Come on, I have to get ready.”

“For what?”

“You’re starting school here tomorrow. Your dad is going to be on this job for a few months.”

“Job,” you scoffed, grabbing your own belongings and following her into the dingy motel room.

“Agents.” Miller greeted, tipping his hat. His face was white, eyes teary, and clothes mudded from the soft rain that had begun falling a half-hour ago.

The scene was similar to the last. Flashing red and blue lights blinded you as you followed the boys through the police tape. Another body laid on the tracks but was identifiable as Miller’s wife. She was cold, her lips had turned a deep blue and the veins running throughout her face had become visible. Unlike the last deaths, the body was left intact.

“Excuse me.” A broken tissue was brought to blot at his reddened eyes. “Officer Rose found her around 10:50. Thought ya’ll should be on the scene.” Miller excused himself as he retreated back to his car, immediately chiming in on the radio.

“So, what?” Sam frowned, pulling you and Dean to the side. “Body was found after we burnt McAlister. It wasn’t him.”

“There have been deaths every night for the past three nights. Whatever it is it’s picking up steam.” Dean looked to the scene where officers were taking photos and collecting evidence. “I say we come back tomorrow night, make sure nobody else is here, and take care of whatever has murder on the mind.”

“Do you expect us to just stock up on everything we have? Every weapon? What if it isn’t a spirit?” You sighed.

“Then we figure it out.”

Sam had laid down for a moment, deciding that he was getting no where with his research and was desperate for a few minutes of shut-eye. Dean was situated across from you, foot raking up and down your leg every-so-often. He hummed innocently, ignoring the daggers you shot at him as his foot inched its way upward. Eyes trained on the folder Miller had given you, you flipped through the text messages and emails logged from the past victims.

“I think our spirit has a type.” You said, laying the papers out in front of Dean who had given up on playing footsie.

“Like hot blondes?” He winced as you kicked him under the table, the sound waking Sam.

“No. It’s going after people who have done something wrong to others – no matter the severity.”

“Okay,” Sam ran his hand down his face, “we know Miller’s wife was cheating. What about those kids, or the ones from the night after?”

“Jaime was stealing from her parents.” You sifted through the screen shots to show her bragging to a friend about how much she spent on her parent’s credit cards. “Kyle was cheating on Veronica.” The next page showed the contacts listed in his phone, mostly falling under a category of “babe” or “hoe #1.” “And guess what Veronica was doing?”

“Cheating on Kyle?” Dean scanned the paper as you nodded. “Bingo! The two twenty-somethings weren’t the best people either. One was suspected for an old murder case in Kentucky and the other was a drug dealer who was selling synthetics claiming they were the real deal.”

“So, who do you think it is?”

“I have an idea.”

“Stop acting like that.” Your mother walked past your bed and threw a heavy book down in front of you, shaking the bed. “Read this, tell me what you find.” She instructed as she closed the bathroom door. Your father had been working with Mr. Miller at the station for awhile now. He was nice, sad, but nice. Your father had taken a liking to his wife and were engaging in sexual affairs for the past few weeks. This irked your mother, who had kicked him out to sleep in a different room. As mad as she was, this only gave him the chance to hookup with her more often.

“How much longer are we going to be here?”

“Until we’re done.” She exited the bathroom, wearing a pencil skirt and blazer. Hopping on one foot, she pulled a slick black heel on her foot. “Now, get going. We’re looking at our next case. I need that information by the time I get back.”

“The next case? I’m just starting to make friends here, though!”

“We don’t have friends in this life. You know that.” The door slammed shut behind her, leaving you alone in the room.

“The grave is right here.” You pointed to a patch below a large willow tree located a quarter of a mile away from the tracks. The grass was vibrant, almost glowing with life. It was a shame it had to be dug up. It was nearly 11 o-clock at night, there was no sign of anybody near the tracks. The police had been told to keep the area vacated, and Mr. Miller didn’t even bat an eye when you gave him the order.

