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m00nlitknight · 5 years ago

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librarian helper

fandom: IT (2017) pairing: henry bowers / goody-two-shoes reader word count: 1,635 warnings: none to really point out? henry being henry?? summary: Oh, how one tires of stagnant days. extra: my favorite part of this is when richie said 'mullet-boy bowers' im iconic. i also finished this at like 3am pls b gentle i hope i wrote henry ok! feedback is highly appreciated, thank you for reading!

archive of our own link.

Monday mornings in Derry weren’t ideal, regardless of the context. Teens awoken far too early for their own good, forced to come to grips with the reality that it was the first day back from the weekend. Trudging through the crowded student body and longing for the day to be over just as soon as it was to begin. A variety of feelings made the air heavy and thick with a concoction so truthful to the high school experience; frustration, exhaustion, and the underlying scent of yearning.

Few an individual found themselves bragging of the weekend’s extracurricular activities, cackling with an unusual vigor and energy unlike the rest of their near-ghoulish peers. Others were sitting on the ground, rushing through their assignments with adrenaline only just granted to them; oh yes, the heart-stopping experience of forgetting that there was homework.

Fortunately, you’d hadn’t found yourself in that predicament this morning, having thoroughly done your homework on Friday night. Best to do it then push it off and forget it; your own philosophy. Not to say you hadn’t found yourself in the same situation in times past, nor were you above those whose memory’s had failed them.

Quietly you step up to your locker, opening it and glancing down to your left, where Richie Tozier was currently scribbling nonsense down on what you assumed to be Government. You hummed, putting your things away quickly and retrieving what looked to be the same assignment - some stupid worksheet the teacher assigned, no doubt some kind of busywork. Your class truly had no grasp on the concept of being ‘quiet,’ which annoyed you to no end.

You squatted down to his level, with his pencil not even ceasing as you set the paper in his peripheral. No teachers were at their morning posts yet, either that or the ones who were supposed to be there simply didn’t care to be there.

“Oh - uh, shit, how much?” His eyes shifted from you to the paper quickly as he fumbled to reach for something - likely his wallet.

“Nothing,” Your voice leaves you laced with amusement as you push the paper into his grasp. “Just don’t get caught with it, please.”

“Aw, c’mon! You can’t just hand it the fuck over for free, man, that’ll mean I owe you a solid.”

“Just consider it on the house, Tozier. It’ll be fine, you don’t owe me.”

“Okay, okay, but don’t come hollerin’ when you suddenly need a favor from ol’ Richie, alright?”

You hum in affirmation, turning back to your locker and beginning to sort through the things that would be needed for the day to come. Around you, energy began to rise, individuals of the student body reanimating through social interaction. The morning sun may not have been enough to revitalize them, but it appeared that the promise of teenage-to-teenage interaction was.

Richie finished his work with your worksheet quickly, shoving it back in your direction with a toothy grin. “Thanks, dude, you’re a fuckin’ lifesaver, I swear.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing! Do you need help with anything else? You know I have a basically free second period in the library.”

“Nah, thanks for the offer,” He seemed to finalize, standing up to go through his own locker. “I’ll make sure to send my dumbfuck friends your way if they happen to need any tutoring, though.”

You release a laugh through your nose, head shaking as you did so. Richie looked to you with a momentary smile, only to have it fall when he looked passed to the people around you.

“Alright, don’t panic,” naturally, you felt a little alarmed as a grimace crept onto his features. “ but I think you have a momentary peepin’ Tom right now.”

“Uh ... what ... do you mean?” You couldn’t help the faint caution and apprehension crawling into your voice.

“Mullet-boy Bowers is staring at you like ... really intensely,” he turned to you once again, putting an not-so-reassuring hand on your shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the fuck outta dodge right now.”

With that, he stepped around you, maneuvering through the hallway - likely to class - and leaving you by your lonesome and, unfortunately, vulnerable. Quickly after his departure, the bell rang shrill overhead, signaling the beginning of class as students begrudgingly made their way to their first hour classes. You made yourself among their ranks, gathering your things to hopefully outrun ( or walk in this case ) any physical advancements the fellow student could’ve had on you.

The classroom’s door frame never felt more welcoming as you stepped foot into it, releasing a breath of comfort. Most of the class had yet to filter in, meaning there was more reign to choosing whatever seat you wanted. With a hum of appreciation, you step further in, choosing a seat not-too-close and not-too-far back for your liking, sitting down and preparing for class.

You keep your attention focused on your notebook for the beginning as classmates make their way in, sitting in various spots around the room and leaving you by yourself. Booted footfalls make their dreaded way over to you, finding themselves seated to your right. Sudden fear prickles your skin, suddenly making the room too warm and too cold at once while your shoulders tense. For the love of god, be anyone, anyone other than who you thought it was.

The seat creaks, likely with the weight of its occupant leaning into your vicinity. “Did’ja get the homework done, girlie?” You can almost hear the smirk in his whisper, as though he’s a wolf bearing his maw to a sheep. You tense further, shaking your head as you unconsciously lean further into the empty space you have right.

“S’funny...swear I saw you givin’ it to Trashmouth ‘fore class started,” The seats to your front and back were occupied by others, quite possibly remaining individuals who found an alliance with Henry. “Always thought’ch’re a good girl...be a shame if someone fucked that up for y’huh?”

Blackmail? That didn’t really seem like his style, then again it didn’t quite seem like you were being offered a choice of any kind - especially if he had the man power of his goons with him.

“So what’s it gonna be, huh? We ain’t got much time,” his voice transcribed his annoyance as your mulling was cut short, sliding the paper into his vision as he diligently scribbled the answers down. Across the room you caught the eye of Richie, quickly looking away in shame. You nearly miss the amused “s’what I thought,” murmured from Henry as he finishes the work quickly, shoving your desk with a bark of laughter.

The class continues on with its usually snail-like pace, much to your dismay as you keep your eyes locked on either the clock or your notebook. In front of you sat Belch Huggins, likely to his own humor since you were no longer able to see the board, and to your back sat Victor Criss who was able to sneak in an early nap. Through the paperballs being spat at or thrown at you from your right, you couldn’t help but feel that this was in some way better than having Patrick sit nearest to you - even if he was still creepily staring into your shoulder from behind Henry with what you could only guess was that irking grin. God forbid it was his expressionless face, that churned nervousness in your gut.

The bell rang once again overhead, signaling your freedom to the library as you scrambled to gather your things and rush passed before you had the chance to get cornered. Dumping what you had in your hands in your locker - you figured it would be for later you to organize - you did your best to scamper to the library unseen.

It seemed to have worked for the most part, aside from the bemused glances you garnered from teachers. Only momentary, they shrugged it off as you being a good kid in a hurry. As you entered the vicinity, you released another sigh of relief. If there was one thing you knew, it was that Henry Bowers wouldn’t be caught dead in a library. You didn’t really worry about his friends either, they were probably busy giving some unfortunate soul a swirlie, or whatever.

“Always on time, aren’t you?” The librarian, Ms. Andrews, rhetorical question was met with a beaming smile from you. “I’ve written things down for you to do, I’ll be in and out today helping the bookkeeper in the office.”

With a timid nod, you walked over to what she’d assigned you to do, looking through the short list with a thought of reaffirmation. Checking books back in, sorting back through them, and putting labels on new ones. You didn’t think you’d get through it all in the allotted time, though you were sure she’d been aware. Despite the world’s slow pace of going digital, Derry managed to lag behind - leaving you and your school with the unfortunate continuation of the paper system instead of being able to have the use of a computer.

“I’ll be back soon, dear, you know where where everything is,” she rounded the counter top before stepping out of the room, heels clicking loudly on the linoleum outside the carpeted room. A few moments later, the sound of boots made themselves apparent on the floor outside, going unnoticed by you as you began working on what had been assigned to you.

Looking up, your eyes met the smug gaze of Bowers himself - to which you tensed up once again. It stayed like what for an uncomfortable amount of time, the stuffy silence broken by the likes of you.

“Didn’t think you’d be a fan of the library,” you murmured, closing the book and setting it on the cart to be replaced.

“Wasn’t really, ‘till a lil’ birdy told me where my favorite bunny hangs out fer her second hour,” A sly smirk crawled onto his features as he watched you grimace over the use of the pet name.

He stepped forward, watching a physical flinch from you occur whilst he leaned his elbows onto the counter. It was stupid of him to get worked up over watching you squirm like that, but he had to admit there was definitely a feeling that came along with it. Leaning onto the counter, he gazed into your face. “What’ya say to us peelin’ outta here, goin’ and havin’ some actual fun?”

You fell silent at the question, blush darkening your features all the way to the ear. Unable to keep eye contact, you glanced to the pile of books that suddenly seemed way more interesting. “I’d say,” your voice came out so much more fragile then you’d meant it to as you looked back into his eyes. “Take me to dinner first.”

At your rebuttal, he found himself at a momentary loss for words, his own cheeks dusting with a faint pink. His smirk faltered, before returning at full force. “Can’t a man get a taste first, then?”

“ Uh, ” your mouth went dry, eyes suddenly widening. How could he be so forward?

“What’ll it be, doe-eyes?”

With a glance around the vacant library, you looked to him again. “Follow me.”

His smirk turned wolfish as you led him to the vague-privacy of the bookshelves. Once the doorway was out of sight, and the two of you were tucked away into a corner, you looked to him. “We’ll have to be quick...and quiet.”

He stepped to you, only partially caging you in with one hand. “I can do quick, but I can’t promise quiet, bunny.”

“W-we can’t do much,” you stammer, face flushing as he lowered himself to your neck. “I’m n-not that easy!” You squeak when you feel his lips press against your jugular, putting an embarrassed hand to your mouth.

“Thought we had to be quiet,” he chuckled.

You put your hands onto his face, dragging him backward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Quickly, he swatted your hands away, coming to rest his own on your waist as you replaced your hands onto his shoulders. The kiss escalated to eyes being closed, lip nipping, and heads turning for a better angle.

You gently pulled away, in turn his hands beginning to roam your mid-section with curiosity as you caught your breath. When he brushed a certain spot, you couldn’t suppress a giggle, much to his amusement as he began to brush it intentionally.

“Henry!” You giggle, putting your hands on his chest to push him away.

“Y’know, I like the sound of my name on your lips, doe-eyes,” He pressed a kiss to your lips once again before pulling away completely. “Maybe you’ll be sayin’ it with more gusto tonight, huh?”

Your face flushes, eyes widening again. “Oh - oh! Uh, maybe..?”

“Meet me durin’ lunch, we’ll talk then,” and with a wink, he set out of the library.

#henry bowers x reader #henry bowers imagine #henry bowers #it 2017 fanfiction #it 2017 #anyway #reader insert

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cewija2492-blog · 4 years ago

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Puppy Mills Versus Ethical Breeders

I think the general article is very confused about the definition of the two topics in this article. My purpose with this article is to anticipate some issues. https://namesofloyaldog.splashthat.com/

Today the first topic that I am going to write is Meet Pappi. As a responsible breeder, I hate puppy mills and anything close to them. The sub will define anyone who raises dogs for profit as a puppy mill. I believe a better definition would be anyone who raises dogs for profit, regardless of their well-being or care. A puppy mill has terrible conditions where dogs are kept in small, dirty cages without seeing the light of day. In my mind's eye I see dirty, bubbly, frightened dogs in the corner and breed several times a year with no human interaction. Puppy mills never have their dogs or puppies examined by a vet because they do not care for the health of their animals. Puppy mill puppies are always sold to brokers or middlemen, who then deliver them across the country, sometimes in critical conditions, to pet shops in large cities, relying on those they trust. Huh. Is a cute puppy. When you sell a puppy to a middle man, what encouragement do you have for a happy, healthy puppy father? You will not have to deal with any problem. Why do you try again? If people knew under which conditions the puppies were raised, they would not buy a dog grinder that would breed a puppy. However, people cannot see this and people are still inadvertently supporting Puppy Mills and will continue the cycle by supporting these immoral people. Often, puppies sold at pet stores become ill within the first few days or weeks, generating hundreds or thousands of dollars in veterinary bills. Unfortunately, veterinarians cannot always replace the damage caused by poor breeding, poor surroundings, improper preventive care, and unwanted dogs that have not been cleaned for breeding as a result of genetic defects resulting from breeding. Often, these cubs die, despite veterinary care and money to protect them. The money spent on a puppy in a poor quality pet shop is sometimes astronomical. In general, I always recommend that people never shop at the pet store until you can go to the breeders' house to find out their convenience and meet the parents. Another awesome practice in pet shops is making registration papers. Any registration other than AKC (this can also be unacceptable, although it is more difficult) will provide many papers without proof of paternity. If you notice, many large puppy mill industries are converting all of their dogs to ACA for several reasons which will be included in a future article. Stay away from breeders who only produce ACA, CKC, APRI or other blind registered dogs. It screams at Pappi Mill.

Pet shops are not just puppy mills, not puppy vendors. There are many private, backyard or illegal "breeders" who do not take proper care of their chickens or do not know what they are doing. Responsible breeding is much more than having two dogs mating and making puppies. Puppies are a big responsibility and this process should not be taken lightly. In 2009, Pennsylvania passed new dog laws that closed the state's largest puppy mills. Surprisingly, there have been over 800 dog kennels working legally in PA for decades. Some kennel owners refused to comply and would hold them until the state shut them down. Others voluntarily renounced their licenses but continued to run illegally. I think it happened more than anyone understood. Many large kennel owners were also land / farm owners with family members and friends who owned farms. Many dogs here and there are hidden in the pantry and backyards by friends and relatives, which have been overlooked, but illegally picked up and sold, detect flaws in the law. I warn people to make sure your breeder has a state license and visit your home or facility to see where your puppies are.

Ethically responsible breeders research potential fertility to ensure that they are healthy and irrelevant. A good breeder reviews all breeding dogs twice a year and allows them to breed. Females need to be reared most often once a year and then, when they are 5 to 6 years old, the sheltered loving shelters have to end their lives. Immoral breeders cannot do this because then people will see the status of their breeding dogs and report them. There are many different protocols used by good breeders, but all good breeders ethically care for their dogs and puppies and have them checked by a veterinarian at least once a year. Good, clean furniture is also necessary, and a happy, friendly cub is a product of good socialization. When requesting a reference from your potential breeder, you should have a list within a few days. You can also get information about the vet upon request. Your breeder should answer emails or phone calls in a timely manner and be aware of their gender. Parents should be able to answer questions about register, health, age, availability of puppies, etc. A good breeder knows their dogs and puppies and you should not come back often with the requested information. You should be able to meet the parents upon arrival and see the facility first.

In fact, if you do a little research and ask a lot of questions, you should be able to find a good breeder. Use your gut feelings about someone; It is usually reliable. Buying a puppy is a huge commitment and you should never be forced to make a hasty decision. A good breeder wants you to trust your decision and encourage you to take the time to make that decision. Many breeders lie and tell you that someone else is interested in the puppy you asked and if you don't buy it quickly, they won't be there when in reality no one else asks for the puppy. I have heard it many times from breeders and the way people take advantage of it makes me laugh.

A good breeder's breeding program should be its main function, not something ahead of it. When someone puts all their time and energy into their breeding program, they are likely to do better. When it is completed it is a full-time job. You cannot do without making a profit because you have to work and live. It costs to get the facility required by the state and you may have to pay for it. In fact, if you are going to do it correctly and it costs a lot to raise a dog and it should be your main activity or it can go well. The definition of sub is a bit extreme. I do not know anyone who takes hours to run a kennel and does not make a profit. Your main job is to do it for free and only pay for small part-time jobs. I do not think profit should be the main focus of promotion. Producing high quality, happy and healthy puppies for humans and improving the breed you produce should be the primary focus of any breeder. If it is lost, the priorities will be messed up.

Be sure to ask as many questions as possible, talk to your breeder in person and visit the facility if possible. Ask for references, talk to people who have actually been there, and go through your instincts. A puppy purchased from an ethical breeder can bring you joy and happiness for many years to come. Anything can change.

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save-the-spiral · 5 years ago

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InkWizTober Day Thirty-One: Ripe + Celebration

Welcome to day thirty-one of inktober! Final day! Wrote something cute- a costume party event. It quickly became a more fun and magical version of what the elementary/middle school I went to would throw, with a significant decrease in dead inside high schoolers. No warnings, besides a bit of internal social awkwardness.

(link to prompt lists) (link to inktober tag)

There were a lot of ridiculous rumors about necromancers- especially around October, considering how often these rumors are treated as practical jokes or ghost stories. None of the rumors were right, of course, but the ones about how death wizards observed Halloween were definitely wrong.

Ianthe glanced around the brightly lit library, emptied of books for tonight, and instead full of excited young wizards in costumes and munching on sweets. This was about as far from a ghost hunt, or a seance, or a demonic Earth ritual, or some weird serial killer antics as one could get.

She grinned, bearing her glow-in-the-dark plastic vampire fangs. With a dramatic swish of her violet cloak, she welcomed another guest, playing up the fanged lisp to the amusement of a young student dressed as a tree. At her side, Leo laughed, his plastic fangs on display as well, but he made a fake-serious face at her nudging elbow, only causing the new guest to laugh more.

The boy introduced himself as Elijah, and excitedly watched the magical decorations moved as he entered the library.

“There’s already so many people.” Leo remarked dryly. To others this would seem sarcastic or annoyed, but Ianthe knew it was worry.

“No one will go looking for books to vandalize. They won’t harm the animals either- Irisi seemed fairly confident she could take control of the petting zoo.” Ianthe replied, nudging her partner. “You can go look over the place to make sure- it’s six thirty, I can handle any stragglers coming in.”

Leo held one of her hands, likely from instinct, he hated public displays of affection, and as he left the welcome desk, she overplayed the dramatics again, reaching out, quoting Titanic, all to see him snicker again, even if it was quickly replaced by a blank face.

Leo was worried. His books, his animals, they were like his babies, defenseless.

Well, some of the animals could bite back.

And some of the books too, for that matter.

Either way, he was sure his friends and other volunteers would be doing fine- great, really!- but it wasn’t the same as keeping tabs on things, making sure it was all going well.

The event had been his idea at first, stemming from ridiculous ideas for his partner’s mothers’ bakery, a joke really. But it quickly spiraled out of control, and now he was standing in the middle of his library full of students (most of which he has never seen in his entire life) and there was even a full catered buffet of sweets.

Morae was so excited to bake for the event, she even created a tall wedding cake creation straight out of a cartoon- it swayed on five tiers, all of them odd shapes, decorated in black, purple, orange, and lime green. Hundreds of cookies and cupcakes were all around the room as well, courtesy of Morae’s two employees.

Leo stopped by Morae’s table first- listening to her instruct parents and kids alike on how to frost their pumpkin or ghost shaped sugar cookies was so fun- she always treated everyone like an adult, a fellow professional baker, which often left the kids confident and wanting to come back for more cookies. When he caught her eye and raised his eyebrows, she just grinned and gave a thumbs up, so he moved on.

Noah and Haley were taking turns reading from a piece of paper, dramatically reenacting a story with ad-libbed words. Leo sat down on a chair near the back of the group, hoping Noah’s awkwardness wouldn’t lead to self doubt. Haley’s idea for the game seemed to be working, though, because of course the random, and usually juvenile words led to everyone laughing.

“But be careful! On this spooky night, wizards are known to lose their- okay who wrote bananas again?” Noah turned to the crowd, exaggeratedly frowning, only for all the children to giggle when his top hat fell off his head from the sudden movement.

The next booth was face painting, and even if he didn’t personally know them, Irisi’s recommendation to put Julia and Adrien on the job seemed perfect, even if their flirting distracted them a bit. Julia was very serious as she painted a flower onto a young girl’s face, talking to her about the fairy wings they both wore.

Entranced by it, Leo bumped into someone. “Sorry!” He instantly snapped out, backing away-

Only for one Caleb Deathleague to be looking at him, confused. “Hey, you alright? You look tense.”

