#i have manage to not be insane about money for more than 2 days since the election thank G-d

[pegglefan69]

What else have I been doing. Uh. I decided on a rib tattoo to celebrate my 30th birthday when it gets here. I booked an appointment for an entirely different tattoo in February. I am having strong belief in the grounding ability of needles. I keep forgetting to reply to any of my messages. I need to start filing legal paperwork & I need to practice the banjo. I've been talking to men on my dating app & nothing has panned out but that's fine bcuz I haven't actually pursued anybody yet. It's good practice. I have knit 3 hats & have a lot more to knit before the 2nd week of December. New chapter soon once I stop being as sick. Okay bye now until whenever I wander back again mwah ✌️🐻

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

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“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it. 

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home. 

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide. 

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child. 

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing. 

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses. 

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation. 

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed. 

Sana’s room, you think to yourself. 

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own. 

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too. 

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end. 

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought. 

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side. 

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was. 

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger. 

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too. 

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005. 

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture? 

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room. 

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful. 

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see. 

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

 You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.” 

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you. 

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual. 

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.” 

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her. 

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties. 

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in. 

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair. 

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand. 

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak. 

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him  to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away. 

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use. 

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.” 

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you. 

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up. 

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.” 

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2016

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch. 

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges. 

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge. 

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him. 

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way? 

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

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[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: loser!jungkook, sub!jungkook, softdom!reader, oral (m receiving), etc.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, extra

wc: 1632

a/n: i havent read the previous three parts in months so if theres any discrepancies pls forgive</3

masterlist

in the time you'd known jungkook, you'd never actually been to his apartment.

he was at university on a scholarship, meaning that he didn't have to worry about paying for schooling or dorming. any money he earned from tutoring or any allowance received by his parents was all his to keep, meaning that his current residence was nicer than that of the average student.

despite being aware of all of this, you were still quite shocked the first time he brought you around.

unlike what you'd expected, jungkook's spacious studio apartment was not filled with nerdy figurines and stacks of comic books (god, that would've been adorable). instead, it replicated the appearance of the average bachelor pad. the furniture appeared of good quality, the bed was comfy, the decor clean, and even the cleanliness gave you a vibe of maturity and put-togetherness that you hadn't quite gotten from jungkook yet. at least not to this extent.

the most shocking thing, though? that was jungkook himself; his look and demeanor while lounging around his apartment.

he'd been growing his hair recently, something which you adored, though tonight had been the first time you'd ever seen him with it without the proper care you assumed went to it every morning. the messy curls laid at the sides, fluffy after a whole day of being worn and played with by the wind. accompanied by that, he donned some loose sweats and a simple tank top, two garments you'd never once seen on the boy. he tended to go for less casual outfits while in public, usually wearing buttoned up flannels or graphic tees.

unfortunately for you, his slight change in look had an instant effect on you. had anyone else seen him like this, you were sure they'd pursue him immediately. as of late, more and more girls were taking notice of him. since meeting you, his confidence had gone up and his way of presenting himself had evolved quite a bit. just a few more months and you were sure he'd become a heartthrob by all definition of the word.

"god, you're gorgeous," you practically whimpered as soon as he let you in, having taken a few moments to simply stare at him before pecking his lips as a greeting.

"oh, i- thanks. you're prettier," he mumbled back as he welcomed you in, "sorry it's a little messy."

he must've been kidding. the place was insanely tidy! you expected as much from jungkook, but it was still surprising to find a college-aged boy with cleanliness.

"it's perfect, baby. show me to your room?", you went straight into business.

with a sheepish smile, he led you to his room.

you had previously agreed that you'd be spending the night tonight. it was your first sleepover at his place, which had you both giddy at the thought. there was no special reason for it other than your sudden insistence for it about a week ago, claiming you wanted to see where a one jeon jungkook spent his nights away from you.

he was shy about it at first, as per usual, but agreed after a few smiles and kisses from you.

and so now you had the privilege of laying on his bed on a saturday night, clad in a pair of his boxers and an oversized shirt of his as you waited for him to do his skincare.

you had insisted on not packing an overnight bag, knowing jungkook would have anything you needed at his place — he was very well put together, after all.

smiling at him as soon as he entered the room, you extended your arms to motion him over to the bed, causing him to chuckle shyly as he stepped towards you. once he was at a close enough distance, you grabbed at his arms, pulling him to the bed and somehow managing to get him to lay down, climbing on him immediately after.

"hey, there, gorgeous," you flirted, hands on his shoulders and full weight sitting on his crotch area. it wouldn't take long until you found a tent under you.

"you don't have to try and fluster me every time you see me anymore, you know ..." he mumbled as he lost any ounce of control under you.

"where's the fun in that?", you smirked as your hands traced their way under his shirt, pulling it off him without a second thought, "god, how'd you get even more handsome?", you groaned as you took him in, so pretty below you with his long hair and his breathless state.

"i- i just- oh-,"

you gave him no chance to speak, choosing instead to quickly throw off your his own shirt and lower your lips down to his. the kiss was immediately heated. you could never really help yourself around jungkook, but fortunately, he liked that about you.

he'd gotten a bit less shy with time. his hands were more willing to explore your body nowadays, currently finding themselves on your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

you adored how much more comfortable he'd gotten around you, both sexually and not so. at times, he'd even initiate sex with you. these instances were a bit awkward for him, but you always liked to encourage him, letting him know through your enthusiasm how much you enjoyed it when he went after what he wanted.

however, you still had to keep him on his toes somehow.

like now.

"no touching, baby," you murmured between kisses, grabbing onto his hands and pinning them above his head as you leaned down onto him.

with a simple gulp, he nodded, lips shyly smooching so you'd kiss him again.

continuing your kiss, your hands went down to his torso, sneaking under the fabric and beginning to play with the skin there. your fingers traced the ridges of his abs, adoring how he shuddered against you but made no complaint. the silent effect of your actions only lasted up until your hands made their way north, eventually finding his nipples and tracing them teasingly.

the poor boy under you whimpered against your lips. his arms made some movement, but did not stray away from where you'd left them above his head, still pressed together as he attempted to follow your directions and not touch you.

your next move was to rid him of his clothes altogether, requiring to get off him for a few moments but immediately taking your rightful place straddling him on his bed once more.

"prettiest thing i've ever seen," you hummed as you looked down at him, leaning down to press kisses on every inch available.

"please ..." he mumbled when your lips first made contact with his chest, knowing their next destination.

ignoring him, you continued as before, letting your lips find their way to his nipple and twirling your tongue around it in a teasing manner. your barely there touch had him whining at the contact, wanting more from you.

you took pity on him, deciding to go all the way and suckling on the bud just how you knew he liked. except the poor boy could barely handle the pleasurable pain that came from it. he writhed under you as you alternated between pecs, filling his chest with love bites that'd flourish by the next morning.

the kisses made their way down his body, landing at his happy trail by the time you lowered yourself to your knees at the end of the bed. with a bite to your lip, you enjoyed the view of what was to be in your mouth in mere moments.

jungkook sat up, wanting to see what threat of pleasure approached him next. he groaned upon seeing how hungry you looked eyeing his hardness, but he remained a good boy by keeping his hands to his sides rather than reaching for you.

"a-ah, fuck," he groaned as soon as your lips made contact with his member, lightly closing in on his tip and suckling at it in a way that had his breath catching and eyes rolling back.

keeping your eyes on the trembling boy, you caught glimpse of his hands fisting harshly at the sheets, holding himself back from wrapping around your hair as he usually did. the thought made you smile around him. he was so so sweet and well mannered.

deciding to be just as nice, you engulfed as much of him as you could, practically deepthroating him. his reaction was immediate, whining and writhing above you while you had your fun with his cock.

"p-please, oh fuck, please," he pleaded for nothing in particular.

you weren't one to ever deny him of anything. every one of your actions was meant to aid him in his pleasure.

humming against him, you slobbered all over him, not minding the mess of your saliva and his cum slowly dripping down onto your chin as long as the pretty boy above you was losing himself because of you.

as per usual, his orgasm hit him pretty quick. as shy as he was, he was never too timid to let himself cum when he hit his limit. jungkook was one to appreciate the pretty girl giving him pleasure by demonstrating his immense appreciation.

it always got to you how loud he became while cumming, which was currently causing a mess in your panties. you decided to enjoy every drop of his orgasm before paying mind to that, though.

finally done torturing him by licking off any remnants off his dick, you climbed up his body and sat yourself on his lap with a smile, leaning in for a teasing tongue-filled kiss before humming in satisfaction against his breathless lips.

"did i tell you i love how you're growing out your hair?"

he gulped.

"you've, uh, you've mentioned."

[yumedoca]

"It's a rumic world!!"

Day 7 of @rumicworldweek - Happy Birthday Rumiko Takahashi!! 🎉

Sadly, no art for today since it seems I've hit an artblock after drawing for almost an entire week 😭, but to be fair everything drawn for this week was for sensei's birthday after all. I wanted to draw art for Mermaid Saga, One Pound Gospel and Rumic Theatre, but unfortunately there's only seven days in a week (though I have drawn art for Mermaid Saga like a week earlier and I have drawn an art for one of the Rumic Theatre stories months ago. Sorry One Pound Gospel, eventually!!) And plus, when it comes to topic of Rumiko Takahashi and her works, I decided to talk about it rather than draw...

Rumiko Takahashi... Honestly, all her works mean a lot to me. Each have it's own reasons, reasons why they're more than just mere stories to me. I guess it's mainly because of how good of a storyteller she is. Here's a little tidbit from her which may show why:

And boy, does it make me feel exactly how she wants it to. She knows what the reader looks forward to and she delivers just that while having fun. The amount of love and passion in her works in insane and the little details put to the story and characters are exactly what I love about her tales. Then there's the amount variety when it comes to her stories which I think is the most obvious when you pick up just one volume of the rumic theatre, one moment you're reading a hijinks story about a boy who just want to deliver newspapers but keeps getting interrupted by invaders and half- fishmen and the next moment you'll be reading a horror where this high school kid who knows archery is trying save his girlfriend from being murdered by his yandere cousin.