“Whose grave is this?” Dean pushed the old shovel into the ground, using his foot to kick it down. “If I didn’t know better,” He stopped digging, his head swiftly whipping around to stare behind the three of you. Sam did the same, squinting as he adjusted to the low light.

A woman stood a few yards away, just beyond the tree-line. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, kept well given her state. She looked like a hunter, she was a hunter. A dim light loomed in her eyes, fiery and full of rage as her gaze penetrated the brothers, her only focus on you. They weren’t her concern.

They weren’t his concern either. Trailing the woman was a man who stood a few inches taller. The hems of his jeans were considerably worn, his flannel hung loosely at his waist. An old ball cap was fixated on his head with a generic logo sewn across the front.

“Mom…dad?” Wherever your stomach was already it dropped ten feet further. You felt dread pooling in your chest as the ghostly spirits of your parents stood feet away. They were just as you remembered. “I didn’t mean to…” A knot tied in your throat, forcing you to choke the words out, “I’m sorry…” Rushing emotions flowed through your body, the main one being trepidation, the next regret.

The years of sheer emotional and sometimes physical abuse grew on you. It was all becoming too much. You had witnessed so much at such a young age. You lived in the hunter world, death and sorrow was supposedly something that just followed. It was written in the fine print that you had neglected to read before signing the contract, sealing your fate.

You had watched your family die, one by one, all falling prey to this cycle that would never stop. Grandpa had been turned by a vampire, dad killed him without question. Grandma was killed by grandpa. Your aunts, uncles, cousins… everyone had died in increasingly horrifying ways. It was only a matter of time before you too followed in their footsteps. An escape was something you could only dream of. It was something you thought you could control.

The case was done. You were leaving tomorrow and in a last-minute decision, you decided you were leaving alone.

Dean didn’t take another moment to think as he positioned himself between you and the two glowing figures in the trees. “You did this.” Your mother spoke, her voice shaky but still strong. She spoke as if to a child, scolding them about a failed test or uncompleted chore. She stepped forward. “We gave you everything… and you did this.”

Without warning both brothers were thrown like rag dolls, landing hard against tree trunks, and falling to the dirt below. Your father shook his head and stuck his hands in his pockets, inching forward to the edge of the willow. “Did you always hate us?”

“I-I didn’t hate you.”

“Liar.” Your mother screamed, the power in her voice propelled you backward. The impact crushed your lungs, leaving you desperately gasping for air. “You never loved us.” She joined your father, her tone now venomous…fuming. “You’re worthless, a sorry excuse for a hunter.”

Another crushing blow came when your father took control, throwing you ten feet further into the forest. Fallen branches scraped against your skin, leaving burning cuts in their wake. A twig snagged at your lip, easily tearing the soft skin. Blood oozed into your mouth, staining your teeth and tongue with the dark crimson liquid. He flung you again, this time into a tree trunk. Something snapped. Something dislodged. Something hurt, badly.

“We should have let you die when we had the chance.” He said, gearing up to toss you again. “You only held us back… and them?” A thin finger pointed to the brothers who were falling in and out of consciousness. “They don’t need you either.”

“We don’t have friends in this life.” Your mother added.

Words weren’t processing through your mind correctly as you watched the world twist and contort, swirling the trees with the sky. A pounding resonated at the back of your head, successfully taking your attention off the situation at hand. Your mother’s lips were moving, but you couldn’t make out any of the words. She raised a shaky fist at you. Surely, this would be the end. Afterall, karma eventually had to catch up and your fate had been sealed when you were born to two hunters.

Flames burst from beneath her skin casting red and white lights across the forest. Ash crumpled to the ground where he stood, and your father soon followed. Blood curdling screams raced through his throat, a guttural sound you had never heard echoed in the night.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dean ran his hand over your cuts, fingers lingering at your wrist. “You don’t have to if you don’t want, but-“

“They hate me.” The aching in your heart distracted you from the pain spreading across your body. The motel room was quiet. Sam had left to stock up on a few medical items while Dean tended to your many wounds. Luckily, a dislodged shoulder was easy to fix and cuts were only temporary.