Leo sighed, still on guard. Caleb was once an overbearing, rude kid, though rumor had it the boy had changed. “...Yeah, ‘Mfine.”

“Hey! You organized this, right?” Caleb’s eyes brightened up, any intimidation Leo felt completely gone when he realized the other necromancer was dressed like a... mouse? His costume was made of paper and tape as well.

“...Yes?”

“Great!” It was then that Caleb lightly tugged on whatever was behind him- a child, by the looks of it. “Fledge here hasn’t ever gotten to have a Halloween before- what do you recommend for a more quiet activity?”

Leo looked at the kid, recognizing the prodigy fire wizard by their beaded dreadlocks and intense eyes, though their feathered cloak’s hood was pulled up now. “Uh... You could probably grab some of the cookie decorating stuff and take it to a side table- Morae wouldn’t mind. I think some ice wizard- Alamina?- is taking care of a kinda quiet time and reading area- pretty sure she’s just napping in a ghost sheet costume. But Artur and Susie have some puzzles, word searches and jigsaws and stuff. And Penny 'n’ Marla are probably having too much fun DJ-ing the cake walk, you don’t have to actually talk to other people for that one.”

Leo stopped himself, trying not to ramble and overwhelm them.

“Thanks.” Caleb smiled at him, genuine. “Happy Halloween.”

With a nod, the two passed him, and Leo could almost sigh with relief. Social interactions with people who weren’t Ianthe or her moms was hard.

“Leo!”

Leo had to take a whole second trying to contain his instinctive gasp or flinch, instead turning towards a nearby booth and smiling. “Hi Ceren.”

“I wanted to show the kids why it’s better to cut the bottom instead of around the stem of their pumpkins- can you help?” The gentle life wizard was out of place in this usually dark library, his face painted to look like a bright green zombie.

“...Sure?” Leo walked around to Ceren’s side of the table.

“So, this is how we grow our pumpkins, everyone watching?” Ceren nodded at the chorus of ‘yes’s that replied. He pulled out a rather simple wand, bright green magic glowing and the life emblem imprinting onto the plain pot of soil on the table, the rest of the surface crowded by in-progress jack-o-lanterns. Then, a bright green sprout shot up to every child’s awe, and a vine burst forth.

A kid yelled something about Cinderella, and the rest agreed, watching the sped up growth of two pumpkins- the bright yellow blooms, then the growing gourds that settled heavily on the cleared space of the table. Once it stopped, everyone clapped, even some kids who were drawn from other booths.

“Now, see I’ve got this knife- make sure an adult handles the knives, everyone- and I’m going to cut these pumpkins with the same amount of stem. Here, Leo, cut the top of this one the ‘usual way’ for me? Okay, so Leo’s is the normal way, but mine is upside down, cut from the bottom. Everyone see that? Okay! Now, Leo, could you use some death magic to speed up the rotting?”

Leo nodded, putting the knife down and grabbing his own wand- a gnarled branch from Mortis’ tree, a rare gift- and began to cast a general spell, careful to limit it to plants. The pumpkins began to lose their bright orange-ness, now both upright and in clear sight on the table.

The one he had cut began to sag much quicker than the other, which was only slightly discolored, and it continued. The kids cheered as the one he cut finally collapsed in on itself, quickly thrown into a garbage bag upon the loud sounds of childish disgust.

“Thanks Leo!” Ceren grinned at him. “So, that’s why we’re cutting from the bottom, so our pumpkins stay pretty and orange for longer!”

With that, Leo escaped, waving at some of his friends- looks like Mari had a wardrobe malfunction, if her loose hay and scarecrow hat were anything to go by, and Irisi was trying to make sure his few younger animals stopped playing tug-of-war with her mummy bandages. Emrys was silently watching people play his dart toss game, snorting every time an older kid claimed it was rigged, and giving the younger kids candy even if they missed.

Yeah, yeah everything was fine- he was not going to get himself dragged into another kindergarten class on temporary tattoos or something, nope!

When he finally made it back to the welcome desk, Ianthe was grinning at him, plastic fangs left on a candy wrapper while she ate a lollipop.

“I think my mom’s trying to sneak in with as many different costumes as possible in one night.” Ianthe finally said when he flopped down in his desk chair, slightly panting.

Leo glanced at the doorway. “Hi Morelle.”

The masked person began to shout incredulously and leave, long black hair obviously revealing them as Morelle.

With one shared look, Ianthe and Leo broke into laughter.

And the night had just begun.

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jeannereames · 5 years ago

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Happy Birthday to the real Amyntor: Ed Reames

9/11 is a day of mourning in the US. But for me, 9/11 means my father’s birthday. And with Dancing with the Lion: Rise coming out next month--which is dedicated to my father’s memory--I decided I’d post here the tribute to my father that I wrote shortly after his death in February of 2017. My father (and mother) provided the model for Amyntor in the novel. So if you’d like to meet the “real” Amyntor, here he is.

Calvin Edward Reames, c. 1944

As some of you are already aware, my father’s health—physical and mental—has been failing, especially since autumn. In late January, he caught pneumonia and was admitted to the hospital. He never regained conscious awareness and was placed on palliative care. At 3:15pm, Eastern time, February 10, 2017, he died, almost exactly 92 years and 5 months since he entered this world.

Social media has become the communication currency of our time, and supposedly nothing on the Internet ever really disappears. Ergo I want to tell you about my father so HE won’t disappear. This is my own reflection. No one’s life can be understood by any single individual in it. We’re too multifaceted. The father I knew wasn't even the father my brother knew, as we were born almost 18 years apart--he at the beginning of the Baby Boom and me at the tail end. Yet my father raised a writer for a daughter, so I feel the need to eulogize him as I knew him. Others will have other stories, more or less flattering.

Born on the now-infamous date of 9/11, 1924, in Gorham, Jackson County, (Southern) Illinois, he survived the Tri-State Tornado at only 6 months of age. With him in her arms, his mother ran for the railroad tracks and got on the opposite side from the mile-wide monster bearing down on them, then laid her own body over his; the tornado leapt the tracks and spared them. Perhaps that was an omen for a charmed life. On the face of if, his life might not seem particularly charmed, but he survived the Depression, a world war, and mostly made good on the American Dream. He even lived long enough to see his Cubbies win the World Series.

Iva Mae Gregersen Reames & Daddy, 1925

The eldest of 13 children, he grew up in a family who were poor even by Depression-era standards. It made him generous, occasionally foolishly so. Yet if he decided someone was “his” (family or friend), he saw it as his obligation to help. That conviction stemmed less from abstract ethics than from an innate kindness arising out of his recall of what it meant to be in need. Sometimes people say, “Well, I managed …” and expect others to suffer as they had. Daddy could do that, too, but mostly he didn't. If he could prevent someone from suffering, that made him happy. He just wanted a “Thank you.” When he was in the war, he sent virtually his whole paycheque home to his mother each month to help care for his younger brothers and sisters. He kept $5. Yes, $5 went much further then, but as an unmarried corporal in the US army, he made about $65 dollars monthly in 1944. So he kept 1/13th of his income and gave away the rest.

US Army Corporal, 126th AAA Battalion, 1943

That, perhaps better than anything, exemplifies his fundamental nature. It’s in our actions and choices that, I believe, we reveal our true selves.

He liked to laugh, and kid, but never cruelly. For some families, a disparaging jest is meant as back-handed affection, but that wasn’t heard in the house in which I grew up. When I was younger, I was frequently teased because I walked right into comments with potential double meanings. Perhaps one of the values of getting old(er) is that I’ve aged out of being an easy target. Yet I never learned to hear what others said as an opportunity for ribbing because my parents didn’t find that sort of thing funny. My father's sense of humor was devoid of sarcasm, as he thought it mean-spirited. Some of that owed to his own mother, who—to hear him talk about her—should have been beatified immediately upon her death. But I also believe it owed to having lived through real struggle himself.

To his mind, the world is mean enough. He saw no need to make it meaner via our interactions with people about whom we should care. It's partly for that reason, and a basic aversion to drama, that he was a much-desired member of the pastor-parish relations committee at our church in Lakeland, Florida. His presence tended to tamp down exaggerated crises and occasional bouts of flailing (which is actually a bit funny, given his own tendency to worry).

My father had a will of iron, and a quiet ambition easily overlooked. For instance, when he decided to stop smoking, back before I was born, he’d just received a new carton of cigarettes for Christmas. He threw them in the trash and quit cold turkey because he’d decided he was done. He took up a pipe later (I think largely for image), but decided he didn’t want to do that, either, and just put down the pipe one day. That was it.

"The Lineman," Normal Rockwell

When Daddy decided to do something, he did it. “Failure is not an option”: Apollo 13’s motto. Well, the men (and women) who got Apollo 13 home are my father’s generation. When he returned from the war, he was one of millions looking for a job. He tried on several, but finally decided to work for the telephone company because communications seemed like the future. Before the war, he’d wanted to be a pharmacist, yet circumstance had curtailed the college degree required. So he began showing up regularly in the hiring offices of General Telephone Electric (GTE), asking for work. He made himself annoying. But squeaky wheel gets the grease, and finally they sent him north as a telephone lineman … in January … during a blizzard. He was a relatively little guy (wiry, but short), and they doubted he’d last 2 days. They figured it was a good way to get rid of his terrier persistence.

Daddy on right, GTE employee award

He persisted for 40+ years, and retired as a (self-taught) senior engineer in the mid-1980s. Never tell a Reames, "You can’t do that."

The guys who’d worked under him at the end liked him so much, they kept coming to visit him for years after. He had that effect on people, whether at work, at church, or as a ham radio operator ("This is K9RWP calling..."). They sensed he truly cared about them, and responded in kind. He wasn’t a boisterous or especially outgoing person, but he was still an extrovert. He’d strike up conversations with random strangers in lines at store check-outs.

Especially if there was a baby involved.

Daddy & his great-granddaughter, Leila

See, Daddy loved babies. And babies loved Daddy. Maybe as a result of being the eldest of 13, but he could burp them, change a diaper pronto, or make them laugh. He so enjoyed watching little kids, especially as he aged; he’d break into a grin just to see them playing at a distance. He was never among the “Children should be seen and not heard” crowd. To his mind, children should be talked to and played with. They would inherit the earth. When my son was born just a few months after my mother's death, Daddy said, “He’s my little replacement.” At the time, I worried his words were fatalistic. But he went on to survive my mother by almost 20 years, and now, I see his words as an expression of continuity. We are our ancestors.

Daddy, Grandson Ian & Licorice as a kitten

So my son, Ian, is his replacement, in the larger sense. When we look forward, we also look back to where we came from. I tried to insure that Ian got to know his Grandpa, who was there just days after he came home from the hospital after birth, and was there when he graduated from high school, even paid his first bill for books at college. Because that’s who Daddy was. If he didn’t get to attend college himself, he made sure both his kids did, and his grandkids. For him, that was an achievement.

As I said…the success of others, especially friends and family, seemed to Daddy the same as his own.

Yet his generosity and empathy extended beyond just people. Daddy was a cat magnet. We used to joke that if he sat down and there was a cat within 50 feet, pretty soon, that cat would be on his lap. He liked dogs, to be sure, but dogs (and horses) were my mother’s favorites. Daddy liked cats, and they liked him. Dogs are forgiving. They’ll stay with even an abusive owner; but cats leave. They don’t put up with crap. Daddy? Even semi-feral cats trusted him.

Daddy, me, Ian, and a completely random barn cat who decided to adopt him for the day at my aunt’s farm

So while he was raised in a time when animals were tools and food more than family members, and he certainly went hunting from a young age to help put food on the table, I think he, more than my mother, had a soft spot for animals. I remember in the ‘70s, he decided we were going to raise rabbits for food, and bought a pair of does. Well, it didn’t take long for yours truly to make pets not only of the does, but of the first litter of babies. All of them had to go to homes where they’d be pets, not dinner. And while I’d made the pronouncement, it didn’t take much to convince my father. Shooting a wild squirrel for the stew pot (especially when hungry) was one thing; killing the rabbits one fed regularly and took care of was another. So our venture in home-grown meat failed miserably (to, I’m sure, the rabbits’ collective relief). Yet it wasn’t just due to my agitating. I don’t think Daddy could have killed a one of them, even if I hadn’t protested. They had names, after all.

He wasn’t a saint. None of us are. The cliche applies: we're a mix of vices and virtues, like shadows against the backlight of the sun. Age softened some of his, while exacerbating others due to a failing filter. Among other things he did well, Daddy was a champion worrier. He worried about anything you can imagine (and then some). Perhaps that owed to growing up in such an unstable era as the Depression when it seemed anything could happen, but for instance, he would remind me constantly to hold onto handrails while going up and down stairs. It seems trivial, but he genuinely angsted over me falling at home and hurting myself when nobody might find me for days. So I (mostly) hold onto rails, because I hear his voice in my head, telling me to.

The irony, of course, is that he was in much more danger of falling, yet he didn't tend to worry about himself. Before he moved up to be near my brother, I tried to get him to buy one of those Life Alert systems. I even employed the ultimate weapon: his grandson (Ian), to beg. He refused. He’d be fine, because he’s of that generation when all a man should need was himself, a gun, a good job, and a driver's license. And oh, boy, getting him to relinquish that driver's license as he went increasingly blind from macular degeneration was quite the battle, one my poor brother largely had to face when Daddy moved north to Kentucky in his last years. Daddy never did let go of the worrying, though.

He could be impatient, and critical, too, sometimes overly so. I never wanted to sing in front of him because he, like many of his siblings, had an excellent ear and I was, well, usually a little flat. He could hear it, and would say so. But the one he was most critical of was himself, if he failed to live up to his (very high) standards of what he thought he ought to do. Some of that, I lay at the feet of his own father, at least as my mother told it to me. Yet in contrast, as noted earlier, he delighted in the success of others. As a child and young woman I wanted to succeed not because I feared his critique (except about my singing), but because I basked in his happiness when I did well. He could be downright embarrassing in his bragging. If failure, especially his, was not an option, he didn't feel the need to build himself up by tearing down others. He was happy to share the spotlight, or even to applaud from the sidelines--and mean it. Again, maybe that owed to being one of 13, but I think it went deeper, back to his fundamental worldview: “You and me,” not, “Me or you.” He was quietly ambitious, but not especially competitive. Except at cards. Then all bets were off (sometimes literally).

Daddy with Mama, Christmas, c. 1990

One of his most outstanding virtues was his loyalty. For instance, he fell in love with my mother and stayed married to her for 51 years, then never remarried. While it might have been nice for him to remarry, I don't think it was in him; it would have felt like "replacing" her, and to his mind, she had no replacement.

After her death in 1997, I recall going through old pictures of her with him, one from just after the war, which showed them out with friends. Keep in mind that my mother, from childhood until after the birth of my brother, was…pudgy. While on the shorter side, my father was never heavy in his youth. In fact, he got quite buff during WWII: broad-chested and slim-waisted. But as we looked at that picture of my mother next to her friends, he pointed to her with tears in his eyes, and said, "She was the most beautiful of them all." Yup, the "pudgy" girl.

Idalee Brouillette, c. 1944, the picture my father carried during WWII

But he was right: Mama was a stunner. I know that, now, people say I look a lot like her, and I’m honored it’s so. But I was never as pretty as she was, especially in her youth, and I think my father felt bedazzled that this beautiful, black-haired Brouillette girl decided she was going to marry him, and that was the end of it. Her family was better off financially during the Depression, even with Indian blood; they had a farm with a full section, and a car, and enough money for my grandfather to send my mother and her sisters into town to go to school when he thought the teacher at the school on Buttermilk Hill was unqualified. So I suppose you could say Daddy "married up." But to Mama’s mind, she’d won the deal, getting the determined, smart guy.

See, long before they met in person, Mama had gone with her best friend Annie to Gorham High School for a day, visiting. In math class, the teacher put a problem on the board and asked the class to solve it. Only one student could: my father. He got up and wrote the solution on the blackboard, and Mama was enchanted. She asked Annie, “Who is that guy!?”

Some years later, she married that guy.

March 8th, 1946, wedding picture

In many ways, my parents were quite different people. My mother was progressive in thought beyond her time, naturally empathic and perceptive, a bookworm introvert with a steel spine when she needed it and the amazing ability to keep 5+ people’s business in her head without forgetting anything. Everything I know about organization (and I’m pretty good at it), I learned from my mother. My father was conservative, protective, supportive, more intelligent (in sheer IQ), but less emotionally intelligent (EQ), more driven, but less philosophical. Yet they created a unique alchemy of spirit. They didn’t share common interests—Mama loved reading novels, Daddy never read fiction, Mama loved watching murder mysteries, Daddy preferred ball games or the news. Yet they looked out on the world in the same direction, and that’s what mattered.

Ed Reames in high school

In the end, what can I say but that Daddy was the epitome of the Greatest Generation. And now he’s gone. I won’t say we’ll never see their like again, because nobody knows the future. They weren’t perfect—racism was an institutionalized assumption enshrined in segregation, women barely had the vote, LGBTQ wasn’t even talked about—but we, in our current America, could take a page from those who survived abject poverty and economic collapse without government safety nets, then went on to save the world from fascism. They did it not by grand deeds, but by the simple heroism of young men and a few women storming a beach at Normandy or Iwo Jima, a lot of whom never came home. Daddy used to joke that he chased Hitler all over Europe but never caught him.

Daddy, you did catch him. You were part of the men and women who stopped him.

You are my hero. You are the real Captain America.

I’m privileged and grateful to be your daughter, and I love you, forever.

#My 9/11 #The Greatest Generation #Amyntor #Ed Reames #Dancing with the Lion #DwtL #tribute to my father

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kinktae · 7 years ago

Text

just friends || (M)

The transition from best friends to best friends with benefits is never easy, especially when there’s a daddy kink involved.

Or, "You love to run your mouth, don't you, baby girl?"

pairing: best friend!jungkook x reader

genre: uh best friend AU but really just an excuse for angsty smut

word count: 9k

warnings: smut, dirty talk, spanking, daddy kink sORRY, dom!jungkook, jungkook just being a little shit basically

A/N: YES OKAY THIS IS ONE OF MY FIRST FICS AND HAS NOT BEEN EDITED you have been warned!! this is based on the song Friends by Marshmello.

CHAPTERS: 01 | 02 | 03 (final)

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PART ONE

The opening and closing of the apartment door hardly registered in your mind, choosing instead to continue flipping through the latest issue of your Cosmo magazine. Sure, there was a slim chance that the person entering your home was an intruder with murderous intentions but given the hour you were more than certain the loud footsteps nearing your way belonged to your roommate arriving home from his trip to the gym.

"Ah, there she is! My favorite nun." Jungkook's voice rang out from behind you.

You huffed and said farewell to the article that was meant to tell you whether or not vajazzling was right for you as you shut the magazine entirely. You were sat upright on the couch, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles comfortably.

"Can I fucking help you, Kook?" You asked, turning your head to look at your impolite roommate.

Jungkook flashed you a greasy smile as if taking pleasure in the way you glared back at him with obvious disdain. He ran his fingers through his bangs, hair damp and pressed to his forehead from what you could only assume must have been sweat.

"Well, you're home. Alone. So I'm assuming your date went shit and you're continuing your dry spell."

That fucking dick.

"First of all, you asswipe," You began, the sides of your mouth curling downwards, "my date was rescheduled. Second of all, I'm not in any kind of dry spell, thank you very much."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow before making his way to the couch. He shoved your legs out of the way with a single hand, sitting himself down where your feet once resided.

"Right. Because you get laid all the time." Jungkook remarked sarcastically, rolling his eyes. You frowned.

"Just because you can't function normally without getting your dick wet at least once a day doesn't mean that my sexual schedule isn't normal." You scoffed.