Honestly, just the amount of one shots she have is enough to prove how much as well as the number of chapters her serializations have is enough to show how much dedication and passion RT has for manga and this dedication is just what makes their quality so good. Urusei Yatsura makes me laugh and reminds me to have fun and enjoy life. Maison Ikkoku taught me about growing up. Mermaid Saga is a spine-chilling story which talks about the price of greed. Ranma 1/2 brings about the topic of familial love besides the romance itself. I've only watched the OVA for One Pound Gospel, but what intrigues me the most is the fact that the main pairing is a boxer and a nun, it's like the strangest pairing you could make but Kosaku and Sister Angela make it work and let's just say I love these kind of strange pairings, lol. Inuyasha talks about letting go from the past while still keeping the important within you. Kyoukai no RINNE is quite nostalgic to me as someone who grew up in a family who's very keen on saving money and a lot of moments make me laugh because I've been similar situations and it's nice to look back on them. And finally, MAO is the series I'm currently growing up with.

I know Rumiko Takahashi will never see this but.. Thank you so much for everything, your characters and stories managed to lift my spirits in the darkest of times and remind me that everything will eventually be okay. I know I'm not the only one who thinks this and all of what I've said is why I love Rumiko Takahashi and her stories.... ♥

I'm glad that I was able to participate in this year's Rumic World Week. Thanks to everyone who's liked and reblogged my posts and I hope everyone reading this has a great day ahead!! 🌹

«previous

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[assistant-of-drama]

Assistant Noah's World Tour!

Hello, my name is Noah.

And around 2 years ago, I had made the biggest mistake of my life.

I got into a show called Total Drama and now I can't escape this overrated series or its crazy host.

How did this happen to me?

Well, I'm going to tell you...

When I first entered the show, I thought that I was gonna stay at a fancy resort or something like that, while trying to win the 100,00 dollars.

But instead that hotel turned out to be a crappy, ancient campsite. They only have one outhouse and there's a camera inside of it. The food is disgusting and served by a violent psychopath of a Chef. The host is basically insane and probably gonna get crazier. With the cherry on top, being that our first challenge was to jump off of a giant cliff.

Yeah, the money just wasn't worth it.

I decided to trick my team into voting me off.

So, when the dodgeball challenge arrived, I saw it as the perfect opportunity since I hated sports anyway. I simply refused to help and gave my team the occasional rude comment here and there, to irritate them even more. It was almost too easy.

I smiled and chuckled to myself as I left the dodgeball arena, forgetting about the cameras recording my satisfaction.

When I wasn't given a marshmallow, I had to resist the urge to smile, while acting angry and disappointed. I even subtly insulted their intelligence one final time as I left, getting pelted with marshmallows in the process. It was totally worth it.

I couldn't fight the smug smile anymore as I reached the boat, nor the sigh of relief as the boat left the stupid island.

If only I knew that being unable to control my joy would've sealed my fate.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that there was a resort after all; a resort of the losers.

How ironic, but I wasn't gonna complain.

However, a few days later, Chris and Chef learned that I got voted off on purpose. They were furious. They called me back to the island, explaining that as a punishment, I would have to come back to the island as Chris' assistant for the rest of the show. My jaw dropped in disbelief. Apparently, I missed the fine print in my contract; if anyone leaves on purpose, then they're forced to work for Chris.

As I reluctantly went on the boat back to the island, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of anger, disappointment, and a bit of fear. I didn't know what Chris had planned for me, but I knew it couldn't be anything good. When I arrived at the camp, I immediately put on a disguise, so the others wouldn't recognize me.

I was exhausted. Chris had been working me like a dog since my return to the island. He had me doing all sorts of tasks. I'd never been so tired in my life. Every time I thought I'd finally catch a break, he'd find something else for me to do. It was relentless.

But at least I get paid more than the other interns.

Then later to my surprise, Chris began to ask me for new ideas for the challenges. I was confused at first, but then he explained that he was impressed with how I managed to trick my team into wanting me off the island. He saw it as a sign of my true potential. I couldn't believe it. Chris, the insane host, was actually praising me?

I decided to take advantage of the situation and give him my best ideas. To my surprise, he actually liked most of them. Over time, my role in the show became bigger. We would brainstorm ideas for challenges together, and I would help him execute them. It was a weird kind of partnership, but it worked for us.

As the days went by, I learned to accept my new life on the island. Sure, it was still a competition, and there was always the chance that someone might figure out my true identity, but for now, I was content. I even started to enjoy the challenges again, if only because they were more interesting with my unique perspective. The gross eating challenge was one of my favorites.

When the finale arrived, Chris, Chef, and I were thrown into the water by the contestants as a form of revenge. We didn't see it coming; one minute we were announcing the winner, and the next, we were soaked to the bone.

Then my wig came off, revealing myself to the others. They were angry at first, but after I explained everything, they decided to forgive me… except for Heather. We all had a laugh about it and even became friends.

I thought it was over.

But then Chris made everyone chase a case with a million dollars inside of it, while I simply stayed at the resort.

Then Chris revealed that he tricked everyone into doing a second season of Total Drama, I didn't care at first because I thought that I was gonna leave.

The apathy turned into horror, when Chris reveals that I'm still his assistant, according to my signed contract.

Life, why do you hate me so?

In Season 2, everyone became extra nice to me, hoping that their kindness would somehow get them special treatment in the future episodes.

Even Justin began flirting with me, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. I mean, sure, he was gorgeous and all, but I'm immune to Justin's charms. He's just another generic pretty boy that everyone loves drooling over.

I was so relieved when he left.

While the others finally took the hint that I wasn't gonna give them anything and now leave me alone, thank god.

Now that Season 2 is over, Chris is currently preparing a third season which is gonna take place in a unstable plane traveling across the world and singing random musical numbers.

Chef was right, that is the worst idea ever.

At least I'm not expected to sing.

The making of Season 3 is how I met Alejandro. The perfect combo of beauty, brawn and brains. Basically Justin, but with upgrades. The man who could charm the pants off of most species. At least that's what Chris says. Because personally, I think that guy is as overrated as the show I'm forced to work on.

That doesn't stop the Prince Charming Wannabe from flirting with me. In fact, it only seems to encourage him. He's constantly circling around me, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. It's amusing, in a pathetic sort of way. I mean, really, how can someone be so convinced that they can win someone over with a few well-placed compliments and a big, fake smile? It's almost insulting.

Then there's Sierra. She's… interesting, to say the least. There's something about her that suggests she's not quite right in the head. When she was an interviewer, she followed the cast around like a lost puppy, constantly scribbling in her notebook and asking questions that no one seems to understand. She's also obsessed with Cody.

Her obsession with Total Drama is borderline creepy. She knows every contestant and knows personal things about us too. Even Chris himself. It's unnerving, actually. She even seems to know some things about me that I'm pretty sure I haven't told anyone.

They are the two weirdest people that I've ever met… and I'm about to be trapped on a plane with them. Great. Just great.

I'm not sure whether to feel sorry for myself or laugh at the absurdity of the situation. I mean, here I am, stuck as Chris Mcclean's assistant, while everyone else gets to compete for a chance at a million dollars. And now, we're all going to be singing and dancing our way around the world. It's enough to make anyone's head spin.

Pray for me.

(Inspired by total-drama-brainrot's anonymous questions!)

[dc-gotham-instincts-wild]

Guys I don't know what to name this fic so gimme ideas and I'll change the title

Summary: At one point when everyone is at Jason's apartment for no reason, Jason, Cass, and Dick are faced with the challenge of getting their younger siblings to sleep (Bruce promised them money) while Bruce is away on a case.

Notes:

I don't ship any of the Batkids, they're all siblings to me.

In my mind, Dick is the oldest, Cassandra is about seven months older than Jason, Tim and Steph are about 4 months apart, Duke is about 2-4 years younger than them, and Damian is obviously the youngest.

Dick, Cass, and Jason form the older trio, Tim and Steph are the middle, Duke and Dami are the youngest, but it's basically oldest three vs youngest four.

Yes Bruce has/did have legal custody of all seven. Tim? he stole it. Was pretty easy for him too.

The next door neighbor part is because..... I didn't exactly know how to start it so i started it that way.

THE ENDING WAS INSPIRED BY THIS FIC, SO UHHH CREDIT FOR THAT PART GOES TO THEM!

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

The Batkids all basically lived at Wayne Manor, but Dick, Cass, and Jason, being the oldest three, and the legal adults, all had their own apartments that they did use, just they liked breaking back into WM because it was more home than their apartments.

But every now and then the whole gang just kind of.... went and rolled down to any of the apartments, chilled, fooled around, watched something, even stayed the night etc, etc. 

Case in point, once when Bruce was off on a larger case, but Tim, Steph, Duke, and Damian had school the next day and Cass had a broken arm, so he left Jason, Dick, and Cass in charge and for no reason they kind of just rolled over to Jason's. 

-

The next door neighbor, Owen, knocked on the door, wanting to know about the sudden influx of noise. He didn't mind, he was just curious. 

Jason opened the door, looking a bit tired, his hair messy and a bit sweaty, but there was a spark in his greenish-blue eyes that Owen hadn't seen before in their earlier interactions. 

"...What?" The young man asked. Owen hesitated, hearing voices from behind his strange neighbor.

"Just, uh, heard more noise than usual and got curious. Not annoyed, just curious."

Jason blinked, then seemed to realize.  "Oh, that's just my siblings. They're over." Owen blinked in surprise. "You- you have siblings?"

"Yeah, there's seven of us!" Yelled a girl's voice behind Jason.  "Adopted!" Added a young male voice. 

Jason rolled his eyes, though a hint of fondness was there in his eyes.

"Yeah. Me and my older bro and sis are the oldest three, so as thus-"

"We are left in charge while Dad is away." finished another young man, appearing behind Jason. He seemed to be a bit older than his brother. "I'm Dick. Oldest of seven insane siblings. Jay here is the third oldest."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Our sister Cass is between us. Anyway, sorry about the noise, we're trying to wrangle the little ones to bed since they have school tomorrow and Dad ain't here. We're here at my apartment instead of the main house for no reason other than pure randomness."

Owen blinked. Looking over The twos' shoulders he could see two girls, one seeming between Dick and Jason in age, the other somewhere in high school, plus three boys, one the same age as the younger girl, the other two younger than that but still apart. 

"It's fine," He decided. "Hope they sleep though." He added with a wry grin.

Jason actually laughed. "Yeah, Dad promised us money if we manage to get them to bed, so..."

