#i miss pa grocery stores

[fairy-ganj-mother]

I want land with trees and chickens and to be less than 3 hours driving distance from the beach

[daisies-on-a-cup]

in my ideal version of a young southern will graham, he talks like old folks and says out-of-pocket shit in a very polite manner

[paradoxiii]

That first panel of that comic I just reblogged randomly reminded me of that time when I was in kindergarten & I came home to find the door locked. My mom had always told me before school if she wasn't going to be home when I got home so I thought maybe she was just asleep or something & banged on the door for a while. I eventually concluded she wasn't home.

Normally, if she isn't going to be home, she would also tell me to go to Ms. Hilda's house (a little old lady across the road that we often visited), so I started walking back up the long ass gravel driveway. When I got to the end of the driveway, I saw Ms. Hilda tending the garden in her front yard. She looked up & called out to me, and I was initially relieved, but then suddenly I panicked. I was just filled with fear as the woman who was basically another grandma to be stood up and told me to come over.

I turned and ran as fast as my little legs could down the driveway, across the the backyard and into my father's shed. I locked the door and just started crying.

I heard Ms. Hilda knock on the door and tell me that my mom told her to that she and my grandmother went out to run errands, and to have me come over like I usually do when my mom isn't home. I refused to listen, refused to unlock the door. I just kept crying & saying that I wanted my mom.

I think I did eventually unlock the door for her, but I don't remember what else happened.

[tragedy-of-commons]

a deciduous thing.

scarecrow!boothill x gn!farmer!reader.

summary: Never in your life did you think that your peaceful day-to-day would grind to a halt after one of your scarecrows comes to life. Apparently, his name is Boothill, and he's insistent on making your life 10x harder than it has to be.

contains: modern au, comedy/crack with surreal elements, setting is heavily implied to be american (sorry), reader has depth, possibly inaccurate depictions of farming but i tried my best, country and southern things™, autumn hijinks

word count: 4.5k

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @aphrodict, @nomazee, @singularity-sam, @harque, @thestarswhisper, @wystiix, @mikashisus, @tetrachrxmacy, @mitsvriii, @akutasoda

notes: written for the @/stellaronhvnters stellaween fest. my chosen prompt was scarecrow! ao3 link here 🎃

The first time you see him, it’s a crisp October morning.

Thank the stars it’s overcast today - the fall weather is just settling in, so of course it’s still hot, but nothing like the suffocating humidity you’re normally used to. Besides that, work is work; meaning that you have to get up just before dawn to go about putting a dent in your endless list of chores. 

The pleasant breeze tickles your nose and the forearms flexed under your rolled up sleeves, aiding you in your endeavor of feeding and tending to the livestock. The hens cluck passively as they allow you to take their eggs inside, the cows and goats don’t fuss at all when you milk them, and to your surprise, baths also go well (despite how you’re covered in suds after). To have such an easy morning is rare, but you simply chalk it up to the arrival of autumn. 

Ma used to say that fall is lucky, as it signals the start of renewal. You aren’t superstitious by any means, but the sentiment has always stuck with you, engraved in fond memories of stumbling around on your chubby legs through rows of sweet potatoes and watching the colorful leaves hit the ground, balanced on some distant relative’s hip. 

Yes, today is gonna be lucky.

The sun hasn’t yet reached the middle of the sky when you drag yourself to the pumpkin patch. Normally you’d wait another day or two until the weather is sunny to harvest the rotund globes of orange, but you’re already cutting it close; Halloween is gonna be here before you know it, and you don’t want the fruit to overripen or become too bleached by the elements. Moreover, you’d like to give away a pumpkin or two to the neighbors.

Every year, it’s the same tradition. Miss Kafka and little (not so much anymore) Silver Wolf down the road have been your only companions since the farm became your sole responsibility. When the season for ghouls and ghosts is upon your little rural town, you help them hoist up gaudy decorations to show off on their lawn, politely shoving a pumpkin or three into their arms, your own addition to their festive display.

According to them, often over sheets of newspaper as you three carve crude jack-o-lanterns with switchblades, your crops can’t be beat. Not by any chain market or grocery store standards, anyhow. You take pride in that; Pa always made you promise him to never overuse pesticides or sacrifice quality by automating the harvesting process - which you honor - even if you sometimes daydream about combine-harvesters and a few other dozen gadgets to make your life easier.

The patch in question is still green and healthy, boasting vibrant fruit by the dozen. The white and orange pumpkins mesh together in a patchwork display of sunset and beige, thick vines acting as their binding agent. You’ve grown fond of the sight, despite the monotony of almost-but-not-quite tripping over each crop bigger than your leather boots. Wiping the minimal sweat from your brow, you bump open the wooden gate with your hip, glove-clad and toting around your giant pruners.

They’re a bit on the heavier side, but you found them on the side of the road for free, fixing the rust issue with a bit of vinegar and baking soda - there’s no way you’re not gonna get your use out of them. Ambling over to the first row of pumpkins, you squat down, feeling the dirt and grass cushion your knees.

The first few you inspect still look pretty good. Firm rind, no blemishes or rot, plump and tough. You decide that those’ll be the ones you give away - they’ll make fine jack-o-lanterns, having plenty of surface area to plunge a knife across, creating spooky faces that’ll scare any miscreant egg-throwing hooligans away. Well, that’s your take on things. Maybe you’re just getting too old for mischief.

The next row is even more promising, housing the largest pumpkin you’ve ever seen. You’ve been monitoring its growth for the past few weeks, sure, but it seems to have bloated overnight - to the size of two human heads! You’re still skeptical, though. If a pumpkin gets this big, this fast, there’s more room for parasites, and it could also hint at some internal mushiness that’ll make it decompose quicker. 

But here’s where your ace comes into play: the test.

You ball your hand up into a fist, knocking on the big boy with just enough force. To your surprise (and subdued delight), the resounding noise is hollow - you’d almost describe it as baritone. Even better, it withstood the force with a firmness indicating that of a healthy pumpkin! Today really is lucky, you muse, readying your pruners.

Wrestling yourself over the row, knees on either side of your pumpkin of choice, careful not to damage the fruit - you eyeball about five or six inches of stem, beginning to hack away at the vine diligently. It doesn’t take long before you free the product of your labor from its brethren, victorious.

…it’s, uh, heavier than you anticipated. Lifting it up into your arms immediately, you grunt, quickly discarding your glorified scissors onto the ground for stability. At least these days you don’t make the mistake of picking up the fruit by the stem, as tempting as that is - you learned the hard way as a tween when the patch was a new feature, your first home-grown pumpkin breaking under your mistake of yanking it up so carelessly. Ma had laughed right in your face, the traitor.

You stand there for a moment, straining, electing on what to do next. You could check on the rest of the patch after you get this big boy inside. You don’t want it to spoil too quickly off the vine. After a moment, you reckon that storing it in the drier part of your pantry, perfectly mild and unheated, should do the trick. Yeah, that’ll work just fine until you can take the time to carve your one obligatory jack-o-lantern out of this behemoth.

Alright, it’s settled. You pivot on your heel, ready to make the arduous trek back the house--

And that’s when you hear it.

Your reaction is delayed as you process what you’re hearing. It sounds like distant cursing or something close to it - a coarse voice shouting in rage. It reminds you of those aggravated drunkards that populate the only shitty bar in town, always riled up over some game of football or some argument with the Missus. 

Did a trespasser decide to test your patience today, coming onto your property and bombarding you with the same remarks you’ve always been leveled with? Why are you such a hermit? Why don’t you have any friends? When are you going to settle down and get married like the rest of us? When are you going to get over their deaths and move on?

Not today, nuh uh, no chance. Anger floods your core as you swivel around, searching for the source of your oncoming headache. They’re still yelling, so they can’t be that far. 

When your eyes land on the figure in the distance, your first reaction is confusion. The new scarecrow you’d put up a month or two ago in anticipation of harvest season seems to be writhing. Your first reasonable explanation is that a few vermin have burrowed inside of it, making themselves at home and jostling it around as they tunnel and scramble. 

That doesn’t explain the utterly human wails and the jerky, purposeful movements seizing its straw arms. You squint, heart rate picking up accordingly. It’s too far away to jump to any batshit crazy conclusions, you know that, but the intuition you were born with, the same instinct that’s saved your skin a hundred times before - is telling you that today might not be so lucky after all.

“The fuck,” you mutter, still cradling the humungous pumpkin in your arms.

You take a few steps closer, straightening up tall on your tiptoes. The scarecrow in question is stood right in the middle of the massive, adjoining field, a statue among the swaying of golden wheat. When it was time to replace the old scarecrow (it was torn to shreds by the talons of crows and other rodents), you’d invested in something cheap but durable, almost forgetting about its existence promptly after.

You’ve been faced by its back this entire time, but what happens next almost completely knocks you off your feet.

Its head snaps at a harsh angle, the left - almost a little too much to be human, but you dismiss that thought readily, sobered by the sound of the voice once more. Since you’ve gotten closer and have been taking small steps towards it subconsciously, you’re able to make out what it (he?) is saying.

“Dagnabbit! Hey, ya hear me? I know someone’s back there!” an exhausted huff followed by more futile struggling, “Y’know how fudgin’ rude it is to ignore yer fellow neighbor?”

Oh shit. Oh shit!

Without thinking, you drop everything - everything just so happening to encompass the pumpkin. It falls to the ground in slow motion, pretty much, and you barely hear the resulting Thonk! of it crashing to the ground and splattering all over your work duds, the bottom caving in despite how robust the thing was.

Your thoughts are a mess. Someone must have stolen your property, tied an unsuspecting man to the barren scarecrow post after, and then left him there as a cruel prank! Yeah, that makes way more sense. Did he just call you ‘neighbor’? People around these parts are familiar, but not that familiar; is it possible that this guy also lives down the road, but you’ve never bothered to introduce yourself? Is this his first impression of you?!

Swallowing, you dig your nails into your fists and pull yourself together. There’s never been a contingency plan put into place for a situation like this, but you’ll handle it somehow. You take one tentative step forward before launching into a sprint, almost slipping on the gooey innards of the pumpkin coating the ground, but you narrowly avoid it. You hop the fence with ease, landing in the wheat field with a thud.

“I’m comin’!” you yell, cupping one hand over the curve of your mouth, frantically surveying the area for a certain object. The man is about the same size as your (likely stolen) scarecrow, and with the force of his thrashing, whatever’s holding him there must be tough as nails. Thankfully, you find what you’re looking for - a hatchet.

Old Blade, Kafka’s friend, left it here a week ago. You asked her if she knew anybody that’d chop wood for cheap; you’ve been busy with other chores - and to be honest, lazy - so you were hoping to get someone else to do it. There were a few dead trees skirting the edge of your property, and firewood is always good to have, but you didn’t expect her to volunteer her pal’s services so readily.

Blade showed up with nothing more than a hatchet and a haunted expression that hinted at some clusterfuck of a story. Still, he was polite enough, drank your freshly squeezed lemonade, and cut down those trees faster than some kid with a chainsaw could. After he wrapped up, he left the miniature axe here. You’ve been putting off returning it for days.

Thank the stars you’re a procrastinator, you think, yanking it off the ground and testing its weight, already moving towards the flailing man again. You’ve got your own collection of tools in the shed, but making him wait any longer isn’t gonna help your case - he has half a mind to report you to the cops as an accomplice!

Finally, you reach him. The mysterious fella is donning the same thrown-together attire of the scarecrow, namely one of Pa’s old flannels and some spare trousers you found laying around weeks prior. Had the perpetrator of this crime really dressed him in these clothes?! He’s even wearing the same rustic cowboy hat, complete with a browning, frayed feather sticking out of its cap.

You round the post with a frenzied pulse, raising the blade in the air with a shaky grip on its handle, ready to cut him down from there--

“Whoa, whoa there!” he stammers frightfully as you tilt your chin up to get a better look at his face, “T-That’s a little unnecessary, don’tcha think?”

You freeze.

The man peers at you through a mane of black and white hair, facial features somewhat… faded? They look to be almost stitched on, lips and bulbous jaw littered with threadbare fuzz, his skin the same shade as a potato sack. Where his eyes are supposed to be, there are instead two X’s, accompanied by a scrawled-on fang hanging just below his mouth in toothy decoration. 

In other words: he looks exactly like the scarecrow you put up all that time ago. 

Before he speaks again, you spare a measured glance at his stretched out arms - the ones still bound to the post. They’re the same arms you remember attaching to the wooden stake, finding it weird that they were so human-like - the appendages even gave way to makeshift hands and fingers. You were surprised that the scarecrow was so detailed for its price, but you didn’t give it much thought beyond that. A steal is a steal.

But now? It’s come to life, and it’s talking to you!

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” you pale. 

He, no, it - tilts its head at you, hat sliding down just a smidge. “I’m not kiddin’. I’m Boothill.”

You don’t think twice before twirling the hatchet around and driving the blunt end of the handle straight into its too-large noggin.

It takes a moment to realize that you’re screaming, and that the… the fucking scarecrow has gone still. Can you even knock sentient dummies stuffed with straw unconscious? Are you hallucinating? Have you lost all of your marbles, slipped on them, and then fallen into a feverish coma? Is this a night terror? You have been drinking too much of that damn coffee--

Your chest heaves as you take a gigantic, gulping breath.

…then you drop your weapon, curse the heavens for ruining your perfect autumn morning, and then you scream some more.

So, things have not been going well.

Your autumn morning has turned into autumn afternoon, and your kitchen floor practically has a hole seared into it from your nonstop, neurotic pacing. It’s soothing - the only thing keeping your shot nerves at bay. Your feet ache, heeled boots grazing the raised surface of the brick over and over.

Think, think, think.

Well, that’s kinda hard to do when you had to bring him inside.

You stop in your tracks to stare at this ‘Boothill’. After he’d gone limp (and you assume comatose), you’d panicked for a little, thinking that you’d committed murder - before remembering that he is a scarecrow and that you have no qualms with ending a life anyway. Oops. You’d cut him down like you’d planned to, dragged him inside, and… sat him at your dining table.

When you freed him of his bindings, you were reminded of how light he was; despite seemingly gaining consciousness out of nowhere, he is still a scarecrow - traditionally composed of hay, leaves, rags, hell, whatever you can find. His breadth didn’t exactly make it effortless, but you hauled him to the house, up onto the porch, and right past the beaten up welcome mat. The manners ingrained in your mind from an early age stuck with you, so you welcomed the ‘guest’ to sit at the table.

But he - this thing - is not welcome! 

Boothill hasn’t, um… woken up yet. It’s been about three hours of playing the waiting game, and you don’t even know what you’re going to do when he does start to stir.

You’re not gonna call the authorities, that’s for sure; everyone in town except for a scant few already believe you to be off your rocker. Even if you did call them and they showed, what kind of media attention would follow? Paranormal investigators? Scientists? People with cameras and news trucks that’ll camp just outside your acre of land, trying to pester you with their questions? Absolutely not.

Deflating, you know what you have to do.

Would burying an inanimate object alive even work? Can you even use the symptom ‘alive’ to describe what’s going on with him? I mean, you could try putting him in the ground anyway. Your good shovel’s in the shed, and--

…and he really does look like a man from a distance. Boothill, a fitting name, if that’s what truly he calls himself, is keeled over the wood. He’s limp, but you suppose having no internal structural support will do that to you. Such an intricate, intentional design. It’s been a while since anyone’s visited, really, and a part of you maybe feels bad for whacking him earlier. 

God, is this what you’ve become? Soft?

Apparently so, because you don’t retrieve your trusty shovel just yet. Instead, you trudge over to your wall-mounted landline that you pray will pull through one more call. It was pristine white years ago, but now it’s yellowed and considered too ‘old school’ by the kids of today. Not like that hurts or anything. Definitely not.

You punch in the familiar number, gaze drifting back to Boothill. If he gets up, will he try to murder you? That remains to be seen, you suppose. He seemed pretty animated (if not a bit smart-mouthed) before you decided to temporarily ice him. Listening to the crackling static of the line ringing, you hold your breath and pray.

Pick up, pick up, pick up--

A juvenile, annoyed voice finally answers. “Hello? Geez, why are you calling us on this thing again?”

“Silver Wolf,” you sigh, relieved. “Is Kafka home? Can you put her on? And I told you, it’s ‘cause I don’t have her cell number. You can give it to me again later.”

You’re honestly surprised that anybody is home at all. That family of sorts (which sometimes includes that Old Blade) is on the road traveling most of the year. The house you’re calling right now is just one of their many vacation homes around the world, left vacant for several months out of the year. But then again, maybe it’s not all that surprising… they’re usually home for Halloween. Usually.