“What happened…between you and them?” He watched you intently while you looked anywhere but at him.

“I killed them.”

“Why?”

Silence fell over the room as Dean waited patiently for your response. He never pushed too hard for information, and he always knew when to stop. His calloused fingers played with yours, brushing against your palms and rubbing soothing circles wherever they could.

“I thought I could escape hunting.” You pushed your lips together, attempting to keep your emotions at bay as you continued. “I was a kid. I just wanted to do normal kid things – learn to ride a bike, hang out with friends,” you huffed, “hell, I even wanted a boyfriend. My parents were in the way of all of that.”

“So, you killed them.”

“I regretted it the minute I pulled the trigger. Dad died instantly. Mom just screamed,” you closed your eyes, breathing heavily to calm yourself, “and screamed, and screamed. She didn’t stop until I…” A tear fell and it was as if the flood gates opened. That first tear led the charge as more and more openly streamed down your face. “They hate me.”

“Sweetheart,” Dean gathered you in his arms, quickly jumping from his position at your knees to the bed. He leaned against the headboard, his arms drawing you in to his chest where you let yourself finally mourn what you had done so many years ago.

“I ran from town, I stole their car, I sold their belongings for money… Dean. I’m a bad person.”

“We’ve all done bad things, Y/n.” He steadied his heartbeat with a few deep breaths, “That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“But I-“

“We all make mistakes, but your mistakes don’t outweigh the good you’ve done for this world.” He drew your head from his chest as he cupped your cheeks in his hands. Your reddened eyes met his, surprised to see his wet with his own tears. “You’ll always be part of our family. Even if we mess up along the way, we’ll get through it together… because you’re a Winchester…” he let out a soft chuckle, a tear streaming from his eye, “even if I haven’t officially changed it yet.”

[firejugglinghobo]

Inkheart Is About Dads

Yesterday my friend who’s never read Inkheart unintentionally gave me a revelation.  She mentioned that her dad has read the book, and as I told her what a great book it would be for a dad to read (especially to his daughter), I realized that Inkheart is entirely about dads.  In this essay, I will describe and analyze examples of the two types of fatherhood relationships in Cornelia Funke’s Inkworld trilogy, namely daughters who become their fathers, and surrogate father-son relationships.

(...yeah, that’s right, this isn’t one of those memes where you get the introduction but don’t actually get the essay...)

The most obvious fatherhood relationship in the series is the relationship between Meggie and Mo.  This is the only intact, functional father-daughter relationship of the four in the series.  As a side note, the Silvertongue family is probably influenced by Cornelia Funke’s own family life.  Her husband Rolf was a book printer who gave up a career in architecture to support a wife who disappeared into books.  The two had a daughter, Anna, and five years later a son, Ben.  Notably, between the publications of Inkspell and Inkdeath, Rolf died of cancer, which I believe may have influenced the heavy tone and emphasis on family love overcoming death in the last book of the series.

Meggie becomes her father in several ways, most notably by learning that she shares his gift, and can even be called by the name generally reserved for him in the first book - Silvertongue.  The two also experience similar character arcs at different times during the series, from follower to leader, from isolated and unexperienced to defender and warrior, until both come into their own as protectors of those they love.

The second most obvious father-daughter relationship in the series is between Dustfinger and his daughters, especially his surviving daughter Brianna.  Dustfinger’s main motivation in Inkheart and the driving force behind all of his actions is to return home to his family, although it turns out he was never a very good father to begin with, before becoming trapped in another world.  When he comes back, Brianna wants nothing to do with him, showing one essential character trait of her father by distancing herself from anybody who might hurt her and taking away their power to do so by denying any attachment to them.  Her appearance is often described as similar to her father’s, and her temperament similar to fire, his associated element.