Perhaps if Jungkook were just a roommate, you would have shoved him off the couch, cursing at him for speaking to you so crudely. But, somewhat unluckily for you, you had known Jungkook for a long time. This imprudent son of a bitch was – astonishingly – your best friend.

How you two met was about as uninteresting as it got, you supposed. Back when you were around nine, your parents had befriended the couple that had moved in next door, and conveniently, they had a son your age for you to be forced to interact with whenever the adults wanted to hang out.

Back then, Jungkook was just another awkward preteen with a bad haircut and zero social skills. Your blooming friendship was merely a consequence of always being at one another’s home. It wasn't until Jungkook had turned eleven that you realized he actually had a personality and that you rather enjoyed hanging out with him.

As the years went by, your friendship solidified and soon enough, you two were inseparable. He had a quick tongue, and he used it often to stand up for you should a classmate have even so much as looked at you funny, and you helped him make sense of all his raging boy hormones, reasoning with him when he was upset, giving him girl advice, and – occasionally – covering up a pimple or two with some concealer he had convinced you to buy in his behalf.

It wasn’t all easy sailing, however. The latter half of high school really did a number on your relationship honestly. Because for whatever reason, puberty was extra nice to Jungkook; he grew tall and muscular and his hair finally grew compliant, freeing him from the awful bowl-like hairstyle he used to have.

In other words, he got hot.

And because of the natural order of the social hierarchy, Jungkook became popular and involved in things like parties and alcohol and sex. Long gone were your sleepovers where you both stayed up all night singing along to Disney movies. Instead, you were forced to settle with dry, late night phone calls where he recalled his latest sexual escapades, and you pretended like you were interested and that that information hadn't been circling around the school the day prior.

Jungkook vehemently denied it now, but when you were both in school, he scarcely spared you a passing glance, despite the fact that he called you nearly every night to chat. Not that you yourself ever did much talking; all the constant attention at school had gone to Jungkook's head so most of your conversations were about him and what he had going on. You swore it felt as it would be that way for the rest of your friendship, and it just might have if it weren't for one particular night.

"So I told Jackson Wang to fuck off. It wasn't like he was dating Lily so he didn't have any right to be mad. Fucking stupid, right? He told some guy in my biology class that he was gonna fight me. Dude, I swear if he thinks–"

"I think I'm pregnant." You interrupted him one night, confessing to him what had been weighing on your mind all week.

"Y-You... what?" He responded through the phone, for once speechless.

Jungkook drove you to buy a pregnancy test the next day after school. It was negative, of course; you were just a paranoid high schooler who was too young to be having sex. Jungkook felt horrible. He was supposed to be your best friend and he hadn't even known that you lost your virginity. Finally, he realized just how little he knew about what was going on in your life.

After that day, he made more of an effort to reciprocate your friendship but the damage was already done. Even if he sat with you at lunch again, the weird, funny Jungkook had been replaced by a confident, cocky one.

You grew to accept and appreciate the new Jungkook, in some weird 'well he's still my best friend' kind of way. So when you found yourselves accepted to the same university, it only made sense for you both to move in together. As irritating as he was, he was still there for you when you really needed him.

That didn't make him any less of an asshole though.

"Remind me what your sexual schedule is, again? I mean other than your usual dates with your showerhead." Jungkook questioned. Immediately, you rolled up your magazine and smacked him with it.

"Ow!" He cried out, looking at you as if he had no idea what he did wrong.

"Dick." You sneered.

"Hey, I'm genuinely concerned for you as your best friend. When is the last time you got laid?" He asked, eyes flickering to the rolled-up magazine still in your hand, ready to move out of the way if you tried to hit him again.

You sighed, leaning forward to throw the magazine onto the coffee table.

"I dunno, like seven months or something?" You revealed. Not that you were counting or anything.

Jungkook gasped in disbelief.

"Seven months?!" He cried out. "My balls would literally fall off!" Jungkook shook his head. You let out a snicker as the visual crossed your mind.

"This is outrageous, a girl like you should be getting dicked down at least once a week." He protested. You raised an eyebrow at the upset boy.

"A girl like me?"

"Yes, Y/N. You're hot and smart and funny. Any guy would be dying to fuck you." He insisted, leaning back further into the couch, getting comfortable.

"The only thing dying is my love life." You sighed.

Jungkook laughed, pinching on your cheeks.

"You're so cute." He teased. You sighed, your ego suddenly deflating. You smacked his hand away.

"Didn’t you just say I was hot? I didn’t even get to ride that ego boost for five seconds before you demoted me back down to cute. I am a mature, sexual woman that any guy would be dying to fuck. I am not cute." You stated, wagging your finger at him.

"Whatever you say, baby girl." Jungkook shrugged, catching you off guard. You felt your face heat up slightly.

The use of this particular pet name wasn’t exactly new, but it still left you feeling slightly embarrassed every time he brought it up, even if it was coming from your best friend of all people. He knew damn well how you felt about that term.

Jungkook drank in your flustered expression for a moment before a mischievous smirk overtook his face.

"Speaking of which, have you called a guy daddy in bed yet?"

You let out a sharp laugh, quirking an eyebrow at him.

One particularly drunken Friday night, Jungkook had brought up a bedroom topic, leading the two of you into an entire in-depth discussion of kinks. Naturally, one of the many disputed had the daddy kink. You shot the idea down relatively easily, not seeing yourself partaking in it any time soon, but for whatever reason, Jungkook had refused to drop the subject.

He was positively insistent, so, with liquid courage coursing through your blood, you jokingly agreed that you might be into it, simply to get Jungkook to shut up and move on. Of course, to this day Jungkook swears up and down that drunk words are sober thoughts and that you actually did have a daddy kink. It had reminiscent of a kind of an inside joke between you two at this point.

"This again? No, of course not." You rolled your eyes. On occasion, you sometimes went along with the reoccurring gag, but you currently weren't in the mood to play along.

A silent beat passed between in the two of you, Jungkook tapping a finger against the couch cushion contemplatively before replying.

“Do you want to?"

For a moment, you thought he was asking you a question he already knew the answer to. But something about his tone and the way he had held your eyes intensely made you think he was proposing something more... personal.

"What are you suggesting?" You asked quietly, eyeing him up and down suspiciously.

"All I'm saying is that if you're looking to get some, you have a more than willing candidate right here." He smirked, causing your eyes widened.

"That's not funny." You told him, stomach flipping.

Jungkook was flirty by nature, but this was uncharted territory. There was an unspoken rule that neither of you was ever going to cross the more than friends line, so to hear a sexual advance being directed at you had you beyond nervous.

"I'm not joking. I mean think about it, it's bound to happen at least once, right? Don't pretend like you've never thought about it."

Well, of course, you had thought about sleeping with Jungkook before. Anyone with functioning eyes could see how attractive he was and your mind had toyed with the idea a few times.

In your defense, most of those times had been when you were in high school, back when Jungkook would relay you all his sexual conquests in full detail, naturally leaving you curious and wondering what sex might entail once you started having it. The only boy your adolescent brain could conclude you might enjoy doing it with at the time was Jungkook. That, of course, didn't happen.

You ended up losing your virginity on a whim to some random boy in your math class that was two years older than you were.

But even if you hadn’t, Jungkook was your best friend and you weren't going to throw that all away on the grounds that it was "bound it happen."

And sure, even now when he brought girls home and the sound of their mixed noises seeped into your room through your shared wall, you sometimes wondered what it would be like to cross that line, but that was merely desperate thinking, a consequence of your dry spell, as Jungkook had so eloquently worded it.

"I can hear you when you touch yourself, Y/N. At night, when you think I'm asleep. Your fingers aren’t enough. I can help you." Jungkook purred.

If your jaw wasn’t attached to your skull you’d imagine it would have hit the floor. You couldn't believe the words that were coming out of Jungkook's mouth right now.

"You smell gross." You said abruptly, standing up to further yourself from the sweaty boy, your pounding heart in your throat.

"Y/N, I'm serious."

"And you seriously stink. Go. Shower." You laughed forcibly, wanting to change the subject as you were no longer able to entertain this conversation.

Sex? With Jungkook? No fucking way. You were way too close to him to even consider buying what he was trying to sell you.

Jungkook sighed before getting up to head towards his bathroom.

"Think about it!" He shouted towards you, turning so he could face you as he walked back down the hall. "Free dick! Whenever you want it!"

You crossed your arms as you watched the grinning boy enter his bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Unbelievable.

You scoffed as you made your way towards the kitchen. What the hell was wrong with him? Offering you casual sex out of nowhere as if that was a possibility you were actually going to consider.

Ridiculous.

You reached into your pantry and pulled out the box of your favorite cereal, an incessant urge to snack suddenly present. You couldn't be bothered to go and grab yourself a bowl and some milk, so you went ahead and threw a flake into your mouth, munching on the breakfast food angrily.

First of all, who was Jungkook to decide that you couldn't go out and find someone to sleep with? What made him think that he was your only option left? Sure, he hadn't explicitly said it, but the underlining message was there. He didn't think you could get some on your own, that prick. Who the hell was he calling a nun? God, you could feel yourself growing angrier and angrier with every bite.

You had been so consumed in your thoughts, that you hadn't noticed that Jungkook had finished with his shower and was now rummaging through your fridge, wearing nothing but a towel that was wrapped lowly around his waist. When you finally snapped back to reality, your eyes widened at the sight.

Despite Jungkook's flirty nature, he was actually relatively modest in front of you. You thought it might have just been a personal preference, but one fateful day, when you had ripped off the covers of a sleeping Jungkook in an effort to wake him up, had proved you wrong. Thankfully, Jungkook had fallen asleep on his stomach so you didn't see anything too revealing but you quickly learned that Jungkook was notably okay with nudity.

You assumed his modesty in front of you just came from the fact that he saw you as a sister figure. Another reason why his offer to sleep with you caught you completely off guard.

Your chewing ceased as you watched him reach into the fridge, his shoulder muscles moving under his damp skin. Gripping on to a tubberware full of sliced cantaloupe, he turned around to face you.

He hadn't made much of an effort to dry his upper body, you realized, eyes running over the beads of water that ran down his sculpted torso.

"Like what you see?" Jungkook asked, a smug grin on his face. You snapped your eyes to meet his in annoyance.

"Choke." You suggested kindly, causing him to laugh. You quickly shoved your box of cereal back into the pantry, making your way out of the kitchen and away from your infuriating best friend.

"Love you!" He called after you, and you could just hear the smirk plastered on his face. It pissed you off to no end.

Like hell were you ever letting that cocky bastard into your pants.

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You sighed as you shut the door to the apartment, hands immediately reaching down to peel off your new, ridiculously uncomfortable heels that you had bought specifically for the date you had just gone on.

Speaking of which, it was a total dud. The guy was someone you had met through a dating app; he wasn't a bad person by any means... he just wasn't the least bit interesting. He seemed fixated on talking about his work and the company he wanted to start, which was great and all, but frankly, your food wasn’t that good and his voice was rather monotone so all you could do was nod politely and count down the minutes before you were back home again. Even though your feet were killing you, you practically ran into your apartment building after the guy's obligatory kiss on the cheek goodbye.

"You’re home just in time!" Jungkook called out in excitement, looking up at you from the couch. You looked around, confused at the sight of him sitting in an unusually clean living room. It wasn't often that those two things accompanied each other.

"Did you clean the living room?" You asked in confusion, throwing your heels to the side. Jungkook expression mirrored yours.

"Yes? Did you forget about the party tonight?" Jungkook replied, eyes gesturing towards the kitchen. You turned around bewilderedly to see bottles of alcohol lining the kitchen counter.

Fuck, you had totally forgotten.

"Shit! Jimin's birthday!" You exclaimed, your eyes widening in realization.

Jimin initial started as a friend of yours, but as you grew to know him, you actually discovered that his friend group overlapped with Jungkook’s. He was a really nice guy that Jungkook seemed to get along with too so you offered to throw him a birthday celebration since your apartment was roomy enough and you were familiar with all his friends already.

"I picked up the liquor and cake. We have candles right?" Jungkook said.

You nodded, trying your hardest to fight the urge to hurl. How could you have forgotten that you had offered to host a party in your friend’s honor? God, you felt terrible.

In your defense, you have had a lot on your mind ever last month, when your best friend of a decade offered to sleep with you. Jungkook had effectively freaked you out, sending you on a blind rampage to find someone to sleep with. Five bad dates with five mediocre guys later and here you were, celibate and completely absent-minded to the fact that you were meant to host Jimin’s party. You hadn't even called him to wish him a happy birthday for fuck’s sake!

“Hey, look at me. Everything is fine, okay? We have snacks in the fridge, decorations waiting to be hung up and we still have 20 minutes till everyone arrives.” Jungkook said, getting up suddenly.

If there was one thing he had learned over the many years of your friendship, it was that you had this intense fear of disappointing people. You would never admit it but Jungkook knew well that you were a people pleaser... a pushover, really. You forgave easily and went along with nearly anything Jungkook put you up to, something he noted but never quite thanked you for.

You blinked harshly at him, and he could tell you were trying to push back tears.

“You’re fine.” Jungkook reminded you.

“I’m fine.” You breathed out. It was a familiar phrase, something Jungkook made you repeat every time he thought you were about to freak out. Yes, it was a small gesture but it was a gentle reminder of why Jungkook had remained your best friend for all these years.

“Good. Now help me set up.” He let out a grin.

You and Jungkook hustled quickly to assemble the party together, hanging streamers and putting out snacks. Ten minutes had flown by and the apartment looked decent enough.

If not, worst-case scenario, you guys always had alcohol.

“Should we keep the bottles on the counter or should we move them elsewhere?” You asked, making your way towards the collection of liquor. You could hear Jungkook hum in consideration from behind you.

“I was gonna suggest we move some of it onto the coffee table but now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t want anyone accidentally knocking a bottle over. Take out the cups from the plastic bag on the floor, please.”

You nodded and did as he requested.

“Is that what you’re wearing, by the way?” Jungkook inquired, as you lay the stack of cups onto the counter.

“Uh, yeah.” You confirmed, suddenly feeling insecure about your attire. It was the outfit you had worn out on your date but you hadn’t bothered to change as you thought you looked good.

Sure, your outfit was a little on the sexy side but it wasn’t anything inappropriate.

You looked over at Jungkook who was staring at you.

“You look really good.” He remarked.

It was a harmless enough comment, one that he had made on several occasions before whenever he was particularly fond of your outfit choice. But your mind couldn’t help but drift to the proposal he had made that evening last month.

“Thanks.” You finally replied, and you toyed with the idea of taking a shot before everyone arrived to calm your nerves. You felt Jungkook walk up beside you.

“So how did your date go?” He brought up casually.

You pressed your lips together, staring at the bottle of vodka that sat directly in front of your face before prying it open and pouring yourself a shot.

You gave your roommate a small smile before downing the drink.

Jungkook watched you through a silent smile, wishing that you’d talk to him. And he didn’t mean the obligatory small conversation you guys often made these past weeks. He meant in the way that you used to come home after a bad date, ready to rant to Jungkook about every small detail. Admittedly, he didn’t always listen to you, sometimes he would just pretend while giving you an occasional nod or roll of his eyes whenever he deemed appropriate, but now that it no longer happened, he felt like he had taken it for granted. Everything used to be so easy. He could joke around with you and you’d punch his arm playfully, not freeze up awkwardly like you do now.

It seems as if ever since he brought up the idea of sleeping together, the two of you had gone back to being newly introduced preteens, unsure of how to go about one another. But you guys weren’t nine-year-olds anymore. You were his best friend and he would’ve never brought up the idea if he’d have known you would’ve gotten so upset about it. He missed you.

However, Jungkook was not one for sentiment, so instead of telling you that, he grabbed the cup you had in your hand, flashing you a smile as he poured himself a shot as well.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

An hour later, the party was in full swing. Jimin had arrived with good spirits and some of his best friends; you had greeted him with an overly enthusiastic hug, feeling guilty for forgetting his birthday and also somewhat drunk already.

You had managed to sneak in three more shots while Jungkook was in the bathroom. You weren’t usually the person to get super shit faced unless it was during one of your beloved Disney sing-a-long nights, but as the night progressed and you continued to find drinking partners, you found yourself getting far drunker than you would’ve liked.

More people showed up than expected and it was starting to get hot from the sheer amount of bodies inside your once spacious apartment.

“Jiminnnn!” You slurred excitedly, spotting the birthday boy on the couch, mid-conversation.

“Y/N!” Jimin smiled back at you as you pushed your way past people in order to reach him.

“Happy Birthday!” You smiled. Jimin laughed and extended a hand out to help you towards the spot next to him on the couch.

“Thank you! You’ve wished me a Happy Birthday three times already, wow!” He giggled.

Oh hey, Jimin has a pretty laugh.

“I just wanna make sure you’re having a good time.” You frowned, voice growing soft. Jimin really was such a nice guy, you thought he deserved to have a good time on his birthday.

“I am, all thanks to you! This is the best birthday ever!” Jimin announced, clearly drunk as well. You went to let out a content chuckle when he placed a grateful kiss on your cheek.

Wait a minute.

Jimin wasn’t just a nice guy– he was a great guy. He helped you pass Calculus when Jungkook had proved to be just as useless as you in math, unable to help. He also brought you coffee to your shared 8 AM classes and you couldn’t believe you were only just noticing how pretty his lips were.

That was all the convincing your intoxicated mind needed to find your mouth pressing itself against his. Much to your delight, Jimin kissed you back, stirring up excitement in your chest. Seconds later, you found yourself throwing a leg over his lap, straddling him as you pulled him close, the sound of a party attendee’s hollering somewhere in the background.

Jimin’s tongue dragged itself against your bottom lip and you let out a hum, meeting the hot muscle with your own enthusiastically.

The chatter of the people in your apartment grew louder as you and Jimin began to catch everyone’s interest, but it wasn’t until the mention of Jungkook’s name caught Jimin’s attention that he finally broke the kiss, staring off behind you with wide eyes. Swiftly, you were pushed off his lap and you didn’t have time to question his movements when your hazy eyes met Jungkook’s, locked on you from the other side of the coffee table.

You barely registered what was happening by the time you were yanked into the kitchen, Jungkook’s hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Pull your skirt down, Y/N.” Was all he said as he began to pour you a cup of water. You looked down to see that the skirt in question had risen dangerously high, undoubtedly from straddling Jimin. You frowned.

“No.” You replied, simply because you could.

“Y/N.” Jungkook warned lowly, flashed you a disapproving look. You pouted but pulled your skirt down nonetheless.

“Here.” He said, handing you the cup of water. You peered down at it cautiously.

“What is it?” You slurred, confused.

Jungkook sighed, “It’s water. You need to sober up.”

You scrunched your nose in objection.

“Nooo, I don’t want that.” You whined before moving to walk back out of the kitchen. Jungkook let out a sigh, grabbed you by the wrist once again as he pulled you back.

“Let go!” You groaned loudly, growing aggravated with your best friend.

‘First, he wants to have sex with me and now he’s trying to force water down my throat. Ridiculous.’ You thought to yourself drunkenly.

“Calm down, you’re making a scene.” Jungkook snapped, clearly as annoyed with you as you were with him.

“‘You’re making a scene,’” you mocked through a high pitched tone, “why don’t you go ahead and cry about it? Ya big baby.”

Jungkook’s fingers found the bridge of his nose, pinching at in silent frustration. Suddenly, a voice you didn’t recognize called out to Jungkook, asking if you were okay. Jungkook turned towards the sound, and if there was a person he was directing his attention to you couldn’t locate them, everything too dark and fuzzy to make sense off.

Jungkook assured them that everything was fine and that you had decided to drink as if it was your birthday, which pulled a number of laughs from the guests. You stumbled in your spot, face heating up in both anger and embarrassment.

You glared at the tall boy the moment he turned back towards you, “I hate you.”

Jungkook frowned.

“Drink.” He insisted, clearly not going to let up.