You can almost hear her wrinkled nose and sour face. “You sound sweaty. But yeah, she just got back from shopping. I’ll get her, one sec.”

Kids these days never mince their words, huh.

The familiar muffled shouting and shuffling of her passing the phone to someone reaches your ears. You tap your foot, attempting to gather your thoughts. How are you going to explain this without sounding crazy? You come up blank, twirling the wire cord idly with your index finger.

“Hey,” Kafka greets, dulcet as usual, “something the matter over there? You never call this early.”

Ugh, if she only knew the half of it. You swallow, uncharacteristically anxious.

“Hypothetically, if one of your scarecrows came to life, what would you do?”

Silence. Actual tumble-weed blowing, deserted ghost town silence. Does she know? She has to know, right? You’ve never been particularly good at hiding things, and you swear that woman can read anybody like an open book, even if their pages are clumped together with superglue. The longer no one speaks, the worse you feel.

Finally, Kafka gives her verdict. “Hm. If it were me, I’d try to have a conversation with it.”

“You’d do what with it?” you ask, incredulous.

She chuckles, the noise broken up by the poor connection. Despite how she always catches you off guard, you certainly didn’t expect an answer like that. If anything, you expected her to encourage you to torch the thing and not look back - by the same token, she isn’t outright dismissing your ridiculous notion either.

“It’s not everyday you get to talk with a living scarecrow,” she hums. “I wonder what stories they’d have to share. Maybe we’d even become good friends, you never know. Does that answer your little riddle?”

Well, you tried.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry for springing that on you,” your grip tightens on the receiver. “Tell sweet Mx. Firefly I said hello, ‘kay?”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Before you can start the ‘I’ll let you go’ formalities, you hear rustling. Your head snaps back up from the floor that you took an acute interest in staring at, panicked. Boothill is moving - well, trying to, by the looks of it. He sluggishly picks his head up, and you’re met with that stitched expression once more. How can he see? Should you even question it at this point?

You hang up hastily, nearly cracking the artifact of a landline in the process.

“Uh,” you stand there, dumb. “Does your head hurt?”

Right after the words leave your mouth, the regret and embarrassment settle in nicely. Of course it doesn’t hurt! He probably can’t even feel pain--

Boothill then suddenly springs out of his seat, making your hackles raise on instinct. You don’t know what he’s trying to pull, so you stiffen. 

“Nope, I’m right as rain,” he says, stretching his arms above his head, like he’s emulating an aerobics instructor. There are no sounds of joints popping from prolonged slumber, reminding you that he’s still entirely inhuman. 

He continues, oblivious to your plight. “You scared the fudge outta me with that hatchet, though. I reckon you thought I meant you harm?” A pause. “S’nice in here. You got AC?”

He surveys your kitchen, curious and looming. Something about it rubs you the wrong way - he’s acting so familiar despite you 1) knocking him out (debatable), and 2) not knowing you at all. Well, he certainly fits in around these parts. Clearing your throat and watching him with narrowed eyes, you formulate a response and motion with your hand for him to sit again.

“Just…” you pinch the bridge of your nose and walk over to the opposite side of the table, never turning your back to him completely. “Sit down. Don’t try anything.”

Boothill complies with a halfhearted shrug. You follow suit, now staring him down at the opposite end. How do you start, and with what? You’ve never been great at talking to people, not that it bothers you.

Well, he’s not really a person, so maybe it’ll work out in your favor.

“What are you? Do you remember how you got here?”

Good enough; the former’s answer will determine how self-aware (and by extension, dangerous) he is, while the latter’s might give you the slightest context on his supernatural circumstances. Baby steps, you remind yourself. Baby steps. You and him seem to be tackling this in stride. Good - the sooner you have this conversation, the sooner you can put this all behind you.

“Ah, well…” he scratches his head with a moth-eaten fingertip, “I can’t say I remember much. Also, I’m gonna choose to overlook that first question! I’m Boothill, and those birds were peckin’ the crap outta me. I woke up at sunrise, very confused, might I add - can’t say I’ve ever been on this farm before.”

You sigh. He isn’t gonna give you any clues whatsoever, huh. “Okay, well--” Boothill cuts you off, “Well is right. Not so fast, now. I haven’t even got your name yet! Someone who’ll run an axe through ya without hesitation must be of a different caliber for sure.”

Is that… admiration coloring his tone? Even though his disposition practically screams it in your face, he’s definitely a weird one. You spit out your name, hurrying through the introduction in favor of processing this information.

He’s articulate, and you don’t mean just verbally; he idles like a 1930s toon, bouncing and animated, brimming with life. He’s more of a mannequin than a scarecrow, as if made for the sole purpose of waking up all antsy and making it your problem. With all this in mind, you blurt out your first immediate thought:

“You need to leave.”

You don’t need this burden sitting across from you, so you tell him as much; some people would see that as cruel, but it’s more fair if anything. You have your small, tight-knit group of friends that you talk to sporadically, and you have your farm. That’s it.

Boothill deflates, bravado waning when you turn the tides. “Leave? Bud, where else would I go?”

…that’s true. He has nowhere to go, no memories, no social or life skills (probably), and you doubt anyone else will have a kinder reaction than you unless they’re plain stupid. You want to tell him to get lost in that same tone you use when someone encroaches too far on your lifestyle - it works wonders. If you get loud and unpleasant enough, it’ll send him packing, you’re sure of it.

So why aren’t you getting started? Why can’t you tell this too-human-non-human to just scat already?

“I got nobody,” he hums, all too casual for the implications of those words. “Unless you count those crows that seemed more interested in havin’ me for lunch.”

He has nobody. 

This guy you barely know whatsoever doesn’t have a Kafka or a Silver Wolf. He doesn’t have any memories of makeshift tire swings and underage driving; he doesn’t have any souvenirs of late parents and old flames. He doesn’t have anything. The world is bound to chew him up and spit him out (if he even gets that chance).

Boothill reclines against the dark wood of his seat rest, as if permanently cementing his spot there. His features are a bit hard to read, but the material of his face crinkles, at odds with the strain of his smile. 

Damn this stupid, traitorous heart of yours.

“Boothill,” you hate how your house voice softens, “Can you work? If you’re going to… remain here, only for the time being, you’re gonna have to pull your weight.”

He laughs again, this time much more human. If you cared more, you’d call him out on his palpable relief.

“Guess I’ll learn, huh?” he flicks the brim of his hat. Then, surprising you once more, he hunches over, stomach pressed flush against the table.

“What--”

Boothill uses this new position as leverage to outstretch his arm to you, and by extension, his hand. His open palm, also inlaid with crude stitching, barely reaches your wary form. 

Swallowing your hesitance, you don’t leave him hanging too long. You wrap your hand around his own, fiber of his beaten up flannel (or maybe that’s just him) tickling your skin. He’s warm. 

Boothill shakes your hand firmly.

“Thank ya kindly.”

You pull away first as he returns to taking up his own space. God, what have you gotten yourself into?

“Just… whatever.”

As late afternoon arrives, you go about stress-cooking up a big meal to get your mind off of your neglected chores and this entire nightmare at hand. It’s extremely hard to ignore Boothill, though, especially when he can be compared to a lost puppy in terms of his curiosity.

(He also tries to sample some of your cooking. It does not work, on account of him not having a tongue. Or real teeth. Or a stomach. Or a digestive tract.)

It’s going to be a bumpy road ahead. You sigh.

[incorrectbatfam]

I love your blog it always makes me laugh <3 could you do the batfam+superfam at thanksgiving or something??

Clark: Bruce, Selina, Kate, glad you guys could make it! Alfred's helping Ma and Pa in the kitchen. Come on in.

Jon, poking his head out: Where's Damian? I wanna show him my new issue of One Piece.

Kon: Never mind that, where's Tim? He said we'd go Black Friday shopping together.

Bruce: The kids are coming separately. They're just picking up some last-minute groceries from your mom's list.

Kate: Smells great in here. Very cinnamony.

Lois: I've been on a scented candle kick recently.

Kate: Ooh, show me.

Selina: I'm going to freshen up from that long drive.

Clark: Kara, Natasha, Chris, and Kenan will be flying in after they take care of a minor alien invasion in Beijing. Biz is out by the barn serving the animals their Thanksgiving feast. Cider?

Bruce: Don't mind if I do. Hey, I think I see Dick's car.

Dick: Heyo everyone! Babs and I brought the pecan pie Mrs. Kent asked for.

Barbara: This was the last one left at the store. Can you believe that? Oh, Jason's right behind us.

Jason: Waddup Thanksgiving fuckers, guess who brought pecan pie?

Dick: Language! And I thought we agreed Babs and I would bring it. I texted the group.

Jason: Then it might not have sent because I didn't get anything.

Tim, pulling up: Hey everyone! I brought Bernard and pecan pie. All I'm missing is my other boyfriend.

Jason: Seriously?

Damian, climbing in through the window: Greetings, family unit. I have acquired the pecan pie.

Tim: You too?!

Duke: Hey, sorry Cass I are late. We were stuck in some pretty nasty traffic. On the bright side, we got the pecan pie.

Barbara: You have GOT to be kidding me.

Steph: *walks in with a pecan pie*

Steph: *sees the others*

Steph, turning around: I'm going back to the store.

[lqveharrington]

Dust Storm | W.H.B.

summary: You and Billy get caught up in a dust storm while on a horse ride.

pairing: William H. Bonney x fem!reader

includes: slight angst, fluff, you and billy are engaged, not a lot of warnings 🤷‍♀️ let me know if i missed any !!

a/n: i had this sitting in my drafts for a billion years 😭 my bad bookies

It had been days since that last dust storm blew in and the spirits in the small county of Talihina, Oklahoma were high. However, there was no rain insight. And with no rain, it left many farmers with empty fields, covered in dried-out dirt and sand. It especially hit the Ashford farm and ranch the hardest.

The Ashfords were the wealthiest family in Talihina. They were well known for being able to run a horse ranch and a healthy farm. The father, James Ashford, was in charge of both the ranch and farm, making sure everything ran smoothly. His wife, Josephina Ashford, better known as Jo, was known for helping around the town and giving to those in need. Luckily for the couple, they had two children who helped them with their work. They had a daughter and a son. You were the eldest Ashford child, and you had a bright future. You resemble your mother in all ways. You were the kind of woman to make young men turn their heads just by walking by. Unfortunately for them, you were happily engaged to one William H. Bonney. On the other hand, your younger brother looked like a replica of your father. Adam Ashford was eight years old with the same determination as his father, hoping to take over the farm and ranch when he got older.

But because of the dust storms starting up two years ago, it was harder to tend to the crops that would grow and bring the horses out of their stables. Before, you would help your father to tend to the horses when you weren't doing volunteer work, but with the constant dust blowing around the whole country, he banned you from leaving the house unless it was absolutely clear from dust. And for the first time in two years, James let his daughter out of the house. Only to run her mother’s errands, of course.

“In case of emergencies,” James tied a red bandana around your wrist as you took your mother’s list and woven basket from the kitchen table. “Wrap this around your head and cover your mouth and nose. I don’t want you to get hurt. And remember to come straight back from the markets—”

“Pa, I’ll be fine.” You squeezed her father’s forearm, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He sighed and shook his head, “Okay.”

You squeezed his arm again before leaving, silently reassuring her safety. You took quick strides to the town center and watched the dust kick up with every step you took. The walk going to town wasn’t bad. The only downside was that there was no shelter for any incoming dust storms. Fortunately, the blazing sun was beating down on the earth and the wind was seemingly absent.

Upon reaching the town center you smiled at the sight in front of you. You found children running around with wooden toys their fathers made and their mothers gossiping about the recent family who left for California. It felt normal. For the first time in years, it felt normal to see mothers scolding their children for messing with drunkards sitting outside of the bars.

You shook your head before entering the town’s only grocery, the bell above the door ringing to alert the storekeeper. “Mr. Taylor?”

“Miss Ashford!” The storekeeper beamed at the young woman. “What brings you into town? I haven’t seen you and your folks for a while.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, “With all this dust, I would hardly expect anyone to be hustlin’ ‘round town.”

“What can I do for you?” He dismissed the comment.

“I’m in need of some of your delicious Fuji apples. My ma s'been craving them ever since Adam read a book about them to her.” You looked around the empty store. “Other than that, I can grab the res’ of the things myself.”

“I’ll be right back.” He knocked the wood on the counter, heading toward the back of the store. You watched him leave before heading into the different aisles, glancing at the brands and prices of the different items. In fact, you were so immersed in deciding which brand of vegetable oil would be best that you hadn’t realized someone new had entered the store until a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and spun you off the ground.

“Oh my god!” You clung onto the stranger’s arm, not wanting to fall face-first onto the ground. You glanced back at the stranger before gasping, eyes lighting up at the male. “Billy!”

“Afternoon, gorgeous.” He put you down and kissed your cheek.

You felt your face warm at the name and action, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What are you doing here?”

“My ma sent me into town to get money from the bank.” Billy followed you around the store, his gaze flickering across your face. “Then I saw my favorite woman walk into town. I decided I could spare some time to talk to her.”

“Uh-huh.” You spun on your heel and peered into his eyes. “Did you get the money for your folks? Or did you forget?”

“You think so low of me, sweetheart.” He tilted your head up with his finger. “Of course I got the money.”

You hummed, giving him a proper look now. William H. Bonney was once a lanky boy in grade school. But he had definitely grown into himself. He got stronger and taller over the course of two years. The loose clothes he once wore now perfectly fit him, making you flush red each time you saw him. Your eyes then traveled from his fit shirt to his tattered, dust-covered boots. You frowned at the state they were in, but no one could do any better from the current weather the states were currently facing. Finally, you shifted your gaze to meet his eyes once more. His crystal blue eyes were such a beautiful contrast to the dust coating his dark jeans and his wavy brown hair. You swore you could get lost in them if it weren’t for him pulling you back to reality each time.

“You’re staring, gorgeous.” Billy grinned, earning a small scoff from his beloved.

“You’re impossible.” You shoved two bars of soap into your basket, heading toward the counter where the apples were waiting.

Mr. Taylor suppressed a laugh at the young couple, taking the basket from your arms. “That all for today, Miss Ashford?”

You hummed as you took your wallet out of your dress pocket, “How much?”

“$3.42 is the total.” He read off the cash register as you handed him the exact amount, trading it for the baskets of groceries and apples.

“Thank you, Mr. Taylor.” You smiled at him and moved to grab Billy’s hand as you left the store, intertwining them. “What’ve you been up to since I’ve last seen you?”

“Since last week?” Billy pulled you closer to him, squeezing your hand. “ Not much has happened since I visited your place. Just helping my ma in the fields like always.”

You nodded and looked toward the ground, watching the dust cling onto your leather boots and the bottom of your maroon dress. “The dust storm affecting your folks’ farm badly?”

“It’s affecting everyone, sweetheart.” He pulled you away from a stampede of running children. “No one can get any crops.”

“I know…” You muttered, rubbing small circles into his palm. You peered up at the bright sun, squinting at the beam. “You know what I wish for?”

“What?”

“I wish for everything to go back to normal.” You adjusted your hat, the Ashford ranch coming into view. “The dust storms have ruined everyone’s crops. I can barely step foot out of my own house. There hasn’t been any rain since god knows when. My pa won’t let me tend to the horses. It’s madness, Billy.”

“M’sorry, sweetheart.” He kissed the side of your head. “I can’t promise everything will go back to normal, but in the meantime, I can find a way to ride horses with you. ”

“William, what’s that supposed to mean?” You squinted at him, his piercing gaze meeting yours. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably not a good idea—!”

“Come on. We can ride the horses and be back before your folks worry.” He pulled you into the Ashford stables, taking the baskets from your arms and tucking them safely in a corner.

You bit your lip, looking at the groceries and then back at the brunette, cursing him for being so convincing. “Fine.”

Laughter filled the air as you raced Billy through the back trails of Talihina, the generated wind blowing through your hair. It felt like you were both young teenagers who had no idea they were in love with one another, doing reckless activities until they were caught by one’s parents.

“Pick up the pace, Bonney!” You shouted as you saw Billy catching up, urging your horse to move faster.

A huge amount of dust kicked up with every stride the horses took, and if you looked back, you wouldn’t be able to see anything. Billy shook his head with a smile and copied you, finally riding beside the pair.

“Sweetheart, you know I can beat you in any horse race.” He chuckles as he brings his horse to a stop, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “You feel any better?”

