#miss lady bagel bites the third

[scp2337]

hi i just love that your cat's name is bagel 🥺🥺🥺🥺

tysm i named her and all her siblings after foods bc i was hungry that day; so there was Bagel, her two orange siblings Cheese and Honey, and her grey brother(?) Sushi. she came from a litter that a stray had here outside the building where I work (her mama is now a beloved resident with her own food bowl & we keep a bag of cat food in the copy room for her)

here's some bonus never before seen Bagel pics just for u 💖

[wherethewordsare]

Birds of a Feather

For @notsafeformurphy who was having a day of it the other day and we got to talking and.... oops this happened. This honestly started out as a nature docu au and ended up a coffee shop au? Idk man.... Anyway, Shay I hope you enjoy this! 

Also tagging @herostag since it was requested. and @jaskierswolf cause I think they’re gonna start yelling at me if i keep forgetting. Going to try to get my tag list back together if anyone is interested. <3 <3 <3 Hope yall enjoy Jaskier huffed as he flopped over again, his body refusing to just relax down into his mattress and let him sleep. It had been a stressful day and to make matters worse, it had been the third night in a row where he was simply unable to sleep. 

Giving up, he reached for his phone, scrolling through youtube for a moment, looking for something that he could just zone out to for a little while. Usually he would put on music or white noise but even that didn’t seem like it would be helpful. He had to find something extremely dull and maybe a bit pretty. 

He scrolled past a thumbnail of three large men in park uniforms. Two of them looked like they were at least somewhat interested in being there while one tall man with near white hair simply scowled at the camera. 

Wild Wednesdays with the Rivia Nature Reserve the title read. 

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Jaskier huffed as he rolled onto his stomach. He pulled the kickstand of his phone case out and set it up before pressing play and curling his arms around his pillow. 

“This week, we’ll be talking to Geralt Rivia, our resident raptor specialist about what goes into rehabilitation efforts when it comes to conservation,” someone said off camera, cheerily. When the camera panned to Geralt Rivia however, he did not seem to share the narrator’s same upbeat tone. 

For a few minutes, the narrator off camera seemed to try to ask Geralt about himself, only getting stilted answers and that same scowl that had been in the thumbnail. Jaskier snorted with a smirk. 

“You’re not having any of this, are you? You’re gorgeous though,” he chuckled. He felt his back relax as he yawned, snuggling closer into his pillow. 

And then it happened. From off camera, someone handed Geralt a leather glove that he put on easily before taking a cord. He clicked a bit and the scowl he had moments ago melted into a fond smile. 

“And who is this?” the narrator asked. They clearly had picked up on the shift in Geralt’s demeanor as a small falcon took up perch on his forearm. 

He actually cooed at the bird for a moment before holding it up for the camera. “This is Roach. She’s one of our recent rescues.” He smiled, a barely there tilt of his lips and his honey colored eyes softened. Jaskier got the impression on anyone else, it would have been a full grin. 

“Oh, I like that look,” Jaskier murmured, feeling his cheeks heat up. 

“And what is Roach?” the person asked off camera. 

Geralt took a step back, turning his arm slightly, causing the bird to flap agitatedly at him as she kept her balance. “Yes, I know, but I have to show off how pretty you are,” he said to the bird, fond and warm. 

“Oh no,” Jaskier whispered into his pillow. “He’s soft and hot.” 

“Roach here is a red-tailed hawk. They’re pretty common through North America,” he explained, pointing out the red-brown of her tail. The hawk nipped at him as he got her to open her wings for the camera and he only chuckled. “She’s about six, the same age as my daughter actually. And,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure which one is less well behaved.” 

Roach must have understood a bit of that because she gave a cry before nipping at Geralt’s hair, clearly annoyed. 

“Listen, if you weren’t so hornery, I wouldn’t say it,” he said to Roach, pulling another scowl but there was clearly no heat in it. 

This was not the same man from the thumbnail or the same man that barely gave answers about himself at the beginning of the clip. When that bird sat on his arm, he lit up and Jaskier was weak. 

Geralt answered a few other questions about hawks and about the reserves program for rehabbing hawks, his voice deep and gravely. He would have sounded gruff if not for how much he clearly loved what he did. 