Dick grinned. "Yup!" He turned around to the room. "So you four better get to bed real fast!"

Owen nodded and grinned as the door closed. 

It was nice to know his neighbor had a good family.

-

Jason turned around to his younger siblings. "You heard Dick, hit the hay!"

Steph rolled her eyes. "Do we have to?"  Cass tapped her sister on the shoulder and silently pointed to one of the other extra rooms.  'Go,' her eyes said. Cass was like that. Her siblings didn't even need her to sign to understand. Just her presence was enough.

"Steph....." Dick warned. "School is next morning, sis." Steph sighed and finally slipped off to bed. 

Next was Damian. 

"Demon Brat, you heard us. You have school tomorrow and besides, it's almost past your bedtime, little one." "I am too old for such restrictions." Damian answered stubbornly, crossing his arms.

Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"Damian...... You do know that I'm saying this on Bruce's orders, right?"

A stubborn glare.

Dick tried. "Hey Dami, if you don't go to bed then you'll be tired during school. Me and Jason can manage patrol and like Jay said, you usually go to bed on this time when you're not on patrol. You want me to call Alfred?" 

That worked. Damian sighed, and went into one of the extra rooms, grumbling. 

Alfred card always worked.

Jason slipped over to the table where Duke was hunched over his math book. "You done with your homework, bro?"

Duke sighed. "Nope. I literally can't get this last one."

Jason looked at the problem and sighed.

"Lemme guess- Ms. Rue is the teacher for your math class."

Duke blinked at him in surprise. 

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

Jason smirked. "Oh, I had her. She's infamous for being the worst teacher ever." 

Duke groaned. "Tell me about It!"

Jason grabbed the pencil and started telling him how to do it properly. 

Meanwhile Dick had wrangled Tim off the couch and was gently guiding him to another room with an arm slung across his shoulders. It had taken Tim trying to bolt and getting scruffed for that to happen. 

Dick managed to get the younger male to bed and smirked at Tim's glare. 

"Hey, it's not so bad, little brother. You have school tomorrow anyhow."

Tim groaned but reluctantly settled down and pulled the blanket over himself. Dick chuckled fondly and ran a hand through the younger one's hair. 

"Tell you what- you go to sleep right now and tomorrow after school I'll take you and the others to get some hot chocolate, deal?" 

Tim brightened at the prospect of that. "Okay!" 

Dick smiled and knelt to nuzzle him a bit before leaving. 

Meanwhile Jason had gotten Duke to bed, and made sure Damian hadn't tried escaping, while Cass cleaned up the living room. 

Jason sighed big and flopped down on the couch.  "Damn, why'd Dad put us in charge?"

Dick grinned and ruffled his hair, earning a halfhearted swat. "Probably 'cause we're the oldest." Cass rolled her eyes. 

After a bit Jason stood up and grabbed his leather jacket and his Red Hood helmet, while Dick went to a room to find his Nightwing suit. 

"You'll be fine watching the little ones?" Dick asked Cass, whose arm was broken. She nodded and pointed at the window. 

Red Hood and Nightwing clambered out, shot out their grapple lines, and went off on patrol. 

-

Commissioner Gordon raised an eyebrow at the two near the end of patrol when they showed up on his roof with some of Penguin's henchmen tied up. 

"Just you two tonight?" He asked. Nightwing grinned.

"Batman has a larger case on some traffickers, it's a school night for Red Robin, Robin, Spoiler, and Signal, and Black Bat's arm was broken the other night so she's watching the little ones to make sure they don't sneak out."

"Yup, so it's just the two oldest sons tonight, Uncle Jim." Red Hood smirked. 

Gordon sighed, shaking his head as the two grappled off.  "Oh, they are the Bat's sons alright," He muttered.

 -

Bruce, finished up with his case, slipped into the Batcave and took off his cowl and all, slipping into a light grey T-shirt and pants with a black jacket (it was winter).

He knew from a text Dick had sent him that his brood was at Jason's apartment, so he got into his normal car and drove off after briefing Alfred. 

He found the apartment easily, unlocked the door (So, he had one of the keys to his son's apartment, sue him), and slipped inside.

It was dark and quiet. He checked each room, finding one or two of his kids fast asleep in each.

Dick was curled around Damian, Cass was asleep in the bed next to Steph's (Why did Jason's apartment have more than one two-bed room?), Duke had somehow gotten into the same room as Tim.

Finally he found Jason, conked out on his bed, looking relaxed and happy for once. 

"Oh," Bruce sighed. It was so long that he'd seen his son like this, ever since everything fell apart but somehow came back together again. He and Jason were working it out, gettin over the awkwardness and slowly healing their bond. 

“Dad?” Jason mumbled, fist rubbed harshly against his sleep-squinted eyes. 

Bruce ignored the ache that filled his chest at the word, knowing, relieved that his son was... okay. Not mad at him anymore, Here.

Safe. 

“Just me, Jaylad,” He sighed, and pulled the blanket over his third oldest. 

“The case?” Jason mumbled. His voice was deep, rough with sleep, but it was still Bruce’s kid, sleepy but safe, checking in with Bruce after every patrol. 

“Everything was fine,” Bruce whispered soothingly, reaching out to tuck the cowlick of white hair away from Jason’s eyes. He blinked at Bruce, eyes more blue than green. He didn’t push him away.

“You can go back to sleep,” Bruce told him softly. “It’s late, little one.”

And Jason, with the same tiredness as the rest of them, didn’t argue. His eyelids slowly closed, his body finally relaxing.

“Stay?” Jason murmured.

Bruce almost said 'maybe', almost turned to let the younger ones sleep in peace, worried he'd disturb his kids, but Jason’s hand reached out, found the knee of Bruce’s pants and clutched the fabric in a grip so reflexive and old and instinctual. 

And there was a question when he asked Bruce to stay, instead of knowledge that Bruce would do anything he needed, anything he wanted.

So Bruce gave in to what he wanted, sitting down and wrapping one arm around his son, hugging the younger male's head to his chest.

“I’ll stay,” Bruce heard himself say, exhaustion already entangling him. “Love you, kiddo.” Jason mumbled an agreement. 

Bruce ran a hand through Jason's hair and closed his eyes. 

[sincerely-sofie]

I just realized how crazy Opal’s family is on paper. Imagine you’re a greedy crook so you kidnap the child of the random Charmeleon lady who you know has more money than she lets on. Then you send a ransom letter and set up a dungeon so this Charmeleon woman can give you the money for her child back. It’s fool proof!

And then you find out said Charmeleon lady is not JUST a Charmeleon lady, she’s the lady who stopped the world from getting paralyzed with her friend. Okay, no problem. They probably haven’t fought in a serious battle for years. It’s still an easy job- oh she still goes into dangerous mystery dungeons and so does her previous partner Kip. Okay, startling, but you can still pull through on this- oh wait, Grovyle the time gear thief, Dusknoir the hit man, and the time traveling mythical Pokémon Celebi are also part of the family? They also care about this Charmeleon lady?? And they’d also be apoplectic about this? Okay, now you’re a lot more worried, but it’s nothing that hiring a few accomplices can’t handle! Wait. The father of the baby is the guy who actively tried to cause the planet’s paralysis? The one who managed to torment an entire town? And all have of them practically stared Dialga in the face and said “yeah I can win this/I have to win this” and actually did win? Or at least one of them caused Dialga’s insanity?

You now realize you have only a few options:

1. Lie to potential accomplices about who exactly you messed with because no one sane would look at the full implications of this and go “yeah let’s do it!”

2. Hope the Charmeleon lady won’t call for backup, and that said backup won’t find out and come anyways, therefore plan proceeds without a hitch.

3. Just give the baby back and apologize.

If you’re really greedy or desperate for money, you’d choose one of the first two options. Otherwise, you’d choose option three and run for the hills.

And that’s before said criminal realizes they kidnapped a baby legendary.

The best part of all this is that her family never talks about the craziness of their lives. So you think you're just kidnapping some rich lady's kid and then a brigade of highly competent, highly dangerous individuals come swooping in simultaneously, but the brigade is comprised of:

That old man who you saw agonizing over what cookware to buy at the market the other day and apparently knows how to corner people who are running from him with startling efficiency

A scrawny, ugly grass-type you crossed paths with at the clinic when he was getting some medicines for his chronic pain and who is also unbelievably fast and hits like a truck

A marshtomp who, despite having famously (and shamefully, according to many) retired from exploration, is arguably even more dangerous now despite his calmer occupation, because he knows everything about the ruins you’re hiding out in, including where all the traps are

The rich lady whose baby you stole and also has apparently BESTED MULTIPLE LEGENDS IN COMBAT with the help of that marshtomp we mentioned earlier, and is currently tearing her way through the countryside and rapidly closing in on your location

And two entire legends who are not only extremely capable on their own, but can destroy your psyche by showing you the exact location, date, and cause of your death (right here, right now, her disemboweling you personally with her bare hands) or locking you in a perpetual nightmare. Also that one over there is the baby's dad? Oh heck you're so dead—

AND THE BABY HERSELF IS A LEGEND WHO KEEPS TURNING INTO DIFFERENT ROCK + STEEL TYPES WHO WEIGH VARYING UNHOLY AMOUNTS AND IS SHRIEKING LOUD ENOUGH FOR ANYONE IN A 30 MILE RADIUS TO KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. OH HECK YOU'RE SO DEAD.

Beyond this scenario, imagine being an older Opal who's chilling with the fam during the holidays. Everyone is having a nice time hanging out and soaking in the good company. And then your uncle who cries whenever you call him Uncle mentions that he hasn't had this good of food since before his parents kicked him out of the house when he was a kid. You don't say anything, but you're extremely confused. Did he say he was evicted from his family home as a child? Maybe you misheard...

And then your other uncle says that he got the recipe from some bidoof during that window of time that your mom didn't exist. Your aunt nods sagely and says that it was very kind of the bidoof to share such a treasured family recipe with him during that time. He probably needed the comfort food while grieving his best friend.

At this point you are very much baffled by the conversation, and then your grandfather politely asks if we can stop talking about this, because he'd rather not be reminded of the fact that they all died when he's still finishing dessert.

Your dad then chimes in by saying he'd appreciate a topic change as well. His appetite is rather soured by the reminder of his part in their deaths.