You nodded and glanced to your left as you tugged on your horse’s reins, meeting his blue eyes. “I do feel better. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He tipped his hat in your direction. “Ready to go back?”

Your smile slowly faded but nodded, “Yeah.”

“Hey, we don’t need to rush. We can take as long as we want to go back if you want.”

“I’d like that.” You guided your horse to head back toward the ranch. “In the meantime, you can tell me all about what you’re gonna do when your ma finds out where you’ve been all day.”

“I can tell her I’ve been with my girl all day.” He bit back a smirk when he saw your cheeks tint pink. “I think my folks love you more than me.”

You shoved his shoulder, your engagement ring glistening in the sun. “They should love me more than you. I think my Pa loves you more than me.”

“Impossible.” Billy took your hand and kissed the back of it.

The young couple took short strides on their horses as the sun slowly faded away. One could argue that the sun was setting, but it was still much too early for the sun to set.

“What time do you have on your watch?” You looked back at the darkening sky, picking up the pace.

“3 PM,” Billy muttered, looking into your panicked eyes. “We gotta go.”

The both of you started to rush your horses back as the wind picked up, dust blowing around them which impaired your vision. You hastily removed the bandana from your wrist and tied it around your head, keeping your balance. Billy kept one hand on the reins and shoved his own bandana up, covering his nose and mouth. The sky was now covered with dust clouds and the wind blew harshly against your backs, the mix of dry dirt and sand hitting their exposed skin.

“Are you okay over there?” Billy shouted over the blowing wind. “Y/N?”

“I’m fine!” You blinked away tears from the dirt that stung your eyes, squeezing your legs to make your horse move faster. You could just barely make out your family’s farm, but with each passing second it became more and more obscure.

“Sweetheart, we have to go to the stables! It’s closer to us than your house!” He veered his horse over to the left.

“I can’t! My folks will worry and—”

“Y/N!” He snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Please!”

You quickly followed him and turned toward the stables. Billy slammed the front doors open, causing chaos to erupt inside. The other horses stood on their hind legs, thrashing as the harsh wind blew the dust inside. You raced inside as Billy jumped off his horse and slammed the stable doors shut, grabbing bales of wheat and shoving them by the front. You took deep breaths as you tried calming your own horse, resting your forehead against the head of your horse.

“This dust storm ain’t gonna go away anytime soon.” Billy rubbed dust off his face, removing his mask. “We’ll be fine in here.”

You nodded weakly, combing your fingers through your horse’s dusty hair. “We shouldn’t have gone out— I-I promised my pa that I’d be back—”

“Hey, look at me.” He went over and took your fidgeting hand. “They’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. When the storm eventually calms down, we'll head over to your place.” He slowly helped you off the horse and held your dirtied face in his hands, slipping your bandana off and wiping your muddy tears. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You took a breath, holding onto his wrists, following his breathing pattern. You rested your forehead on his, shutting your eyes. “Okay.”

The dust storm only accumulated as time progressed. The field and crops were covered in piles of dust once more and the automobiles were suddenly buried underneath the dried dirt. Those who were inside any buildings had dust seeping through the smallest slivers, despite the taped downed windows and towels blocking the doors. It was as if the storm would never stop, deeply worrying the Ashford family for their daughter’s safety.

“James, you can’t leave!” Jo whispered toward her husband, arms crossed over her chest in disbelief. “It’s late and you wouldn’t be able to see anything with all of that dust blowin’. Adam worries for his sister, but imagine the grief if he lost his pa and his sister?”

“I can’t sleep without knowin’ if my little girl is fine, Jo,” James argued, tightly tying a handkerchief around his head. “If Adam wakes, don’t tell him where his pa went—”

“James!” She held his arm in desperation, holding eye contact. “The storm might end soon, don’t risk it.” She looked between his eyes as he glanced toward the backdoor. “Please.”

His gaze softened at his wife’s demeanor and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.” She murmured, wrapping her arms around him. “When the storm dies down, you can go. I won’t stop you then… I worry about our little girl too.”

The storm kept blowing until early morning. The crops were now either torn out of the ground or buried deep within dry dirt and families had given up on keeping the dust out of their homes. James and Josephina Ashford fell asleep at their kitchen table waiting for the storm to pipe down while you fell asleep in the stables in the security of your lover’s arms. William H. Bonney, on the other hand, stayed awake. He was constantly listening for the winds to quiet to let you know you could head home. In the early hours of the new day, Billy gently shook the woman beside him awake.

“Sweetheart, wake up.” He brushed the dust off that had fallen on you overnight, watching you shift closer to him. “Gorgeous.”

“Give me a minute, William.” You groaned, using his government name as a threat.

He chuckled and sat up straight, bringing you along with him. “The storm stopped, you can go home now.”

Your eyes shot open and you looked over at the male incredulously. “You should’ve said that first, idiot. Let’s go.”

Billy smiled as he stood, helping you up. He shook the final bits of dust off as best as he could and moved the hay bales away from the doors. Billy tilted his head toward you, silently signaling you to head home. You grinned and picked up your dress, racing over to the house without stumbling. You burst into the house and discarded the dust entering as well, finding your parents standing by the kitchen’s backdoor. James had his handkerchief tied across his face, triggering your tears.

“Y/N.” Her father let out a breath of relief and engulfed you in a tight hug. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed into your father’s shirt, clinging onto him. “I’m so sorry, pa.”

“Why are you crying, sweet girl?” He rubbed your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t go straight home. I wanted to be out more, so I-I rode on the horses with Billy an-and then the storm started up. I shouldn’t have gone. I should’ve gone home right away. I should’ve stayed home. I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, you’re alright.” James sat you down in one of the wooden chairs, removing his handkerchief from his face. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

You sniffled, looking up at your mother who had tears in her eyes too. “I’m sorry, mama. I didn’t wanna worry you…”

“My baby,” She knelt on the ground, taking your hands in her own. “I’m just glad you’re safe. The worst didn’t happen. You’re here. You aren’t hurt.”

Billy knocked on the side of the wall, making his presence known. In return, all heads whipped over to him. “I brought the groceries your daughter bought the other day.”

“William, come over here.” Your father beckoned him over.

“Yes, sir?” Billy stood by your side, removing his hat.

James sighed, putting his hand out. “Thank you for watching over my daughter.”

“Anytime.” Billy shook his hand, bringing him in for a hug. “I would risk my life for your daughter every single time.”

You lightly sock his arm at the mention, lacing your hands together. “Thank you.”

“I mean, now that you’re here, why don’t you help clear the dust out of our house? I’m sure my daughter has brought in heaps of it from runnin’ in here.” Jo patted her future son-in-law’s shoulder.

You flushed red as Billy chuckled, feeling him squeeze your hand at the comment. “Of course, Mrs. Ashford.”

The young couple got to work clearing out the dust while Jo and James started preparing breakfast for the day. It would be a while until all the dust would clear out of the house completely, but it wasn’t the worst problem they had. The dust storm that day might have ended, but little did the Ashford family know that it would only be the true beginning of their hardships.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[ggomos-maribat]

2 | in which Damian Wayne wakes up to an odd breakfast

Part 2 of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist

Saturday. Bruce's only schedule for the day? An interview.

But inside the Wayne manor.

It wasn't Marinette's first visit to the house, but she still couldn't get used to how humongous it was. She readjusted the box in her hands and the coat hanging from her arm as Bruce himself welcomed her at the front door and guided her to the drawing room.

A drawing room that indeed looked expensive but was extremely messy at the moment.

"Where's Alfred?" she asked.

"He's out for groceries and a few other errands," replied Bruce, which explained the state of the room. Which also explained the Batarangs and a utility belt lying out in the open which Bruce didn't seem to notice.

Marinette inwardly sighed one of her many sighs for the day. Her boss was lucky she came over early in the morning on a weekend. She wondered how his identity hadn't been discovered by the public yet. She took the chance to give Bruce a once-over to examine his outfit: polished shoes, blue blazer, blue tie, hair gelled to perfection.

"Is it too formal?" he asked hesitantly.

"They will only take one photograph of you but you have to at least leave the impression that you're not 'all work, no play' in your own house." She crossed her arms. "May I suggest your waffle-knit sweater with a collared dress shirt underneath and light-colored pants?"

What is that expression . . . is Bruce actually pouting?! "Yes, okay. I'll change now."

Just as he was about to turn around and retreat upstairs, Marinette stopped him. "Mr. Wayne, may I tidy up this space for our guests?"

He appeared a shade paler, pinned under her stern gaze. "Yes, of course. Thank you Marinette."

And off he scurried to his bedroom.

With his permission, the PA got to work. Ms. Sinclair and her assistant will be here at eight-thirty. We have around fifteen minutes to prepare. She picked up the papers scattered on top of and underneath the coffee table, stored away the blankets draped on the chairs, and safely hid the Batarangs and other identity-incriminating objects behind some knick knacks on the shelves. Armed with a duster and a lint roller, she moved around to clear the cushions of fur and get rid of the dirt between spaces. Finally, she pulled the curtains open to give a lively view of the courtyard (and to introduce some much-needed sunlight into the area).

When Bruce returned downstairs wearing the outfit from her recommendation, he blinked and looked around as if it was his first time seeing the room. "This looks much better," he hummed in approval.

Marinette topped it off by placing a flower centerpiece on the coffee table. "Anything else you need me to do, Mr. Wayne? Should I sit in during the interview?"

"No thank you, I have another request for you." Bruce's eyes flickered towards the kitchen. "You see, some of my children might already be awake at this time and Alfred's not around to take care of breakfast."

". . . I don't believe this fits my job description."

"I'll add to your pay this month."

"I'll get started on breakfast right away, sir. Any preferences?"

"Anything will do."

Marinette nodded and immediately put away all the cleaning equipment as the doorbell rang. Bruce told her that he would be the one to greet Ms. Sinclair, so she headed for the kitchen instead.

***

Upon entering the new room, Marinette noticed that there was already an occupant inside. A short-haired woman sat on top of a barstool on the kitchen island, cradling a mug. Marinette halted in her tracks, bowing slightly.

"Hello. Miss . . . Cassandra." She smiled softly. "I'm Marinette, Mr. Wayne's assistant. I don't believe we've met before. Your father's currently entertaining a Gazette reporter at the moment and asked me to cook breakfast."

Cassandra, or Cass as Bruce would often refer to her, tilted her head. "Nice to meet you."

Marinette unhooked an apron near the refrigerator. "Would you like me to make you another cup of tea?"

Cass' eyebrows raised, perhaps surprised at how perceptive she was. She gazed down at her mug, thinking, and met Marinette's eyes again. "Sure."

With a one-month raise in mind, Marinette prepared the teapot and collected the ingredients. Thanks for not telling me which children are home, she frowned as she went over the contents of the pantry. Very helpful, Mr. Wayne. She settled on playing it safe: simple but numerous choices.

"Have you got any preferences for breakfast, Miss Cassandra?" She asked as she tipped the teapot over Cass' mug. Cass merely shook her head 'no'.

"Very well."

Marinette had just preheated the pans when footsteps sounded. In rushed another Wayne kid, slinging a bag over his shoulder.

"Good morning, Mr. Thomas," she chirped. "Would you like coffee, tea, or juice?"

Duke looked like he was caught off guard seeing her there. He looked back and forth between her and Cass, eyes filled with confusion. His sister only motioned for him to reply to Marinette.

"Uuh, coffee please," he responded, walking up to a barstool to sit down.

"I'll brew a cup for you right away." Marinette took the empty coffee maker, suspiciously containing remnants of the drink. Mr. Drake's doing, no doubt. "Mr. Wayne had me get started on breakfast since Mr. Pennyworth isn't here at the moment."

"Ohh," said Duke. "Marinette, right? It's a Saturday today though. Bruce called you in just to make breakfast? He's incompetent but not that incompetent, you know."

"He does require my presence for the interview he's doing." Marinette motioned towards the direction of the drawing room. "I have nothing to do while he's currently conversing with Ms. Sinclair, so he thought I could cook some food for you."

"Pretty sure his main problem was breakfast though."

Marinette slowly nodded in agreement, stirring the contents of one pot. "I didn't object because he promised to compensate me fairly."

"As he should." Duke brought out his phone to check his reflection on the camera. "By the way, do either of you have any tips for an internship interview?"

Cass shrugged and patted his hand. "You'll do well."

"Really? I almost couldn't sleep last night because of it." Duke huffed. "Then Tim told me to just wing it after I caught him making coffee."

Marinette contributed two words while still moving around to cook: "Your cologne."

Duke sniffed himself. "Does it smell bad?"

"It's best to go for a more subtle scent." She wrinkled her nose and momentarily reached for her bag to toss him a bottle that she brought. "Here, this might be more suitable."

"You brought men's cologne?" Duke stared at the glass sprayer in disbelief.

"You'd be surprised at how many things Mr. Wayne unexpectedly needs." The reply drew out a little laugh from Cass.

Duke took a whiff and lit up. "I'll go change and put this on. Thanks, Mars!"

As he raced back up the stairs, Marinette checked the time. She untied her apron, poured out four cups of coffee, and prepared them with differently: the first two (one for Duke), she used only creamer and sugar; in the second one, she added just the right amount of sugar; and in the last, a vanilla flavoring, tower of whipped cream, and a dash of cinnamon. Next, she quickly set up the three drinks on a wooden tray, plus three plates of pastries from the box she brought.

Thank kwamis Alfred has a good kitchen arrangement system, she thought.

"Please excuse me for a moment." She told Cass as she picked up the tray.

She was granted impeccable timing when she slipped into the drawing room—Bruce and Ms. Sinclair had paused their interview, with the latter's eyes immediately gleaming in delight upon seeing the snacks and drinks. Meanwhile, Sinclair's assistant-slash-photographer gawked.

"Excuse me, here's some refreshments." Marinette beamed at the journalist, setting down the tray. "Mr. Wayne picked these pastries just for you, miss. I hope you enjoy them."

"Goodness!" Excitement was practically radiating from the woman. "Aw, Bruce you didn't have to!"

Ms. Sinclair wasn't a difficult person to please. A quick research told Marinette that she had a sweet tooth. A much deeper (totally not borderline stalker-ish) research revealed her favorite coffee blend and pastry shop.

Marinette definitely read a hint of surprise from Bruce, even if he did a good job of concealing it. Because Bruce, in fact, didn't prepare the pastries and is seeing them for the first time. He directed a charming smile at Ms. Sinclair. "It's the least I can do. Please enjoy."

"Such a dear," the woman gushed. "Now I might do three pages of the magazine for you, not two!"

And when Bruce glanced at Marinette, she sent him a look saying 'you better thank the heavens you have me.'

***

When she returned, Duke was back, happily sipping his coffee but along with him was a newcomer.

The youngest son.

Marinette had met Damian Wayne only a few times before and only when Bruce was around. Bruce had introduced him fleetingly, so she had only managed to exchange simple greetings with him, not anything more.

But despite their lack of interaction, Marinette knew a lot about Damian from Bruce's ramblings during lull time at work. He'd tell her 'Damian tried to adopt another cat', 'I think Damian's mad at me', 'How can I get Damian and Jason to bond together?', 'Damian threatened to go back to his mother if I don't agree to let Titus come on vacation with us', or 'I think Damian just used a slang on me. What does this mean?'

Marinette would give her best advice to her boss during those times, but she couldn't help but wonder if the resolutions ever worked with Damian since Bruce never relayed follow-ups.

"Good morning, Damian," she greeted, "Breakfast is almost ready. Would you like a drink?"

"Thomas filled me in." He set his bag on top of the counter. "Father really shouldn't be calling his PA for this. And no, I don't want a drink. I have to go soon."

Duke eyed his brother's outfit. "You have school today?"

"I asked my art teacher if I can come in today to work on my painting as we're not allowed to take our artworks home." Damian replied.

"No need to come in on time," Cass pointed out. "Come eat."

Damian narrowed his eyes at the pans on the stove. "I cannot eat—"

"Vegan kimchi fried rice and tofu scramble," Marinette said, "I cooked something else for you."

". . . Tt. Fine." And he begrudgingly took his seat.

The three siblings watched as Marinette served a feast—the delicious aroma of breakfast wafted around the room as she carefully plated the dishes in perfect portions. She didn't know if her cooking was on par with Alfred's, but she should at least impress them for the good pay she was getting from Bruce. She set down the plates in front of them with a simple 'bon appétit!'

Duke shoveled up the food quickly. "This is so good!" He took another bite.