The third father-daughter relationship in the Inkworld trilogy is that between Violante ‘her Ugliness’ and her father the Adderhead.  This relationship is clearly strained and dysfunctional, with a controlling father hating his daughter for not conforming to his gender and beauty standards for a child, and eventually sending her away from an almost unbearable home in the Castle of Night to one that can be hardly described as any better in Ombra.  Through constant mistreatment, Violante becomes like her father, emulating his parenting style to a certain extent with her own son Jacopo, forming an antithesis mother-son relationship, and becoming cruel at times throughout her character development.

Finally, the relationship between Elinor and her father, which occurs entirely before Inkheart begins and is merely described in the book, is equally dysfunctional.  Her father ignored her and her sisters in favor of his books, which Elinor despised, until she became older and used them as a coping mechanism to deal with the pain of her abandonment.

Abandonment and neglect is a theme in all of these father-daughter relationships, although Mo handles it best.  He never becomes outright neglectful or cruel toward Meggie, but their relationship does go through strain at various times when she feels that he has abandoned her for the sake of some greater purpose (often protecting her, but also when protecting the book from Capricorn, reuniting with Resa, etc.)

Meggie, Brianna, Violante, and Elinor also experience motherhood relationships that counter their father-daughter relationships.  In Meggie’s case, the mother she once thought had abandoned her turns out to be more of an ally when Mo begins crusading for their safety, and the two turn out to be very alike.

Brianna has always had a mother who cared about her, raising her through the disappearance of her father and deaths of her sister and and step-father.  Brianna is the one to abandon this relationship, but she returns in the end, mending the family to at least a functional one.

Although all Violante’s relationships begin on rocky ground, by the end of Inkdeath, she is renamed “her Kindliness” by the subjects of both Lombrica and Argenta over whom she rules, finally exceeding her father’s disappointments in her and doing so in a way that defies his cruelty to her.

Elinor is the one who is given the opportunity to become a mother and mend the wrongs done by her father by adopting the creatures that once composed the Shadow, and the rest of the protagonists along the way.  She protects and shelters Meggie, Mo, Farid, Dustfinger, and Darius at the beginning of Inkspell and continues to look after her little family through the final book.

The second type of dad relationship in the Inkworld trilogy is surrogate father-son relationships.  There are so many of these that it is impossible to delve deeply into all of them, so I will briefly mention a few.

Most obviously, Farid and Dustfinger adopt one another as surrogate parent and child, filling deep needs in each of their lives.  They so adopt this relationship that when Dustfinger goes home, everybody assumes Farid is actually his son and the reason he was gone so long.  Although the rumor isn’t biologically true, Dustfinger seems to confirm it by killing Basta to avenge Farid and giving his life to bring Farid back from the dead at the end of Inkheart.

Although the connection is looser, Dustfinger is also a surrogate father to Roxane’s son Jehan, whose real father, her second husband, died several years before.  The two don’t seem to become as close as Dustfinger and Farid, but with Dustfinger stepping back into family life with Roxane, Jehan becomes his step-son.

Although he is far from a fatherly figure, Capricorn is surrogate father to both Basta and the Shadow, each in different ways.  As many agree, it is possible that Capricorn encouraged Basta to kill his real father at a young age and take him as a substitute.  Basta’s loyalty to his master is deep enough to make his love familial, and he even steps partially into the role of a replacement son for Mortola when he dies, and seeks to avenge him.  As for the Shadow, Capricorn clearly sees him as a monstrous son, perhaps expressing the darkness in his own soul physically, in a way his own human appearance and powers don’t allow him to.