“Fuck off.”

Immediately, you were hauled out of the kitchen and dragged through the crowd of people and into your room, Jungkook slamming the door behind you the second you were both inside.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jungkook began, looking extremely angry.

“I don’t want water.” You told him with a huff. He shook his head.

“No, I mean, what is going on between us? Why are you so angry with me? Why won’t you talk to me?” Jungkook pressed, having had enough of walking on tip-toes.

“Why did you pull me away from Jimin? Why won’t you let me have fun? I like Jimin.” You quipped back, ready with questions of your own.

Jungkook sighed and stared at the ceiling, wondering how in the hell he got stuck with the most stubborn best friend in the world.

Jungkook closed his eyes, “I asked you questions. Answer them.”

“Answer mine and I’ll answer yours.” You told him, running a hand in a blind attempt to fix your disheveled hair. Your anger had subsided as quickly as it came, now focusing on your need to pee. Jungkook stared at you for a moment, trying to conjure up a response.

“You’ve never had any interest in Jimin before. Now, you’re drunk and suddenly all over him. You don’t like him, you’re just trying to use him to break your dry spell and that’s fucked up.”

And all at once, you were pissed off again. If Jungkook brought up your dry spell one more fucking time you were going to scream. Contemplating that decision, you instead decided that you were going to do the exact opposite and stop speaking entirely.

“Okay, now your turn.” Jungkook urged. You crossed your arms over your chest and turned your nose up at him dramatically.

“Really? Are you giving me the fucking silent treatment? What are you, like five years old?” Jungkook scoffed. You said nothing, continuing to glare at him.

“Fine. You wanna act like a child then you’re going to get treated like one. You’re in time-out. You don’t get to leave your room until you’re sober and you’ve fixed your attitude.” He told you bitterly, turning to reach for the door handle.

Panic flooded you. As much as you hated Jungkook at the moment, the idea of being left alone right now made you want to cry, hand gripping his arm as you pulled him back desperately.

“No!” You whined, foot-stomping down against the wooden floor. Jungkook looked at you in bewilderment before turning back to leave.

“Jungkook, please don’t leave me. I’m sorry.” You begged, voice wavering with emotion. The sound caused Jungkook to pause, glancing over his shoulder to find you bleary-eyed and pouting.

“Wha– Are you crying?”

“Yeah.” You sniffed.

“Why?”

“Because you’re leaving me! You’re supposed to be by my side forever!” You wailed drunkenly, bottom lip quivering. Jungkook shook his head in disbelief but quickly pulled you into his chest, muffling your sobs as he rubbed at your back soothingly.

He knew you were drunk and had no control over your emotions right now but seeing you cry, inebriated or not, alway made his chest feel heavy. “I’m not leaving you, silly. Not ever. You’re stuck with me, okay?”

“Do you promise?” You pulled away from Jungkook’s embrace to look up at him with wet eyes. Jungkook brushed away a tear with his thumb.

“I promise, baby girl.” He hummed, teasing you slightly in an effort to make you laugh.

“Thank you, daddy.”

Jungkook froze, his mind going blank as he tried to comprehend what you had just said.

You had never called him daddy before, be it drunk or sober.

“I-I’m gonna go get you something to eat.” He swallowed harshly, mouth having gone dry the moment that word slipped past your mind.

You nodded, giggling to yourself as you found humor in the way Jungkook had stiffened at your joke, slipping out of the room hurriedly.

'She’s drunk. She thinks this is funny, she wasn’t being serious.' He thought to himself as he reached the kitchen, mind whirling.

He knew this, but still, he couldn’t help the way his cock had stirred at the way the word had rolled off your tongue.

Jungkook liked to tease you about having a daddy kink but really it was him. He was the one who liked it. He was the one who gotten embarrassingly aroused by his drunk best friend jokingly calling him daddy.

Sure, sex with you was something he thought about before.

Ever since the day that he found out you were having sex, he couldn't help but think what it might be like to have you under him crying out his name instead of the random girls that usually did it. You were frustrating and easy to tease but you were undoubtedly the most important girl in his life and he had you in every way but one.

Jungkook had been called daddy in bed before, that wasn't new. What was new, however, was the night, many months ago, when the two of you got drunk and you admitted you liked to be called 'baby girl.’ Immediately, he asked you if you'd try daddy kink, his heart racing at thought of you begging for him – begging for your daddy – and he literally couldn't have dropped the subject if he wanted to. He became obsessed with the idea. Obsessed with you.

Every night you spent alone in your room, whimpering and moaning to yourself, was fucking torturous. He knew exactly what you needed and wanted to give it to you so badly. But you were his best friend and he questioned if the two of you could ever go back to being just friends if he did.

It wasn't until he was absolutely fed up with the idea of you; until it was all he could think about even when he fucked other girls, that he finally decided to offer his services to you.

It wasn't even about the daddy kink. He's always wanted you in that way. But to hear you call him that without so much as stutter left him speechless and semi-hard.

Jungkook walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, gulping it down in one breath. He focused on the talking bodies, grounding himself to the moment, suppressing the thought of his tempting best friend that lay just two rooms away.

And as if life wasn't shitting on Jungkook enough, Hey Daddy by Usher suddenly began to play, having had come on shuffle.

Jungkook let out a laugh, the cruel irony of it all sinking down on him.

This was going to be a long ass night.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You woke up with an urgency to use the restroom. You groaned as you lifted yourself off the warm bed that begged you not to leave, unable to resist the urge to pee for any longer.

While on the toilet, your mind wandered to the last events of Jimin’s party. You didn’t remember how the party had ended, or how you ended up back in bed. You remembered how the night began but as the night continued... the details grew fuzzy. Judging by how much urine you were currently releasing, you had a feeling you had downed way more than you should’ve.

Stepped back into your bedroom, you looked at your nightstand in surprise; not only did your alarm clock read 2:51 AM, but empty red solo cups that you had failed to notice earlier littered the surface of the piece of furniture.

“Holy shit, did I drink myself to sleep?” You wondered out loud, eyes widening. You reached for a cup cautiously, peering down at any leftover liquid that might still be inside. A small puddle of some clear liquid settled at the bottom. Sniffing the cup experimentally, you decide to drink it.

Water.

These cups held water. And considering your inability to recall most of the night, you doubted you were the one responsible for making sure that you drank all that water.

You sighed, realizing it was probably Jungkook trying to sober you up.

Sometimes you found it hard to believe that Jungkook didn’t actively date anyone. He said casual sex was easier because fewer feelings were involved, but when it came to Jungkook feelings were always involved. Jungkook was the kind of guy that girls fell in love with, because as much of a cocky bastard he was, he really was, at his core, a good guy.

Not that any of the girls who caught feelings for him would be able to see that once he broke things off with them. You’ve always liked to think that Jungkook was just scared of getting his heart broken and that underneath that playboy exterior was someone who actually craved unconditional love.

The sound of thunder caused you to jump, silencing your thoughts. You hadn't noticed that it was raining up until now.

The roar of thunder, however, paled in comparison to the growl your stomach had just made and you laughed at the sound before deciding to make your way to the kitchen in hopes of grabbing a quick bite to eat.

The lights of the apartment had been turned off, so your walk to the kitchen was a dark one. Not that you minded too much, you made this walk so often you didn’t even need vision.

A roll of thunder accompanied the sound the fridge made when you opened it. Scanning its insides briefly, your eyes settled on a piece of birthday cake that had been saved.

'I missed the cutting of Jimin's birthday cake.' You thought bitterly, suddenly hating yourself. God, you hoped you hadn't caused a scene.

Grabbing the slice of cake, you shut the fridge door before pulling out a fork and beginning to eat it.

You looked over at the living room. From what you could see, it didn't look too badly destroyed. Some of the decorations had ended up on the floor, along with some empty bottles of alcohol and cups but other than that, everything looked intact.

The sound of your front door opening from behind you caused you to freeze in place, panic running through you.

Had Jungkook not locked the door after everyone left? Were you getting robbed? Your thoughts ran a mile a minute.

"Y/N?" Jungkook's voice called out from the front door, immediately setting you at ease.

You turned to look at him, a crack of lightning illuminating him momentarily. He looked wet?

"What are you doing up?" He inquired.

"Cake." You said, gesturing towards the plate in your hand.

"Where were you?" You asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I went for a run." He told you.

You raised an eyebrow, "You went running? When it's raining outside?"

Jungkook began to take off his shoes, "It wasn't raining when I first left, Y/N."

You nodded, watching the wet boy rid of his socks.

"Why were you going running at 2:00 in the morning? Why aren't you sleeping like a normal human being?" You teased, setting your now empty plate down.

"I just... I just needed to clear my head. The party only ended an hour ago for your information." Jungkook responded, sounding a little more annoyed than you were expecting.

"Oh." You replied, suddenly hyperaware of the tense atmosphere between you and your best friend.

"How are you feeling, by the way?" Jungkook asked you, trying to sound less hostile than his previous statement had come out.

"I'm fine. I don't really remember what happened, though. Did I make a fool of myself?" You asked, fearful of Jungkook's response. He stared at you for a moment before answering.

"You kissed Jimin. It's fine, I talked to him after, he knows you were drunk and aren't interested in him like that." Jungkook assured you, once he saw the panic start to set in your face. You breathed out in relief.

"You also said... some things to me." Jungkook hesitated, for a moment, not wanting to mention you calling him Daddy for both of your sakes.

You watched the way Jungkook's expression darkened after speaking. You knew you said something you shouldn't have. You had been harboring some feelings of anger towards Jungkook and you prayed that you hadn't accidentally gone off on him.

"Jungkook," You started, "Whatever I said last night, you have to believe I didn't mean any of it."

Jungkook nodded bitterly because, yeah, he knew.

Silence fell over the both of you, and you bit your lip in uncertainty. This feeling of uncomfortableness and hostility between you both wasn't something you were used to.

"Can we talk?" You sighed, finally deciding to address the giant elephant in the room.

"Oh, so now you wanna talk?" Jungkook scoffed, suddenly annoyed.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" You blinked, taken aback by his sudden shift in mood.

"It means that when I wanna talk you tell me to fuck off, but now that you wanna talk, sure! Yeah, let's do it!" He enthused sarcastically.

So you had gone off on him last night. He was angry with you.

"Jungkook, I was drunk." You reminded him, not appreciating his aggressiveness.

"Drunk words are just sober thoughts." He spat out, causing you to groan in disbelief.

"Okay, fine, whatever. I'm mad at you, I don't care if you know!" You exclaimed, throwing your hands up dramatically.

"What the fuck are you mad at me for?" Jungkook frowned angrily.

This time it was your turn to scowl, "Are you kidding me? I'm mad at you because you don't respect me as a woman! You see me as some sort of charity case. You offered to sleep with me because you thought I couldn't possibly find someone else to do it. That's such a fucking slap in the face! I don't want your fucking pity dick!"

Jungkook literally laughed at your outburst, not believing what he was hearing.

"I don't respect you? What kind of bullshit is that? If anything you don't respect me with the way you spoke to me last night!"

Jungkook was trying his hardest to stay calm. You thought he had offered to sleep with you because he thought you couldn't get anyone else? What kind of sick joke was that? He offered to sleep with you because he wanted to sleep with you.

"Oh, get over yourself." You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Jeez, you're such a fucking brat, Y/N!" Jungkook exclaimed. "I didn't suggest sleeping with me because I didn't think you were capable of getting dick on your own. I suggested it because I want to fuck you!"

You felt your cheeks flush at his crude revelation, but you couldn't let it show that your resolve had cracked.

"Mhm, sure. Then why now of all times, huh? If you wanted to fuck me, you've had 10 years to do so." You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jungkook growled in utter frustration, "Because, contrary to what you believe, I respect you! I respect the fact that you've never shown any interest in me and that we're best friends. But it's fucking exhausting pretending like I don't want to cross that line with you. So I offered, okay? I'm fucking sorry!"

There was no way. There was no way that a guy like Jungkook would ever actively want to have sex with you on his own accord. You frustrated him and yelled at him every time he left a mess around the apartment, he saw you every morning with a bird’s nest for hair and a permanently stained oversized t-shirt that wasn't the least bit flattering. There was no way he genuinely found you attractive.

"You're such a liar, Jungkook. Fuck you, and your pity dick!" You spat, unable to hold your tongue.

Suddenly, your arm was captured between Jungkook's unforgiving grip, and you were dragged into the living room. Jungkook had had enough of resisting. He was sick and tired of holding himself back.

"Get the hell off me!" You yelled at your best friend, resisting his movements.

In a blink of an eye, you were yanked down to lay across on Jungkook's lap, who had taken purchase on the couch.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" You wiggled about in the awkward position, suddenly remembering that you hadn't changed out of your short skirt and that this position was completely humiliating.

A loud smack rang out as Jungkook's palm met your ass roughly. You gasped in surprise.

"You just love to run your mouth, don't you, baby girl?" Jungkook purred.

Something about the combination of the compromising position you were in and Jungkook calling you "baby girl" left you speechless, completely unable to respond.

Another slap to your ass pulled you back into reality.

"Stop it!" You thrashed, fighting to take back your two arms that were currently held captive by Jungkook's hand, pinned behind your back.

"You love being a little fucking tease, don't you? You say that I don't respect you as a woman when you're the one who parades around me in shirts that barely cover your ass. You touch yourself at night and don't even bother to keep your voice down because you don't care if I hear. Well, I care. I'm still a man, Y/N. Why don’t you get that? I still have desires and wants. I bring home girls all the time and you still don't see me as a man. You walk around this apartment and treat me like I'm some sort of chick. You don't respect me."

Everything about this was wrong. You shouldn't be bent over Jungkook's lap like this. You shouldn’t have to bite down on your bottom lip to suppress the moans the threatened to slip out with every slap laid down onto your ass. You shouldn't be this turned on by your best friend spanking you.

"Jungkook." You finally groaned out, unable to hide your arousal any longer. Immediately, your skirt was hitched up over your ass, and you squealed in embarrassment.

"Nice and red. So fucking pretty." Jungkook sighed. He had lost all fucking control at this point. The line that he spent so many years desperately trying to avoid crossing was left miles back, far from view.

You whimpered at his words, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to ease some of the tension you felt building between your legs. This small action didn't go unnoticed by Jungkook.

His hand trailed down your core and slipped in between your thighs, pressing against your dampened underwear. You flinched at the feeling.

"You're wet. Baby girl liked her punishment, huh?" Jungkook asked, beginning to just lightly rub over your clothed center.

You whined at the feeling, wanting nothing more than for Jungkook to just take you here and now. Surely, you must have still been drunk, there was no other logical reason as to why you were so willing to throw away years of friendship, right?

"Yes." You muttered out, feeling yourself grow pink but you were past the point of caring. It had been so long since you felt anyone touch you like this and for whatever reason, having Jungkook be the one to do it sent you in a frenzy.

"Say ‘yes daddy.’" Jungkook huffed, grabbing your underwear and pulling it back before releasing it. You flinched forward at the feeling of the elastic hitting against your sensitive skin.

"W-What?" You breathed out, trying to look over your shoulder to look at Jungkook. A sudden spank halted your movements.

"Say it," Jungkook demanded through his teeth, his patience running thin. You were moaning and whimpering for him, and he could only imagine what you'd sound like with his cock buried inside you.

Your thoughts were clouded and you had no idea why he was bringing the daddy thing up now, of all times. Now hardly seemed like the time for jokes. Unless...

"Y-Yes, daddy." You stuttered out, unable to hide your embarrassment. All this time you thought Jungkook was pretending to think you had a daddy kink. You never imagined that it was him projecting his own kink onto you.

The sudden insertion of two fingers into you confirmed your thoughts and you let out a yelp in surprise. You moaned loudly as Jungkook began to roughly finger you, making no effort to ease you into it. You could take it, he knew you could.

Jungkook was on cloud 9. His favorite girl bent over his lap, calling out his favorite word; he couldn't have asked for more.

"Good girl. Look at how well you're taking my fingers." He praised you. You could only whine in response, his fingers stretching around inside of you.

It wasn't until he slipped his fingers out of you that you spoke out to complain. He pulled you up to straddle his lap, much like you had done to Jimin hours before. God, seeing you kissing Jimin like that pissed him off to no end. Should’ve been him.

Jungkook gripped one of your hips before moving his hand down to thumb over your clit. You let out a whimper at the contact and closed your eyes at the feeling.

You looked fucking breathtaking, and Jungkook could only stare at you in awe. He always found you beautiful, but he couldn't help but think that right now, on his lap with your face contorted in pleasure– pleasure that he was giving you –was the most beautiful he had ever seen you.

Jungkook leaned forward to place a kiss on your neck, wanting nothing more to place his mouth against yours, but for some reason, he felt unsure about kissing you. Kissing you felt intimate, despite what his hand was doing to you right now.

You opened your eyes for a moment and gave Jungkook a smile so breathtaking that he almost stopped his hand’s movement. His eyes widened in surprise as you leaned into him, your mouth meeting his.

Jungkook was a goner for sure.

With his free hand, he gripped onto the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. He kissed you deeply and impatiently; he waited ten years for the opportunity to kiss you and like hell if he wasn't going to hold onto this moment.

You moaned into the kiss, consumed with the feeling of his lips moving against yours. You bit down onto his plump bottom lip, pulling it back playfully. Jungkook let out a growl of excitement, reclaiming your mouth once more, only this time with the intentions of claiming your tongue as well. He pried your jaw open with his free hand, allowing for his tongue to slip into your mouth.

His hand that was once on your swollen clit was now digging into your hip, helping you as you rolled your hips against the bulge in his jeans. His cock was begging to be freed and to make its home inside of you, but he needed your permission first.

"Y/N." Jungkook said, breaking the kiss. He watched as you blinked in confusion before frowning.

"Yes, Daddy?" You responded automatically, your eyes hazy, blinded by lust.

Jungkook felt his balls tighten. He hadn't asked you to keep calling him Daddy but the fact that you did so without thinking had him feeling like all the oxygen in the room had been cut off.

Gone was any uncertainty that Jungkook once felt about fucking you.

"I'm gonna fuck you, baby girl. Is that okay?" Jungkook asked, his breathing starting to shake from the idea. You smirked at him and placed an open-mouthed kiss against his neck.

"Please." Was your only response before Jungkook lifted you off him and placed you back down onto the couch. You claimed his lips once more and Jungkook struggled to slip off your panties, not wanting to break the kiss.

You reached for the front of Jungkook's pants, fumbling with his belt until you unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down enough so that you could slip your hand into his underwear. Pulling his dick out, you marveled at how hot and heavy it felt under your hand; you began to pump his thick cock, wanting Jungkook to feel good.

Jungkook let out a hiss, pulling away from your entangled tongues before smacking your hand away. You looked at him in confusion.

"I promise you, we'll have time for that some other day. Right now I just need to fuck you, okay?" Jungkook told you and you felt your heart pound in excitement at the thought of there being another time.

Jungkook leaned you back against the couch, wanting you to be comfortable, before placing his tip against your drenched core. You writhed in anticipation.

"Uh, you're on birth control, right?" Jungkook asked, suddenly aware that he didn't have a condom on him. The idea of entering you raw thrilled him but he couldn't remember for the life of him the last time he saw you take your usual pill. Fuck, he couldn't think at all right now.

You huffed at the stupid question, "Yes, I've been on birth control for the past five years, you idiot."

Hearing you sound annoyed at him even when he was about to fuck you caused him to chuckle. God, you were irritating.

You gasped in surprise when he suddenly slid his cock inside you. You gripped onto his shoulders, the stretch overwhelming you.

"Holy shit." Jungkook breathed out. You felt even better than he had imagined.

"So tight, fuck. " He thought aloud. "Daddy's sorry he let you go this long without his cock. I'll stretch you out nice and good, baby girl."

Jungkook began to move, earning a moan from you with every thrust.