To this, Cass nodded in agreement. Meanwhile, Damian quietly chewed his meal, paying no compliments.

But he gazed up at Marinette. "You're not going to eat?"

"Oh, no thank you," Marinette declined, "I wouldn't want to impose, and I already ate before I came here."

It was a full-on lie. It was taking all of her strength to not let her stomach growling be heard. Although she was inside Bruce's home, she still had to act professional. Luckily, Damian only raised an eyebrow skeptically and continued eating.

***

"Is there anything else you need, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce seemed stunned for a second after seeing Marinette hand a packed lunch to Duke before he rushed out. He even taste-tested her cooking and remarked how delicious it was.

He blinked at her. "Nothing else. You've done so much already, thank you."

"I should be going home then."

"Wait." Bruce spun around to face his son. "Damian, you're heading out too. Can you drive Marinette home?"

"But Father—"

"I can commute on my own, it's no problem at all." Marinette stepped forward.

"Her residence is on your way to school," Bruce insisted. "And please let him take you, Marinette, as thanks for breakfast."

When her gaze landed on Damian, he didn't seem too happy about it. But how could she deny a free ride?

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne." She bowed slightly. "I'll see you on Monday."

***

Suffice to say, the walk to the car and most of the ride was full of awkward silence. Marinette tried not to look at Damian every second or so. She went over her mental notes about him. Damian Al Ghul Wayne. The current Robin, who's attending university. Likes animals, broody, formerly extremely violent. If she remembered correctly, he was around her age.

"Take the next right over there and my apartment's in the second building." She offered a small smile. "Thank you for the ride again."

He didn't reply.

He only followed her directions and stopped in front of her building. As a last attempt at communication, Marinette took the box with pastries left over and held it out to him.

"Here, you can take these last two. They're vegan." Marinette watched as his gaze dropped down to the box before lifting up to meet hers.

"No thank you. You should have them instead—you're starving, aren't you?" He tapped his fingers on the wheel. "Besides, you're the one who bought that."

Her eyes widened. Had she been obvious the whole time? "Um, er . . ." She retracted her arms. "Okay. Thank you."

She unclasped her seatbelt and sneaked another glance at him. She was close to opening the door when she stopped. "Hey, can you take off your seatbelt for a sec?"

He frowned. "What?"

"It won't take long, Mr. Wayne."

"I don't—" He cut himself off and sighed, most likely remembering one of their first encounters. He'd ask her to call him Damian, not 'Mr. Wayne' like his father, so she'd only use his last name when he wasn't being cooperative.

Damian did as she said and she reached over to undo his tie. He didn't say anything as she redid the lopsided knot, tying his necktie neatly and smoothing over the creases.

She didn't notice how small the distance between them had become until she felt his breath on her forehead.

"There you go." She pulled away and opened the door. "Alfred usually helps you with that, doesn't he?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

She smiled. "Good luck with your painting, Damian."

Again, silence. But Marinette pretended not to notice him fumbling with his seatbelt as she got out of the car. 

[eclipsedrgn]

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥

Batfamily x Reader || Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jason may be rough around the edges, but he goes through hell to gather everyone you love for a very special day.

Credits: Music belongs to Khloe Rose, I changed the lyrics a bit to match the theme. Photos aren't mine, unfortunately I forgot to check the owners of it.

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛

5 whole years.

1825 days since he laid his eyes on you, the most beautiful girl he's every known. His girlfriend, his soon to be fiance.

Jason thought to the first time he met you, a complete accident, you weren't even suppose to be there. But there you are buying recipes to a pesto pasta you love making when a group of Black Mask's gang decided to rob the grocery store you were in. Jason was tracking the gang for a while, for territory reason, and saw the hostages.

He decided to attack.

He killed 6 of the men.

Jason found you crouched down at the milk aisle covered in blood, in front of you was one of the gang members, he guesses the 7th member dead on the ground.

"I-It was an accident" You whispered shakily, "He was going to attack me"

"Don't worry about it sweetheart" Jason says, his voice activator on, "He's a bad man. He doesn't deserve to live"

The next time he saw you was when he finally returned home to the Manor after many months of anger and anguish against his adopted father. You were standing there emotionless, you were going through a moment, you were missing your parents as they just dropped you off at Bruce's whilst revealing he's your biological father.

Jason placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair. "You'll get used to it. You're a Wayne now. You gotta act like it"

You started to see him differently, not a sister-brother kind, but a more romantic side.

It was the gala when you officially started dating. You were wondering the hallway when you bumped into Jason, Bruce was going to introduce him back to the family while you are going to be known as his biological daughter. Jason was having a panic attack, guilt slowly eating him with how he treated his family when you kissed him.

"I'm sorry" You said, "You wouldn't calm down"

"Don't ever say sorry" he whispers against your lips as he presses them back to yours.

And now 5 years later, a lot of kisses and makeouts, dancing in the halls of the manor. Jason knew you were the one and he was ready.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Jason flew to your hometown where you grew up, he asks threaten Tim to give him the address where you used to live. He knocks on the door and your mom answered the door. Your mom loves Jason and she would remind you everyday you guys talk to each other. Jason takes out the small red box revealing the ring inside, a custom ring that you always talked about when you get engaged, it was beautiful.

His next stop was your friends, childhood friends, school friends which ever he found. Jason told them about his plan, which was to fly them to Gotham to surprise you. You have been telling him how much you missed them.

Jason flew back with his heart full, his next plan was to prepare. You didn't want a big engagement, a simple yet thoughtful one was the one you like. So he decided to do it in the backyard of the Manor, in the beautiful garden that Alfred works so hard.

He (finally) asks his brothers and sisters for help.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The day of the engagement was perfect, the sun was shining, not too hot for you to sweat and not too cold for you to have a sweater on. Stephanie, Cass and Barbara took you out to do your nails, god forbid they let you get engage with plain nails. While Jason and the boys went to get the backyard ready.

"I can't believe today is the day" Dick comments while carrying boxes. "Are you excited?"

"Of course I am" Jason grumbles, "Are you sure this is the color she likes?"

The colors consist of beige and while.

"Trust me Jay" Tim grins, "She's been playing sims lately and she's been decorating with these colors"

"She always plays sims" Damian mutters as he passes by.

Once the decorations are up, the boys went to their rooms to get ready. With a shaky breath, Jason nervously straighten his shirt as he stared himself into the mirror in front of him.

"She will love it, Master Jason" he hears Alfred.

"Do you think so?" Jason quietly asks.

"Do you trust her?" Alfred asks, his hand on Jason's shoulder.

Jason nodded, "With my life"

"Then you know, deep in your heart that she will say yes" he says.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

You wore a pretty light pink off shoulder sun dress with matching pink flats. Barbara curled your hair while Steph did your makeup, you questioned why they're dolling you up but you shrug knowing it's typical for girls to do this once in a while.

Once your finish, Stephanie sent a text to Jason with a thumbs up who replied back that he's ready. You four made your way to the backyard.

"What's going on?" You asked giggling.

"Alfred demanded Bruce to do a family picnic in the backyard, so we are now on our way there" Barbara lies.

The curtains on the main floor are shut, covering what's really going on, but you didn't question it. You reach towards the doornob, not noticing Steph bringing out her phone to record as Barbara did the same.

You open the door as the music starts playing;

Well, I guess the third time's not a charm Nursing a three times broken heart And down the rabbit hole again

Your eyes widen as you see the boys including Bruce and Alfred standing on each side of Jason as he smiles when he spots you.

I put myself in another world Where I can be any other girl 'Cause I don't really wanna face it

Cass places her hand on your back as she gave you a soft smile, she whispers. "Go on"

Your heart flutters as you began your journey to your boyfriend, you notice the white-pink petals on the floor, your favorite colored flower that you told Jason on your first date.

'Cause, if it isn't real You can pretend all you want It's all you'll ever need "That's not healthy, " they said "To live in your head" But it hurts a lot less to me

You covered your face when realizing the song that was playing, the song you became obsessed with once it came out. You love this song. And everyday, it reminded you how much you love Jason.

The man of your dreams.

I fall in love with boys I see on a TV screen The ones in books who are as perfect as they can be I spend all of my time imagining What it would be like if they existed My parents tell me I should look for one in real life But I get let down by both the bad boys and the nice guys I'm tired of giving more than I receive So I'll just stick to the boys Who don't know me

To you, Jason was the fantasy boy you've always wanted, the one who loved you with all your heart. The one who made you smile, laugh and cared with all your being.

Oh, I hid his number, I almost called Like, maybe he's hurting after all I can't afford to be that naïve I'll just keep wishing it was me In that ending scene Where they're meeting up halfway And they're kissing in the rain It's a little bit cliché But I love it anyway

Memories of the two of you flashes before your eyes, the good and the bad, tears starts to pool in your eyes as you approached Jason. His hand out as you reached for him.

"Hi" You whispered.

'Cause it's better than when you're walking home And the rain starts pouring But you're all alone

"Hey baby" he whispers back as you both a bit further from the family.

I fall in love with boys I see on a TV screen The ones in books who are as perfect as they can be I spend all of my time imagining What it would be like if they existed My parents tell me I should look for one in real life But I get let down both the bad boys and the nice guys I'm tired of giving more than I receive So I'll just stick to the boys Who don't know me

You appraoched a lovely scene of fluffy pillows with your favorite drink and favorite snacks you love to eat while being in the lair.

You start to gasps as tears fell, Jason's hands cups your cheeks wiping the tears with his thumbs. "Hey baby, breathe"

"I'm sorry" You cried quietly.

"I love you" Jason begins, "5 years ago, our journey began when you kissed me in the halls of the Manor to calm me down and I knew, you are gonna be the person in my life who's able to do that"

I'd rather keep on dreaming of someone I'll never meet (Ohh-oh) than give love to another one who won't choose me

I'd rather keep on dreaming of someone I'll never meet (Ohh-oh) than give love to another one who won't choose me

"I can't..." Jason sniffs as his tears falls slowly, "I can't imagine my life without you. You are someone that I can't imagine living my life without and I have... I have to make you mine. Forever"

"Oh fuck" You cursed knowing what's coming next as you covered your face.

Jason chuckles at your reaction, "(Y/N) (L/N), you have been the love of my life, my girlfriend, my whole world..."

Getting down on one knee, Jason brings out the small red box opening it to see the ring that sits there.

"Will you marry me?"

I fall in love with boys I see on a TV screen The ones in books who are as perfect as they can be I spend all of my time imagining What it would be like If they existed My parents tell me I should look for one in real life (ohh-oh) And I've found my love that sits under the night skies (ohh-oh) I'm happy of giving more than I receive (oh-oh) So I'll just stick to the boy who do know me

You nodded frantically as you jumped into his arms shouting "YES!" the entire family cheers as Jason places the ring on your left finger and kisses you passionately.

And I've found my love that sits under the night skies (ohh-oh) I'm happy of giving more than I receive (oh-oh) So I'll just stick to the boy who do know me

You pull away as you felt three heavy weight on you, you grinned as you felt his brothers hugging you tightly as you squeal when seeing your family and friends running towards you.

"You did this?" You asked Jason with a wide smile.

"I bought your friends and parents here to see you get proposed" Jason smiles pecking your lips.

"You remembered" You whispers.

He nods, "Of course I did, how did you think I pulled this off?"

You gave him the brightest smile as you flash your ring towards your family and friends who greeted you.

Jason stood there with his family, congratulating him as he smiles watching you hugging the people you love. He pulled it off, the tiredness, the nervousness he felt finally went away when you said yes. Now, Jason knew, the next step is sealing the deal.

[lovelyleclercs]

Weekends Away- CL16

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

-> Juliette spends the weekend at grandma’s for the first time, leaving you and charles alone to catch up and reminisce.

request:

hey can i have promt #66 with Charles Leclerc please?

#66- “i’ve missed this”

can i have the plot around where charles and reader give their child to charles’/reader’s parents and they have a weekend just together e.g watching movies, going out on dates, hours of chatting and asking each other questions about future plans/ future kids/ careers ect, just spending time with each other really.

just a really fluffy story.

ps. love your work so much 🫶

warnings: google translated french

word count: 2717

a/n: I had so much fun writing this, this is part of the missing home universe!!<3

After three years and two months of spending every day and every night with your little girl, the day had finally come where she had decided she wanted to stay at her grandmother's house. 

After three years and two months of spending every day and every night with your little girl, the day had finally come where she had decided she wanted to stay at her grandmother's house. 

The idea had come spontaneously, you, Charles and little Juliette had gone to Pascale’s house for dinner like you always did on Friday nights when there wasn’t a race. 

Charles’ older brother, Lorenzo had also come over that night, bringing his wife and his two year old daughter, Olivia along for the occasion. 

This weekend in particular, Lorenzo and his wife were dropping Olivia off for the next three days as they were headed out of town for a couple of days for a friend's wedding. Juliette had caught onto the idea of what a sleepover meant that night- though she had never seemed intrigued by them at all in times past. The moment she realized that her baby cousin would be staying at grandma’s house for the whole weekend, Juliette’s eyes lit up. 

The moment you saw Juliette run over to you and Charles with that look on her face, you instantly knew she wanted something. You pulled your hand out of your boyfriend’s grip and held both of your arms out for the little girl, lifting her up into your lap when she finally wrapped her small arms around you. 

“Maman, puis-je avoir une soirée pyjama avec grand-mère et Olivia?" (mama, can I have a sleepover with grandma and olivia?)

You looked at the little girl in your lap, watching as her face grew brighter while asking her question. “Je ne sais pas, ma chérie…" (I don’t know, sweetie…) you said with a sigh, tucking a piece of her curly chocolate brown hair behind her ear. The idea of being away from Juliette for 48 hours scared you, even though she would be in great care. 

Ever since Juliette was born, you had made a promise to yourself and to Juliette that you would be there for her 24/7. With Charles being gone so often with racing, you wanted Juliette to have some sort of consistency in her life. 

Although at times this proved to be mentally, emotionally, and physically draining, you had lived up to your promise. Everywhere you went, she went. The grocery store, races, even a simple walk through the streets of Monaco. That exact promise was the reason you hadn’t attended a race for 2 and half years up until last season.

“s'il vous plaît, maman!!” (please, mama!) Juliette said with almost a whining tone, proving just how badly she wanted to spend the weekend with her baby cousin and her grandma. 

You smiled faintly and kissed Juliette’s cheek gently. “Alright, I suppose that’s ok” you said, knowing that Charles had been encouraging this for the past year so consulting him wouldn’t be necessary. 

“Merci, maman!!” Juliette said before kissing your cheek and sliding off of your lap, running back over to Olivia. 

As you watched Juliette run out of arm's reach, you got up out of your chair at the table and smiled slightly. “I’ll be back” you announced to everyone before turning on your heels and making your way towards the other side of Pascale’s home. You opened the balcony doors and slipped out onto the small patio space before closing the doors behind you, ensuring yourself some privacy. 

As you looked over the city of Monaco, you couldn’t help but wonder how this weekend was going to go. You were going to miss Juliette dearly- there was no doubt about it- but would she miss you? Would she even think of you? What if she missed you too much that she ended up crying for you at night? Was this the right decision? 

Your mind continued to race as it always did whenever you were face to face with any kind of parenting issue. 

Had Charles not put his hands on your waist, you wouldn’t have even known he was there, too zoned out to acknowledge the presence of anyone else. 

“Cherie, is everything ok?” he asked, placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he rubbed up and down both of your arms gently. 

You sighed and leaned back into his chest, continuing to look out over the city of Monaco. “Just nervous for this weekend I guess. I’ve spent every day and every night of her life with her and the idea of spending 48 hours without her running around or asking for something every five minutes scares me.. I just hope I did the right thing, you know?” 

Charles turned you around, allowing you to face him as he placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “You absolutely did the right thing, mon amour. You waited for Juliette to decide she was ready for a sleepover, you didn’t force it on her, nor did you ask her if she was interested. She made the decision all on her own, with your approval of course. She’s lucky to have a mother like you.”

You sighed and looked into Charles' eyes, nodding gently. “It’s just so.. Strange. I love watching her grow up and being completely fearless, but I also feel like as she grows up, she needs me less and less you know? It’s just going to be hard this weekend without her…”

Charles nodded, taking in everything you said before wrapping his arms around you. “I know, my love. The house will be quiet without her, but it’ll give us some alone time together.. We haven’t had that in months, you know” 

“You don’t have any work to do this weekend?” 