Geralt looked at Roach a little sadly. “Unfortunately for our little lady here, she won’t be able to return to the wild. Due to her injuries when she came to us, she won’t be able to hunt on her own,” he gave her a soft smile before he petted down her neck gently. 

Jaskier’s eyes were starting to feel heavy. He had turned into the pillow, letting Geralt’s voice wash over him with simple facts about red-tail hawks as he drifted off to sleep. It hadn’t been dull at all but there was something about the way Geralt spoke that just melted him into his mattress. 

When he woke, his phone was dead, probably from being set to autoplay. As it charged, he looked at the videos that had played while he was asleep, most of them from the Rivia Nature Reserve. There were a few specials with other team members but Jaskier picked out the ones that mentioned Geralt Rivia directly. 

It had become a near routine and soon, Jaskier found that he just slept better after watching those nature clips. Sometimes, Geralt wasn’t even on camera, simply walking through the process of population counting for the reserve as the camera panned around to different birds up in the trees. There were other videos featuring Roach the red-tailed hawk as well and it was clear that she was a favorite, not only of Geralt’s but the viewers as well. 

Within three weeks, Jaskier had made his way through nearly the whole catalog of the reserve’s videos. He knew he would move on from tall, silver and brooding and find his next sleep fix but for now he simply enjoyed it. 

~

He should have said no, he should have mentioned that he simply did not do morning shifts, and there was a reason for that, but Essi had been persistent, almost feral about him taking her shift. 

“Please, Jask. I promise, you won’t regret it!” She grinned at him and there was something in her eyes that sent up a dozen red flags. 

“What are you plotting?” He asked flatly, squinting at her over his glass of wine. 

“Not a thing, darling, just trust me on this,” she giggled, sipping her own wine neatly. 

~

It hadn’t been a terrible morning, though Jaskier was barely managing to stay upright by the the coffee grinder. He was used to staying up long nights and it hadn’t changed anything when he knew he would have to open. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. 

I know you mentioned he had a kid, but he’s single. You’re gonna want to put a blueberry muffin in right now. 

He blinked at his phone, squinting as he tried to decode just what the fuck Essi was saying. 

What?

But he put in the blueberry muffin, his phone on the counter as he watched the three little dots dance where Essi was texting back. 

You still owe me a no questions.

“What the fuck is she even-” Jaskier heard the bell above the door just as he set the timer for the oven. 

“-and so I tell him that if he isn’t going to at least make an attempt to clear out the back trails, we’re going to find a new contractor.” Came a voice behind him. 

Jaskier froze, his hand on his phone. He nearly threw it in a panic. He recognized that voice. He’d recognize that voice in the dark, though to be fair, he usually listened to it in the dark. 

He glanced over his shoulder and sure enough, Geralt Rivia was standing at his counter with two others from the nature reserve. 

“Be with you in just a minute!” he tried for cheery and landed firmly in panicked. He ducked behind the large coffee machine and shot a text back to Essi. 

I haven’t decided on whether or not I love you more than anything or if I’m ever going to

speak to you again!

Have fun! ;)

That bitch. It had been a setup! He adored her, the meddling little sneak. He schooled his face the best he could, knowing full well that his ears were still the color of the strawberry frap they served. 

“Morning, what can I get you guys?” He asked as he wet his lips, trying not to stare right into Geralt’s gorgeous face. 

“Three coffees, a blueberry muffin warmed up and a plain bagel, untoasted,” Geralt said offhandedly as he looked around. “No Essi today?” 

“Uh, no. I’m filing in this morning. Jaskier, at your service.” As he dipped his head in a mock bow he internally cursed himself. One day, one normal day, that was all he asked for. “Hope the bagel isn’t for Roach. I’m not sure she’d like it. How is she? We haven’t seen her much recently?” He shot off without thinking as he started to pour the coffees. He froze again as his brain caught up with his mouth. 

Behind Geralt, both of the men snorted. “Looks like you’ve got a fan, pretty boy,” the darker haired one jostled Geralt’s shoulder with a smirk.