You marveled at the feeling of him hitting deep inside you and when he placed his mouth against your neck you knew there would never be a better feeling. Nothing could compare to the feeling that raked through your body with every thrust of his hips.

You wouldn't admit it but Jungkook calling himself Daddy turned you on to no end. You felt filthy every time the word left your mouth in a pathetic moan but you found it just as thrilling as you did humiliating. You could barely make out the dirty words Jungkook was groaning into your neck, your own moans having grown far too high pitched and loud to hear anything else.

You bit down hard onto your lip in an effort to quiet down but Jungkook suddenly rubbing over your clit quickly ended such attempts.

"Jungkook– fuck!" You cried out, feeling your high nearing. Judging by the sounds coming from Jungkook, you could tell he was close too.

"Fucking beautiful. Taking my cock so well." He growled, biting down onto your neck.

His thrust sped up, and soon enough he was pounding into you, spurring on your noises.

Your orgasm ripped through you unexpectantly, causing you to throw your head back as you came with a loud whine. You tug your nails down into Jungkook's back, unable to contain yourself.

Jungkook whimpered at the feeling, thrusting into you one last time before emptying his hot cum into you.

You let out a few unintelligible syllables at the feeling. Jungkook pressed his forehead against yours and the two of you stayed like that, just breathing.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook said finally, breaking your shared silence.

"Huh?" You questioned, still not entirely out of your post-high bliss.

Jungkook removed himself from you and you whined at the newly empty state. You watched as he sat himself back onto the coffee table, a guilty expression gracing itself on his handsome features.

"I feel like I just fucked up our friendship. I'm selfish, I know. I just... I just wanted to have you like this and fuck, you have every right to hate me. I'm a fucking asshole." Jungkook rambled, suddenly feeling insecure.

You thought to yourself for a moment.

"You are an asshole." You agreed bluntly. Jungkook looked back at you, worry flashing in his eyes causing you to giggle.

"What the fuck? Why are you laughing?" Jungkook frowned, not enjoying that you were laughing at his expense.

"Because," You explained, "in case you haven't noticed, I didn’t exactly stop you. Guess that makes me an asshole as well. So you have every right to hate me, too."

Jungkook stared at you incredulously; you were so odd.

"Well, I don't hate you." Jungkook stated finally, a small smile fighting to fall onto his face.

You were the most precious thing to him. He could never hate you. Even if you had never slept with him, he could never find it within himself to hate you. You were the kind of girl that guys fell in love with, Jungkook knew that. It scared him, and he often thought he should've pushed you away a long time ago. But he didn't, because the thought of him losing you was far scarier than the thought of him falling in love with you.

"I don't hate you either. You're pretty alright." You smiled brilliantly, causing him to look at you fondly.

"Pretty alright? That's not what you were saying when you were begging for my cock." Jungkook teased causing you to gasp, punching his shoulder playfully.

"I take it back. I do hate you. And your pity dick."

"Oh, shut up, you loved my pity dick." Jungkook rolled his eyes.

You smirked, "Fine, you're right. I did love your pity dick."

"I'm always right." Jungkook sighed dramatically, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Hardly.”

Jungkook looked at you challengingly. "Daddy kink. I was right about that."

Suddenly, you remembered how quick you were to call Jungkook "Daddy." You felt your face heat up, and you turned away from a gloating Jungkook. Jesus, what had gotten into you?

"I hate you." Was all you could mutter, too embarrassed to come up with a better reply.

Jungkook stared at you for a moment before laughing. Wrapping his arms around you, he placed a kiss on one of your warm cheeks, because even if you were just friends, you really were too fucking cute.

#jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #bts #bts smut #bangtan #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts preferences #mywork #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader

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thisislizheather · 5 years ago

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The Witches Are Coming by Lindy West - A Review

I’ve been waiting for this book of essays to come out for months and it was so, so worth the the wait. I know it’s asking a lot, but can this woman please just write a book every year? Or every six months? That’d be great, thanks. Favourite parts ahead!

“This moment in history is about more than individual interactions between individual people. Those matter, too - it matters how you made your subordinate feel with that comment, and it matters quite a lot that the woman on the bus went home and sobbed after you groped her - but, as Rebecca Traister wrote in December 2017 on The Cut: “This moment isn’t just about sex. It’s about work.” It’s about who feels at home in the workplace and who feels like an outsider - which, by extension, dictates who gets to thrive and ascend, who gets to hire their replacements, who gets to set their children up for success, who gets credit and glory, and who gets forgotten. It’s about who feels safe in public spaces and who doesn’t. Which is to say, it’s about everything.”

“We gobble up cable news’ insistence that both sides of an argument are equally valid and South Park’s insistence that both sides are equally stupid, because taking a firm stance on anything opens us up to criticism.”

“We kept letting Adam Sandler make more movies after Little Nicky, because white men are allowed to fail spectacularly and keep their jobs.”

There’s literally an entire chapter on Adam Sandler movies that is perfection. You have to read it. Seriously, just pick this up at a bookstore and read that one chapter, if nothing else.

I loved all of her points about how there was endless discussion about The Ted Bundy Tapes when it came out earlier this year and how we debated whether this murdering monster was handsome or not. And how that same type of debate is somehow in the same arena as when people debate whether Elizabeth Warren is “likable” or not.

There’s a part in the Ted Bundy special where the judge sympathizes with Bundy and goes on a ridiculous tangent about how it’s “such a shame” that he turned out that way when he had so much potential, it’s truly disgusting to see a judge commiserate with a rapist and murderer, but it happened and it’s wild to see. “That anecdote is often held up as evidence of Bundy’s charisma - even the judge sentencing him to death was seduced by that smirk, that finger wave. But it is the most blatant, overwhelming evidence we have for the opposite. Men don’t need charisma to succeed. It doesn’t matter if men are likable, because men are people who do things, who don’t have to ask first, whose potential has value even after it is squandered.”

“Chasing likability has been one of women’s biggest setbacks, by design. I don’t know that rejecting likability will get us anywhere, but I know that embracing it has gotten us nowhere.”

Absolutely in love with the fact that she loves the movie Clue as much as I do.

I really liked the chapter that she discussed Gwyneth Paltrow’s GOOP, even if I did wish that she went in on her/the brand harder.

So in love with the chapter where she talks about South Park and its creators. I’ve always hated that show, it’s never been good, and I can’t understand who the hell would be into it. It’s never been funny, edgy, smart. Insane that it’s still on.

Maybe I’m really reading into it, but there’s a tiny part where she mentions that PETA sucks and I can’t stop all my little inside screams - it’s hard to find somewhere who dislikes all the same stuff as you.

“Men think that misogyny is a women’s issue; women’s to endure and women’s to fix. White people think that racism is a pet issue for people of color; not like the pure, economic grievances of the white working class. Rape is a rape victim’s problem: What was she wearing? Where was she walking? Had she had sex before?“

“Whenever talk turned toward solutions, the panel came back to mentorship: women lifting up other women. Assertiveness and leaning in and ironclad portfolios and marching into that interview and taking the space you deserve and changing the ratio and not letting Steve from accounting talk over you in the morning. During the closing question-and-answer period, a young woman stood up. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice electric with anger, “but all I’ve heard tonight are a bunch of things women can do to fight sexism. Why is that our job? We didn’t build the system. This audience should be full of men.”

“Sexism is a male invention. White supremacy is a white invention. Transphobia is a cisgender invention. So far, men have treated #MeToo like a bumbling dad in a detergent commercial: well intentioned by floundering, as though they are not the experts. You are the experts. Only 2.6 percent of construction workers are female. We did not install that glass ceiling, and it is not our responsibility to demolish it.”

When talking about what men can actually do to help women: ”“Do you ever stick up for me?” sounds childish, but I don’t know that gussying up the sentiment in more sophisticated language would enhance its meaning. It isn’t fun to be the one who speaks up. Our society has engineered robust consequences for squeaky wheels, a verdant pantheon from eye rolls all the way up to physical violence. One of the subtlest and most pervasive is social ostracism: coding empathy as the fun killer, consideration for others as an embarrassing weakness, and dissenting voices as out-of-touch, bleeding-heart dweebs (at best). Coolness is a fierce disciplinarian. A result is that, for the most part, the only people weathering those consequences are the ones who don’t have the luxury of staying quiet. Women, already impeded and imperiled by sexism, also have to carry the social stigma of being feminist buzzkills if they call attention to it. People of color not only have to deal with racism; they also have to deal with white people labeling them “angry” or “hostile” or “difficult” for objecting. What we could use is some loud, unequivocal backup.”

“I know there’s pressure not to be a dorky, try-hard male feminist stereotype; there’s always a looming implication that you could lose your spot in the boys’ club; if you seem too opportunistic or performative in your support, if you suck up too much oxygen and demand praise, women will yell at you for that, too. But I need you to absorb that risk. I need you to get yelled at and made fun of, a lot, and if you get kicked out of the club, I need you to be relieved, and I need you to help build a new one.”

The entire chapter about the complications with Joan Rivers is such a great one.

“You can hate someone and love them at the same time. Maybe that’s a natural side effect of searching for heroes in a world not built for you.”

Okay, so the only thing that we strongly disagree on is her previous love for Adam Carolla. Always hated that man.

““Common sense’” without growth, curiosity, or perspective eventually becomes conservatism and bitterness.”

“There are pieces of pop culture that you outgrow because you get older. Then there are pieces of pop culture that you outgrow because you get better.”

“Art has no obligation to evolve, but it has a powerful incentive to do so. Art that is static, that captures a dead moment, is nothing. It is, at best, nostalgia; at worst, it can be a blight on our sense of who we are, a shame we pack away. Artists who refuse to listen, participate, and change along with the world around them are not being silenced or punished by censorious college sophomores. They are letting obsolescence devour them, voluntarily. Political correctness is just the inexorable turn of the gear. Falling behind is preventable.”

Talking about Ricky Gervais:” “People see something they don’t like, and they expect it to stop,” he said. “The world is getting worse. Don’t get me wrong, I think I lived through the best fifty years of humanity, 1960 through 2015, the peak of civilization for everything. For tolerances, for freedoms, for communication, for medicine! And now it’s going the other way a little bit.” “Dumpster fire” has emerged as the favorite emblem of our present sociopolitical moment, but that Gervais quote feels more apt and more tragic as a metaphor: the Trump/Brexit era is a rich, famous, white, middle-aged man declaring the world to be in decline the moment he stops understanding it.”

“Adam Carolla isn’t angry because he’s being silenced; he’s angry because he’s being challenged. He’s been shown the road map to continued relevance, and it doesn’t lead back to his mansion. He’s angry because he’s being asked to do the basic work of maintaining a shared humanity or else be left behind. He’s choosing the past. Gervais and Carolla are not alone in presenting themselves as noble bulwarks against a wave of supposed leftwing censorship. (A Netflix special, for the record, is not what “silencing” looks like.)”

Talking Louis CK: “Less than a year after his vow to retreat and listen, CK made the laziest and most cowardly choice possible: to turn away from the difficult, necessary work of self-reflection, growth, and reparation, and run into the comforting arms of people who don’t think it’s that big a deal to show your penis to female subordinates. Conservatives adore a disgraced liberal who’s willing to pander to them because he’s too weak to grow. How pathetic to take them up on it.”

“Like every other feminist with a public platform, I am perpetually cast as a disapproving scold. But what’s the alternative? To approve? I do not approve.” - This is probably my most favourite line in the entire book

“Not only are women expected to weather sexual violence, intimate partner violence, workplace discrimination, institutional subordination, the expectation of free domestic labor, invisible cuts that undermine us daily, we are not even allowed to be angry about it.”

“I’d been taught that when ordinary people try to do activism, they look stupid. Of course now I know that there is no effective activism without the passion and commitment of ordinary people and it is a basic duty of the privileged to show up and fight for issues that don’t affect us directly. But maintaining that separation has served the status quo well. It keeps good people always just shy of taking action. It’s tone policing. It’s the white moderate. But it’s changing.”

“Diet culture is a coercive, misogynist pyramid scheme that saps women’s economic and political power.”

Definitely the best thing I’ve read all year. GO BUY!

#The Witches Are Coming #Lindy West #this is liz heather #Liz Heather #book review #great book 2019 #great book fall 2019 #feminist #feminism book #feminism

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whentommymetalfie · 6 years ago

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To live a life -chapter seven

Chapter one//Chapter two//Chapter three//

Chapter four//Chapter five//Chapter six//

A/N: well here it is, finally. The wrap up. I really hope you’ll enjoy it!

Chapter summary: Tommy comes to terms with the lasting repercussions of his injury.

And an epilogue set around six months after the accident.

Warnings: descriptions of brain injury

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Wordcount: 6500

Things do get better.

There’s that saying, right -it’s always darkest before the dawn- and Alfie of course realises it’s a bullshit cliché, but he can sort of understand it now.

Because things do get better.

At least for a while.

A few days pass after the fight and Tommy’s subsequent barefoot walk through the storm, and he obediently stays in bed to rest his torn up feet. And sleep. Thankfully, he doesn’t catch pneumonia or something of the sort, which Alfie somehow expects. But no, apparently God deems that Tommy’s got enough on his plate already, and all he gets is sore feet and a light cough that’s bound to go away with a few good days' rest.

Alfie thinks he might be imagining it, but he seems more at peace with the bedrest this time, too. Perhaps it’s because he knows for sure that it’ll end soon, can see the all the injuries heal up.

Charlie keeps Tommy company; builds forts at the foot of the bed with pillows, or brings all his toy cars and spreads them out on the duvet. He hasn’t fully grasped the use of the cars yet, and treats them more like pets than anything else. Sure, he can drive them along Tommy’s leg while mimicking motor sounds, but will just as soon tuck them in under the blankets next to him. Tommy seems happy to indulge him, and listens intently when Charlie tells him and the cars bedtime stories.

And Alfie feels more at peace than he has in months.

But after five days of this, which is longer than Alfie expected, Tommy becomes restless.

“Are you going to the office today?”

Alfie looks up from his shirt buttons to Tommy, who’s sat on the bed with the teacup he brought him.

“Figured I’d swing by. Make sure all the buildings are still standing and all that. But I’ll stay home if you want some company.”

“I thought- thought I’d come with you. For a while,” Tommy says, adding with an uncharacteristic note of hesitance, “If you want me to.”

Alfie smiles. “Of course. How’re your feet, then? Hold up for walking?”

“They’re fine.” Tommy pulls a foot out from under the duvet and holds it up. “See?”

Something about the almost childish eagerness makes Alfie’s chest absolutely ache.

Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he takes the ankle and presses a kiss against it. “Fine then. Guess you’d better get dressed. Or I might change my mind and just stay here in bed with you.”

Tommy is out of the bed before he can even finish the sentence.

“So, how do you want to do this?” Alfie turns to Tommy as he parks the car on the stable yard. “Want me to look intimidating and fend people off, eh? I can do a bit of that. Or do you feel up for talking?”

“Think it’ll be fine,” Tommy says, lights a cigarette and climbs out of the car. Alfie follows suit. “I can keep up with you now. Even when you’re at your most incoherent.” He quirks an eyebrow at him over the hood of the car. “Which is always.”

Alfie makes a noise of feigned offence, secretly reveling in falling into the familiar banter as they make their way towards the office.

Tommy does seem more relaxed this time, he notes. More grounded. And they’re in luck, because everyone is too caught up to drag either of them into some long conversation, and interactions are limited to just quick greetings. So they make it to the office unscathed. Alfie unlocks and opens the door, holding it up for Tommy.

“After you, dearest.”

Rolling his eyes, Tommy walks past him and into the office. He stops in the middle of the room, eyebrows furrowing as he takes in his surroundings.

It’s not until then Alfie remembers the whole… trashing every object in the office debacle.

“Alright… either my memory has completely stopped working, or something is different in here.” Tommy looks inquiringly at Alfie, before walking up to his own desk and studying the newly framed pictures. The new table lamp. The replaced chair.

“Yeah, well, there- there was a bit of an incident, wasn’t there? Yeah. Nothing major,” Alfie mutters as he hangs his coat up. He glances at the photos. “It’s a shame we don’t have any paintings of you. Not only a shame, reckon it’s some sort of crime, really, not having your face depicted on anything but blurry photographs. They don’t do you justice-“

“Don’t change the subject. What happened to our office?” Tommy asks, seeming rather amused.

“I happened to it, alright,” Alfie grunts. Unwilling to recall that incident. “Or, this whole fucking thing happened to it.” He runs his fingers through his beard, avoiding to look at Tommy and going to sit at his desk instead. “It was nothing-“ He hopes that waving a hand will further illustrate the point. “Just, you know that the wiring doesn’t always connect up here. And you weren’t there to keep it in order.”

He glances up at Tommy, who is holding one of the photographs in his hands. “No,” he says, putting it back down. “I wasn’t.”

Tommy walks around Alfie’s desk and leans against the edge of it, studying the new ashtray.

“I forget sometimes. That- that I was in the hospital for so long. That you had to deal with all of this on your own.”

Alfie shrugs. “Don’t concern yourself with that, love. Here now, ain’t ya’? Safe and sound. All that matters.”

Nodding slowly, Tommy runs a finger along the edge of the ashtray.

“You were there a lot. At the hospital”

It’s a statement, rather than a question.

“Yeah well- wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be, was there?” Alfie pauses. “Do you remember anything? Before you woke up? Or before you could… Yeah, before you realised where you were?”

They haven’t spoken about this topic. Hasn’t been much time for that, has it? No, of course there’s been time. But Alfie has spent all of it trying to focus on the here and now. Think forward. Carefully avoid remembering the weeks in the hospital.

Tommy looks out the window. Quiet.

When he eventually answers, it’s in a quiet sort of voice. Distant, as he continues looking at the blue sky.

“It was mostly just… this nothingness. Not unpleasant, really, just like… being asleep,” he says. “But then sometimes it was more like- like being under water. Maybe that’s when I began waking up. And every now and then I’d be a little closer to the surface.” Tommy turns his eyes to Alfie, then. Reaches out and takes his hand where it rests on the desk. Runs his thumb along the knuckles.

“I could hear you talking sometimes. Or feel that you were holding my hand. Don’t know if I fully… understood what it meant right then. But I knew you were there. It helped.”

Alfie lets the following silence linger.

Although he spent the first years after the war filling every second with noise, unable to handle the silence, he’s found himself not minding it all that much since Tommy came into his life. Learnt to appreciate it even.

Tommy holds his hand, running his thumb over the wedding band and then along the knuckles again. Alfie squeezes his hand. Their eyes meet. The barest hint of a smile crosses Tommy’s face.

Then, he goes to open the window and light another cigarette.

Alfie opens a ledger that has been left on his desk, sighing when he stares down at the numbers filling the pages. May has apparently decided that now would be a good time for him to catch up on all the paperwork he’s been neglecting for the past… well, months, really.

“Why didn’t you let me hire a fucking accountant?” he grumbles and glares down at the papers.

“And miss out on the infinite joy that is book-keeping?”

Blinking in surprise, Alfie turns to look at Tommy who blows out a cloud of smoke into the warm summer air before glancing over his shoulder at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Better get to it.”

The little exchange leaves his chest feeling all light and warm, so what does it matter that the numbers on the pages don’t seem to fucking add up when he turns his attention back to them?

Tommy is well into his second cigarette when Alfie groans and slumps back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

“Numbers are a social construct that I from now on fucking refuse to associate with.”

He feels the warmth of Tommy’s body against his arm, and a waft of cigarette smoke seeps into his nostrils as he leans down slightly over the desk.

“It’s supposed to say 325 over there.”

Alfie straightens up as Tommy grabs the pencil, crosses over a sum and writes in a new one. He silently watches him do the same with two others, before putting down the pencil again and blinking down at the papers, seemingly just as surprised as Alfie.

Then he smiles. “Well, I can barely string a sentence together, but I can still count apparently.” He picks up the ledger, eyes still fastened on the pages with a new glint under the blue surface.