Charles shook his head, pulling you into a kiss. “I did all of my meetings last night, I'm all yours this weekend, mon amour. We can watch movies, eat pizza, drink wine.. Maybe even try for that second mini leclerc we talked about at the gala a couple of months ago…” he said with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows. 

You laughed and rolled your eyes before pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s getting late, we should probably say our goodbyes to Juliette now…”

Charles nodded, grabbing your hand as he opened the balcony door, stepping back into the house that had been just slightly warmer than the outside temperatures. “Jules, Maman et papa doivent y aller” (jules, mom and dad have to get going) Charles said, walking over to Juliette before kneeling down in front of her. “Se comporter pour grand-mere” (behave for grandma) 

Juliette frowned, looking up at both you and Charles. "Où allez-vous?" (where are you going?) she asked, almost as though she was confused. Maybe she hadn’t really understood the concept of a sleepover. 

“Home, sweetie. You’re spending the weekend with grandma, remember?” Charles said, pulling the confused girl into a tight hug. 

Juliette nodded, her tiny arms hugging Charles tight. She still didn’t really have any idea what was happening, but she knew that she wanted to get back to playing with olivia. “Au revoir, papa” she said before breaking the hug with Charles and turning to hug you. “Au revoir, maman” 

You smiled sadly and placed a kiss on your daughter's forehead before she managed to slip away, running back over to Olivia without any second thoughts. 

Charles stood up and held his hand out to you, interlocking your fingers once you had accepted his hand. “Let's get going, my love. The pizza is out for delivery, we don’t want to miss it”

With a quick goodbye and a call if you need anything to Pascale, you and Charles were out the door, leaving your daughter behind. 

The car ride home was silent, both you and Charles being deep in thought as the car maneuvered its way through the streets of Monaco. Though Charles didn’t admit it, he was starting to have second thoughts about letting Juliette stay away for two nights in a row. 

When he pulled into the driveway and parked the car, Charles turned in his seat to look at you. “Not having her in the backseat made the ride home so quiet…”

You nodded, looking over at him. “Yeah, I know. We didn’t have to listen to baby shark..”

Charles sighed and squeezed your hand “I know this is all new to us, but we will get through it. The pizza should be here soon, we can go inside, eat pizza, drink wine, watch one of our favorite movies and just.. Talk”

You smiled a little and nodded before leaning over to kiss him gently. “That sounds amazing, the last one inside is a rotten egg” you said with a smirk before getting out of the car quickly and running towards the front door. 

Charles laughed and got out too, chasing after you in attempts to beat you inside, despite your head start. 

When you had finally gotten inside, Charles bolted in closely behind you, throwing his arms around you as he caught his breath. 

You laughed and placed your hands on his arms, also trying to catch your breath. “I win! What do I get for winning?” 

Charles laughed and kissed your cheek, letting you go from his embrace. “Hmmm… I suppose you can pick the movie, as long as it’s not the notebook. I’ve been forced to watch that movie far too much” 

“Hey! It’s a good movie!”

Charles laughed and walked over to the couch, flopping down on it as he tossed you the remote. “I never said it wasn’t a good movie, it’s just overplayed in this household. 

“Fair enough” you said as you sat down beside him and began scrolling through the list of movies the two of you had created years back.

Movies, wine, and pizza had been a tradition the two of you started when you had first met nearly 8 years ago now. It had become a staple in your relationship, being what you always did together for every anniversary, birthday, or even after any sort of fight- the whole event had always made the two of you look back and reminisce on when you had first fallen in love all of those years ago. 

When the doorbell rang, indicating that the pizza had arrived, Charles got himself off of the couch, heading to the door to greet the pizza man while you continued to scroll through movies. 

By the time charles had returned back to the couch with a pizza box, a bottle of wine, and two wine glasses, you had finally settled on a movie.

“10 things I hate about you? The movie we watched on our first date?” Charles asked with a smile, sitting down beside you as he placed a piece of pizza onto his plate.

You smiled and poured the glasses of wine, nodding at Charles’ question. “I thought it would be nice. We haven’t watched it in ages” 

Charles smiled and kissed you gently, taking a glass of wine from you as he handed you a plate of pizza. “It’s perfect, mon amour.”

After pressing play on the remote, the two of you sat in silence, eating your pizza and occasionally laughing at something said in the movie, doing your best to soak in the limited alone time with each other you had been granted. 

When finished with your pizza, you cuddled up to Charles, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head on his shoulder. “Charles”

“Yeah?” he asked, rubbing your side gently as he took his attention off of the tv, looking down at you. 

“I’ve missed this” you whispered, feeling yourself getting emotional as you thought back to all of the time you and Charles used to spend together-back before he got into F1, back before you had Juliette, back before life wasn’t so busy all of the time. 

Charles placed his hand on your cheek and smiled gently “me too, my love. Me too.”

“I don’t think I ever realized how little time you and I spend together, the past three years have been such a routined lifestyle that I never realized how little time we spend alone together..”

Charles nodded, agreeing with everything you had just stated. “I know, that’s why I’ve been suggesting we let my mom take Juliette once in a while, it would be good for us, I miss you”

You smiled a little and snuggled back into his side, looking out the sliding glass doors that led to your balcony. “Do you really want another baby? I mean, do you think it’s what is best for us? Could we handle having two children and still be able to have time for each other?” 

Charles rubbed your back gently, taking a moment as if he was trying to think or put together a sentence in his head. “I want another child, yes. I’d have three more children if you offered it to me. I love watching you be a mom, i’d do it over and over again”

“But what about us? We finally got comfortable with letting Juliette stay the night away from home, a new baby brings us back to square one, no?”

Charles shook his head “not necessarily, no. Juliette is our first born, we were a bit more cautious with her as we were new parents. With a second child, we would be more comfortable bringing them to the race track or letting them go to grandmas- we know what to expect now, it makes it easier for us”

You nodded a little, thinking about Charles’ words for a moment. “You really think so?”

Charles nodded “I know so, mon amour.”

You smiled a little and rested your head on his shoulder again. “Ok”

“Speaking of taking kids to the track, I was thinking about something”

“Oh that’s never good, but what were you thinking?”

Charles laughed and looked down at you “I wanted to know if you and Juliette would attend more races this season…I absolutely adored having you two by my side in Abu dhabi.. I’d love for that to be a more common occurrence…”

You smiled up at your boyfriend and nodded. “Yes, of course. I already planned on it”

Charles smiled and held you close again, turning his attention back towards the TV screen to catch the end of the movie. 

-

The next 48 hours had flown by. You and Charles had gone grocery shopping together, went out to eat a few times, and even managed to slip out onto the boat one day, despite the cloudy skies that had hovered above monaco. 

Juliette had called a few times, only to inform you of the new games her and Olivia had created throughout the day. 

By the time Sunday night rolled around, you and Charles had been more than ready to pick up your little girl. Although the two of you had enjoyed your time alone together, you missed the crazy little girl who was constantly keeping you on your toes. 

When Charles pulled into the driveway of his mothers house, you had quickly unbuckled and made your way up to the front door, Charles following close behind as you opened the door. 

When you opened the door, you stepped inside and grabbed Charles’ hand, making your way to the dining room where Pascale had informed you they would be.

You walked over to your daughter who had been oblivious to your presence, and kissed the top of her cheek gently.

When Juliette put her fork down and looked up to see who was the culprit behind the kiss, her face lit up. “Maman!!” she practically yelled, standing up in her seat as she wrapped her arms around your neck, giving you a tight hug. 

You smiled and hugged Juliette tightly, placing a kiss on her cheek as you did so. “I missed you so much, Jules. So so much”

Juliette giggled and moved on to hug Charles as well. “I missed you both!!”

“Did you have fun with grandma?” Charles asked, scooping Juliette up in his arms. 

Juliette nodded “and Olivia, too, but I missed you” she frowned. 

You wrapped your arms around Charles and Juliette, taking in the moment and enjoying the fact that you had both of your favorite people in your arms again. “Papa and I missed you, too, sweetie. So much” you whispered.

tag list: @hammick @Cl16msc47 @majkaftorek @04asheley16 @polyjuiceslytherin @Lizziebitch33 @viktorie16 @Johannalindau @Jamieeboulos @cedricdiggorysimpp @Southernprincess1997 @Myescapefromthislife @F1andbookslover @ferrarilover16 @my-fangirling-outlet

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Heroes in Our Midst

Title: Heroes in Our Midst

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: None, mostly fluff!

Summary: You invite the confused veteran at the grocery store to your Friendsgiving, but maybe you should’ve done a background check first.

A/N: Happy (belated) American Thanksgiving to those who celebrate! I’m so thankful for each and every one of you. I hope that everyone, whether you are celebrating today or not, is safe, healthy, and surrounded by those they love (and that love them back). Dividers are by @firefly-graphics​

The man in the baseball cap has been staring at the stuffing for five minutes now, and you’re on a deadline. You don’t really want to tell him that he’s in the way and that he’s completely blocking the bags you need for your Friendsgiving, nor do you want to reach out and force your way in. He looks lost, the poor thing, and it’s when he flinches at the pre-recorded holiday message over the PA system that you decide to intervene.

“You can’t go wrong with Stove Top,” you say, stepping a little closer. He frowns, turning to face you just enough for you to see his profile. 

What a jawline, you hum to yourself, and you, thankfully, manage not to say it out loud despite the fact that you’re running on only four hours of sleep. The holidays did you dirty this year.

“I’m sorry?” he asks.

And what a voice! You melt a little at the deep timbre of it.

You gesture at the red box to his left. “Stove Top. It’s pretty easy to make and it doesn’t taste half bad. It’s not homemade by any means, but it’ll do if you’re in a pinch.”

“Right.” He clears his throat and picks up a singular box, then sets it in his cart as if it might break if he weren’t careful.

Peering past him, you frown at his bounty. Along with the stuffing, this broad-shouldered man has selected a pitiful rotisserie chicken, a slightly smushed sweet potato pie, and a dented can of cranberry sauce. No doubt it was one of the last ones in the bin. People in your neighborhood apparently really love cranberries, much to your dismay. His isn’t the Thanksgiving dinner you would have chosen, but you remind yourself that not everyone is as lucky as you.

Some people spend the holidays all by themselves. A pang goes through your heart as the man steps down the aisle, finally allowing you to load up on the bags of stuffing you’ve been waiting on.

You toss four into your already overflowing cart and you’re reaching for a fifth when you feel the man’s eyes on you. Silently, you glance over in his direction before grabbing the bag and adding it to your bounty.

“Do you need another recommendation?” you ask, hoping that’s the only reason he’s watching you. There’ve been too many stories about creeps on the news lately and your heart skips a beat at the thought.

“You definitely look like someone who knows what they’re doing,” he replies. He nods at the cart and you grip the handle a little tighter.

“I’ve got a big family. And a boyfriend,” you add, just for good measure. “He’s waiting on me in the car.”

The man shakes his head and holds up his hands. “I’m not trying to hit on you, miss. I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression. I’ve…” He clears his throat again and drops his hands, glancing back at his almost-empty shopping cart. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what? Shopped for a Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Something like that. Think you could help me out?”

Carefully, you push your cart closer so you can get a better look at his. He’s wearing dog tags, you notice, and a swell of sympathy makes your chest tight.

Of course, you think, and you could almost kick yourself. No wonder he’s so overwhelmed by all of the options.

“Well, the first thing I’ll need to know is how many people you’re cooking for. That’s a big factor,” you tell him.

Now that you’re closer, you’re able to get a clearer view of his face. He’s got kind eyes to go with the sharp jawline and beautiful voice, and you smile a little as he glances down at his purchases.

“Just me,” he says. “I couldn’t find a turkey small enough, hence the chicken.”

You frown. “Just you? That’s it?” He nods in confirmation and you purse your lips for a moment. “Honestly? You’re better off just getting one of the pre-packed meals by the deli or just going out to eat. Cooking a whole Thanksgiving dinner for yourself is a whole lot of hassle and a lot of stress for nothing.”

He shifts a little. “I’d rather cook as much as I can. This is the first Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time. I want it to be…” The man trails off, seemingly at a loss for what he wants.

“That’s understandable,” you say, nodding and offering him a small smile. “I noticed your dog tags. Where were you stationed?”

Automatically, he reaches up to tuck them inside his shirt, out of view. “Europe.”

“And you didn’t have Thanksgiving there?”

Your poor attempt to make conversation falls flat and the man forces a tight smile. “Is my dinner a completely lost cause?”

“Not necessarily. You’ve got a good foundation, you just need some fixings to spruce it up a bit. Some mashed potatoes, green beans, a salad, some mac-n-cheese, another pie…” He nods along, as if making a mental checklist as you speak. “That’s if you’re really dead set on this whole cooking thing, and obviously that’s more than just one person can eat. You’ll have a lot of leftovers to tide you over, which isn’t always a bad thing. Of course, there’s always another option…”

“Which is?” he asks.

The song changes overhead from a newer Christmas song to one of the classics and you can’t stop the next words that come out of your mouth,

“Come to my house for dinner.”

He seems just as surprised as you do, and you want to crawl into a hole. You scramble to correct yourself before the man, a complete stranger, can run away and tell all his friends and family about the weird girl in the grocery store who invited him to her house on one of the biggest holidays of the year when all he wanted was to know which brand of boxed mashed potatoes to buy.

“Of course, I’m sure you have other plans. I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, I’m not even really sure why I said that. I don’t normally—”

“I’d love to come, if it’s a genuine offer,” the man says, cutting you off. He smiles softly, a gratefulness shining in his eyes, even from underneath the baseball cap. “I’d hate to intrude on you and your family, though, or your fella. Boyfriend, I mean.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your cart. “Well, it’s— I actually don’t have a boyfriend. That was more of a let’s-scare-off-the-creeps-with-a-fake-boyfriend type thing, you know?”

“I’m… familiar with the tactic.”

By the way he says that, however, you’re not really sure he is. It’s endearing that he’s trying to save face in front of you, and you smile a little. When you lift your head, he’s watching you.

“I can text you my address, and what time to be there,” you add. “No pressure if something else comes up. I’m actually celebrating later this weekend with my friends—you know, Friendsgiving—so you’ve got some time to think about it. You don’t even need to bring anything if you don’t want. I usually do a lot of cooking and everyone else just brings something to drink or their leftovers from their own family dinners. It started out as a potluck, but it’s grown into something more over the past few years.”

His posture relaxes slightly. “That sounds nice.”

Smiling a little more, you hold out your hand. “Phone?”

After a beat, the man digs into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out something you haven’t seen in years. You manage to hold back your laugh, but the surprised noise can’t be helped. He looks a little shocked at the high-pitched outburst, then embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel bad, it’s just… I haven’t seen anyone with a Nokia in years. I mean, I think my grandpa probably still has one at his house… somewhere. We got him onto one of those little cheap smart phone things for senior citizens a few years ago.”

The tips of the mans ears are a bright pink as he hands the phone over to you, and you quickly start maneuvering your way to his contacts list. It takes a minute, but you finally get your name and number in, then hand it back.

“Y/N?” he reads, glancing up at you.

You nod. “And you’re…”

“Steve.” He stands a little straighter, a little taller, and you catch a glimpse of the great soldier he must be. “My name’s Steve.”

“It’s nice to meet you Steve. Send me a text so I have your number, okay? Then I can text back with the info. If you change your mind, though, there’s no need. I don’t want you to feel pressured to come, especially since we just met. I know that stranger danger is still a thing for adults.”

Nodding, he pockets his phone and grabs hold of his cart again. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Maybe I’ll see you soon. Thanks for the help with the stuffing.”

You can’t help but smile. He’s genuine, that’s for sure, and you watch him push his cart forward and turn the corner toward the produce section before finishing your own shopping. There’s a little bit more pep in your step as you head toward the registers.

Three days after Thanksgiving, Steve shows up for your annual Friendsgiving. He’s not the first person you’ve welcomed today, but you know for a fact that he’s been waiting outside near the bus stop for at least a half hour before he’d come up to the door.

Poor guy must be freezing out there.

“Hi! I’m glad you came!” You step out of the way so he can come in, then shut the door behind him.

Steve stands tall in the little entryway of your apartment. He’s got a bright blue tupperware bowl in his hands and he looks entirely out of place, so you decide to take a gentler, less enthusiastic approach. For someone who hasn’t had a real Thanksgiving in a long time, your cramped apartment filled with strangers, festive decorations, music, and several different kinds of cooking food is sure to overwhelm.

“Hey,” you say, coming around from behind him. You soften your smile and hope he perceives it as genuine. It is, of course, but you don’t want to seem unsure of your invitation, not after he’s made the effort to come and even bring something to share. “I really am glad you came. Do you want to put your dish in the kitchen? I can get you something to drink. Then you still have something to hold onto?”