Geralt only stood there, tilting his head slightly as though he wasn’t sure what had just happened. 

“Ah, I mean…” Jaskier fumbled, nearly spilling one of the coffees down his own front. 

“She’s doing fine actually,” there was a soft smile on his face, the same he wore when he got to handle the birds directly and Jaskier could feel himself melt on the spot. “Naughty as ever. Learned a new trick to take a swipe at Lambert here if he’s holding the feed bucket,” there was a low rumble of a chuckle. 

The dark haired one behind Geralt stopped laughing abruptly. “She’s a menace.” He growled, picking up his own coffee from the counter. 

Behind Jaskier, the oven dinged. “Oh and your muffin!” He turned, letting himself have the moment his back was to them to silently scream. He had been tricked! He had been set up! He was going to try to get this man’s number and he would never hear the end of it. 

“You already had it in?” Geralt asked, that smile still in place. 

“What can I say, we make sure to take care of our favorite customers.” He was almost proud of himself at how smoothly that had come out as he turned to look back at Geralt. He should have been paying attention to the muffin as it dropped, missing the bag completely and splatting on the floor. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier nearly cried. “I am so sorry. Give me, just a moment, I’ll get another one in for you.” 

He watched as Geralt ducked his head, smirking. “Would you like to meet her?” He gave another tilt of his head, his eyes clearly looking Jaskier up and down. 

He was sure he had died. This wasn’t real. This was the good place. Or the bad place. Either way, this place was the place his soul had clearly left his body. He stood there, cold muffin in hand as he gaped at Geralt. 

“Uh-”

“You don’t,” Geralt cleared his throat, “I was just wondering since you seemed… to be a… fan.” His face slipped into a scowl and no. No that wouldn’t do at all. 

“I would love to, yeah. I’m off at three?” 

“Oh! Jaskier! Thank you for coming in to open. I can take it from here,” Essi slipped in beside him, taking the muffin from his hand. “Morning, Dr. Rivia,” she nearly sang, her face smug. 

“Dead. You’re very very dead when I see you again,” Jaskier whispered to her though he couldn’t stop grinning. 

“So you were saying?” Geralt asked, leaning against the counter. 

“Turns out, I’m free as a bird, you’d say.” Jaskier chuckled as he slipped his apron off and made his way around the counter. 

Geralt snorted and rolled his eyes but took his coffee and muffin from Essi. “You know that phrase ‘eat like a bird’ is really not that good of a way of saying that someone doesn’t eat much?” 

Behind them, Lambert scoffed. “Here we fucking go again. I said I was sorry for bringing it up!” 

Later that afternoon he found himself wearing a glove similar to the one he had first seen Geralt in, a small tawny owl bobbing on his arm as he looked on in wonder. He had met Roach and she had nipped at his hair and shirt, screeching when food wasn’t produced. 

“Hmm, let’s get Scorpion. He won’t tear you to shreds,” Geralt gave Roach a fond little tap on her wing with the back of his fingers. 

By the end of the day he left with a few knicks in his fingers and a phone number. He had never slept better.

[gingerwritess]

Theo, my girl, my idol, my star, my main bitch, I gotta read about the first time that Loki is seen out and about after he's been released pleeeaaaasseeeee (and some sexual tension wouldn't hurt)

part 18 of predating idiots, in which you speak with that idiot for the first time since…everything happened. (he hasn’t exactly been released, but close enough ;))

warnings: long ass chapter with blood, injuries, pain, alongside some denial and awkward moments :))

Life without a fake-boyfriend has become rather, well, quiet.

No more surprise visits with only the excuse “I’m dying” being given, no more lying about the exceptional dates you’ve been on…no more ridiculously attractive doctor on your arm.

No one’s stealing your bagels anymore. That’s a plus.

But work is slow, suddenly. The weight of the secret, sneaking Loki into your office to eat and sleep and rushing him home on lunch breaks for a shower, was, in it’s own twisted way, exciting.

Loki admitting to the fact that it’s been “centuries” keeps floating back into your consciousness. You continually choose not to dwell on it.