“I’ll see if I can sort it out,” he says and makes a move to walk to his own desk.

Alfie pulls him down onto his lap, planting a kiss on his mouth before Tommy can protest.

“Oh there’s no need to be all the way over there, is there, sweetheart?” he grins. “Isn’t this a perfectly good desk, eh? And a much more comfortable seat, if I do say so myself.

“So you’re proposing I just do all my work while sitting on your lap from now on?” Tommy snorts, but stays right where he is.

“Your words not min, love.”

Alfie kisses him again, and when he fumbles to persuade Tommy to let go of the ledger, Tommy quite willingly slips it back onto the desk and buries his hands in his hair instead.

Deepening the kiss, Alfie tugs him a little closer, and Tommy sighs into his mouth, virtually melting against him.

It’s been a long time since he kissed Tommy like this. Weeks probably. Fuck, could be months, even. Maybe not a single time after the accident. Because all he’s though of is how fragile Tommy has felt in his arms, how everything seemed to hurt him. But those thoughts are far from his mind now.

Tommy is breathless when they finally break the kiss, lips swollen and cheeks flushed as he looks at Alfie through his lashes.

“I’ve missed this.”

Humming and pressing a more chaste kiss against his lips, Alfie trails his fingers down his side. “Me too, love. Gotten spoiled, haven’t I? With all these years of having you within arm’s reach at all times.”

Tommy rests his forehead against Alfie’s. “Well, I’m here now. Suppose we have to make up for lost time.”

Alfie kisses him again.

...

That same night, Tommy takes out a book in the bedroom for the first time since the accident. Alfie tries not to make a big deal out of it, but he can’t help asking, none the less.

“How’s it coming along? The reading.”

“It’s getting better,” Tommy says, holding the book a little closer. “Bit more slowly than I’d like. But it is something.”

Smiling to himself, Alfie picks up his own book and begins to read, still keeping most of his focus on Tommy. That he’s read this particular book upwards of a hundred times already helps.

Tommy’s eyes travel slowly across the pages, his forehead creasing as he focuses on the letters. Trying not to be obvious about his keen interest in this, Alfie continues reading. He still keeps an eye on Tommy though. He’s on that same page for quite a while. Bites his lip and leans down over the book.

Finally, Tommy straightens up a bit. Chews at his bottom lip for a moment. Then he points at a word and holds up the book for Alfie to see.

“What does it say here?”

“Epiphany,” Alfie answers with feigned casualty, all while his heart is beating double its usual rate in his chest out of pure joy.

Tommy nods and continues reading. As the minutes pass, he slowly creeps closer to Alfie: Leans in against his side. Rests his head on his shoulder. Lets out a pleased sigh when Alfie wraps an arm around him to hold him.

He asks about a few more words, and Alfie sees that same hesitation each time. Sees how much of an effort every question takes.

But he does asks.

…

It becomes routine after that. Going to the office. Staying a bit longer each day. Picking up that same book each night. Alfie still takes out his own book too, but mostly uses it to cover up the way he intently watches Tommy make progress in his own.

Eventually, Tommy doesn’t have to ask out loud about anymore when he’s unsure about a word, but will just point at it and Alfie instinctively tells him what it says. Sometimes, if it’s been a bad day, Alfie reads instead, running his finger along the words on the page to let Tommy follow along in the text.

The improvement is slow. But there is an improvement.

One night, Tommy has just drifted off against his shoulder with the book hanging from a slack grip. He’s almost finished the chapter this time.

And Alfie realises he hasn’t had to ask about a single word today.

...

“--- You’re just afraid of taking that tooth out,” Lasse exclaims. “Let me tie a string around it and it’ll be over and done with.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Olle mutters and clutches his cheek.”

Alfie stops outside of Charlie’s room to listen to the voices.

“Papa, why do tooths fall out?”

“Because you have other teeth underneath that want to get out.”

“Why?”

Silence.

“Know what, love, I’m not sure. But maybe we can find someone to ask.”

Alfie lingers there in the hallway, listening to the exchange with a fond smile on his face and forgetting all about whatever he was doing just a minute ago. He opens the door enough to peek into the dimly lit room to see his husband and son curled up together on the bed. Charlie is on Tommy’s lap, with Horse’s paw firmly clutched in one hand and the other holding onto the front of Tommy’s shirt. He tugs at that now.

“And new tooths will be there always?”

“Sure. As long as we take care of them,” Tommy answers and kisses the top of his head.

As long as you don’t get them pulled out by a rival gang leader in some dark alley…

Apparently sensing his presence by now, Tommy glances up. “Are you coming in, or do you just plan on standing in the doorway?” “Nah, got bread in the oven that needs tending to,” Alfie says. “Always something that needs doing, innit? The job of a hardworking husband is never done, see. A round the clock work, providing for you two. Which I’m more than happy to do, of course.”

Tommy shakes his head and smiles down at the book. “Just go. We’re eternally grateful for your loving care.”

“We are!” Charlie chimes in.

Alfie goes downstairs to fulfill said duties, starting off by checking on the bread, before going about washing up the last of the dishes from dinner.

Some time later, Cyril comes lumbering into the kitchen, seating himself next to Alfie to watch him take the bread out of the oven. Most likely hoping for something to fall on the floor.

It’s about then Tommy comes downstairs too, going straight for the kitchen door without a word.

Mildly surprised, Alfie goes after him, out into the cooling air of the late spring evening.

“Something on your mind, love?”

Tommy exhales a cloud of smoke and watches as it rises towards the sky. It dissipates in the light breeze, turning into small tendrils that finally disappear completely. Two blackbirds are occupying themselves with traversing the lawn in search of worms. One of them looks up. Cocks its head at Alfie. Oddly intelligent looking, right then. It chirps, the bright sound echoing in the quiet garden.

“I still get headaches,” Tommy says, finally. “ Every fucking night. It’s not getting better.”

Alfie shouldn’t feel this disappointed –discouraged, dejected?. He really shouldn’t. Things have been going far too smoothly, haven’t they? He should’ve known better. Not gotten his hopes up. He attempts to look at ease when he answers.

“Something to talk to the doctor about at the checkup tomorrow, innit? ” his tongue feels oddly… numb in his mouth. Too big for it. “Good for him to have at least something to work with. That’s what we’re paying him for, right? To fix things. Not just…” he’s forgotten to breathe throughout that whole sentence, and the words take that last bit of air and he ends up trailing off, filling his lunges rather than finishing the train of thought.

Putting the cigarette between his lips again, Tommy closes his eyes and fills his lungs with more smoke. It comes out as a cloud together with the words.

“Thought it’d sort itself out, when… the rest got better.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “It’s just impossible not to think about it, that something’s broken in there. Might be as good as it’ll ever get, this.” He blinks rapidly a few times, letting out a mirthless laugh as he stubs out the cigarette. “Maybe I should be grateful. Learn to live with it.”

Alfie wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him in against his side. Tommy’s head comes to rest on his shoulder.

The two blackbirds have taken to the branches of the oak tree now. Hidden among the leaves and gone from sight, but the chirping still fills the garden.

Alfie closes his eyes and listens to it.

...

Alfie and the doctor -whose name he’s never bothered to learn despite having more frequent contact with him than any person should realistically have these past few months- well, they have developed this sort of mutual understanding. He doesn’t question it when it’s always Alfie calling to ask about Tommy’s health: if he can start riding soon, for how long he can read each day... Alfie, in turn, does his best to be civil and not fucking punch him in the face. So he gets to sit in during the examination the next day, under the condition that he stays quiet -something Tommy makes very clear on their way there.

The doctor asks questions. Shines a light into Tommy’s eyes. Asks more questions. Has him look at a board full of letters. More questions. How exactly he’s supposed to say anything about the state of Tommy’s head just from this, Alfie’s got no fucking idea. But he’s not a doctor, is he?

“And how is your speech?” The doctor glances up at Tommy from his board.

“It’s fine. Most of the time.”

“And your memory?”

“It’s getting better. I still… get these gaps sometimes. But it’s better.”

The doctor hums and writes this down.

“And you say the headache gets progressively worse throughout the day.”

Tommy nods.

“Do you experience any of the other repercussions on a daily basis? Loss of motor skills and so on?”

“Comes and goes. Not enough to be a problem.”

God, how many fucking question can there be?

There’s a skeleton propped in the corner of the room, with empty eye sockets and a grinning mouth. Alfie glares at it. Tries to ignore how hard his heart is beating in his chest as he anticipates the doctor’s verdict. Waits for him to deliver the bad news.

Maybe Tommy is going to die after all? Maybe there’s still something broken in there, just held together by a few tendrils of nerves, and it could break completely at any moment?

Or will he just have to live with pain for the rest of his life- and how the fuck is he supposed to survive that?

What kind of life would that be?

Tommy’s hand suddenly brushes over his, just lightly, and Alfie discovers he’s been clenching both of them hard enough to make the knuckles whiten.

He tries to relax his muscles without much success.

There are so many tests and questions that eventually even he becomes dizzy, and he can’t even imagine what Tommy must be feeling then.

Then, the doctor looks up from his clipboard, calm as ever.

“Well, mister Shelby as far as I can see, this problem should be solved by a pair of spectacles.”

Alfie straightens up a bit.

Tommy blinks in confusion. “What?”

“Well, your sight’s a bit impaired. Not by much. But enough to put unnecessary strain on the-“

“No, but- I would’ve noticed that,” Tommy cuts him off.

“Not necessarily,” the doctor replies calmly. “Severe head trauma does strange things to our perception of things. Coupled with your lost reading abilities, it’s not strange at all that you haven’t noticed.”

Alfie can’t really… grasp this… Could it really be that fucking simple? It seems a bit too good to be true… And if this experience has taught him anything, it’s that nothing’s ever simple.

The doctor is still talking, and he tries to pay attention.

“I will book you in for a full ocular examination and-“

Or is it that fucking simple?

“But of course it’s important that you take care of yourself, none the less. You’re still on the mend. Minimize stress, and overwhelming situations. No reading until- Mister Solomons, are you listening?”

Alfie blinks. The doctor is giving him a sharp look over the edge of his glasses that somehow makes him feel like a school boy. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“I was just saying how it’s of utmost importance that Thomas takes care of himself,” the doctor says sternly. “But if there’s one thing these past months have taught me, it’s that I really should be telling you. That seems to be the only way of making sure my recommendations are actually followed.”

“Of course, yeah, I’ll take good care of him,” Alfie promises, trying to catch Tommy’s eye. But Tommy is staring vacantly down at the floor, silent.

The doctor seems satisfied with this, telling Alfie he’ll be in touch shortly, and then they’re suddenly shaking hands and saying goodbye.

The silence continues during the car ride home.

An odd numbness has settled in Alfie’s chest. He should be happy, right? Everything is okay.

Then why does he feel so fucking empty?

“This is good news, innit?” he eventually says, hoping that saying it out loud will make the words sink in properly.

Tommy nods slowly.

Something happens to his breathing. It slows down, becomes deeper. Raspy. He stares at the road ahead, the vacant look in his eyes washing all signs of awareness from his face.

“Tommy?” Alfie slows down and reaches over to place a hand on his thigh. Tommy flinches.

“Stop the car.”

Alfie drives the car to the side of the road, Tommy climbs out and slumps down over a fence, head hanging and arms shaking as they rest on the wooden boards. Following as quick as he can, Alfie comes to stand next to him, resting a hand on his back.

“Tommy, love, you alright?”

Still shaking, Tommy buries his fingers in his hair. Gasps for breaths. Hides his face from view. Despite having witnessed similar things many times before, Alfie fights not to start shaking him in hopes of snapping him out of it.

When small, muffled sounds begin escaping Tommy’s lips, Alfie gently guides his face upwards. Tears are seeping down her cheeks. But he’s smiling.

“It’s- it’s nothing. I’ve been so fucking worried.. and it’s nothing.” Tommy laughs, wiping away the tears with the heel of his hand. “Just need a pair of fucking glasses.”

That’s when Alfie finally realises why he’s feeling so odd; because that knot of worry that’s been tied around his insides for so long is gone. And he’s completely forgotten what it feels like, not having it there. How it feels to actually breathe, feel something fully and not have that worry lacing every other emotion.

He wraps both arms around Tommy’s waist and lifts him off his feet, hugging him tightly and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Laughs until he's out of air, because the feeling bubbling in his chest needs to find an outlet.

“It’s okay, Alfie. Everything will be okay.”

Sure it is. That’s what Alfie’s been saying all along, right? He should say it again, because Tommy seems to be crying, still. Harder now. Convulsively.

It takes for Tommy to start hushing him softly and card his fingers through his hair for Alfie to realise it’s him making those sounds, that at some point, the laughter has turned into sobs.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Alfie straightens up, just enough to lean his forehead against Tommy’s, hands coming to cup his cheeks.

“I know, love,” he whispers. “I know.”

Epilogue

“I’m gonna live in hay.”

Charlie swings his arm back and forth as they walk towards the stables. Alfie swings his along, occasionally raising it enough to lift Charlie off his feet, making him squeal with laughter.

He chuckles, looking down at Charlie. “Really? Live, eh?”

“Yes. You and papa too. Edi and Cyril. And Arfer and-” Charlie lists the entire extended family.

“Well your father would probably like to do that. Not in the hay perhaps, but in the stables. Isn’t it enough you get to be in it every once in a while? Think you’d get a little bored eventually.”

“Never ever,” Charlie says and shakes his head. Alfie would bet good money on having waited well over four months for the hay to finally be brought indoors being influential on this certainty. He’s equally sure that come the end of September, Charlie will have lost interest in the hayloft. Until next summer. But until then, he can look forward to a few weeks when all that’s on the agenda is activities involving hay. God help them when one of the Shelby’s let it slip that they used to build tunnels in the hay at Charlie’s yard when they were little. He distinctly remembers John telling him of how Tommy had fallen asleep in one of the tunnels and they very nearly didn’t find him…

“But how am I supposed to cook? Or should we eat hay, like the horses?”

“No,” Charlie giggles. “You’re being silly.”

They pass one of the pastures, and Charlie looks intently at the horses grazing in the distance.

Then he tugs at Alfie’s hand.

“When can I ride the big horses?”

“Well, when you’re tall enough to actually get up on one, how does that sound?”

“But I’m tall!” Charlie insists and gets up on his tiptoes for increased effect. “Almost as tall as papa.”

Alfie chuckles, “That’s not saying a lot, love.”

“Almost as tall as uncle Finn!” Charlie walks on his tiptoes for a little bit. Then he catches sight of May, leading Astrades across the stable yard and he pulls at Alfie’s hand to make him walk faster. May sees them and stands there waiting as Charlie more or less drags Alfie across the yard.

“Morning Charlie,” May smiles. “Morning!” Charlie looks up at the horse with shining eyes. “Can I please pet the horse, please?”

“Of course. It’s a little bit your horse, isn’t it?”

Alfie lifts Charlie up into his arms to allow him to pet the horse. That ought to keep him occupied for a bit, so he turns his attention to May

“Where’s Tommy then? Hiding out in the office, is he, despite the weather? Would be just like him.”

May’s gaze flickers a little and she clears her throat. “Not really.” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she nods towards one of the pastures. The largest one, where they train the race horses.

Alfie has decidedly had enough heart stopping moments to last a lifetime already. For fucks sake, he’s getting on in age, can’t be constantly experiencing these little miniature heart attacks…

A black horse that he would recognize anywhere is absolutely flying over the grass at the far edge of the enclosure.

“Bloody hell.”

“Bloody hell!” Charlie mimics enthusiastically, turning his attention away from the horse and towards the enclosure, eyes growing as big as saucers as he tugs at Alfie’s beard. “Look, papa is riding!”

“Sure is,” Alfie grumbles, his forehead already setting into a deep frown. He gives May a look. “Thought we’d finally agreed upon selling that fu- that horse?” Or shooting it…“Or… you know, at least not having Tommy ride it?”

And he was also pretty sure that when Tommy said he’d been riding a bit for the past month, thiswas not what he meant.

“Tommy insisted we keep him,” May says. “And he’s a completely different horse now you wouldn’t believe-“ her eyes light up, the way Tommy’s always does when he talks about horses, but when she sees Alfie’s frown, she cuts herself off and turns to Charlie. “Know what sweetie, how about you come with me and brush Astrades mane?” May asks and ruffles Charlie’s hair. “Think your fathers need to talk a little. And then we can go take a look at the hayloft.”

She gives Alfie a questioning look, to which he responds with a nod. Always eager to be near one of the horses, Charlie happily takes May by the hand and follows her into the stables. Cyril, who’s trailed silently by their side, goes to sleep by the stable wall, on his favourite tuft of grass. So that leaves Alfie to go down towards the pasture.

Sometimes he forgets how fast the horses are. Sure he’s seen more races than he can count over the years, but it’s different when it’s Tommy up on one of them, rather than one of their jockeys. He’s set on being pissed off -worry tends to do that to him. But when he reaches the fence and watches Tommy ride Azra down the length of the far edge of the field… All the fragility that plagued his every motion those first months is washed away when he’s up on that horse. Now he just looks strong. And so fucking happy. When he sees that, it’s hard to stay angry.

Alfie reluctantly has to admit that they were right, May and Tommy: it’s a fine horse.

Not that he’s about to let Tommy know, of course.

When Tommy sees him, he easily slows Azra to a trot. As he comes closer, Alfie can’t quite keep the frown in place. Hair windswept and cheeks flushed from the ride, Tommy makes for quite the sight. Then he smiles at him –one of those smiles that light up an entire room. And any plans Alfie might have had of being truly disapproving of this little stunt seem entirely unimportant.

Alfie waits until he’s close enough before he speaks. No yelling around that fucking horse…

“Now, when you said riding- Tommy, my dove, I just sort of presumed you meant some light trotting. There’s a bit of a difference between that and fucking… dashing around at break neck speed, wouldn’t you say?”

Tommy laughs. Fucking laughs. This bright, happy, sound that bubbles up from the pit of his stomach.

“Oh that was nothing. You should see him up on the track…” he nods towards the training course.

“Should I, now? Or will that just bring me even closer to an early grave?” Alfie grumbles.

“Stop sulking and give me a hand,” Tommy chuckles and beckons him closer. “Just in case I swoon a little.”

Alfie complies of course, heaving himself over the fence and approaching the horse slowly, hoping he doesn’t exude some sort of nervous energy. When he’s close enough, Tommy swings a leg over the saddle and slides off the horse, Alfie’s hands coming up around his waist to steady him. Just in case. But Tommy lands smoothly on the ground. Alfie casts a suspicious glance at Azra, who just blinks calmly, before occupying himself with a grass tuft.

“I have two complaints, alright?” Alfie states. “Just two of them, and that’s generous of me, mind you. One, the speed. Two, this fucking horse.” He tries to sound firm, willing to turn this into a fight if he has too. But Tommy just smiles.

“Well then I have two things to say to you, One, I’ve ridden faster on a trafficked Birmingham street-“ Well that’s a story Alfie needs to hear. Or not. Probably not. What you don’t know won’t hurt you- “Two, this horse wouldn’t hurt a fly.” As if someone up there just wants to offer an input, there’s a loud crash from somewhere by the stables. Alfie takes a step back instinctively, pulling Tommy away from the horse and tightly against his chest. Why are there always fucking noises everywhere… Azra just calmly keeps eating. He looks up for a moment, mouth full of grass. Gives Alfie a decidedly judgmental look that reminds him an eerie amount of Tommy. Then he lowers his head again.

Tommy gives him similarly pointed look. An ‘I told you so’- look.

Alfie really should insist that these little riding adventures are put on hold for a few months yet. Preferably to the distant future of never.

He should insist that they sell this fucking horse.

He should insist that Tommy thinks of his head and the sort of damage falling off could do.

Yeah, there are a lot of things he should insist on.