Fenoglio also finds himself in several surrogate father relationships.  He is first introduced as babysitter and frequent caregiver to his three young grandchildren, Rico, Pippo, and Paula.  He also sees himself as the father of all of his characters, including Dustfinger, Capricorn, and Basta, and forces himself on them with unwanted fatherly authority and affection.  This attitude hardly fades on Fenoglio’s part during the series, but he stops acting upon it so often and so obviously.  Finally, Fenoglio adopts his landlord Minerva’s children Despina and Ivo as replacements for his grandchildren back home, and takes on Rosenquartz, a glass man whom he scolds and worries over like a son.

The Adderhead also views his grandchild, Jacopo, as a replacement for the son he never had.  He takes great pride in Jacopo over his daughter Violante, hoping that one day he will become ruler of both Lombrica in the north and Argenta in the south.

Capricorn’s relationship with his mother Mortola is the antithesis to these fatherhood tropes, especially to the four father-daughter relationships discussed above.  Very few people know that Mortola is Capricorn’s mother, and he is ashamed of her and keeps their true relationship a secret.  He treats her as a servant, taking away any authority she might have over him and reversing it through oppression.

I encourage any discussion and addition to this topic!

[samuelfields]

The Cost Of Fourth Trimester Childcare: Potentially $40,000 And Up

As our boys played at the playground, I struck up a conversation with the mother who is expecting her second child in a couple of months.

I was curious to hear about how she and her husband planned to manage caring for two kids under three years old on their own.

She said they planned to “hire a village” to help them during her fourth trimester, which is the difficult three-month period after a child is born.

During the fourth trimester, mothers can suffer postpartum depression. If the birthing process was particularly difficult or if a C-section was required, a mother might be unable to move easily or carry heavy objects for at least the first month. Sleep deprivation is all but a certainty as a baby wakes up every 1-3 hours on average to feed.

The expecting mother mentioned her second pregnancy has been more difficult than her first. With one little monkey running around all day, she is worried she won’t have the necessary energy and time to take care of her toddler and a baby concurrently. Her husband works a full-time job and often only has an hour at most in the morning and two hours in the evening before and after work to help out.

When I asked her how much they planned to spend on the village, she said about $40,000. But she wasn’t certain whether she would go ahead and spend that amount since $40,000 is obviously a lot of money for childcare over just a three month period.

As I may face this dilemma one day, I thought it would be a good idea to graph out where $40,000 could get spent and whether hiring so much help during the fourth trimester is worth it.

The Cost Of Childcare In The Fourth Trimester

Here’s who the mother plans to hire and how much she has to pay.

Birthing Doula: $2,000 (one-time cost). The birthing doula’s job is to help the mother have a more comfortable birthing experience. The doula helps the mother breathe, keeps her company during the entire hospital visit, helps her relax, fights for the mother’s rights against nurses and doctors during times of stress. The $2,000 cost is fixed whether the mother goes through a short or long labor process.

Day Doula: $40/hour, $3,200/month. The day doula’s job is to care for the newborn baby while the mother recovers and/or looks after the toddler. The daytime doula specializes in infant care during the first three months. This mother plans to employ a daytime doula for 20 hours a week.

Night Doula: $50/hour, $9,600/month. The night doula works eight-hour shifts a minimum of five nights a week. Her specialty is feeding the baby every 1-3 hours, making sure the baby is properly burped after each feeding, bringing the baby over to the mother to breastfeed when needed, helps with pumping/bottles/cleanup, and making sure the baby’s nasal passages are clear for proper sleep. The night doula will usually work from 10 pm – 6 am or 11 pm – 7 am. The mother plans to hire a night doula for six nights a week. Although she could hire a night doula for her minimum five nights a week to save $1,600/month if needed.

Babysitting: $25/hour, $1,200/month. This mother plans to utilize a babysitter three times a week for four hours a day. The babysitter’s main job will be to care for the toddler while mom recovers, rests and/or spends time with the baby.

Total cost per month: $14,000.

Total cost for the fourth trimester: $42,000 + $2,000 = $44,000.