Your first day back after Tony gave you a four day weekend to recoup went smoothly, without a single hitch nor a word from your special alien. Asking about him while trying to remain casual didn’t get you far, so you resigned yourself to a quiet day at your desk, sometimes sending Marcus off to make copies for you when even he looks bored.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he pipes up one day from his station at the doorway, “I kinda miss Lucky. Thought maybe I’d get to stop a bad guy, that’d look good on a résumé.”

You shake your head with a laugh, scrolling through a file of release records. “Sorry you’ve got to just watch me all day. Can’t be the most exciting thing.”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs. You don’t look up.

Another day ticks by, then another, and then a whole week and you still haven’t heard a single bit of accurate information regarding Loki.

Plenty of false information is circulating though, and you pick up bits of pieces around the break rooms and bathrooms.

“Yeah, he got the chair, they wouldn’t have kept him alive.”

“No, they’re rehabilitating him. He’s of use, he’s basically another Thor, don’t you think shield would want to hang onto him?”

“What, make him a new avenger?” The voice by the sinks laughs, and the faucet shuts off. “Just what we need. Another superhero. Jesus, I can’t keep up.”

Break rooms are to be avoided as of late, since you can’t go near another coworker without them jumping you with questions, assuming you must know what happened to him.

“Wish I knew,” you always reply. It’s not exactly a lie.

This fine morning, you pass the god of thunder on the way to the copy room. He gives you a grimace of a smile, lifts a hand, and turns to walk back the way he came before you can call out to him.

Strange. You haven’t seen Thor since the day Loki confessed.

Assuming he’s been busy helping his brother, you hadn’t worried about what he’s been thinking of you. Granted, his impressions of you haven’t been of the greatest, most respectable caliber, from asking you if you were attracted to his brother to watching you rip his brother’s shirt from him while straddling him on a bed—

Yeah, it’d be better not to dwell on what awkwardness Thor may have started to feel towards you. You’d rather not know his thoughts.

Then the next day, Thor is there again. You manage to get in a wave this time, giving him your politest please-don’t-talk-to-me smile and heading for the copy room again.

This time, the god follows you, fidgeting with the strap of mjolnir.

“I would like to talk to you,” he announces, trying to lean casually in the doorway. It doesn’t work well for him, so he straightens up and goes back to fidgeting with the hammer, staring at you.

“Okay…go for it.”

“I’d like to-to—” he breaks off and clears his throat. Finishing your copies, you turn to him with your eyebrows raised.

“Yes?”

“I’d, uh, like to apologize.”

Your brow knits in confusion and you cock your head at him. “What for?”

“Not to you,” Thor clarifies with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Do I owe you one?”

“No, not really, I guess.”

“I’d like to apologize,” he tries again, “to, uh, to my brother. You know, Loki.”

“Ah.” You nod with a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m acquainted with him.”

Thor lets out a relived laugh at that, tossing mjolnir in the air and catching it. “Of course you are. The only trouble is, I don’t quite know how.”

“And you’re coming to me because…”

“Because you may know this Loki better than anyone.”

“Right.” Biting your lip, you stare at the crease in Thor’s brow. This Loki. A bit of a terrifying thought, really, but he may be right. However unpleasant, your interaction may have been the first semi-normal one Loki had had in a long time. “Well, um, how can I help?”

“How…bad is he?”

That’s a loaded question, and you pretend to look through your papers while you think. “He’s in a bad state,” you venture to say, “he’s definitely hurt. Somebody hurt him, and not just physically.”

“Right. Alright.” Thor nods, tossing his hammer back and forth between his hands. “I can work with that. Sensitivity, I’m getting good at that.”

“Good for you,” you laugh. “Be careful with him. I mean, I don’t know him very well. But I know he’s not one to open up, so…go slow. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the apology.”

In all reality, you have no idea if Loki will give a shit about Thor’s apology, but in theory it sounds like a good thing to happen. It can’t go terribly wrong.

“Just be gentle with him, will you?”

Thor nods. “Of course.”

You rifle through your papers, gaze dropping to them to avoid his. “Where, uh, where is he, by the way?”

Your stomach flips at the sound of the question leaving your mouth, but hopefully you can pass it off as casual curiosity, keeping your gaze trained intently on the papers in your hand.