But Tommy is so happy. It’s as if this light is shining all the way from inside his chest, making his eyes sparkle and his smile so bright it completely melts his heart … And fuck, he knew this, didn’t he? Knew it from the very moment Tommy stepped into his office, all those years ago. Tommy will always need some danger in his life. Risks. Something that makes the adrenaline start pumping. If it’s not Birmingham gangsters or the fucking mafia, it’s a hot blooded horse. Tommy suffocates without it. This is a safer option than all those other things… And it doesn’t leave his eyes all hollowed out and lined with dark circles, or his jaw permanently clenched tight. He looks at Tommy, who drags a hand through his windswept hair, trying in vain to get it in order. waiting for his reaction.

Can’t seem to stop smiling today, can he?

Yeah, this sort of danger is one Alfie can live with.

“Well… if you fucking say so,” he grumbles. “Just… be careful. Mind your head and all that.”

Tommy feigns a look of shock, grabbing his shoulders. “Who are you, calm reasonable man, and what have you done to my husband?”

Alfie bites the inside of his cheek to keep the scowl in place. Tommy pulls out the glasses from his inner pocket, studying him thoroughly from behind the round steel frames. “No, it really is you. Or is there an unknown brother I know nothing about? Are you some sort of impostor?”

Alfie gives up and barks out a laugh, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss against those smiling lips.

“I’m a married man, I can’t go around kissing strangers in open fields-“ Tommy mumbles. “And my husband is a real brute. God knows what he’ll do if he-“ Alfie deepens the kiss, effectively swallowing the rest of that sentence.

But it’s very hard to kiss someone when you’re laughing so hard you’re nearly choking.

“You’ll be the fucking death of me.” He wipes away a tear and tries in vain to catch his breath and cradles Tommy’s face between his hands. Smiles at him, and is rewarded with a bright smile in return.

The glasses suit him. They frame his eyes in a very becoming way.

Azra nudges Tommy’s cheek, demanding attention. Alfie shoots him a glare.

“I need to cool him off,” Tommy says. “You can go up to the office. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Nah, think I’m just going to sit here and watch. You make for quite a sight,” Alfie runs his fingers through Tommy’s hair, very purposefully messing it up even further. “See, I like it when your hair gets all wind swept like this. And your cheeks get a bit of colour. Something about this debouched look really does it for me.”

“You’re impossible,” Tommy rolls his eyes, kisses him again, and then swings himself up in the saddle with such ease that it leaves Alfie speechless for a moment. “Well, stay then. It won’t take long.”

Alfie stands by the fence watching, feeling perfectly content to do nothing but that for the time being. Now when Tommy is just trotting, the scene exudes nothing but peace. He happily lets himself sink into that same feeling.

A dog barking makes Alfie tear his eyes away from Tommy for a moment, to see Charlie and Cyril come down the hill towards them. May is stood up on the yard, keeping a watchful eye on them, and Alfie waves at her to show that he’s got it from here.

“Daddy, there’s lots lots of hay! I’m gonna jump from really high- climb and then jump,” Charlie babbles when he’s close enough. Alfie catches him as he throws himself into his arms.

“I bet you are.”

Charlie watches with wide eyed fascination as Tommy rides alongside the far edge of the pasture. Then he screws his face up, and tugs at Alfie’s sleeve.

“Is that the mean horse?”

“His name is Azra,” Alfie tells him. “Remember what we talked about, eh?”

Charlie nods slowly.

“Not mean. Just scared. Papa said so.”

Hoisting him up a little higher in his arms, Alfie presses a kiss against his temple.

“Yeah, that’s right, innit,” he says, perching Charlie on the fence to give him a good view of the pasture. They both look as Tommy brings Azra around at the farthest corner, riding him back along the fence. “Horses are only dangerous if they’re scared or hurt,” Alfie continues. “You’ve got to show them they’re safe. Teach them to trust you and all that. And it can take a really long time, so you’ve got to be patient. Take care of them”

Charlie nods thoughtfully, his tiny fingers grabbing onto Alfie’s beard as he considers this. Then, he cocks his head a little, eyes still fastened on Azra. “Horse isn’t scared now,” he decides. “He’s happy. Happy horse.”

He waves eagerly at Tommy, who reciprocates and veers off from his path to ride Azra towards the gate.

Alfie thinks again of how fucking lucky he got.

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I think so too.”

.......

A/N: there you have it! The conclusion. Is anyone surprised there’s a happy ending? I’m guessing no. You know that’s how I roll.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and feelings not only on the chapter but of the story as a whole. It’s the longest one I’ve written, and it’s definitely been a challenge. But a mostly enjoyable one! Thank you for reading ❤️

#alfie x tommy #Alfie/Tommy #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #charlie shelby-solomons #peaky blinders fanfiction #to live a life #wtma au

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ritacaroline · 6 years ago

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In The Light Jimmy Page Fan Fiction Part 50

Part 50 With The Band

Written on Friday, August 17, 2018

Takes place May, 1978

As the party continued, Jill and Jimmy took the elevator up to their suite. As she had promised, she helped Jimmy get out of his clothes and got him comfortably under the covers. Then she got undressed and got under there with him and they snuggled into each other. It was so comfortable, that was all they could remember.

Next evening, all were getting ready for the next show. Jimmy and Jill were just lounging around their room, talking softly on the bed. He was petting her hair, away from her eyes. Jill was holding his other hand while caressing it and kissing it.

They decided they had better head downstairs to get into the limo on time.

Once everyone was present in the car, they were all in a positive mood and started chatting. Jimmy’s stage clothes were at the venue already and he was wearing just plain everyday street clothes. Clare said, “Wow, Jim, it’s intriguing to see you dressed in such a relaxed way, when in a matter of minutes, you’ll be on stage sparkling like a rock star !”

Jimmy laughed a little, and replied, “Well, that’s interesting. What really is the definition of a rock star ?”

So Jill pulled an advertisement magazine from the seat and said,

“I happen to have a dictionary right here, let’s look it up.” She opened the ad and pretended it was a dictionary. Grazing through it, Jill said, “Okay, here it is,

Rock Star : from American/English dialect, loosely translates to : “musician, usually wearing long hair, thus causing vision impairment.” They all laughed.

“meaning 2 : spoiled, self entitled musician, particularly one which takes advantage of female fans, purely for his own entertainment.“ Hmmm, sounds accurate. Seems to hit the nail right on the head.” said Jill.

“I’m just joking with you, sweetheart,” Jill said to Jim, as she rubbed her hand against his back. “Just my usual attempt at being funny.” But everyone still laughed. Jimmy didn’t mind, he was quite used to Jill’s nutty humor and he knew she was kidding around. He just hugged her tighter with both arms and kissed her jaw.

Linda spoke, “Wow, Jill. I wish I could be more like you. You’re so funny and quick and smart at the same time. I could never think of something funny like that to say, just instantly.”

Jill answered Linda, “What a sweet thing to say, Linda. But no one can be like me, only I can. And even I sometimes have a hard time doing it ! But, you have something great inside you, you know. You’re Linda. And no one else can be like you, no one. And you have many special gifts, that no one else has. So let’s be grateful we have Linda, because only you can be you.”

After saying that, Robert got up from his seat and sat on the other side of Jill. He put his arms around her and hugged her. He said quietly to her, with his mouth at her ear, “Page is right, Jilly, you’re one in a billion. What you said to Linda was so profound and so true. I know she felt great when you said it, too.” and Rob kissed her face in a caring way. Jill just hugged him back and smiled.

Jimmy just observed this exchange and felt really proud to be with her.

Soon they arrived at the venue and entered through a back entrance for performers and crew. Jimmy brought her into the little dressing room with him and Jill helped him get out of his clothes and into his stage outfit. Jill commented on how cute his ass looked in the suit and rubbed it awhile, telling him, “I’m crazy about this hiney, I’m gonna have to sink my teeth into it when we get back later.“ He slowly smiled at her and pulled her head toward him and kissed her with passion. Shaking his head back and forth to her, he said, “You drive me insane, my girl. I’ll be there for you, later.” An assistant knocked and was let into the small room to style Jimmy’s hair. Jim asked Jill to stay with him as he held her hand. It was very sweet. She was glad to.

In a little while it was time to go on. Jim needed to go stand at the entrance door. A moment later, Julian came over to Clare and Jill and greeted them both with a little hug. He chatted with them a moment, saying how beautiful they looked tonight. He tried not to make it obvious that Jill was the woman he was now pining for. When he showed them to their seats, the women noticed there was a third one set up this time. He had set it up earlier, since Clare and Jill were the subjects of his guardianship. It wouldn’t be unusual for him to sit right beside them. One thing that did seem odd was, that as the ladies took a seat, Clare was in the center seat, therefore Julian’s only option was to sit next to Clare. Therefore, to alleviate that, he grabbed the remaining chair and placed it around to the other side of the ladies, next to Jill instead. Jill barely noticed. But Clare noticed.

The show started and it was spectacular again, just as the evening before. Julian was thinking and contemplating ways in which he might get Jill’s interest toward himself. He loved being next to her in the dark arena, had his long arm around the back of her chair. When she noticed his hand on her shoulder slightly, she looked at him and said, “What’s up Jules ?” He responded, “Not much, just doing my best to keep you safe.” And she smiled.

He knew that Jill was Jimmy’s girl. But, to him, that seemed less important than if she were involved with someone else, other than Jimmy. Mainly because he had heard the rumors and legends about Jimmy being the biggest ladies man around. He’d heard that Jimmy had made the rounds in every city he’d ever been to, sleeping around with anyone he found attractive then tossing them aside for someone new. Dozens in each city. So in Julian’s mind, that meant Jill was likely just to be one in a thousand women for Jimmy. As in, easily replaceable, like yesterday’s underpants. Because of that, Julian felt that he may actually have a chance, since he himself had had very few girlfriends in his life. So far he had never cheated on anyone ever, nor did he ever plan on doing so. It just wasn’t in his character. Jill would be one of only approximately four girls he’d been with. Not one of thousands of woman, as was true for Jimmy. So truthfully speaking, how important could Jill really be to Jimmy ? If Jimmy was to lose her, how bad would it be ? There would be five hundred other woman pounding the door down to be his next girlfriend. How terrible would that be ? Therefore, Julian figured, if Jill became his girl, he would regard her as way more important to himself, than she could ever be to Jimmy. He felt that his character may possibly be more desirable to a woman also, that is, his being loyal, honest, trustworthy, attentive. Jill would be his entire world, if he could win her heart. In those particular ways, he may have an edge, even on Jimmy Page.

After the end of the concert, all returned to the backstage area for a while. Jimmy got a quick shower and he and Jill went into the small dressing room and she helped him get into his street clothes. He appeared a thousand times more relaxed then. He felt so much better after washing away all that sweat. He kissed and cuddled Jill and appreciated her assisting him so much. They returned to the main backstage area. There was no party tonight, so Jimmy thought they’d socialize a half hour or so then go back to their hotel. Everyone had drinks, and lots of mingling took place. Jimmy was with Jill and the band, Richard and the women as well, during the after concert sit down.

They all sat at a table, about ten of them. Jimmy held Jill on his lap. And Rob remembered that Jim was unaware of a bit of their plans. They had set up the plans when Jim wasn’t present earlier that day. Rob said, “Jim, buddy, you might need to put Jill down for a few minutes. We need to get to a quick photo shoot, but we’ll be right back. We set it up before, when I guess, you had stepped out." Jimmy looked at him with a bit of annoyance and gave Rob a shove, at the irritating news, mostly the part about putting Jill down. The shove seemed way harder than it needed to be, but they were used to each other’s bullshit. And Jim was fully used to Rob raggin on him. They both ignored it, as usual, since they were very close and that was a normal part of their interaction. So Jimmy kissed Jill briefly and said, "I’ll be right back, angel, just a few photos. Stay warm, honey.” and he had to go.

Next Part 51 : https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/177436351551/in-the-light-jimmy-page-fan

Chapter Index :

https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/Fan%20Fiction

#Fan Fiction #submission #jimmy page fan fic #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page fan fiction

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classyfoxdestiny · 3 years ago

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How residents are living in Vermont, America's most vaccinated state

They clasped hands and rock stepped and spun in and out of quick embraces to swinging jazz rhythms on one of the last hardwood ballrooms in Burlington.

“I thought partner dancing was always going to be the last thing to come back from the pandemic because there’s so much interaction,” said one dancer, Lorilee Schoenbeck, a naturopathic physician.

“It’s aerobic in each other’s faces and you’re constantly changing partners… In this dance venue, this would be an absolute super spreader.”

But these dancers are all vaccinated. They reside in America’s most vaccinated state — 83.7% of Vermonters 12 and over have received at least one shot, according to health officials.

Throughout Vermont, hospital Covid-19 units are mostly empty. Bars and restaurants are hopping again. In remote rural towns, diners, country stores and campgrounds are filling up.

As the national health crisis evolves into “a pandemic of the unvaccinated,” in the words of US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention Director Dr. Rochelle Walensky, Vermont health officials tout the Green Mountain State as the safest place in America.

Many Vermonters are venturing out, unmasked and with no fear, just as the CDC recommended on Tuesday that fully vaccinated people wear masks indoors in US counties with soaring transmission rates.

“My question is, ‘Do you want to have a life again?'” Schoenbeck said. “We’re living. Get vaccinated. Get back in the game.”

Vaccination push continues

Around the corner from downtown Burlington’s bustling Church Street Marketplace, Dr. Mark Levine, state health commissioner, sat at a small conference table in his office and rattled off statistics that enabled Gov. Phil Scott to lift all Covid-19 restrictions in mid June.

Vermont was the first state to partially vaccinate at least 80 percent of residents 12 or older. The current rate of more than 83% compares with the nation’s 66.6% one-dose rate — according to the CDC — for the same age group.

More than 67% of the state’s roughly 624,000 residents have been fully vaccinated, compared with about 49% for the US overall.

The state has maintained one of the country’s lowest infection rates — currently at 1.6% for a seven-day average, according to the health department’s Covid-19 dashboard. Vermont has had 259 Covid-19 deaths.

“It’s the lowest number of deaths on the continental US,” said Levine, sitting in front of a bobblehead of Dr. Anthony Fauci, the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases.

The state’s last Covid-19-related death was on July 10, Levine said. In June and July, the state has had four deaths. There are five Covid-19 patients hospitalized in the entire state.

Vermont’s first vaccine was administered in mid December. The state’s vaccination campaign isn’t done.

“The whole strategy is, we want a Vermonter to essentially stumble on the vaccine,” Levine said.

“If you’re at one of the beaches on Lake Champlain here in Burlington or you were … on Church Street, you’re not going to see a vaccine tent every day but you’re going to see it sometimes. That’s the sort of strategy. We’re going to make sure it’s all around you… If there’s a state fair, it’s got to have vaccine. If there’s a farmers’ market or a flea market, it’s going to have vaccine.”

Along Church Street Marketplace, visible from Levine’s downtown office, the wide four-block concourse is crowded with people — most not wearing masks. Its bars, shops and restaurants have been filling up. Outside Vermont’s own Ben & Jerry’s, dozens of young people — many not wearing face coverings or social distancing — line up in clusters for ice cream day and night.

The eastern shoreline of Lake Champlain, where signs with Covid-19 safety messages have been replaced with warnings of harmful cyanobacteria blooms in the water, teems with couples, children and pets. Burlington is in Chittenden County, which has a vaccination rate of 85.4%.

“We’re trying to tell people … fall and winter is what we’re worried about,” Levine said. “We want that vaccine rate up now in anticipation of the following winter so we don’t have to change our behavior at that time.”

Restrictions lifted ‘because it’s safe to do so’

On June 14, when Vermont became the first state to vaccinate more than 80% of its population over the age of 12, Gov. Scott, a moderate Republican, announced Vermont’s state of emergency would formally end at midnight.

“Why? Because it’s safe to do so,” the governor said.

At the same time, however, the Delta variant was starting to dominate the US.

A handful of states have been driving the bulk of the nationwide Covid-19 case surge and the threat of serious disease and death is to the unvaccinated, according to White House coronavirus response coordinator Jeff Zients.

Last week, just three states — Florida, Texas and Missouri — that share low vaccination rates accounted for 40 percent of all cases nationwide, Zients said.

And hospitals are filling up with Covid-19 patients again, this time with younger patients than before, according to doctors in Alabama, Mississippi, Florida and Missouri.

The only way to halt the resurgence, health officials said, is to get more people vaccinated.

“Even if somebody comes into Vermont and has the Delta variant … and they get sick and they’re infectious while they’re here in Vermont,” Levine said.

“If 83-plus percent of the population is vaccinated. That variant runs into a wall. Now, people who’ve been vaccinated … can still get sick with the variant. We’ve seen that all around the country. But the reality is its likelihood of creating any major outbreak is really small because it’s going to keep running into people that it can’t actually get transmitted from because they are going to be immune.”

‘Community response and collective action’

At Northwestern Medical Center in St. Albans, a community hospital about 28 miles northeast of Burlington, a staff member took a lunch break last week at the nurse’s station in the shuttered and dimly lit Covid-19 ward.

The hospital treated its last Covid-19 patient in early May, said Dr. John Minadeo, chief medical officer.

“It’s a sign of, at this point in time, your vaccination status in the community,” Minadeo said of the empty ward. “But I believe that’s why we don’t have patients in these beds… So this is evidence of — you’re in a vaccinated community, you’re not going to have hospitalizations.”

St. Albans is in Franklin County, where 73.7% of residents 12 or older have received at least one vaccine dose, according to the state health department.

Minadeo said the hospital was prepared to activate the ward if needed.

“We have to think the fall is coming and assume that, you know, it may happen again,” he said. “We’re in a little bit better shape because we’ve done it once before.”

Vermont’s success in vaccinating its residents is attributed to various factors, including the accessibility of vaccine sites; overall trust in the political leadership and science; an aging, mostly white and liberal populace; and a generally health conscious population with a strong sense of civic responsibility.

“A lot of people see Vermont as being exceptional in some ways,” said Anne Sosin, a policy fellow at the Nelson A. Rockefeller Center at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire.

“And it’s a really blue state but if you look a little bit closer … we’re a much more purple state than many understand. There are many rural barriers to health care and Vermont demonstrated that if you bring vaccines to places where people live, work and play that you can overcome many of the obstacles to achieving high rates of vaccination. Vermont not only used its health care system and large sites, but it’s also brought vaccines out to firehouses, schools, community sites, pop up clinics, gas stations and beaches.”

Sosin said rural Orleans County, in one of the most remote and conservative parts of the state, has a vaccination rate of 70.8%. She said she was vaccinated in an Orleans County firehouse.

Orleans is one of three far off Vermont counties — near the Canadian border — that make up a region known as the Northeast Kingdom, where residents take pride in their individuality and separateness.

“The high rates of vaccination are a testament not only to a really well run state program but to the vast community infrastructure in that part of the state,” Sosin said.

Another Northeast Kingdom county, Essex, has the lowest vaccination rate in the state at 58.5%. The other county, Caledonia, has partially vaccinated 70.8% of its 12 and over population.

“One really important lesson right now, as I think about what’s happening across the country, is the importance of community and solidarity,” Sosin said. “And I know that sounds kind of soft but we hear the CDC saying, ‘It’s in your hands.’ This is a very individualistic approach to the pandemic. Yet Vermonters really highlighted the importance of community response and collective action.”

‘A lot of older Vermonters … don’t like change’

At the Mooselook Diner in the Essex County town of Concord, about 90 miles east of Burlington, waitress Justine Alegria Cummins, 25, said neither she nor her children have gotten the vaccine because she fears “adverse effects” from the shot. The place was hopping during lunch hour one day last week.

“It never affected me in my personal life enough to make me want to get the vaccine,” she said of Covid-19.