He seems a little taken aback that you’d even noticed his tight grip on the bowl, but he nods anyway and follows you as you weave your way into your galley-style kitchen. Your neighbor is at the stove, stirring a pot of mac-n-cheese, and she smiles wide when Steve fills in the doorway behind you.

“You must be grocery store guy. We’ve been waiting for you,” she tells him.

You gape at her and whack the side of her arm. She laughs. “Gloria! Enough! Focus on the food, please! If you’re just going to gossip and spill my secrets, I’ll take care of the cooking myself!”

“No, we’re not having a repeat of last year,” she chides, still grinning. “You turn into a real mother hen when you’re in the kitchen. We all offer to help and yet you still complain that no one’s helping you!”

Steve’s cheeks are pink when you turn back to him, and you have a feeling it’s not just from the heat of the kitchen. Your own face feels a little warmer than it should and you force away the nervousness that bubbles up in your throat, instead trying to focus on clearing a spot for Steve’s contribution.

He sets the bowl down in the empty space you create and you try to sneak a peek. The silicone lid isn’t clear and your mind whirls with ways to ask him what he’d made, especially since he hadn’t seemed like the type of guy that can cook.

"Something to drink?” you finally offer, glancing up at him. “We’ve got beer, wine, juice, soda, coffee, water… Pretty much everything. There’ll be more options once everyone gets here.”

“Water’s fine, thanks.”

Nodding, you set about getting him a paper cup and scribbling his name on it with Sharpie, then making sure he gets his drink. You hand it off as the door opens and your work friends step in, cheering as the song changes to a newer favorite right as they arrive. 

“I hate to just leave you like this, but I need to go say hi to them,” you say. “If you want, there should be some serving spoons you can use for whatever you brought. You can figure out what works best since it’s your dish.” You gesture towards the drawer next to the stove as you back towards the kitchen doorway, and Steve obediently nods. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures you, a small smile on his face. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll get the lay of the land soon enough.”

You try to take Steve’s words to heart as you head back to the living area. It doesn’t take long before you’re sucked into conversations and shenanigans with your friends, however, and when you finally remember you’d ditched him with Gloria, of all people, forty-five minutes have passed and you’ve finished the drink you’d poured just before his arrival. 

Grabbing the empty cup, you hightail it back to the kitchen, only to find him leaning against the counter and nodding along with one of her long-winded stories. He looks up when you stumble into the room and offers you a concerned look, but you quickly wave him off when he reaches out to help you. From the way he looks you over, you can tell he thinks you’re drunk, but you don’t know how to explain that you’re just frantic that Gloria is spilling your deepest, darkest secrets to the cutest guy you’ve met in months.

“Oh! Y/N! I was just telling Steve that story about my great aunt who worked for the USO during World War II,” Gloria says, and you glance over at her, confused.

“That’s great. I don’t think I remember that one. Did Steve tell you he was a veteran?”

Gloria’s brows furrow and she looks between you and Steve. He’s suddenly very interested in the empty cup in his hands and your stomach drops. Nerves set in as Gloria makes some paltry excuse for the two of you, then pulls you into the tiny hallway off the living area.

You wrench your arm from her grip in front of your closed bedroom door. “Gloria! What’s wrong with you? I mention that Steve’s a veteran and you suddenly start acting weird? I’m trying to make him feel welcome and you’re not helping!”

She shakes her head at you, scoffing lightly. Amusement twinkles in her eyes. “You have no idea who you invited, do you?”

The nerves are back, extinguishing any frustration you might have held with her. “What— I mean, I know he’s a nice enough guy. I didn’t exactly do a background check, but you’re starting to make me wish I had! Why?” you hiss.

“Y/N, that’s Steve Rogers.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but it doesn’t exactly ring any bells, so you just stare at her. “Okay? Does he work for the government or something? Is he a spy? Do I need to call the cops?”

She rolls her eyes and pulls her phone out of the pocket of her apron. You watch in silence, looking between the screen and the doorway to the kitchen. You can just barely see Steve still leaning against the counter, his shoulders slumped. Your heart clenches a little at the sight. 

He looks so lonely.

“Here,” Gloria says, shoving her phone into your hands.

You almost drop it, but you quickly right it and start reading. With every word that you’re able to process, your heart starts beating faster and faster. 

Captain America? World War II? Frozen in ice? Born in 1918?

“Holy—”

This time when you glance back at the kitchen, Steve is gone. You shove the phone back at your neighbor and hurry back down the hallway to see if he’d just moved out of your view to refill his cup, but there’s no sign of him at all. 

The living room is filled with your friends chatting, leaning into each other, snapping pictures in front of your decorations, and chowing down on the appetizers, but there’s no Steve. You’re turning in circles when you catch a glimpse of him out the window. His cap is back on and his head bowed as he walks back down the street, his hands in his pockets. He looks every bit like he’s making a run for it, albeit a casual one.

Heart pounding, you throw on the first pair of shoes you can find and race out the door. You’ve never taken the two flights of stairs faster, but Steve is still turning the corner when you finally make it out onto the street.

Curse his long legs!

You have to push your way through the early evening crowds, throwing out “excuse me’s” and apologies every which way until you finally catch up with him a few meters away from the stairs down to the subway.

“Steve!”

You grab at the arm of his jacket. He pushes you away from him on instinct, sending you flying into another passerby. His reflexes are quick, however, because he’s steadied you before you’re even halfway to the ground and the other person is only a few steps away. They grumble at the both of you and you and Steve both send them half-hearted apologies as he leads you out of the flow of traffic.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Sometimes I forget—” He shakes his head. “Are you okay? I should’ve been paying better attention.”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him. “I’m more worried about you! Why did you leave without saying goodbye? Is everything okay?”

He drops his gaze to the pigeon scavenging around the discounted pumpkins nearby. “I’m fine, Y/N. You should be back in your apartment. It’s freezing out here, and it’s getting dark.”

In your rush to get out the door and catch up with him, you hadn’t thought to grab a jacket, but you hadn’t processed the cold until now. You shiver, and he quickly sheds his own to drape over your shoulders.

“You left your bowl,” you dumbly tell him.

The corner of his mouth crooks up, but it’s sad. “Don’t worry about it. I can get another.”

You shake your head. “Steve, I— Why did you leave? Is it because of something I did? Or something someone said? I promise that they’re all good people, it’s just sometimes when they drink, they get a little—”

“It’s not anything you or your friends did,” he says. “I promise. They were all wonderful and Gloria was very nice to me. I’m grateful that you welcomed me into your home even though we barely knew each other. Most people wouldn’t do something like that, not nowadays.”

“Then why?”

He sighs and looks up through the windows of the store behind you, watching the customers aimlessly browse the aisles for a long moment. Steve doesn’t meet your eyes when he speaks again, but you watch him fervently, searching for any sign of dishonesty or distress.

“Because I was worried that you’d be uncomfortable around me now that you know who I am,” he finally answers.

You shake your head again. “I don’t understand. Who you are? I know who you are. I mean, I already did, before Gloria showed me that article.”

His jaw clenches and you draw the jacket tighter around you when he steps away and adjusts his cap against a chilly breeze. His face and ears are pink from the cold, too. It’s not quite winter yet, but it’s rearing its ugly head.

“You’re Steve,” you continue, closing the distance between the two of you. “And you’re my dinner guest.”

“Y/N—”

“If we made you uncomfortable, then I understand you wanting to leave. You have every right to go home, if that’s the case. But my perception of you hasn’t changed now that I know more about your past. Knowing all the amazing, wonderful, selfless things you’ve done makes me want you to stay even more now, because it reminds me that it’s people like you that I’m thankful for. Who knows, I may not even be here if it weren’t for you saving New York.”

You take a beat, catching your breath a little in the cold evening air. “Steve,” you continue, as earnest as you can, “I want you to stay. Please.”

He ducks his head and you have to crane your neck to see his face underneath the brim of his hat. If the lights from the shop were a little brighter, you might be certain that there are tears in his eyes, but you’ll play it off as a trick of shadows for his sake.

“I’m more than just that guy in the article. They exaggerated things, and I am a veteran. I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he tells you, and you nod. After a moment, you hold out your hand.

“Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Steve Rogers. I’d really like to get to know you. All of you, not just the published stuff, if that’s okay.”

Steve stares at your outstretched hand for several moments, and you’re inwardly cringing and trying to think of a graceful way to recover when he finally shakes it. You have to hold back a relieved sigh as you smile.

“I don’t suppose I could invite you to my Friendsgiving for a second time?” you ask.

Much to your surprise, Steve chuckles. His hand is warm around yours and you shiver once he drops it. You tuck your hands into the pockets of his coat as the two of you turn and start walking back towards your apartment. He measures his stride to keep step alongside you, his body a barrier between you and the surging flow of people on the sidewalk, and you glance up at him with a smile.

“Well, I did leave my bowl,” he says, smiling down at you.

“Of course. That’s irreplaceable, so you’ll have to come back and get it. And while you’re here, you might as well stay for some dinner. I’d hate to send you home hungry.”

He holds open the door to your building and you duck under his arm into the overpowering warmth of the lobby. “Of course,” Steve replies. “That would be rude.”

“And I’d hate to have you think I’m a bad host.” You’re still smiling as you head up the stairs and open the apartment door, and you and Steve are greeted once again by your friends, most of which had never even realized that you’d disappeared. They’re none the wiser to your little escapade, and to Steve’s identity, but that’s just another thing that you’re thankful for.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

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[macravishedbymactavish]

Abandoned Driveways

Alex Keller x GN!Reader

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2019 / 2022 Masterlist |

| Series Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part |

TW for eventual angst, light swearing and flirting, mostly a fluff

Chapter 02

“Uh, stupid question.” He awkwardly chuckled, rubbing over the back of his neck as he stepped back to let you in his house.

“How fancy should I be going? These are my nicest jeans I have on, I have some button downs and flannels in the closet. Or I have the makings of a suit somewhere, I'd need a few minutes to find it though.” The anxiety clear in his tone, his rambling getting softer as he trailed off. Ending with a panicked smile.

“Depends on what you're thinking for food. Unless you want to find one of the fancier restaurants, what you have on now is fine. I like it.” You shrugged, guesting toward the retro Nintendo shirt he wore.

“Ohthankgod.” He breathed, chuckling as he grabbed his wallet and keys. Telling you that he was driving since you insisted on paying. Quickly locking his front door, and grabbing his sneakers he led you to his garage.

Sharpie marked boxes lined one wall, flattened cardboard stacked neatly in another corner. Allen was busy these last few days.

Sliding into the passenger seat of his Jeep, you watched as he started the vehicle and opened the large door behind you. Then turning his attention to the screen inbetween you, opening Google Maps. Holding back a soft laugh, you lightly placed your hand over his. Flinching softly as he pulled back, looking at you confused.

“I have no idea where I'm going. I barely made it to the grocery store earlier.” He admitted, cheeks flushing as he busied himself with adjusting the fan speed.

“I do?” You offered with a shrug, playfully glaring when he laughed. “What?”

“You also strike me as someone who would tell me about the turn I missed 3 blocks after I missed it.” He pulled back as you lightly smacked his shoulder, feigning offense.

Looking out the passenger window as he reversed you mumbled. “You're not wrong, but that isn't the point. Now what do you feel like having tonight?”

“Food.” He answered bluntly, turning out of the neighborhood. Ignoring your faux annoyed expression. “What do you recommend? Nothing too fancy, neither of us are dressed for the occasion and that would feel too much like a date.”

“Agreed! There's a cute coffee shop on main street with pastries and drinks. Or a little ma and pa place.” You shrugged, watching as he nodded. Gaze set to the road in front of him.

“I like ma and pa restaurants, and I am an enjoyer of caffeine.” He offered, sparing a glance in your direction. “Just like you're an enjoyer of staring into people's windows at night.”

You felt your heart sink as he chuckled. All week you thought you were off the hook.

“For starters, shut your curtains. Anyone could be watching! Secondly, that was my idiot best friend, I was in my kitchen minding my own business.” You defended, sinking lower into your seat as you watched the scenery pass by.

“Not the most compelling argument, but did your friend enjoy their view at least?” He asked, volume dropping toward the end of his sentence. Your cheeks burning as you desperately tried to formulate a response.

“They did. And I know this sounds like asking for a friend. But it genuinely was not me, I promise.” You laughed, relief flooding your system when he joined. Running a hand through his hair as he shook his head playfully.

“It totally sounded that way.” He laughed, pulling into a parking lot and shifting the vehicle into park. His full attention now on you. “I'm normally pretty good at remembering those things, the curtains and privacy I mean. I’'m not a total playboy, fuckboy, whatever kids these days call them. I prefer an emotional connection before I dive into a physical one.”

You were in awe at his honesty, how his values aligned with yours in a world where…..you were in a grocery store parking lot?

“Allen. Where are we?” You asked, leaning down to scan your full surroundings through the windshield as he stated your name in the same tone.

“I told you, I don't know my way around except to the grocery store. And someone, you, said don't worry about Google Maps. I'll tell you where to go!” He mimicked you, fingers wiggling as he spoke.

Scoffing, you smiled at him. “I sound nothing like that!”

Mimicking you again, he laughed. “Last time you said I was wrong about you; I was right. You suck at directions.” He gave you a cocky smirk before leaving the vehicle. Locking the doors as he wandered into the store.

“Excuse me, why are we here?” You laughed, jogging up behind Allen as he scanned the isles. Basket hanging in the crook of his elbow as he shopped.

“Excuse you, why didn't you give me any directions.” He teased, pulling food items out of a cooler. “Since you failed your job, and left me to my own sad devices. I'm making supper.”

“Well, then I'm paying. And buying us drinks before we head home.” You stated firmly, trying to peek into his basket. Which seemed to always be pulled away from your view.

Glancing over at you, basket pressed against his opposite hip Allen chuckled. “Supper is now a surprise, and we'll see about drinks. My standards for the night have changed considerably.”

“So, what type of caffeine do you enjoy?” You asked, scanning over the menu. Despite already knowing what you would order.

You felt the man beside you shrug and ask for recommendations. Clearly overwhelmed by the options laid out for him. 

Taking charge, you smiled at the barista and ordered 2 of your usual drink. Eyebrows raising when you heard him ask for a croissant to be added to the order.

“We're literally going home to have supper.” You mumbled in awe, paying for the order as the barista smiled politely at the two of you.

“I'm literally starving and want a snack for when you forget to give me directions and we end up hopelessly lost and in the woods. Are there woods around here? Probably.” He defended, eyes lighting up when the small parchment bag was handed to him.

Handing you the receipt, the barista laughed softly. “You two are adorable, literal relationship goals.”

Before either of you could correct her, she busied herself with making your drinks. Leaving the two of you standing in awe.

“We don't give off that vibe, we met last week and hit it off as best friends. This is casual best friend banter.” You whispered, understanding the mistake -- yet feeling like you had to defend yourself to the man beside you.

The man who was already eating his croissant and shrugging at you. Mumbling something along the lines of “is it the worst thing though?”

Staring at him with an exasperated look he held his free hand up at you in surrender. Moving it to pat his stomach, signaling again that he was literally starving.

General Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

Alex Keller Taglist: @glitterypirateduck @deadbranch @gcing-back-to-505

[ashknife]

Hank & Gracie

Another holiday, another @inklings-challenge. I missed the deadline for the Christmas challenge, but I can revisit that next year. This is my entry for the 2024 Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge. This is a retelling of Hansel & Gretel. As always, I do appreciate criticism and suggestions. Enjoy!

I’m Hank. I live with Ma and my li’l sister Gracie. We live in an apartment in the middle of the city. Sometimes there’s a dog or a cat, but it’s mostly just us. Pa used to live here, but Ma said he ran off after some hussy. I don’t know what a hussy is, but I don’t like ‘em. I don’t like Pa, either. I miss him.

The apartment is on the second floor of a tall brick building. I think I counted thirteen floors on the building. I’d look in the elevator, but Ma won’t let us go on it.

“That’s for folks who need it,” she said. “Don’t you let me catch you playing on it.”

I tried climbing the stairs to the top instead. They went on forever! But me and Gracie, we made it. The door said 14 at the top. The door below said 12. We looked all over for 13. Spent all day, but somehow it was missing. Gracie cried. She does that a lot. Ma found us while we was still looking. We got in big trouble.