You have never been more confused. And they all just move on to chat about the weather like nothing about what they said is absolutely unbelievable. So later you go to ask your mom about it and she has the audacity to reply:

TFW you’re finally old enough to comprehend The Family Lore™️

[whumped-by-glitter]

I saw this post about crazy museum stories, and I see lots of retail stories, but I don’t see a lot of airport stories….

So here are some of my craziest stories from working at an airport.

Airport behind the scenes:

• The random passenger who told me to get off the carousel (I was fixing it) then absolutely couldn’t believe I was a female and a mechanic. Then he proceeded to insinuate my military rank before getting out meant I messed up (AF just ranks slower, we had a bit of a bottleneck problem when I was in). He then suggested my supervisor didn’t know how to do his job well and could “just take us all under his wing”. All of this before asking for a job…..

• The passenger who insisted I check him in for his flight that left 2 hrs ago, when I was fixing the ticket counter conveyor belt, all the lights were off and I was literally black up to my elbows in grease….

• The woman who rode up and down the glass elevator in ticketing, lifting her skirt repeatedly, until the sheriffs had to come get her. Bonus points: it was only around noon, and no she wasn’t flying anywhere.

• The woman who got demanded she get on a plane at 11 pm, when flights are no longer going out, with no ID or money, to a city that was literally a 45 min drive away, with no airport. She proceeded to stop pick up traffic with an airport use wheelchair.

• A man who went through an armed door to the ramp, took all of his clothes of and sat there (that one made news).

• A woman who decided to take off all of her clothes and run around the main part of the airport. A sheriff and 2 cleaners had to catch her, she ran through the parking structure at 1am, in January in the northern Midwest.

• The absolutely insane contract manager that almost got sued by Southwest Airlines for wearing disguises and hiding to catch their ticket counter agents putting begs on the belt wrong (they weren’t, also wearing 2 hats and a fake mustache is not inconspicuous sir) that was the talk of the airport for quite a while…

• The gate agent that somehow messed up the jetbridge so bad I had to take every single limit sensor apart so I could override it. When he called it in all I was told was “the wheel locked up and I kept moving it, and I made an ooopsies.”

• The coworker that would insist on wanting to empty the lavs (which is easier than loading bags) but would mess it up at least once every other week and spill on himself, then just look horrified but not move….

• A woman rode an unattended baggage belt, luckily she was read as an oversize bag and sent directly to TSA, she literally could have been killed. She scared the daylights out of some TSA agents though. Could you imagine- you expect a golf club bag or something and get a person popping out?

• The lady who was really scared to fly, got really drunk, and fell down an up escalator. It was Christmas and luckily the gate agents were able to book her on a new flight the next day for free. But when asked if she had someone to pick her up, she called her husband, in Texas… (this is an airport near Chicago) she literally didn’t even know what airport she was at. A sheriff took her to a hotel to let her sleep it off, and to my knowledge she made it out safe the next morning.

I found a cat stuck in a wall, well actually she climbed through the wall and became trapped in a plumbing closet. She is really lucky some Southwest agents heard her crying and called us (they figured since we worked on conveyors and had tons of tools, we might be able to help. We called airport ops to open the closet door, and there she was. I still have her to this day, her name is Delta, and she is a very weird cat, I blame it on the fumes 🤣

All of this and more, and I work at a relatively small airport, and I was only there 5 years, and primarily worked 3rd shift as a mechanic.

@karmaisntab

[roseapov]

Servant? More like a slave

Jade & Floyd Leech x GN!Reader

Tw: reader being a merfolk, criminal organisation, tortures, mentions of obsession, differences in status, slavery, bullying, blackmailing, slavery

Povtober 2023, Day 17 [Masterlist]

It all started when you were a child. Two powerful eels helping others and protecting them, from the attack at the National Museum in the Coral Sea.

It all felt like a dream, when Mr. and Mrs. Leech reached out their hands to the troubled merfolk.

None of them knew how much taking their help would cost them. One of those merfolk were you and your parents, on a cultural trip.

The price to pay afterwards was to.. serve. Serve the Leech family. Become members of their staff, since they're running short on them, one could only wonder why.

That couldn't sound more fishy (get it?), yet no one could do anything about it, unless they had an insane amount of money. Well, not you.

And that's when you meet the twins. Floyd and Jade Leech, the young masters of the Leech household, heirs to the family's business and fortune.

If you knew the consequences, you would never hit the Floyd with the wet cloth. Never in your entire life. If only you could find out that they were the heirs before..

But you couldn't change the past and now you have to pay the consequences.

Cause your past self didn't know, that these 2 eels brothers were heirs to the criminal organisation.

With a sigh you walked towards Jade and Floyd with their breakfast on a tray, praying to yourself that they would let you off the hook (got it?) this time.

Yet luck wasn't on your side as Jade noticed you at the corner of his eye, before you managed to sneak away.

"Oh? What a lucky coincidence it is to see you there, why don't you sit with us and talk? Surely you wouldn't mind, right Floyd?"

Jade said with that unnerving smile of his, observing you intently. With all intentions to pierce through your soul.

You started shaking at the thought of yesterday when he tortured you.

And as soon as Floyd caught a glimpse of you, you knew your attempts to escape were immediately crushed.

"O, Shrimpy! Come join us! All these guppies were soo boring, you know? Entertain me now"

Floyd whined quite playfully, yet you knew better than to assume you could refuse. That underlying threat at the end, made it quite clear.

You quickly made your way to the empty seat at the table, not looking them in the eyes.

Now you have to endure at least an hour of Floyd picking on you, never quite forgetting the wet cloth accident, much to your irritation.

But it's still better than to let others know that you hit an heir, right?

But picking is way better than being forced to do those things, right? At least they're not so forceful today.

And Jade constantly adding fuel to the situation, liking how tormented by his brother you were.

You were sure he was a sadist, how could he not? Especially after yesterday..

In conclusion: The life of a servant in the Leech household is a living hell.

Or at least, your life.

I had no idea how to start it, but I think I managed. I kinda like how it turned out, yet writing for Leech brothers is harder than it looks. There wasn't much about the brothers or their obsession, so sorry about that🙏

Funfact: this fic was supposted to be named 'Yesterday' and Jade enjoy seeing you cry, that's why he tortures you. Don't ask me why, it's not pure love, it's obsession, it's twisted. That's the answer.

[3416]

All of your Mitch rants and raves are spot on, and it's very comforting to see another person who is just SO tired of all these narratives. Please indulge my two-cents for a moment:

Mitch has said he wants to stay in Toronto. The deal for him to waive his NMC at this point would have to be like...the best deal in all NHL history. He isn't some single, 19-year-old kid anymore who is just starting out; he's firmly established in his career in Toronto, and has his entire family/wife/friends there.

While I do think his next contract ask will be in the ballpark of what Auston and Willy are making (as it should be, he's worth the same amount, imo), I also don't think Mitch is super unreasonable. If the Leafs came back to him and said "we really want you to stay, but we can only give you $10m, I really feel like Mitch would take it, as long as it's a decent length and all the details are reasonable, etc.

All the discourse about his last contract was very much his father's influence, which he won't be dealing with this time around. He was also dealing with Babcock as a coach, so of course he wanted to get his money's worth!

I don't think he would settle for a super lowball offer if he knew he could make substantially more on another team, but he's also not a diva who won't get out of bed for less than $10000 a day, y'know?

Sorry for ranting in your inbox, lol.

no, i'm happy to have people to talk with about it!! feels like no matter how much i say, i never get tired bc i'm just soooo tired of the fanbase's narratives getting in the way of actual facts and of fans inability to sort through what media personalities are pitching as an OPTION and what's like. actually happening behind the scenes right at this moment. like no legitimate insiders are giving actual information, and if anything, i think this go around might be more tight lipped BECAUSE of what happened last time. auston and willy extensions were kept pretty under wraps tbh, the leafs know discretion.

i mean. i'm gonna be real, but 10 million would be lowballing him and he SHOULD get between willy and auston and that's not even a real problem imo. if 2 million makes or breaks a team with the cap space free from the jt deal, they're being very unserious and brad's bad at his job. they're the ones who set the precedent this time around with willy by giving into everything. it's legit not my job or any of our jobs to cap manage despite how much we all love to pretend we could build a perfect team, but he's probably not going to take a considerable discount and i don't see why people think he should, lol. HE'S had career years too over the course of this last contract, ones that surpassed someone who is now getting paid more than him. i'm obviously not mitch, so idk what he'd do in that scenario, but i can say it's HIGHLY unlikely he's taking any pay cut in his prime (literally no hockey players do). i really don't think he should be expected to despite this insane fanbase's reaction to his salary and i'm sure the leafs aren't going to approach him like that tbh. it'd be weird business. they might try to get him for a willy number which would honestly be a discount for him, so lol. i think it's less to do with being a diva and more knowing how much you're worth and your comparables in the league (and on your team) and the team you're with knowing what's fair. and that's why i think people are wrong about the leafs mindset in general. i don't think they WANT to get rid of him, lol. i think they're going to look at the market (as they do every year and have done every year since the core was assembled bc it's their JOB to do that) and see what's there, but the options are even more limited now with the nmc. i don't see it a given that the team will be like. oop we can't afford you now. i think they'll pay him and he'll get a raise, lol.

my best guess is EITHER mitch signs a longterm deal with full nmc at 12-12.5 OR he takes slightly closer to willy's deal for a shorter term to try to maximize his earnings and match what auston's doing in that way. i don't know his mindset about it all and wanting security in toronto over all or wanting to maximize the money, but we will SEE. i just hope everything is more lowkey this time around for my own sanity 😭😭😭😭 bc it's already out of control WITHOUT the team and mitch even talking yet.

[uncloseted]

What do I do if my job denies me a full raise but offers me an amount lower than what I asked for?

I currently make $15 an hour at my part time job. I used to be in person but now I’m remote because I graduated and moved home. I’ve worked for this company for almost two years and I’ve always done fantastic work for them. However, this summer and this fall, I pitched a new role, filled it, and have been taking on additional projects as well (I work in marketing / community management if that helps at all!). Basically, I got a $2 raise last January when they hired me from a student intern to a temporary worker, and I want to be a full time worker now. In my opinion, they should have brought me on as full time a long time ago, which kinda PMO but anyway, I digress. I’m going to pitch this as well as a raise. I know I got $2 last time, so would it be insane to ask for $3 this time?