The Benefits Of Hiring Help During The Fourth Trimester

Paying $44,000 for childcare help equals $63,000 before tax at a 30% effective tax rate. Ouch. What a strain such an expense is on the working parent!

I’m assuming that most readers here would balk at the idea of paying $44,000 for three months of childcare help either because you raised two or more kids on your own, had grandparents or other family to help out, have amnesia on how difficult the fourth trimester was, or are simply envious this couple can afford to pay for so much help.

This mother laid out some reasons why they are strongly considering hiring so much help:

No grandparents or siblings to help out. Everyone is more than a five-hour flight away and are busy with their own lives. Yes, it’s sad that they’re not getting more family support during the fourth trimester, but that’s what happens sometimes.

Husband has an arduous job and can only take a couple weeks of parental leave.

Their marriage is strained because of her husband’s stress at work and the difficulty encountered thus far raising their son.

She suffered through several weeks of postpartum depression after her first pregnancy, and expects to suffer through postpartum depression again.

She went through a difficult birth with her first that required post-op treatment and extra bed rest.

She is 40 years old and has lost energy and strength.

Her husband is now 45 years old and also doesn’t have the same amount of energy as when their first was born.

Their main benefits of hiring help are:

Will allow both her and her husband to sleep more during the first three months.

Will reduce the amount of misery in the household and better protect their marriage from falling apart.

Will reduce the risk of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome during the first few months given someone alert and rested will always be watching the baby.

Will enable them as parents to pay more attention to their toddler and thereby lessen the disruption in that relationship.

Will help with sleep training, which should improve the quality of lives for everyone if it works. The couple’s first child didn’t take well to sleep training and is still not a great sleeper.

To Hire Help For Big Money Or Not?

Source: Fatherly

My first reaction upon hearing the cost of help was: no, save your money. But as I listened to the reasons why they are strongly considering hiring help, I felt that spending $44,000 over a three month period might be the best money they could ever spend.

I vividly remember both my wife and me delirious for the first three months of our child’s life due to sleep deprivation. I was constantly paranoid about my boy suffocating in his sleep, so I refused to sleep for many nights. My first mental breakdown happened during my boy’s third month of life. No matter how hard I tried to put him to sleep through rocking and singing, he kept waking up soon after I laid him down. This went on for hours in the middle of the night.

Both of us ran on adrenaline, and thankfully, as stay at home parents, neither of us had to be somewhere else. In this mother’s case, her husband still has to be away at work and they also have a wild toddler to take care of.

As a parent, I often think about how much I would spend to ensure that my child is happy and safe. That answer is always: whatever it takes. Therefore, if it costs $44,000 to keep this family’s baby safe, their toddler safer, and their marriage intact, I think they should go ahead.

Affording Fourth Trimester Help

The difficulty of raising a baby won’t last forever. You also get the most bang for your childcare buck during the fourth trimester. Therefore, you might as well spend the money where it counts the most.

For those of you thinking about hiring a lot of care during the fourth trimester, I would actively save up the estimated cost so you can pay for the care in cash. Do not go into debt to pay for care. Instead, reduce the amount of care in order to live within your financial means.

To determine how much you can comfortably afford to spend on fourth trimester care, I would take your annual household income and multiply it by 10% – 15%. In this family’s case, they need to earn at least $293,000 – $440,000 in annual household income to afford its $44,000, 3-month cost.

Maybe some of you may only require one month of fourth trimester care, while others might want to extend the intensive care to six months and beyond. Everybody’s situation is different. It’s up to you to plan ahead and decide how much you can afford.

Readers with multiple children: How did you manage to care for your children during the fourth trimester? How much help did you hire? What did you do if you had no grandparents or other family to help out? If you didn’t hire help, do you regret not doing so? How common is revisionist history where we forget our pain and difficult times?

Related:

Living A Middle Class Lifestyle On $300,000 A Year

The Cost Of IVF And Eastern Medicine

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