“Henry James, you know better than to fool around and get lost while looking after your sister! What are you gonna do when you get lost for good? Huh? Now dinner’s cold!”

Ma sure yells a lot. She says I’m the man of the house. I have to be big and look after Gracie. I’m seven, and she’s only four. I say it ain’t fair, but Ma says it ain’t fair she have to work, but she does it anyway. It’s hard to get past Ma. She knows everything. I wanna be like her when I grow up.

Ma works hard. Sometimes she’s home, cleaning up the apartment and cooking supper, but most times she’s gone. During the day, it’s some office. At night, she’s waitin’ at some tables. That seems easy enough, but when I asked if I could wait at the tables, Ma just laughed.

“Thank you, child, but you ain’t old enough yet.”

“But you could stay home and be with Gracie, Ma.”

Ma just looked tired, shook her head, and drank her coffee. She drank a lot of coffee.

“Someday, maybe. Just not today.”

As much as Ma worked, she didn’t have a lot of money. Bills and rent, she said. She’d always talk about the bills and rent when we got holes in our clothes or made a mess or asked for a piece of candy. Bills and rent. They just keep going up and up. Sometimes it gets hard. Sometimes Ma can’t get nothing but the roaches in the cabinets. We’d go to churches more, then. Sometimes they have free food. Ma would cry every time she got a bag of somethin’. She’d cry more at home, when we was supposed to be asleep. You’d think she’d be happy. Ma does strange things sometimes.

The other day, Ma was at the office. She told us to behave and be good. It was payday, so maybe she would bring us home something nice. We didn’t have no food for a couple of days. I was hoping for some chips from that new shop that opened down the street. Some big white guy named Pete opened it and named it after himself. He was a little fat and covered in hair. He sure liked to laugh a lot, especially at Ma’s jokes. Ma said he was trying too hard. His store sure was nice, though. All sorts of candy and chips and soda, more than I’d ever seen in my life. Not even the grocery store has that many. Pete certainly didn’t have a bin of celery. Yuck.

Sometimes, when Ma wasn’t looking, Pete would slip me and Gracie a piece of candy.

“On the house,” he whispered with a wink. “Our little secret.”

We’d pocket that candy and hide it when we got home. When Ma was asleep or away, we’d eat it. It was real good. The candy smelled nice, too. We’d save the wrappers and smell them, especially when we was hungry. We’d dream of something nice to eat when Ma got paid. It’d help us hold on for just a little longer. We’d stash those wrappers under our mattresses. Ma would have a fit if she saw them. She might wonder if we stole them from Pete.

Since Ma was getting paid today, maybe she was gonna get that special something from Pete’s. But that was a whole day away, and we was hungry, and it was hot out, and we didn’t want to do nothing. But we was hungry. It was gonna be a long day. Then Gracie came up with a great idea.

“Hank, you go hide!” she said. She went to a corner and started counting. So, I went and hid behind the couch in the living room. It felt cooler back there.

“Ready or not, here I come!” she yelled.

I heard her go through the kitchen and her room and my room. I tried to hold my breath, which was hard to do because I was trying not to laugh. Then my belly growled really loud.

“Found you!” Gracie said. She crawled behind the couch and tagged me.

“No fair!” I said. “You heard my belly!”

“Still found you. Now you go, and I’ll hide.”

“Okay, okay.”

I crawled out from behind the couch and went to the corner.

“Ooooone…twoooooo…” I started. I have to count real slow for Gracie. She gets mad if I go too fast. It doesn’t help her much. She giggles and laughs while she’s looking for a place to hide. I know where she is, but if I go too fast, she’ll get mad. She gets mad if I take too long, too. I play at looking around in other rooms first before I find her, and then she laughs and calls me dum-dum for taking so long, but she isn’t mad. Gracie is as strange as Ma sometimes. Can’t please nobody.

This time, Gracie hid under the kitchen sink. I stomped down the hallway to Ma’s room.

“Where’s Gracie? Is she in Ma’s room?” I open the door to Ma’s room real slow so that it creaks real loud.

“No, not here,” I said, quickly closing Ma’s room. Ma doesn’t want us to go in. She has a way of knowing even if she ain’t there. I stomp to my room.

“Is Grac–”

She screamed and fell out onto the kitchen floor. I ran to see what was happening.

“What is it? What is it?” I said.

“It’s on me! Get it off! Get it off!”

I saw a roach crawl across her shirt. I didn’t think too much about it. I got up and swat the thing. It smacked against the wall and fell on its back. I got up to it and stomped on it, and again, and again, and again. I’m sure it was dead, but I gave it a couple more just to be sure. I swept it into the dustbin and closed the door under the sink.

Gracie cried and cried. I looked around her and pat her clothes in case there was another one that was hiding. I sat by her and held her.

“It’s gone, Gracie. I got it.”

“Did you kill it?”

“Yeah, I killed it.”

“It tried to eat me, Hank!”

“It’s gone, Gracie.”

Our bellies growled. It was gonna be a long day.

After a while, Gracie calmed down.

“I’m hungry, Hank.”

“Me, too.”

“Can we go to Pete’s?”

“We ain’t got money.”

“Aww…”

We sat for a minute.

“Do you want to go hide again? Somewhere without bugs?”

“Okay…”

“I’ll count to a hundred so you can make sure it’s real safe. If it ain’t, you yell, and I’ll take of it. Okay?”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

She got up, and then she got this grin on her face.

“Okay, you count to a hundred!”

So, I did. I went to my room and counted loudly to a hundred. It takes a long time to count to a hundred. I figured Gracie might have gotten bored, because she stopped giggling after a while. I heard doors open and close, but there was no screaming. Ain’t no bugs gonna get her this time.

“Niiiiinety-eeeeeight…niiiiinety-niiiiiine…oooooone huuuuuundred! Ready or not, here I come!” I called out. She opened and closed a lot of doors. She must have hid in a closet. She wasn’t giggling like she usually does. Maybe she fell asleep waiting, or got mad waiting for me. I don’t know, but I put on my act just in case. I stomped out into the hallway…

…and the front door was wide open.

I ran and looked out the open door into that hallway. Nothing but a bunch of doors to other apartments. I closed the door and went to the living room closet. She wasn’t there. Kitchen closet. Nope. Under the sink. Nope. My closet, her closet, Ma’s closet, under Ma’s bed, all nothing. I got real scared. Ma’s gonna really let me have it if I can’t find Gracie. My bottom can already feel the paddle.

I ran out into the hallway.

“Gracie! Gracie!” I called out. One of the neighbors told me to shut up. I ran down the stairs.

“Gracie!” I called out again. The old landlady was standing in her doorway, eating some kind of pudding.

“She went out a little bit ago, hon,” she said, pointing to the outside door. “Ain’t your momma home?”

“No, ma’am,” I said. “Ma’s in the office.”

“Mm-hm,” she said, going back into her apartment.

I ran outside.

“Gracie! Gracie!”

I looked left, and then right. The street was empty. There wasn’t anyone walking out. It was too hot. There was a parking lot next to our building, so I looked there first. Not a lot of cars. Everybody’s out to work or something, so there weren’t a lot of hiding spots. I looked, but she wasn’t in any of them.

“Hey!”

The landlady called me to the outside door.

“Your momma’s on her way. You better go find your sister,” she said.

“Where did she go?”

“Don’t know, hon, but you better be lookin’,” she said.

“Oh, no…” I said. So, I ran. I ran down to the corner, watched for cars, crossed the street, and kept running. I slowed down by another parking lot. Ma told me I better watch for cars or I’d get knocked into next week. I saw that happen to somebody. I waited to see them next week and the week after, but they never showed up. I don’t want to end up like that.

Then I saw it. A candy wrapper. It looked like one of the ones Pete would slip us. I smelled it, and it smelled kinda good still. It felt a little wet. I think somebody licked it. And then I saw another down the sidewalk. And another. And another. It was a trail of candy wrappers. Looked like there was some in the street, too. They was leading somewhere. And so I started running again, following the trail. I picked up each wrapper along the way. This went for a couple of blocks, and then it ended, right in front of Pete’s.

There are a lot of tall buildings around with lots of apartments, but Pete’s was a house with a garage. He turned the garage into his little store. Lots of people normally come by to buy something from him, but it’s too hot today. Ain’t nobody around. Pete was sitting at his counter with a fan blowing in hairy face.

“Oh, it’s Hank!”

“Hi, Mr. Pete,” I said, trying to catch my breath. I bent over and coughed. Pete pointed his fan at me. It felt good after running in that heat. His store was full today. There were shelves of chips and sweets and drinks and other stuff. My belly growled hard. Pete put a trash can in front of me, so I threw the candy wrappers away.

“Looking for a snack?” he asked, laughing.

“No, sir,” I said, still breathing hard. “No, sir. Gracie. Did Gracie come by here?”

“Oh, your sister? She’s fine! She’s inside having a snack!” He laughed some more. “Why don’t you pick yourself something out? Get a drink, too. I’ll put it on your mom’s tab.” He winked at me.

“Ma’s coming home. I need to get Gracie,” I said.

“Now, now, don’t you worry. Hey, take a look at this!” He got up from behind his counter. He grabbed my shoulder with one of his massive hands, and then he pulled me over to a box with little bags. The box looked new. The bags said “fried pie” on them. I could smell them.

“Just got these in today. They make the dough and pie filling at the factory, put ‘em in a fryer until they’re nice and crispy, and then coat them in a sugary glaze. They’re something else, and I got a nice, cold Coke to go with it. You’ll have that down in no time.”

I shook my head yes. That sounded amazing. I really wanted that.

“Now, don’t you worry about your momma. I’ll be watching over you two and explain everything to her when she comes by,” he said, laughing.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Pete.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Hank. Here,” he said, handing me a fried pie. He led me to the fridge and handed me a cold Coke. He then pointed to the door to his house.

“Go on in,” he said. I was so hungry, I couldn’t wait. I went to the door and opened it carefully so I didn’t drop the Coke or the pie. I stepped in, and then there was this big pain in the back of my head.

-----

I woke up. I didn’t know how long I was asleep, but it was much later. Probably sunset. I was on Pete’s kitchen floor. I don’t remember falling down or going to sleep, only that I had a Coke and a fried pie. I looked for those, but they weren’t there. The back of my head hurt real bad. I felt around. It was kind of sticky. I don’t think it was that pie, though. It didn’t smell like it. I think it was my blood.

Past a door was the living room. It was hard to see in the setting sunlight, but I could make out Pete. He was crouched in front of a fireplace. There was a fire lit. He looked like he was sweating from all the heat.

“You keep behaving, and I won’t have to hit you again,” he said. “You’re gonna fetch a good price.”

He laughed, but this laugh made me shiver. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at someone else, someone who was next to him. There was a moan, like someone who wanted to cry. He was fiddling with something, and then he had a shirt in his hands. It was Gracie’s! He threw it into the fire!

“What did you do to my sister?” I yelled. He jumped to his feet like he was ready for a fight.

“I think you need another nap,” he said, getting a bat. It looked like a bat, but a little smaller.

I got up and ran into the living room. He brought that bat down on me, but he missed. I got something from a bin next to the fire, a little shovel. He swung his bat again. He hit my back. It hurt. It hurt a lot. It was hard to breathe. He swung again. I made myself move out of the way. I grabbed that little shovel with both my hands and swung it hard, not thinking too hard where it might land. It struck him right under his belt just as he tried to swing at me again. He cried out, and then he tripped and landed head first into his fire.

I never heard a person scream so loud in my life. His arms flailed, flinging burning wood into his living room. The room started to smoke up. Some of the paper lying around caught fire, and the curtains, and the couch. Lying in the middle of the floor was Gracie, without her shirt. It looked like someone punched her a bunch of times. Her eyes were black, blacker than our skin. There were bruises and rashes all over.

“Gracie! Come on!” I said.

“I can’t. It hurts,” she said. I picked her up the best I could and got out to the garage, and then through the shelves of Pete’s food. And then we made it outside.

“Henry James!” Ma yelled. “What–Gracie Joy! Who did this? What happened?”

“It was Pete, Ma! Pete tried–”

“You’re dead meat, kids!” Pete yelled. Black smoke came out of his house as he stumbled out. His hairy face was now red and burnt, and some of his body, too.

“What happened to you, Pete?” Ma said.

“These little shoplifters–”

“Shoplifting?” she said, looking at Pete like he was crazy.

“He burned Gracie’s shirt in the fireplace! He beat her up!”

“What?” she said, glaring at him with the full wrath of God.

There was a gunshot. A policeman stood in the street, and the pistol he shot up was now pointed at us.

“Nobody move,” he said. Another cop was in their car on the radio. There were sirens approaching.

-----

It was after dark when we got home. Ma held Gracie in her arms as she led us in, turned on the lights, and closed the door.

“Go fill the bath, Hank,” she said.

I looked down. I knew what was coming and I just couldn’t wait for it anymore.

“What’s the matter, son?” she said.

“Aren’t you going to paddle me?” I said.

“Why would I do that?” she said.

“‘Cause I lost Gracie, and then all this happened, and Mr. Pete…”

Ma laid Gracie down on the couch, and then she knelt down and held me. I cried.

“This all started because Gracie snuck out,” she said.

“But…I could have paid more attention,” I said.

“We could all do better. Be thankful that you both made it out okay,” she said. She didn’t say anything for a minute, and then she let me go, held my face, and wiped my tears with her thumb.

“Ain’t enough paddles in the world to replace what happened today. Mr. Pete was an evil man who did evil things. You don’t understand the half of what just happened, but you will, and there won’t be enough paddles in the world to replace that.”

“Ma, Gracie’s all beat up,” I said.

“And you rescued her. You took responsibility. You looked for her, found her, and even after Mr. Pete fooled you, you wisened up and fought him for your sister. You know where you screwed up, and you took responsibility. Son, you don’t need the paddle.”

“I’m sorry, Ma.”

“I’m sorry, too, son. If things were better, I could be at home, and none of this would happen. It ain’t fair, but it’s what we got. You might not feel it right now, but you did good. Now go fill the bath. We need to clean Gracie up.”

“I’m hungry,” I said.

“When we all get cleaned up, we will go to the diner,” she said.

“Really? Yeah!”

Maybe I was too happy about it, but Ma didn’t shush me like she usually did. She said I already grew up a little too much. My bath felt good, like a bath never did before. The burger and shake was real good. I slept hard that night.

I miss Pa. I wish he’d kick Mr. Pete.

But he ain’t here.

[halfadoginatank]

Children!Au for COD

I’ve just been thinking that Simons dad would totallyyy get distracted by another woman, a concert, etc etc and leave Simon to the Frey. After befriending the other kids, I JUST KNOW that when Simons dad makes him kiss that snake, he’s running to them and lets them take him to Johnnys mom

..that’s all <3

Oh!!! This is interesting, I dont think I hit all the plot points but I definitely liked the idea enough to lose myself in it a little.

Slight content warning for vauge talks of an overdose.

Simon is trying to keep his head down. The weather was good outside, but now the swarming bodies make it terrifyingly warm. People all around him move to the aggressive music, some look like they're fighting the notes themselves. He keeps shuffling through them, some are in crowds others to themselves, it reminds him of being lost in a grocery store for the first time.

‘agH!”

“Oh shit! Sorry lil man, didn't see ya there, ya good?”

There's a hand in his face, and a person above him. He looks just as scary and spikey as all the people in this god forsaken venue, but he's the first person to offer him a hand when he's fallen.

Simon blunders, checking the pockets in his hoodie and jeans, “s awight.” He mumbles. The older man is patting his shoulder and checking on him,

“I'll putcha somewhere less crowded, yeah?”

Simon nods and blindly follows. The man sits at the bar, and pats the empty stool next to him. Simon bemoans the effort to get up there without making a fool of himself.

“So whatcha doing here? Pretty sure bars are 21 up, right?”

“Not ‘ere. ‘S 16 and up.” Maybe if Simon looks away the man won't actually look at him too hard.

“Ehhh, I dunno kid, you don't look 16 to me?”

Simon turns around and glares with all the nastiness he can muster. “What's it to you!” He was tall for his age, thank you!

The man waves his hands in surrender,

“Okay okay, we got off on the wrong foot, i'm Alan, you are?”

“Simon.”

“Simon! Good cool.”

Alan orders drinks. Waters for both of them. Simon sits there for a while, until the bartender lady comes back and starts talking to Alan, they seem to know each other and Simon doesn't really think he'll be missed, so he slips away trudging to find the restrooms.

“Psst! You don wanna go in there!”

A voice says as he walks into the hallway where the bathrooms split off into genders.