I have a feeling they might say no for the $3, but maybe offer $2 or $1 (if I’m lucky lmfao). What do I do in this case if they offer just that as well as full time work? Or maybe the $2/3 but not full time??

So many scenarios kinda stresses me out, but I work for a university, so it’s not like they’re strapped for cash. It’s a good company and I deserve a good? liveable wage. Any tips??

Thank you!!

So in general, when you're trying to get a raise, you want to provide your boss with a value proposition - basically, why is it worth it for them to give you more money? Doing this typically requires two things: the value of your contributions to the company and the typical salary for your position in your area.

When thinking about your contributions, you want to show them how much value you're actually bringing to the company. Write down all of your achievements, and, if you can, attach a numerical or monetary value to those achievements. This could be things like "turnaround time for applications went from a week down to two days after I implemented a new system," or "social media engagement increased 25% after I created a new social media strategy," or "by digitizing our files, I saved the company $50,000", or whatever makes sense for your position. You can also discuss ways you've taken initiative (for example, by taking on additional projects), ways that you've shown leadership, skills that you've developed on your own that will help you in your new role - basically, anything that shows how screwed they would be without you.

The other part is figuring out how much other people in your same line of work get paid. Websites like Glassdoor, Salary.com, Payscale, and Indeed should help you figure out what the market rate for your job is in your area and if it's higher than what you're currently being paid. You can also look to see if your company has posted any job listings for positions similar to yours to get a sense of what they're paying new employees. I would calculate that for both part time and full time jobs so that you're prepared for wherever the conversation might go. If the market rate is higher than what you're currently being paid, you're in a good position to negotiate, since that means you have an incentive to move to a different company and your company will want to prevent you from doing that.

As far as the actual conversation goes, I think you can tell your boss something like, “I’d like to set up a time to review my compensation and discuss an increase. Is there a day that would work for you for that conversation?”

Once you're in the conversation, you can say something like, "thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I really appreciate the opportunity to discuss your current compensation and responsibilities. Since transitioning to remote work, I’ve pitched a new role, filled it, and taken on additional responsibilities, including [specific projects, new role, or initiatives]. I'm really proud of the work that I've done and the value it's brought to the company. For example, [briefly share one or two key accomplishments, such as boosting engagement, saving costs, or streamlining processes]. These have allowed me to deepen my skills and make an even greater impact. Given the contributions I’ve made and the value I bring to the team, I’d like to propose transitioning to a full-time role. I believe this aligns with the increasing responsibilities I’ve taken on and positions me to contribute even more effectively. A full-time role would allow me to [mention specific benefits for the company, such as tackling larger projects, being more accessible, or taking on long-term initiatives]. I’m confident that with this adjustment, I can help drive even greater success for the team. I’d also like to discuss an adjustment to my compensation to reflect the scope of my responsibilities and my contributions over the past two years."

Then depending on the situation, you have two options for what to say next. If you're underpaid, you can say something like, "given that I've taken on more work and have been providing more value, I believe I've earned a raise. As you can see, my research shows that a fair market salary range is $X-Y. Given my current salary of $15 an hour, I believe I’m underpaid for the work that I'm doing." If you're being paid fairly, you can say something like, "given that I've taken on more work and have been providing more value, I believe I've earned a raise. I’d like to propose $19/hour to reflect my increased responsibilities and contributions." I think $19 or even $20 an hour is a good place to start, because it means that what you actually want ($18) is still possible for you to get even if they negotiate down.

Finally, you can say something like, "I’m open to hearing your thoughts on how we can move forward with this proposal. I really value my role here and want to continue contributing to the team’s success in a way that’s mutually beneficial. Thank you for considering this. I’m passionate about what we’re building here, and I’m excited about the possibility of growing with the team in a full-time capacity."

If they say no, you might respond by saying something like, "Thank you for your honesty and for taking the time to discuss this with me. I appreciate your feedback. Could you help me understand what factors led to this decision? Are there specific challenges or constraints that make it difficult to transition me to full-time right now? What steps should I take to make a transition to full time work more viable in the future? Are there other responsibilities I could take on or professional development opportunities I should pursue? Would it be possible to revisit the conversation about compensation in a few months? I really value my role here and want to continue contributing in meaningful ways."

In the event that they say no, it may also be time to see what your options are with other companies. While it sucks to leave a good job and while I wouldn't recommend doing that without having another job lined up, you do absolutely deserve a livable wage, especially given that it sounds like you're really being proactive in the work that you're doing.

[mybones537]

Time chapter 5 (Moriarty the Patriot x reader)

This has already been posted on wattpad under the same username

  London, England 1875 

It’s been 3 months now since I’ve been here, it's now October. I’m now working as a doctor for a few nobles, I use half the money I earn for personal stuff and the rest I use for medical care to help the lower classes. 

Last month a young girl came up to me and she asked me to come take a look at her big sister. They live in the slums. I ended up spending 2 weeks there helping sick people. After that I realised that there is clearly no proper medical system in this country, but I can’t expect much from 1800s England.  

After that day I saved that heart attack victim, I've been popular as a doctor. I was on the front page of the newspaper. One person accused me of being a witch, but they were deemed insane so nothing happened luckily. A lot of other doctors have tried to debunk my way of practice, but each time they failed. I’ve had a hundred percent success rate since I got here. My medical textbooks have helped a lot and the history textbook turned out to be a medical history, which helped a lot. Thanks to my books I have been able to more easily figure out what is most likely wrong with my patients.  

Sherlock has come by once or twice asking some medical questions relating to his cases. I’ve managed to help him here and there. Lestrade comes and visits once in a while to see how I’ve been doing. I often see Miss Hudson. We have become good friends. 

About a week ago I was on my way to a patient when I started to notice a man following me. I’ve tried to figure out who he is and why he’s following me. After that started, I purchased a gun and bullets for self defence and kept it on me at all times. I’ve been cautious whenever I go out. This is starting to freak me out.

Today I have been extremely careful. I have only gone out to see one or two patients today. 

I had just finished with my last patient for today, I was on my way back to my apartment in Baker Street. When I suddenly fell unconscious. I felt my body being lifted up. 

3 hours later  

I woke up with a pain in my neck and a throbbing headache. It was dark, very dark. I tried to move but felt my arms and legs were bound to the chair I’m sitting in. I tried to untie the restraints but they were too tight.   

The door opened and a man walked in, he was holding a lantern. The light from the lantern was dim but it was bright enough for me to see my surroundings, brick walls and an old oak door. The man that walked has short naive blue hair similar to Sherlock. The same eyes as him, he has that same look, he’s trying to read me but almost seems to have a look of confusion. He seemed slightly taller than him, his demeanour was commanding respect. He seemed older than Sherlock, but based on genetics I’m guessing he is Sherlock's older brother.

“You’re Sherlock’s older brother aren’t you? I’ve seen you before, you’re the guy who’s been following me” I asked, he looked surprised but then covered it up with a smirk. 

“So you are as good as they say. I usually get the other guys to do it but you intrigue me” He walked up to me, he leaned down and lifted up my chin. He looked me in the eyes, then moved my head from side to side. “My name is Mycroft Holmes… you’re awfully pretty and I have some questions for you” 

“And why would I answer any of your questions? The only thing I know about you is that you are Sherlock’s brother, you are practically the British government, you are at least 7 years older than him, he despises you but you still care about him’’  I said to him.

“Well you clearly know more about me than I do you. I’ve done a background search on you but the only thing that came up was from 3 months ago. I even pulled some strings to see if I could find you at all but not a single thing came up. I expected to at least find your medical degree since you’re a doctor, but nothing not a thing” My blood ran cold. He was onto me.

Fuck. What do I do now? I doubt I will be able to fool him. He’s Sherlock’s older brother, he is probably even more observant than Sherlock. I’m done for.

“Don’t know why you couldn’t find anything, maybe there was a mistake.” I said lying through my teeth. 

“You see at first I thought so, but after I checked another 2 times I started to suspect something wasn’t right” He let go of my chin but still leaned in close. “Now Dr (last name) you got some explaining to do” 

[bluetraverser]

Long post: The end of a story I never wrote - HighschoolAU - Stardew - Robert/Elliott

...They fell, crushed, stumbled into an embrace and he found himself crying uncontrollably. His entire body felt stiff and limp at the same time, his skin taut over his head and arms while he shuddered and sobbed at the sudden joy and pain of having him in arms reach again. While the life here was good, he had been so terribly lonely, so unable to let go of loving this man and…

(context and full chapter under the cut)

Okay, this needs a bit of introduction because this is basically part of a chapter for a story that would have had 20 or more chapters which I will likely never write. Or not for several years. Who knows. What follows is a very quick summary of the plot and then the actual story.

First of all: Chapter takes place in Pelican town - on the day Elliott moves there, much earlier than in any canon.

Story so far: Elliott and Robert both go to highschool??? Idk, a school where you go to when you're 18 at least, I am not comfortable with younger. Elliott is a rich kid who hates his parents and vice versa. Bookish, unpopular, somewhat aloof, pretty... in a word, Elliott.

Robert is a popular sports guy with all the cliches of gay guy who is terrified of people knowing he is gay so hes a bully and seemingly ladies man who always finds excuses to never actually do anything with them.

Obviously they fall in love.

Both are terrified of it, both pretend like nothings going on. After a very complicated instance of the good old "there is only one bed", they spend several nights of passion before ultimately Elliott breaks up with him and says they will likely never meet again because his dad is a monster, they will never be safe, yada yada, Robert does not take it well.

At the start of this chapter, neither of them has any idea what has become of the other but Elliott has finally managed to get away from his abusive family. Its been 2 years since they last met.

I think that hopefully set up all the most important points. Feel free to ask or comment about this!

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

Elliott felt an odd, uncomfortable weight within himself.

This was it.

He was free.

But he was also poor. He had no degree, barely any money… The bus stopped. „Pelican town!“ Elliott got off with a heavy heart.

It was beautiful.

He breathed in.

He dropped his bags.

Fresh, full air made his lungs blow wide, made the sheer act of breathing a joy. He smelled the ocean and the forests, the vitalizing greens of vibrant moss soaking in the country sun… It was invigorating.