Another waitress, Angela Marshall, 46, said she is not an anti-vaxxer but has not received the vaccine because she doesn’t believe enough time was spent researching it. She said she tested positive with Covid-19 about six weeks ago and was bedridden for two weeks.

“I couldn’t move,” she said. “I couldn’t do anything.”

She recovered but said she still won’t get vaccinated.

Down the road at the Pettyco Junction Country Store in St. Johnsbury, on the lower edge of the Northeast Kingdom, a retired 67-year-old contractor named Bernie Timson said he will remain part of the unvaccinated state population.

“They put you on a spot where they’re saying, ‘If you’re not vaccinated, you can come in my store but you’ve got to wear a mask,'” he said. “I’m not going to put a mask on to come in your store. I’m still going to store but I ain’t putting a mask on. There’s no way I’m putting the mask on because that just puts you as a mark — you ain’t vaccinated.”

At Moose River Campground, owner Mary Lunderville said the campground is full and that she and her husband have had to turn down reservations because there’s no room.

Lunderville, who wouldn’t give her age but described herself as an “early senior,” said the couple was initially reluctant to get the vaccine because they were “unsure if it was going to be safe.” When vaccinated friends did not become ill, she said, they agreed to get the shot in mid April mostly in order make their customers feel comfortable.

“I like to make sure my campers are happy and safe,” she said.

Lunderville said she still requires masks and gloves when people help themselves to food at the big holiday dinners on the campgrounds.

“There are more real Vermonters on this side than out of staters who moved to Vermont,” she said. “A lot of older Vermonters like my husband they don’t like change. It could be just because they’re afraid of change. It could be stubbornness.”

‘I don’t feel any fear going out’

At the sweltering Champlain Club in Burlington, bandleader Louis Prima’s famous combination of “Just a Gigolo” and “I Ain’t Got Nobody” blared from speakers as the swing enthusiasts switched partners.

“A-one, a-two, a-you know what to do,” said instructor Jean Elizabeth Shockley, using the phrase made famous by Lindy Hop pioneer Frankie Manning.

Shockley said there were at least 20 new faces on the dance floor on this Tuesday evening in mid July.

All participants had to show their Covid-19 vaccination card for admission to the weekly Vermont Swings class and the two-hour dance.

“There’s a different kind of energy here,” instructor Maria Garrido said. “People are proud and aware of what Vermont has done…. I’m personally worried about the variants and surges but I really am proud of what we accomplished. I feel that for the most part we’re able to get closer to normal and it’s really exciting.”

Trim and energetic at 73, David Rose lamented that his dance partner of eight years was absent this evening because of her refusal to get the vaccine.

“In fact, all during the pandemic she was saying, ‘Oh, David, we got to dance. We got to dance.’ And I said, Vermont Swings is opening up. Let’s go and she says, ‘I can’t do that. I’m not vaccinated.’ “

Rose said the state’s biggest challenge will be convincing the remaining unvaccinated residents to get the shot.

“It’s sad for me that she feels that way and that she can’t come in because they won’t let her in,” Rose said of his longtime dance partner. “I don’t want to offend her and push her… I asked, ‘Why don’t you want to get the vaccine?’ She says, ‘I think it’s some kind of game to make money by the pharmaceutical companies or the government telling us what to do.’ “

Natalie Nachtigal, 32, said she moved to Burlington in September from Florida, which reported an average of 10,452 new cases each day over the past week — more than triple the daily average from two weeks ago, according to data from Johns Hopkins University.

“I don’t feel any fear going out and a lot of it has to do with a sense of community that Vermont really lets shine,” she said. “It’s very apparent in community members that it’s kind of like one-for-all rather than an all-for-one community mentality.”

Mark Jerome Feinstein, 26, moved to Vermont one month ago from California, where San Diego and Los Angeles counties both reported their highest number of cases since February, and hospitalizations in LA County more than doubled in two weeks.

“It was definitely a weight off my shoulders to realize that I was going to a place where life could be a little bit more normal,” Feinstein, a PhD student in psychology at the University of Vermont, said between dances.

“You don’t know whether Delta or Covid 2021 or 2022 is coming down the pike. And so you might as well go out and have some fun as safely as possible, as respectfully as possible, while you can.”

After all, he said, the dances they’ve been practicing came about in the wake of the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic, World War I and the Great Depression.

“It’s this funny little microcosm where we get to dance the same dances that they did so that they could celebrate being alive,” Feinstein said. “We can do the same thing.”

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zhantesblog · 4 years ago

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4)PATAGONIA

Image sourced:https://hypebeast.com/2019/9/patagonia-fights-amazon-resellers-lawsuit

Yvon Chouinard built a clothing empire through his love for the environment and a passion for crafting quality goods that enhance humanity’s relationship with it. The biggest part of Patagonia’s legacy is not just created via its clothing, but its entire brand philosophy.

“No young kid growing up ever dreams of someday becoming a businessman...The Koch brothers and Donald Trumps of the business world are heroes to no one except other businessmen with similar values. I wanted to be a fur trapper when I grew up.” writes Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard in his autobiography, Let My People Go Surfing: The Education of a Reluctant Businessman.

Image sourced: https://www.patagonia.com/stories/whats-at-stake-is-the-future-of-humankind/story-72130.html

This era saw the beginnings of Patagonia, known more for its clothing and gear. The first apparel pieces Chouinard sold were rugby shirts, which he discovered in Scotland and from there, began to import them. He was very fond of the heavyweight fabric and believed that it was durable to climb in, breathed better than the average Oxford shirt and found that the collar was useful for preventing waist pack sling from digging into the neck. The demand was so high that Chouinard decided to start making his own apparel and continues to make rugby shirts today. In 1973, Patagonia was established in the back of a meatpacking factory in Ventura, California, where the company headquarters still remain.

Patagonia’s name originated from the mountainous region in South America, which holds the southern section of the Andes mountains. The logo is inspired by the oscillating peaks of Monte Fitz Roy, which remains one of the toughest mountains to climb — though Chouinard managed to ascend it in 1968, which was documented in the film Fitzroy.

Similar to The North Face’s homage to Yosemite and El Capitan, Patagonia’s branding is meant to reflect the products’ ability to withstand the harshest terrains and environments. One of the first jackets the company ever published was the Pile Fleece jacket, in 1977, which took inspiration from the hardy gear of fishermen.

In the ’80s, Patagonia began to explore more sustainable materials and methods of production, including organic cotton, hemp, and PET. They discovered a process by which they could recycle 25 plastic bottles into one fleece product, culminating in the debut of Synchilla, one of Patagonia’s flagship materials that best represents its mission to make high-quality products with a lower environmental cost. This discovery then led them to create the Retro-X series which consisted of recycled fleece jackets and vests.

Image sourced: eu.patagonia.com

However, Patagonia’s greatest strength is informing their customers about what they’re buying into with their respectable brand transparency. Patagonia has utilised its platform to raise awareness and become an advocate for environmental issues-This extends further with The Footprint Chronicles website, books like Chouinard’s autobiography, and the tome The Responsible Company, and its catalogs and advertising campaigns.

Starting back in 1986, Patagonia has been donating 10% of its profits to grassroots organisations and In 2011, the company launched the “Common Threads” initiative, urging their consumers to send back well-worn clothing to be repaired and refurbished, following up with an ad page on Black Friday which intended to persuade people not to buy anything they don’t need.

The “Don’t Buy This Jacket” campaign fueled consumer sentiment, and inadvertently helped Patagonia’s sales. In recent news, Patagonia has sued the Trump administration in response to a decision to shrink the Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante monuments.

Although Patagonia has never invested in any external collaborations, its consistency in focus, brand philosophy/identity, and product has created an appeal into fashion and streetwear circles.

Supreme paid homage to Patagonia’s Monte Fitz Roy logo in 1998, replacing the mountain peaks with the New York City skyline, and their fleece jackets have been referenced by the likes of Kim Jones (Louis Vuitton’s former menswear director) and menswear designer Patrik Ervell. However they would rather their lasting influence be the way they treat and advocate for the environment and its people, two things that the entire fashion industry would benefit from adopting.

Patagonia’s mission is simple. One short sentence comprehensively tells us who they are, what they are about and what they want to achieve.

Patagonia embody their mission statement throughout everything they do; through their website, their blog and their social media. A lot of their content and projects hold their mission statement at its core. It is made clear that Patagonia is passionate about what they believe in. Their mission statement is created with intent and is set as a constant reminder of the good they are doing and continuously trying to do.

Patagonia have put their focus towards their target audience and are using their brand ambassadors as a means of audience engagement. Patagonia is able to produce insightful and engaging content from around the world due to their large group of ambassadors with Patagonia’s blog The Cleanest Line being constantly updated.

With many companies, once you have bought their product your interaction with them is over. However, this is not the case with Patagonia.

Engaging with the audience is something Patagonia is constantly doing. This is achieved through their recycling clothing and public engagement outreach initiatives, their email newsletters and their feedback forms. This allows their customers to feel included in the process and therefore makes them more engaged with the brand overall.

Patagonia has also introduced a new initiative called Worn Wear, which allows Patagonia users to buy used clothing, repair their own damaged clothing or trade in clothing and receive credit to put toward a new or used garment.This initiative openly further demonstrates their commitment to their cause. As part of the Worn Wear campaign Patagonia has constructed a purpose-built biodiesel truck made to travel around America and repair clothes on the move. The truck was built with environmentally friendly and reusable material. This provides Patagonia with a unique sense of storytelling.

I think Patagonias message is displayed and conveyed clearly and consistently throughout their brand and marketing and promotional front. This is definitely something that I hope our brand is able to achieve throughout our production and design process.

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ezatluba · 4 years ago

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It’s time to start preparing Fluffy and Fido for post-pandemic life

Elizabeth Chang

NOVEMBER 30, 2020

It might seem too soon to think about preparing pets for the time humans will return to offices and schools. After all, a coronavirus vaccine isn’t expected to be widely available until spring at the earliest, which means that most Americans who were sent home to work or study remotely will remain there for at least several more months.

But according to animal expert Zazie Todd, author of “Wag: The Science of Making Your Dog Happy,” the eventual separation will be easier for pets “if you make changes gradually, starting potentially a long time beforehand.” So, in the spirit of doing what’s best for four-legged family members, we asked several experts how to prepare our pets and, let’s face it, ourselves to spend weekdays without one another’s company.

In addition to Todd, we spoke with Clive Wynne, psychology professor and director of the Canine Science Collaboratory at Arizona State University and the author of “Dog Is Love: Why and How Your Dog Loves You,” and Monique Udell, an associate professor in the Department of Animal and Rangeland Sciences at Oregon State University who has done research on cats and dogs. We also emailed with Alexandra Horowitz, who runs the Dog Cognition Lab at Barnard College and whose most recent book is “Our Dogs, Ourselves.” Here are their answers to some common questions.

Will my pets be okay when our house is suddenly empty during the day?

“The good news,” Todd said, “is that probably they will be okay for things to go back.” But if you’ve been with your pet 24/7 and are suddenly going to be gone for a large chunk of each weekday, she added, “that’s a huge change” that should be introduced gradually. Dogs and cats relish routine, Todd said. “They would prefer to get their meals at the same time every day. And your dog would rather go for walks at the same time every day.”

Wynne agreed that pets are adaptable but warned that they do have their limits. Owners should be careful: “not to push them beyond the range of what a dog, an animal, can be expected to tolerate.”

Wynne said your pet will let you know if you’ve crossed that line. “In each of these things, it’s about taking small steps and watching your animal to see that your animal is comfortable before pushing any further, and always trying to stop the process while everybody is still relaxed and comfortable.”

If you’re a cat owner who thinks none of this applies to you, think again. “I would say that cats may often actually have a stronger emotional or behavioral response to change than dogs,” Udell said, though we might not notice those reactions. Although we often think of dogs as the more social pets, Udell said, “cats can be very social, and they can engage in a lot of deep social interactions with people, whether that be petting and cuddling or play.”

What steps should I take to gradually prepare my pets for this change?

The experts advised establishing a routine that’s close to the one you will keep when life goes back to “normal.” Think about when you wake up and go to bed, when you feed them — even, Udell said, the temperature of your house and the light-dark cycle. Then, gradually include some alone time for your pets. That might be tough if you’re in an area where you’re supposed to be sticking close

to home, Todd acknowledged. “In a worst-case scenario, it might be going and sitting in your car or going for a walk for half an hour, just so that your pet gets some time on their own,” she said.

[Dogs, too, can find the pandemic disorienting]

You might have to break some habits. Walking your dog more than usual? Consider whether your pet really needs those extra walks, Horowitz said; if so, make accommodations for your dog to get them when you’re back at work. Enjoy taking the dog with you when you run a quick errand? Consider leaving your pet at home. “I love taking my dog along with me on those rare occasions when I go out,” Wynne said. But “it would be better for the dog to be reminded that I may go away, and I may go away at unpredictable times for unpredictable lengths of time, but that the world continues to be stable, and I will always come back.”

If you’ve been paying more attention to your cat because you’ve been home, you shouldn’t suddenly eliminate that engagement when you go back to work, Udell said. Instead, she suggested, start shifting those interactions to times of the day when you’ll be available post-pandemic.

And keep in mind that your pet might not be as devastated as you fear. Wynne noted that although pets enjoy interacting with people, they also need to sleep about 12 or 14 hours a day. “So if a dog has been in such a busy household that it’s overstimulated,” he said, “it’s probably just going to be grateful to get a bit more sleep.”

What about pets purchased or adopted during the pandemic? This is all they know.

“We don’t know for certain, but most likely they will have a harder time, because they haven’t experienced those routines before,” Todd said. That means you need to expose them to being alone even more gradually than the pets you owned before the pandemic, she said. “Don’t just go out for a two-hour walk and leave them home alone when they’ve never been left home alone before.”

[I hated dogs, but I hated the pandemic more. Would a puppy help?]

“Start with pointless walks around the block without your dog — just 10 minutes,” Wynne suggested. “And make sure every day you take a pointless 10-minute stroll without the dog, perverse as that will feel, and let the dog get used to this.” Then start building up the length of time you leave the dog alone.

Both Todd and Udell counseled that the once-common advice to ignore your pet when leaving or returning is out of date. Making a fuss over your dog or cat upon your return does not cause separation anxiety, Todd said. “What your animal needs,” Udell said, “is for you to be accurately responsive to their needs.”

As for pandemic kittens, Udell wasn’t convinced that they will have a harder time adjusting, because they’ve had such intensive socialization. “Meeting those needs early in that relationship and being very available and present might actually help develop a more resilient cat that does better in your absence,” she said. How new pets will react is a “giant social question that we’re all going to be experiencing at the same time,” she added. “But I’m hoping for the positive outcome.”

What if my pet barks, urinates or chews things when I’m gone?

“If the animal shows signs of distress, like, you know, peeing inappropriately and crying or barking uncontrollably, then I would take a step back, and I would reduce the intensity of what you’re trying to do,” Wynne said. “If your dog is so distressed, even by you going out for 10 minutes, just go out the door, count to 10 and come back in. And once that works, go out the door and count to 20 and come back in. Baby steps.”

Horowitz suggested ensuring that dogs get their exercise before you leave. “This could include some long play bouts, not just walks. And give them something to do when you’re gone. ‘Chewing’ happens because they don’t have anything interesting (and permissible) to chew on.”

And if I try these suggestions and the behavior continues?

“If your dog or cat is soiling while you’re out, it is not necessarily separation anxiety; it could be a medical issue,” Todd said. “So, it is important to get them checked at the vet,” because there are other issues that will need to be ruled out, too, including boredom. “If a vet diagnoses a separation anxiety, very often they will want to prescribe medications for the pet, which will help alongside any behavioral treatments that you want to do.” Treatment for separation anxiety can take a long time, she said.

Wynne noted that although there are plenty of people out there offering their services as pet behaviorists or animal trainers, there’s no licensing, as with a vet or a human psychologist. “Anybody who’s watched a TV show can claim to be an animal trainer, an animal behaviorist.” That means doing your due diligence to ensure the person is certified through a respected organization, such as the Certification Council for Professional Dog Trainers.

Is getting my pet a companion pet a good idea?

“This depends on the animal. Some are very attached to their people; others get a lot of pleasure from” other members of their species, Horowitz said. “So, you have to know your animal.”

Todd and Udell cautioned, however, against thinking that a companion pet will cure your pet’s separation anxiety. Research is showing “that the other animal may play a role, but it’s likely not the same role as the owner,” Udell said. “And so, it’s not a replacement.”

Whether one pet will welcome a second depends on your pet’s nature and its age, as well as the age and species of the companion. “Many dogs will get on with another dog in the home, more so than cats,” Todd said. But “for both dogs and cats, it depends a lot on the early experiences they had” and whether they were socialized to get along with other animals. “Once an animal is adult, it can be very difficult to get an animal to accept a member of a new species as a friend, as a companion,” Wynne noted.

If you are considering a second pet, Horowitz said, have the pets meet each other, and find out everything you can about the new animal. “Also be sure that you have the time to acclimate the new animal to your home” before resuming pre-pandemic life. If you are unsure how your pet will react to another animal in the household, Todd suggested looking for a shelter that offers a foster-to-adopt program, so you can return the dog or cat if it doesn’t work out.

My pandemic pet has never had to deal with strangers in the house. How do I prepare them?

“Some dogs will actually be fine with that,” Todd said, “and for some dogs, that will be a much more difficult transition.” A good strategy is to designate a space — a mat, crate or room — that they can retreat to if they don’t want to interact with a visitor or that you can send them to for calming down if they react too excitedly. Get them used to the space before anyone starts to visit.

(In fact, Todd said, “it’s always a good idea to have a safe space where your dog or cat can go if they want some quiet time to just chill out and relax.” When your pet seeks out that spot, you should let them stay there, and teach your children not to disturb the pet when it’s in there.)

When you think it’s safe — pandemic-wise — you can ask a friend to practice coming into the house multiple times. Give your dog a treat when it behaves, Todd said. (Don’t have the friend give the treat; you don’t want a nervous dog to have to approach a stranger.)

If your dog is too sensitive for practice entries, “then you might need to waste some time talking on the threshold until the dog could get used to that,” Wynne said.

If you simply cannot take the introduction of new people or your gradual absences slowly enough, and your dog is “overwhelmed by any departure you might make or by any introduction of new people, no matter how briefly you’re away or no matter what distance you keep the person who comes to your door,” Wynne said, it might be time to consider consulting a vet about medication.

[How are dogs coping during the pandemic?]

As noted above, cats who are exposed to different types of animals early in life tend to be more accepting of them. The same goes for people. So a cat who has been living alone with one person during the pandemic, Udell said, “may or may not have the skills to interact in a comfortable way with somebody who does not fit into that mold.”

How can I get over my guilt and sadness about leaving them?

“I think it’s only natural to feel a bit sad,” Todd said, pointing out that Americans increasingly think of dogs and cats not as pets but as family members.

Rather than feeling guilty, Horowitz said, make sure your pet has some companionship. “Maybe you can bring your pet, under some circumstances, to work. Find a dog walker or community doggy day care you like and trust. If you can, go home in the middle of the day. And when you’re home, spend quality time with them.”

Wynne, however, isn’t convinced that guilt is entirely without merit. In general, he thinks we Americans expect our dogs “to put up with being on their own for longer than is conscionable.” Although he doesn’t necessarily advocate adopting the Swedish law that says that dogs can’t be left alone at home for more than six hours at a stretch, “it’s a good rule to live by.” There are ways of working around it, such as hiring a dog walker or getting a companion pet, he noted. But dogs have highly social and loving natures, and “it’s just not fair, not reasonable, to ask them to cope” with our long absences.

Both he and Todd said they hoped the general success of the country’s forced experiment with remote work will encourage employers to continue offering it as an option. “I hope that more people, after the pandemic is over, will at least have the option of working at home some of the time, some days of the week,” Wynne said. “That could be a silver lining to come out of the miserable times that we’re in. ”

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