Simon jolts up and looked around, the boy is almost completely invisible, but when the stage lights pulse Simon can sort of see him, squatting in an open maintenance closet .

He leaned down, the boy looked a little younger than him. “Why not?”

The boy shook his head, Simon paused to look at the top of it, where hair seemed to grow longer than the uneven sides. “There's a lady in there! N a weird looking lad! You canna go in there! You dont wanna see it!”

Simon shuffled to sit down across from him, squinting his eyes like that will make the boy's Scottish accent easier to understand. A weird looking man? Running of to the bathroom with a woman? He grimaced.

“S probably my dad, he left a while ago and I can't just run away.”

“Then youre a steamin’ idiot! Ya dont wanna see it nuh uh!”

“Stop being a baby! I told you s probably my dad!”

“Then ur pa belongs in prison!”

The boy shrieked, simon stilled,

“What?”

The boy pulled up close to Simon's face, “I don’ think the lady's, awright..” he whispered.”

Simon looked away, trying to tuck in on himself.

“Wha's your name?” The boy asked.

“Simon.”

“Well I'm John! Mah friends can call me Johnny if I get some coin for it!”

Simon tried to hide his laugh in his hands. “That's stupid. Why would they have to pay?.

“Cause i don like it when they call me that!” John shook his head, “but.. You look like you're having a rough time! So you can call me that for free!”

Simon rolled his eyes, come to think of it. Here, in this club's shotty maintenance closet with no door, is probably the first time in weeks he's talked to someone his age or younger, besides Tommy.

“How old are you?” Simon asked.

“I'm 9! What about you?”

Simon shrugged, “12… maybe?”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe Johnny, maybe.”

Johnny snorted and went to bonk Simon's shoulder with his own forehead. “Ya called me it!”

“mmhm”

[» «]

Simon found out exactly why Johnny didn't want him going in the bathroom after the boy's sister (the pretty bartender) came looking for him.

They parted. Simon thinks he's never really seen a kid that happy, was he like that? Probably not, definitely not.

Not after what happened in that bathroom.

He didn't think he could associate that night with anything else but the rolled back eyes of a dead woman, and his father's manic laughter. (In the years that come, simon will be forced to remember he laughed along with him)

But, in the years past that, Simon will die, be replaced by Ghost and sit at a table in a bar with his task force, the formidable 141, the three men who made his work life more than just that- work.

“Okay then, what's the first time you've ever seen a dead body, since you wanna get ‘deep’”

Gost looked up from his drink, Soap and Gaz flanked him, as the three of them sat around a square table at the bar. Price off talking to Kate on the phone, they had been playing a game, the kind with questions evidently. Though the question was meant for Soap, Ghost traced the rim of his glass with a gloved finger. There had been many bodies in his life, ones he made himself, the ones he would never forget.

He felt a quiet mourning for the first one.

“It was a lass, I remember, but I was pretty young…” Soap began his story and Ghost settled in to listen, Johnny's stories were always engaging, he supposed it's just like him to make even his words pretty.

“I was maybe, nine? My sister went off to college somewhere in Manchester and my parents were off doing god knows what so they sent her to look after me.” Ghost watched as Soap looked into his empty pint glass and chewed on his cheek.

He was more interested now, he hadn't thought hide or hair of his hometown, and frankly Soap had never mentioned any family living there.

“Well, she said she couldn't leave me at her place, so she dragged me to work. Picture this! Me, a tiny little lad following my sister to a damn pub! She made me follow all sortsa rules before she sat me in the break room.” Soap laughed and waves his hands around, Ghost looks more at his face, the wrinkles between his brow. He hasn't forgotten what question prompted it, and from a look at Gaz he hadn't either.

“Well, ah I had to use the john…” Soap quieted down. “Uh, there was a woman in there, wasn't all that well off. A man came in there too, I guess there was some talking goin on before he left.”

Soap cleared his throat,

“Lady died of an overdose, in the stall. I bolted after the man came back. Hid in one of the closets.”

Ghost had a feeling he knew this already, a boy finding a woman dead in a bar in Manchester, hiding in a closet. Only, Simon didn't get a chance to hide once he'd seen it.

“That's all.” Soap put his hands on the table and looked to the ceiling, “pretty much it. Hid there with another boy, older than me, said the guy in there was his dad and we sat there until my sister found me.”

another boy?

Well,

It was really only after Simon had put the mask on his nightstand, retired Ghost for the night, that he thought about the night in full. Bothered to remember it, remember the other boy who had told him not to go there, who had protected Simon for a while longer.

He yearned to rush to Soap's room, tell him he was the other boy, the quiet preteen who barely understood him, he wanted to thank Soap, for giving him even a bit of joy during that night.

Instead, Simon began to dream of a world where Johnny and him had stayed friends after that night, some magical world where he lived in Manchester and in Simon's darkest moments, he could run to the MacTavish's and hide with a family less broken than his.

———

[mandana-the-service-pup]

We walked three miles yesterday. I took Mandana to the vets office to practice handing her off so she can be taken to the back room. It took me a minute to troubleshoot. Mandana isn’t used to training for other people and the person who volunteered seems more like a cat person and didn’t seem as familiar with how to handle/train a dog. We got it all figured out though and she went from pancaking under the exam table to happily following the person to the back room. We need to have a lot more sessions to build up that reinforcement history but it’s a new problem and I feel good about her progress.

Mandana was doing so well and her elbow is all healed up, so I felt comfortable stopping by a grocery store (not Walmart 🥲) to pick up something I needed. I can tell she misses going out and training. She was perfectly focused, well-behaved and eager to jump at whatever cue I gave her. I’m slowing down a lot of the PA training until we have more information about her back, but she’s not currently in pain so I think it’s ok to do a few sessions when the opportunity arises.

When we first started our walk I slipped and fell down a hill. If I didn’t have EDS I’m confident I would have broken my ankle. Lucky for me my ankles are really bendy and I just rolled it weird. I was still able to walk the 3 miles but there is a dull ache so we’re going to take it easy today.

[i-came-back]

Wheeeeeyyyyy look at me go, twice in a day

Fuck it, im too excited to show folks these kids

This is one of my faves omg

Beloved of The Unsetting Sun loop, Meet Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Daley

Fortae, during great emotional highs she has incredible peculiar strength

Born: August 26th 1970

Age: 17

Current age: 53

Parents: Harriet and Albert Daley, oldest of four (a sister and two brothers)- none peculiar

born in Bensalem Philadelphia

Getting to know Charlotte Daley!

Oh, well hello, super nice to meet you!

1. What is your name? Charlie. Well, Charlotte technically but I like Charlie better :)💖
2. How old are you? Gonna be fifty three in a couple months, I’m super siked personally!
3. Where were you born? Bensalem, it’s this little town place in Philly, my little home before home
4. What did your father and mother do for a living? Me and Papa grew veggies in the garden to take to market but Mama was a teacher at Strayer’s
5. Were you well off? Middle class? Impoverished? Um… well I don’t know. Never wanted for much. Had clothes on my back and I never went hungry no matter how much me and my little siblings ate. I never had to be careful about buying things from the store, so… we did okay 6. Do you have siblings? If so, what are their names and ages? Well I’ve got a bunch of sibs now, but before I had a little sister and two little brothers. We always had a lots of fun, but I always had to be very careful when throwing them. They were very little, I had to be careful with ‘em. Didn’t want them hurt. 
7. Where do you fall in the birth order? The oldest, youngest? Oldest of four but the second oldest after OJ.
8. Which one of you is your mother’s favorite? Oh we don’t have a mom anymore but Cassie is kinda our mom now. But you know what? I think it’s OJ.
9. Why? Oh, now, now, don’t get me wrong! Everyone says I think OJ is the best at everything which is not true! I think everybody’s really great! I think OJ’s Cassie’s favourite because I think she knows how hard she works, she’s a whizz at keeping everything together. She’s got a thing about her, I dunno.
10. When was the last time you saw them? Them? You mean Ma and Pa? Well… quite some time. I was seventeen. I was having a breakdown in the grocery store because of something at school I can’t remember. Cassie found me, calmed me down and talked me out of that. She told me about this place and it sounded wonderful but there was a catch. My folks couldn’t know where I was really headed. I didn’t have long. We needed to be gone out of town before the sun came up and anyone could follow. I packed up what I could and snuck out my window. I left a note. I kinda wish I hadn’t given that I know what’s in it… I miss them sometimes. Just don’t tell the others that.

[sharonlifeoutsidesocial]

The One With The Newlyweds

Can I just say we are doing better at this?

Our little friend group is growing and after a twelve-year wait, Eka and Mcdo (aka Mine) are finally getting married.

Their story was a blur to us because we were really never together up until we got pretty close in our 3rd year irregular student days. One time, during our Clinical Laboratory Practice, I asked what was Mine's real name and that's when Jovince said his name is "Mcdo/Donald" because Eka kept on telling stories and how she's pissed at times with him. During our internship days, they got into a huge fight and we thought they were breaking up. I remember, we were saying some words of wisdom to Eka pa nga at Jollibee General Luna but look at them now, they'll spend the rest of their lives mocking and understanding each other.

Another story is some time in COVID days, we really missed each other and we decided to go on a roadtrip in Tagaytay-Batangas. We had a good bulalo and sisig and had a stop in 7eleven along the road and Mine just casually told a story of how Eka said yes to Mine in that convenience store. That kilig feeling intensifies, right?

Finally in 2022 before Eka's birthday within a 2-week notice, Mine called and said he's going to propose to her that day. I managed to gather our friends, reminding no one should be late because that's her special day. That was a blissful moment, she was surprised and knew right away Mine is going to propose to her. We all know the answer after that.

Two years of engagement and 8 months after The Mojicas, we are finally at the end of this friendship's wedding season. We were experienced and polished at this, I believe. Eka requested to stay with her in The Manila Hotel and that's what we did. We booked hair and make up artist so we're not rushing and not getting into some fights. We did grocery but did not do the cooking anymore. We have food and are hydrated. We are much more relax compared to the 8 months ago.

The night of the wedding, after filling ourselves with Paotsin and 24 Chicken, while everyone is out there having a beer and Koko was there ironing our dresses. Eka visited and started the drinking session, one thing I learned about watching Bridgerton series is finishing a glass or two is celebratory but finishing a whole bottle is a cry for help. Eka did finish 2 bottles of beer which let's count as glasses and label it as celebratory drinks. Together with Gleanne and Lei, Erika's MOH we bonded over good stories and identifying who should we be careful on the event. Eka was being so tipsy and gibberish but managed to gather Rhea, Pat and Koko to do a Tiktok dance. Glea wanted to bring Eka to her room at 12 midnight but she was still enjoying our company and we let her stay until 1:00 am. We forced her because she's that energetic and her call time is 7:00 am. We were very tired and just wanted to sleep but she was on a wedding high.

Woke up at 06:00 am with only 3 hours of sleep. Had a good shower, pleasant breakfast of cup noodles and coffee with a beautiful sun facing Manila Bay. It was Independence Day in the Philippines and for us, it's a lovely day to witness the wedding of our two faithful friends. Mine, has become a good friend of us too. He's very friendly and you can be comfortable with him as soon as you get to know him. Eka's very obscene, specially with her words but they're better and mature together. We went at 08:00 am to have ourselves done, Rhea was filming a Tiktok video Eka has asked prior to their wedding. Lots of filming for the SDE and taking photos until we went to the church at 02:00 for the wedding at 03:00 pm. We tried to come early because there are festivities in the Luneta area and afraid we might get stuck in traffic. The team of coordinators weren't really much of a help in some thing but good thing, Glea and her girlfriend Lei were used to these kind of events so they helped her out. The ceremony started on time and Eka walked in the aisle very beautifully. To be honest, I was kinda sleepy mid-wedding and too nervous because I'll light up the candle. There's a superstition in the Philippines where the light should stay lit until after ther ceremony or else one of them is the first to die. Anyway, enough with the falacies. Ron arrived minutes before the wedding in Angkas and brought with him an electric fan. The ceremony was very simple and the priest just said that it's a good day for them to get married on Independence Day. Mine asked Ron to drive their car and since there's no signal reception in our area we got a little lost in the city. Imagine how we've grown in the streets of San Marcelino, General Luna, Taft and United Nations in general but we still got lost?

The reception was pleasant, the coordinator asked us to do a little dance where no one followed. We had coffee from the coffee bar and played some games where I win upon arrival and the photo taking was full of cameras because we have everything - from film, Instax and of course on our phones. We have pictures from the photo booth too. Our group of 11 including Lei and Glea shared a very small table to enjoy the food they served. The lechon was crispy and the ribs and meat were very suited for the foodie in me. I did not finish them though but it's really filling since we fasted for about 10 hours. Of course it's not a friends' wedding if I am not the one who plays and picked on during the game. It's supposed to be Mika, but she used her 'boyfriend card' and just let everything be done. I finished two bottles before the celebration ended. During the photo taking and saying goodbye to the happy couple, we bid farewell to our new favorite couple Lei and Glea while Eka asked us to drink at our hotel room. Wedding favors were succulents and we brought it at the hotel. Thankfully signal in our area was restored, Koko and I were able to book Grab, Ron and Mika get to update their SOs.

The moment we got back at the hotel, I was eager to remove my dress and started to unzip it but Lois reminded me that we're with other person which is his husband. We took a lot of photos again and again. We let each other rest first and while removing my make up Ron went up to me and took photos. Gave him a big hug and cried to him. That was a solid good cry and catching up because he's really that guy who opens up to me. We laugh about our stories, asked how his mom is doing and learned that Yumi died in April. He moved in Quezon City last February to be independent and work as virtual assistant.

Initially, we planned on going outside to have drinks thinking it's Independence Day for sure there's party somewhere, right? But we were all tired and have to make the most out of this 20,000 hotel room. While all of us are taking turns on using the shower, we all have stories to tell. An update to each other's life, some old funny stories that's still a hit even if it's becoming redundant. I asked about their family members and how they've been. We talked about the future too, in which they made us cry. All of these things happened while Koko is resting because his arms got too tired of ironing and steaming our gowns yesterday. We were all joking about Lois should follow Albert in taking a bath so it should hasten our waiting time. Ron has been rushing them because he wants to go. The newly weds called us before 12 midnight so we can start the celebration. Our room is pretty big, it has a balcony with some sun lounger and there we started the celebration. Thank God they brought the remaining drinks from the reception plus the Absolut vodka Pat and Ron mixed with packets of Tang. Oh, what a dream to be in a luxurious suite while we eat and drink the most Pinoy thing it can get. For us, this is the event. We joked about Mika who got to know and date Chayse, his now American boyfriend via Bumble and we were all claiming that she's gonna get marry next. We joked about how Mine is going to live with Eka's family and how he'll call his now mother-in-law. Then there's Ron, Rhea and Pat on how they immediately created "asusasyon" for being the backburners and 9 to 5 of the group. Lois and Albert talked about the married life and they hit it off with Mika since his boyfriend is into games too. I was with Eka and Mine asking how was their wedding. Koko was on the side observing and just having fun too. We were just having fun, singing our hearts out, doing and dancing some Tiktok things. It was a beautiful moment to everyone, if I could just capture it like a photo so it remains in my memory forever.

The morning after, Koko and I woke up at 8:30 to have our free breakfast at Cafe Ilang-Ilang downstairs and we were dressed as we really got out of the bed. It was impressive that I didn't have any hungover from the drinks I had until 03:00. We arrived in the restaurant and had a sumptuous breakfast, I loaded myself with some bacon and good coffee too! (Grabe pala coffee + muscovado, ano?) We were just seizing this morning. We arrived back in hotel room around 10:00, Albert and Lois were still asleep and the rest were having breakfast with cup noodles, bread and chips. It was unhealthy but let us consider our situation, right? Again, we laughed and talked a lot. A good conversation really never ends when you're with right people. We laughed about how Albert fell on the floor sleeping and thought Lois kicked him out. We checked out at 12:00, met Eka and her Mom with Mine too. We bid goodbyes to each other as we're booking Grab individually. The hug was very tight because we know seeing all of complete is a very rare occasion.

Our stay in Manila Hotel was very pleasant. We really maximised everything that's in there. It's going to take a while to have this 3-day event again. The wedding must be the last one for my constants for a longer time. We were all joking and rooting for Mika to be next but that's really interesting one. For now, we will enjoy having this my constants. A family of 10 with me, Jericho, Rhea Lyn, Patricia, Michaela, Ron Paolo, Aljohn, Lois and Albert and Eka and Mine — my little sanctuary.