Still, he picked up his bags again and looked around, trying to get a sense of which direction he was supposed to go. The shed he had rented was supposedly right at the ocean. From his notes, that meant he first needed to go left, then across a square, across a bridge and to the left again… But was that left from facing the bus stop or the other way around? He could see a fenced in farm with a house down the street, to his right. Going left was probably wise, but… He dropped his bags again and walked a little bit closer, curious as to his new environment and Neighbors. It was a nice little house that looked like it had recently been renovated. The fields that lay before it weren’t spectacularly wide but seemed to span a large assortment of different plants. How curious! He had thought it would be more common to source only one kind of plant per field. Was this a commercial farm or just someone living there with a big garden? His gaze grazed the mailbox and his heart stuttered in his chest as reality seemed to suddenly be turned on its hinges.

Robert Llyr

!

Elliott felt the air being sucked out of his lungs, stunned, confused, desperate in that insane hope suddenly rushing his mind away. It’s impossible! It can’t be him! It’s a freak coincidence! It’s...it’s…

He squinted over the fields, trying to find sight of anyone doing anything there and- A blond man surfaced between the rows of corn. He had spiky hair and bend down just now, doing something with the plants. Disappointment plummeted through his belly. He was starting to feel sick. The permanent up and down of this weird day, these rushes of hope and dread and pain and that blinding beauty of his new freedom but the sickness of being just so god-damn lonely on this path- He put his hands on his face, breathing. Trying to collect himself, trying to calm down. „Hey! You okay there?“

Elliott startled but the blonde was already approaching him in quick steps. „Looking a lil shaken there, mate.“

„Uhm. Uh. I’m fine, I’m fine, thank you!“

The man examined him for a moment, then his bags. „You new in town?“

Elliott awkwardly shrugged, then nodded. „Yes. I just got off the bus.“

„Ah. Lucky you that the bus runs at all. The man who lives here fixed it only last month. It was broken for years before that!“

„Oh. So. You, uh, you don’t live here?“

The man chuckled. „Nah man, couldn’t afford it. Robert lives here. He inherited the plot and moved here last year. My name is Sam, I live down in Willow Lane with my mom and brother. Do you know where you’re going?“

„I… Yes. I rented a place at the beach. And I wrote down directions. I was just curious I guess and…“ He contemplated for a moment how open to be with this person. He’d been friendly enough and… asking couldn’t hurt, could it. „...say, this Robert Llyr. Do you know him on a personal level? Like�� do you know where he lived before?“

Sam made a motion to grab one of his bags. „Want my help carrying your stuff? I’m headed in the direction you’re going so I might as well help you out.“

„I- Uh- I… S-sure, that would be great. Thank you.“

Oh god, what a bumbling idiot I am being! One hint that even reminds me of him makes me a complete and utter fool! What must this man think of me already!

„Sorry, I just. I knew a Robert Llyr once and. It kind of shook me to see his name. I’m Elliott, by the way.“

Sam grinned at him widely. „Well hello Elliott. I’m Sam. But I already said that. Come on, let’s get going.“ He grabbed his bag and started walking. „And sure, I know Robert, we’re friends. Otherwise I wouldn’t have walked over his property and stolen one of his cauliflowers.“ He jangled a bag in his other hand around.

„You stole of him?“

„Not really. It’s cool with him if we take stuff and tell him later and he tells us what we owe once a week. Works out pretty okay. He’s a good egg but I don’t know where he lived before. He’s a little bit secretive like that. But he’s been working his ass off with the farm and making this town a better place, so. Not like anyone could complain about him, ever. What’s the Robert like that you know?“

„He’s...well…“ Handsome. Beautiful. Brave. Sad. God I miss you-„...complicated. We met under somewhat...difficult circumstances and he wasn’t always as nice as he could have been, I guess. But that wasn’t his fault and…“ He sighed. „It’s. Complicated. I mean, I’ll see if its him in good time, right?“

„I would guess so.“ They had reached what was probably the center of town. „This is basically the place where it gets most busy in this place. If at all. You got Pierres over there, selling mostly groceries n stuff, you got the mayors house over there and theres a notice board in front of Pierres shop if somebody in town has a small job or something.“

„Jobs?“

„Yeah, like, if they want somebody to fetch something for them or help them with a project. Things like that. Usually pays okay and people are grateful. Theres also a joja markt a lil further up the road and Clint’s shop is over there but I think he only sells rocks, no idea. I don’t really talk to him.“ They had gone across the square. „And this is the road where I live, Willow Lane.“ He handed Elliott's bag back to him. „You got any questions before I leave you to find your way across the bridge?“

Elliott stared for a moment, still trying to somehow digest the entire situation. „I...No.“ He managed a smile. „Thank you so much. You’ve been a great help.“

„No sweat, man! Take it easy!“ He waved and wandered off, leaving Elliott with a pounding, heavy heart and all the questions in the world.

Where would this person be? What should he do if it wasn’t him? ...what if it was him? Would he forgive him? Was he single? Ye gods, he was desperate to be with him. Had been for the past two years! But the need had been lying dormant and buried for so long now, it had been bearable. The current state was like a fresh, overwhelming physical urge to find him and hold him. To just have him back in his arms! But it was impossible. Impossible. He had to steel himself for the strong likelihood of this just being a freak name coincidence. That he would never see him again.

He walked across the beach and to the ocean.

It was the first time he saw the ocean.

It should be a wonderful moment. And it was. It was amazing to see it.

But it also felt hollow.

Everything seemed to mean nothing like this. Everything was just so dull, so… A figure sat at the end of the pier, near the hut he assumed to be the one he had rented.

Black hair. Slightly hunched.

It couldn’t be.

Elliott dropped his bags again and slowly walked onto the pier, barely daring to breathe. The figure looked even buffer than Robert had been. A broad back. Strong arms. The man was fishing. He looked. A lot like Robert did. As far as he could tell from behind. But the possibility of the man turning and it just being someone completely different-

He took another small step forward.

Another.

And Another. He had to know. He had to know…

The person turned and Elliott's heart stuttered out of his chest, unable to say anything in this moment.

It was him.

Robert looked at him with an unreadable expression. He got up, wiping his hands on a tissue, stepping up to him. He looked just a little bit different. Stronger around the jaw. Overall, even fitter. Kinder in the eyes. More peaceful. A small smile started gracing his features as he stepped up to him, reaching out with one hand, as if to see if he was real.

Elliott took his hand. Heard himself make a whimpering, emotional sound. Or had Robert done that? Robert smiled wider, blinking tears from his eyes. „How… are you here?“

Elliott pressed his lips together, unable to keep the tears from falling. „I...I don’t know.“ He wished he had something poetic to say but he was completely overwhelmed, clasping both his hands now, so full of uncertainty and need and-

-----

They fell, crushed, stumbled into an embrace and Robert found himself crying uncontrollably. His entire body felt stiff and limp at the same time, his skin taut over his head and arms while he shuddered and sobbed at the sudden joy and pain of having him in arms reach again. While the life here was good, he had been so terribly lonely, so unable to let go of loving this man and… He cupped his face, looking at him, drinking in his strawberry hair and those green eyes.

And remembered.

He sighed and let go, rubbing his eyes. „I… it’s. Good to see you. Elliott.“

Elliott stared at him with pained eyes. „Yes… i… Robert I’m. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry! At the time… I was sure there was no hope! I didn’t think so now! Or I wouldn’t have…“

Robert shrugged. „It’s… not like I didn’t understand. I. I’m. I just. I’m not sure what to feel right now.“ He swallowed hard. „What are you doing here?“

„I… guess I’m moving here today.“ Elliott smiled. „I finally got a restraining order against my father and his goons, I worked a little while to get some money and then just. Left. I…“ He sighed. „I would have tried to find you if. If I had had any idea… I suppose. It didn’t occur to me to investigate where you could have gone, to be honest. I didn’t feel like I would deserve your forgiveness. And I felt. I would not be able to bear your disdain, should you… should you feel bitter towards me.“ „So you had no idea I was here?“

Elliott shook his head. „No. I just. I worked for a little while to get a few savings. Then looked for a cheap place near the ocean somewhere. Earlier I saw your mailbox and. Dared not to hope. But. I. Longed for you anyway.“

„God… you make me feel so...conflicted.“

Elliott smiled wryly. “And why is that?”

Robert groaned. If only he wasn’t so cute! If only he hadn’t missed him so goddamn much! Robert had been in absolute agony when Elliott had left with the definitive statement that he didn’t think they would meet again. That Robert should move on. Give up on them. That they would never be safe together. Had left without really giving Robert a say in any of it. And he had been mad for a long time. Because he still loved him. Because he had missed him more than he felt appropriate for what had ultimately been a quick fling in his school years… And yet. Looking at him now, he wanted nothing but give in and fall into him again completely. Robert leaned his head on Elliott's shoulder, sighing. He felt Elliott slowly, hesitantly put his arms around him again. Allowing him time to stop him if he had wanted to… “I’m sorry I hurt you, Robert. I understand if you don’t want to just forgive me.”

------

“It’s… less that I don’t want to. More like I’m not sure if I should.”

Elliott leaned his head against him, trying to just… to just not… God. He wanted this to be okay. He wanted him to be okay. Both of them. They were finally together again but… but… He pressed a kiss to the others head.

I love you.

He had never said the words to him. He hadn’t known when they were together. And later...later… “I. Don’t want to pressure you. And I won’t. I…” He took a deeper breath, trying to feel okay with maybe letting go off him, but Robert was holding on to him tightly, despite the situation… “...I mean. I will be living here now. And you are too. And. If you don’t want to see me for a bit. Then. I understand. Even though I. I would. Of course. Very much want… to see you…” He was staring at his lips. Robert looked at him through tear-stained eyes with a stubborn expression. Elliott waited for a reply but Robert was just staring at him now. Elliott tried not to be too obvious the way he stared at him, tried to stop thinking about wanting to kiss him but the more he tried to stop himself, the more he wanted it, imagined what their lips felt like together, wanted to find a quiet place with him and-

Robert put a hand on his face and kissed him. Elliott felt a bolt of energy unleash in him as he rushed against him to kiss him back, pulling him closer, losing himself in the sweetness of his mouth that dissolved all thoughts and filled him with bliss… They slowly opened another more, lips rubbing and pressing against another while his tongue sought entrance into his mouth and… Mmmh…

He stroked through his hair, down his back, pulled him closer around the hip while he pushed himself forward, thoroughly lost in the sensation now, kissing his lost love on this pier at the edge of his new life, unexpectedly having salvaged the best thing from his old… They finally broke apart after who knew how long, heated and dazed… Elliott stroked his face, fighting the urge to kiss that dazed smile some more. He brushed his lips over his cheek. “Does this mean you want to see me some more too?”

Robert laughed and kissed his nose. “I don’t know if I will regret this. But right now I want to drag you to my home and have sex with you. Which is not actually what we should do, given that you just arrived and all. But yes.” He smiled. “I guess I do want to see you ‘some more’.”

[Plot note, timeskip; off-screen: they go back to the beach. Robert say he needs to sell his fresh fish, Elliott uses the chance to say hi to willy who is please he already knows someone and immediately knows whats up so leaves them alone in the cabin pretty soon but they soon realize they should go to roberts place cause they cannot keep their hands off eachother and Elliott simply wants to shower before doing it for the first time in two years. they decide to shower together] [some mild sex stuff ahead]

Elliott unfastened his tie while brushing his teeth, tracing his eyes over his now-finally-again partner, likewise brushing his teeth. Elliott could barely wait to take his clothes off and see all of him. He already looked delicious, sweats and sweatshirt sticking beautifully to his strong body regardless of fashion choice. Robert rinsed his mouth and Elliott started nearly tripping over himself when he took off his shirt. God, he looked good. The farmwork was certainly working in favor of his physique… He quickly rinsed his mouth, put down the toothbrush and the next moment they were kissing again. Elliott groaned into the kiss, thoroughly delighted to feel his naked chest beneath his hands while they both worked on opening Elliotts remaining buttons… Robert pushed himself against him and his hands wandered down… They had to at least briefly wash themselves, he knew. But stumbling naked beneath the shower with him, so close, so… mmh…

------

Robert wanted to savor this. Two long years since he’d been with him. And all the last times they’d had sex had been fast and desperate in half-public places. Uncomfortable and full of fear in so many terrible ways… But he wasn’t really thinking anything any-more. The water was rushing around them, his hands wandering across Elliotts back and chest and ass, tempted to rub his cock, take it in his mouth, to turn over and…

Elliott pressed him against the wall, kissing him deeply, reaching between his legs-

Robert cried out in pleasure, trying to adjust, trying to spread his legs more in the slippery space when Elliott kneeled down somewhat suddenly and his brain gave out…

He started coming back to himself more when Elliott washed off the shower lotion he’d spread on both of them after. He’d been holding on to the grip bar while Elliott was pleasuring him and was now slowly coming down from the high…

“You okay, darling?”

“...yes…”

Elliott smiled and kissed his forehead, then turned off the water. “I suppose, there goes my plan of keeping my hair dry.” He reached for the towels.

“Heh. Well, you didn’t have to go down on me.”

“Mmh, but I loved doing it.” He squeezed his hand, then pressed a couple of kisses to his cheek. “...And I cannot wait to continue.” ---- They tumbled to bed, kissing and stroking and a part of him reminded him just how incredible this was. Twenty-four hours ago he hadn’t known if he would ever see him again. Had been anxious and unsure about leaving his old home for good, going to a place where he knew nobody with very little resources…

Now he had him in his arms, entwined as they kissed and loved another and it felt better than any time they had done this before.

They were free. They were both free.

He stilled. Pulled himself out of the kiss and focused on embracing him. He rubbed their cheeks together and pressed close, sighing softly. He had his eyes closed and just breathed. Breathed the beauty of the moment. Focused on this feeling of his loves strong arms holding him so tight and so loving, of this buzzing heady feeling in his mind that blinded him to all but the delicate feeling pouring out of him… “I love you.” He whimpered, overwhelmed by his emotion. “I love you, Robert.” He looked into his partners tear-stricken ocean-blues. “I never thought I’d see you again. But in the pain of being heart-broken, I relished in knowing the truth of this feeling. I was prepared to carry the pain until my end, if it meant I could also keep carrying the love. Even if it meant loneliness for all this life.”

Robert sobbed, emotion heavy on his face, changing from sorrow to contemplation and perhaps, some joy in a small moment until a smile graced his features and he stroked over Elliotts face again. “...and now?”

Elliott laughed. “Now I hold you in my arms… in what seems like the most unbelievable twist of my life. In what seems like the universe must have a conscience because our paths leading us here seem to unbelievable to be possible. Now up is down, the world is a circle. The birds sing and will always sing in the mountains of the world because I have you now and in this moment. And if all fails and my heart will be broken again, my love for you will still be whole. Made full, finally, by being here with you, finally offering my heart to you in earnest.”

Robert rubbed his face, crying, shaking his head… “Jesus christ, Elliott… How can you...how…”

Elliott pressed his lips together, hoping, praying he hadn’t ruined it all, That this didn’t mean… Robert embraced him again. “You goddamn dramatic idiot… Of course I love you too!”

Elliott shuddered, hugging him back, more tears flowing from his eyes while his brain seemed to spin and dance and light bloomed deep within him. “I love you.” He cupped his face, smiling like a fool no doubt but more happy than he’d ever been in his life. “I love you.” He kissed him once, twice. “I love you.”

“I love you too! And I hate that I had to wait two years to be able to tell you!”

Elliott smiled and kissed his nose. “Me too. But now we’re together. Isn’t that all that should matter?”

Robert made a face. “Kind of. I guess. I...argh! You’re just… you’re just…you’re… ah…”

Elliott had started nibbling at his neck, breathing warmly into his ear making soft, urging sounds while he touched him some more and…

“Elliott-”

“Hmm?” He kissed him…

...and all thought vanished...

[thessalian]

Thess vs Batch Cooking

Dear @abirdepisode - you were right. The chicken jelly was perfect. I added some water and heated it up and there was just enough really gorgeous chicken stock for my chicken, mushroom, and asparagus risotto. Might add a few more herbs next time, mind you - fresh rather than pre-roasted in the bird.

Batch cooking is basically my jam these days. There are a lot of reasons for this, and ... honestly, they're all a little depressing when looked at from the roots, but hey, at least I have ways to cope.

The first reason is money. Okay, so here's the thing. Things in this country have got mega expensive. I know it's bad everywhere, but we've got multiple layers of bad here in the UK. We've got inflation. We've got price-gouging supermarket chain CEOs. We've got poor weather that has really fucked with the crops. And on top of all that, we've got Brexit, which has fucked with every single one of our trade agreements and the few we've managed to replace them with suck ass. So the price on everything just keeps increasing to insane levels. Shit is expensive. So expensive. And it's only going to get worse. Therefore, now is the time to figure out the best ways to make the most you can out of as little as possible.

The chicken, for example. The chicken I bought was a medium one, which cost just under £5. That gave me two whole meals right off the bat - one leg at each meal. I ate one chicken leg fresh for that night's dinner, carved off the second for the next night's dinner. Then I carved up the breast, and boiled the carcass for stock (or Chicken Jelly). I had a couple of chicken sandwiches for lunch a couple of days ago, using the leftover chicken and some gluten-free bread (too depressing to think about price-wise, honestly). Today, I used the stock and some of the meat, along with about half a bag of risotto rice (whole bag cost about £2), one onion (entire bag cost about 60p), a half-pack of chestnut mushrooms (whole packet £1.20 or so), half a packet of bacon lardons (£2.25 for the whole packet), and a small bag of asparagus tips (£1.50). Now, if I'd wanted to do a real budget job on this, I would have used cooking bacon instead of the lardons (£1 for just over a pound), left out the asparagus, and used a cup of frozen peas instead (a little over £1 for a big bag). I just wanted something a little fancier and I could afford it. But that risotto made four helpings - one of which will go in the fridge, two of which will go in the freezer. And I still have chicken left. Which will probably also go in the freezer so it doesn't go bad. But I could use it for chicken tacos, maybe, or more sandwich, or chicken fried rice ... I could get another four meals out of it, easy, if I went mainly for the chicken fried rice. So with the miracles of batch cooking, I can manage nearly two weeks' worth of dinner out of one £5 chicken.

It also means I have stuff in the fridge and freezer for bad days. I'm having to rebuild my stock of easy reheat meals right now, because of the three days I spent with my left shoulder in particular screaming agony at me. But since I'm more or less okay right now, I can build that up. So I have plans for a lot of batch cooking while I'm still coping. I have a bit of pork shoulder to roast either tonight or tomorrow (because I will go mental if I eat chicken for every sodding meal), and that will make sandwiches and fried rice for days. I have plans towards chilli, and spaghetti bolognaise, and probably some sausage hot pot. That'll give me some more variety, which is important if you don't want to get really depressed about your diet, while still allowing me to just grab something and reheat it instead of having to cook if I'm doing badly in terms of the whole fibromyalgia thing.

So basically it's money and spoons, why I batch cook. Well, and also the fact that most of the best recipes aren't for one person, and getting individual portions of anything is really expensive. I swear, the world is not geared for people who live alone. And it's not like I can buy inexpensive ready-meals, because I have gluten issues, and "gluten-free" and "inexpensive ready-meal" are mutually exclusive terms.

Plus ... I guess I think back to what a friend of mine said about me on Facebook awhile ago. He said that I am a Creator, and that I'm not happy unless I'm Creating Something. I guess he's right. Even when it hurts, even when I'm frustrated, coming out of all my efforts with something good always cheers me up. It doesn't even have to be anything tangible - a story is just as satisfying to create as a batch of soap or a batch of risotto or a batch of cookies ... or a garden. I'm not sure why that should be, but I guess I shouldn't question it too hard. I have a sort of antidepressant that leaves me not only with a better state of mind but, sometimes (hell, often), several days' worth of dinner. If I have to be disabled, neurospicy, and living in a country that economically shot itself in the foot a few years back, at least I have something to ease the pain sometimes.

[golbrocklovely]

since i have nothing else to post right now…

here’s the last of colby’s tweets from 2020.

i don’t have proof that these are his tweets, but believe me, they are his.

if it’s bold and italicized, it’s someone’s tweet to him.

if it’s in (), that’s just me commenting lol

added bonus: if they have a * next to them, that means it’s been deleted

~~~~~~~~~~

Oct. 1 - love doing things for myself

Oct. 4 - i’m in so much pain. sos

fan: u ok?

poison oak. everywhere …. everywhere.

Oct. 5 - i like the simple things

Oct. 7 - less is more

Oct. 10 - i wanna make you happy

how am i so busy during the day but still manage to find 2 hours to mindlessly scroll through tik tok? i can’t be the only one

Oct. 14 - i care too much

Oct. 15 - somehow it wasn’t enough

Oct. 18 - fan: I CANT BE THE ONLY ONE WHO ALWAYS WONDERED WHAT COLBY SMELLED LIKE..I WANA KNOW WHAT COLOGNE HE WEARS

mayonnaise

(i hate this man so much lmao)

Oct. 19 - Justin Bieber’s new song made me tear up, that dudes been through so much. no one could even imagine what that’s like.. achieving everything and being in the biggest spotlight at such a young age.

Oct. 20 - @/samgolbach: less than 6 months ago i broke my back. and i decided to take that as a challenge to get healthy again. and today i ran the fastest mile i’ve ever run. so yes, i might be an idiot but i’m a determined idiot 🤘🏼🏃🏼

🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼 that’s an insane accomplishment ! i remember when it was a struggle to stand up out of bed

new day, same cycle

Oct. 21 - my mom is texting me all the young pictures of me and it’s bringing me memories i didn’t know i had

Oct. 25 - panic attacks late at night are the worst

Nov. 1 - @/colbybrockscar: reminder that it’s no nut November!!! @/ColbyBrock doesn’t even have to try. He’s got this shit in the bag. It probs comes out like baby powder if he tries

did my car just roast me ?

Nov. 4 - this is scary

cuties! all 3 of you! (reply to fan in merch with friend and cat)

Nov. 6 - @/GracynCarr: I can’t believe the audacity of a high school tweet to pop up on my timeline lmao.. miss u tho @/ColbyBrock :)

hope you're well xx

Nov. 8 - so much talent thank youu love (reply to fan's art)

fan: Um. So I tweeted this to you before but alot has also changed since then sooo wanted to say thank you 🖤 🖤 @/ColbyBrock

proud of you, and good luck with your dreams darlin 🖤 you can accomplish anything with the right mindset and hard work. i believe in ya

time flies, and i’m so scared of losing my youth. it’s inevitable i know, but damn makes you wanna cherish every moment you got

Nov. 11 - i hate when nothing is wrong but nothing feels right

Nov. 12 - the person who makes you forget about the rest of the world

Nov. 13 - today marks 6 years since we posted our first YT video on the MAIN S&C account .. 🖤 what a wild ride

Nov. 14 - promise you i’m a good waste of time

Nov. 15 - @/katstuartmusic: “sunday is my funday” - colby brock 2020

🥂💁🏻‍♂️💁🏻‍♂️

fan: Colby u get drunk off of one white claw

fight me

other fan: my money is on mags

round house kicks to the face don’t feel too good

(is it bad that i like when colby gets weirdly violent with us sksksks)

Nov. 16 - the Why Dont We dudes are some of the nicest people in LA

*Nov. 17 - @/gabytriana: It’s out! Sam and Colby were so much fun to work with, and despite what Colby said, I did not hate him when we first met! 😆 Both he and Sam are super kind, smart, generous entertainers who know how to tell a good story! I love them both!! Happy Book Birthday, @/samandcolby

hahaha thank youu so much for all the hard work ! so excited it’s finally here

(interestingly enough, colby didn't delete his tweet… gaby did)

Nov. 19 - went to a Pyschic Reader tonight. my mind is blown. im not a skeptic anymore, video coming tomorrow

fan: Get ready for religious people to freak out

the psychic i talked to was religious, i’m not sure how but i think the two concepts can exist at the same time

Nov. 21 - hard to trust

fan: @/ColbyBrock hey, i love u lots

love you 🖤

Nov. 23 - fan: imagine if @/ColbyBrock responded to this

could you imagine

Nov. 24 - fan: lmao okay so my friend put this together when I FINALLY received Colby's reaper merch yesterday and I had to laugh, I am actually stupid. But I thought it was a lil funny so y'all can see it too then xx

hahahha love it. thank you. you’re not a sack of potatoes in my eyes

Nov. 27 - happy b day @/SamGolbach you know this and imma save the sappy shit for your big 25th bday but i wouldn’t be here without you. you’re the most intelligent, deep thinking dude i’ve ever met and i feel pretty damn lucky to be able to call you a business partner AND best friend

Nov. 28 - take it easy

Nov. 30 - should i hop back on tik tok?

Dec. 2 - @/aaron_doh: At least I got a photo shoot out of it 😄

whaaat. dude i wish you a speedy recovery

Dec. 3 - it’s hard to move on

Dec. 5 - a nice escape is all i need

welp. i guess i’m a lightweight

Dec. 9 - miss you

Dec. 14 - all the baggage that comes with me

Dec. 15 - been workin hard for you , announcement tomorrow

fan: omg are you pregaganant

how'd you know

@/samandcolby: announcement tomorrow… 2021 will be the best year of our lives (and probably most difficult)

fan: are we getting married?? is that why?

yes

i hate how having anxiety makes me nauseous. it’s the worst feeling

Dec. 16 - it’s all about living in the moment and making every. second. count.

fan: yeah @/ColbyBrock how much are you charging for tattoos…

free for you

Dec. 18 - big tool pic but i’ve been workin hard

@/mannymua733: we absolutely do not mind

hahahaha

(god damn… this pic is still so good lol)

also cold weather always makes me want a special someone to spend time with. cuddle buddy is neeeeeded

fan: okay but can we just take a second to appreciate how hard colby’s been working in the gym because dayum

thank you sweeeetheart

fan: HELP COLBY IS TRENDING

yoo i love you guys 🥺

Dec. 20 - got tatted last night and i barely remember

how i feel this morning (pic of him floating)

fan: you’ve seen elf on the shelf… but have you seen cole in a hole? (@/ColbyBrock)

i’m mad i laughed at this

Dec. 23 - why’d ya have to change on me

so bittersweet saying goodbye to my childhood home of 18 years… i’ll only be back to kansas to visit and sleep in hotels from now on. strange feeling, but so happy for my mom and dad for taking a chance and moving

it’s like i don’t have a real “home” anymore. since i move so much anyways it’s hard to find a spot to actually call home

fan: i just want to say that colby has helped me through so much this year. i had a tough year as many others did but you’ve seriously have helped me through so much. i love you so so much @/ColbyBrock

awh that’s why i make videos in the first place. for people like you

Dec. 24 - addicted to you

my mom and i are the weirdest duo on the planet when we’re together i swear

fan: Make a video with her for Christmas

my whole family despises being on camera 💔

Dec. 25 - fan: momma brock is the sweetest ever

she’s my favorite woman in the world

Merry Christmas friends ! 🖤

i wish i could have face tats for like one week but it doesn’t really work like that huh

Dec. 26 - everyone’s battling their own demons

Dec. 28 - fan: Colby drinking wine but he's such a lightweight that he's probably drunk, lmao @/ColbyBrock

🤫🤫🤫

fan: the vibes are fucking ethereal i’m guessing @/ColbyBrock

you got it

[kylewalker-peters]

what's frustrating is we get managers who have won before. we're not pulling a chelsea and being shocked that we aren't winning trophies when we have a manager (potter) who never has. so it just makes US look shit rather than the manger. like idk how much this is the players just being shit or the manager being awful with this group in particular

the thing about us getting managers who've won before is that the ones we've gone after specifically have a philosophy and management style that doesn't fit the club's reality. this club has lost its way in terms of a clear philosophy or way of playing/recruiting BUT regardless of any of the theoretical "we want to be a club that does X" talk - this club realistically cannot and will never operate as a "win now" club under our current ownership. that's not even inherently a criticism of them, when done correctly and successfully that can be a fine club model - the issue of course is we are acting delusionally.

we're not a club that will spend half a billion in 2 transfer windows. We can afford to spend a lot more than we do but we do not have the funds to start throwing money around like that and quite frankly given our high profile flops year after year i can see us announcing the £150 million signing of alvaro morata if we did. but if you're not a club that will do that why are you bothering to bring managers in that demand that sort of backing? why are you hiring a manager you immediately don't completely see eye to eye with from day 1? what exactly is the plan here? what vision have we sold these managers on?

out of poch, jose, nuno (gone too soon fly high king), and conte the most shocked I've been at us not winning anything has been under poch. not the "serial winners". there was an idea, a project, a concept etc etc under poch with young players coming in and ACTUALLY BEING COACHED to be better and create a squad that all bought into what the manager was trying to do. the transfers themselves had the usual Tottenham hit or miss to them but you had a sense that every single person involved was moving towards the same thing.

us not winning under jose or conte is v embarrassing (even though i find us being the one blip in jose's resume so funny i cant begin to explain) but i don't think it's a sole reflection on us. it's never just one thing that goes off the rails. it's a combination of players and the manager and the ownership coming together to maximise their joint flop.

it's not all on jose/conte for us not winning things (player mentality and ability and the general squad are all absolutely massive factors) but those managers should have improved our performances. granted jose got us to a final he never got to manage so it's hard to fully judge his legacy in that way but he flopped in enough competitions and oversaw as much crap football as conte so if he'd been sacked at the end of the season no one would have cared too much which says everything.

since the end of poch's tenure we have been on a downward spike so bad it wouldn't even fit on a graph if i tried to show it visually. the fact none of those managers have improved our style of play or the player's mentality or managed to win anything with players that let's face it are shit but mostly bloody internationals for god's sake makes a lot of the "back the manager" rhetoric feel hollow and like a scapegoat which is insane because it is an actual problem. it means the manager absolutely 100% HAS to take a minimum of a third of the blame.

these players are playing like shit though. part of that will be on conte because of his tactics, his subs, the information that the players may or may not understand it's hard to tell from how they play and what seems to be an inability to actually improve players other than bentancur. i mean good god perisic is literally a conte type player who has played and done well under conte and he is a disaster out there - how are you failing to improve your own good player???

like yes romero and davies and dier (and perisc and royal) is not the defence from heaven but it should be conceding less. son, kane and kulu actually IS an attack from heaven and yet I'm not convinced they could tell me what a goal looks like let alone how to score in it. part of that's on conte and whatever he's doing with them. part of that will be on the players and this mentality block/ lack of effort/ no concentration/urgency they tend to display for no rhyme or reason. it's like the style of slow backwards passing lethargic wasteful play is ingrained in our DNA at this point because 4 managers haven't escaped it. and so at a certain point that's on the players.