“The healing wing,” Thor replies with a growing smile. “The two-hundred and third room. I am sure my brother would be happy to see you, my lady.”

“He hates me,” you answer way too quickly, flashing him a forced smile and pushing past him. “He won’t—no, he doesn’t—heh. Just curious. Thanks.”

—

Curious enough to go find him on your lunch break, that is.

Room 203 is a drab white room that reeks of disinfectant, one single bed in the center next to stacks of monitors and a cot-like couch beside it. It’s an improvement from the cell, you’ll give them that, but the pure white gives you a headache the moment you enter, and Loki still looks trapped.

Trapped, and deliberately expressionless upon seeing you sneaking through the doorway.

“Hello.”

He says it carefully, eyes narrowing at you as you wring your hands with a sheepish grin.

“You’re, ah, looking better.”

More like an angry cat who just had to resign itself to the fact that baths are inevitable, but better nonetheless.

“I feel like my limbs have been filled with lead,” Loki replies. He limply tries to lift his arms for emphasis.

“Nothing a god can’t lift, I’m sure,” you laugh, taking the few steps needed to be by his bedside. His piercing gaze tracks every one.

Checking his water jug and the tray of food still untouched by his bedside, you give him a mildly disapproving look, one he certainly disapproves of. “I bet you’d feel better if you ate something.”

“Not interested.” He sinks back into the pillows, watching you with hawk-like precision. “Why are you here?”

You give him a casual once-over, disguising it with a quick look about the room, as well. His arm is in a sling—that’s new, he must be cooperating at least a little if they’ve been treating him.

“Uh, curious,” you decide to answer. “I’m curious, just, y’know, want to make sure you’re being treated right. You healing up?”

Loki nods. Yes, he is healing, technically, but at a glacial pace that’s nearly historic for asgardian abilities. Maybe he had pushed his limits a little too far with all the illusions and covering undressed wounds for so long.

Your not-so-discrete scrutinizing of his shirtless body doesn’t slip his notice and reopens a whole other wound, but he can’t think about that right now. Or ever.

“You’re wearing a sling,” you lamely point out, desperate to fill the silence, and mentally slap yourself.

“That I am,” Loki replies, and can’t help the smug little smirk that starts to turn the corners of his lips. You’re a bit out of sorts—this could be fun. “Did you miss me, darling?”

Your face goes sour, crinkling at the nose. “Don’t call me that.”

Loki breathes deep with a grin, and Dr. Laing takes his place in the bed, lounging much more seductively, injury free and on his side, with an arm draped over his hip.

“You missed me, didn’t you.”

“If you weren’t on the verge of death and in a hospital, I would slap the shit out of you.”

Laing laughs as he fades back into Loki; it’s a tired sound, scratchy and painful and rattling in his chest, but somehow he manages to sound so disdainfully full of himself that you don’t know if you want to soothe his aches or cause him a handful more.

He does look better though. Weak, definitely still as weak as before, but better. Not so gaunt.

“Have you been eating well, then?” You ask, pulling up a chair beside him. “You’ve filled out a little.”

“Define well,” he replies with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“More fast food, I take it.”

“If I wasn’t close to death before, I am now.”

“Well, take what you can get.” You reach over and give him a pat on the arm, just one awful pat before you think better of it and immediately hate yourself for doing that. “So, uh, what was the verdict? On your…y’know. Crimes.”

Loki shifts on his pillows, trying to sit up a little straighter, and his blanket slips further down to his hips as he struggles to with one arm.

“My crimes…right, trying to conquer the planet. Those crimes.”

Without thinking, you lean in and straighten his blankets for him, tugging them back up to lay just under his arm.

His voice dies in his throat, and he stares.

You stare, too, but unfortunately at the bruises littering his ribs and the scar racing right over his heart.

“There you go staring again,” he says, clearing his throat. “Are you quite finished?”

Ripping your gaze from his chest, you meet his narrowed eyes and swallow thickly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Are you…are you using any illusions right now?” You gesture at him, emphasizing his relatively scar-free face.

“I may be,” he replies.

“Why? You should be healing, not hiding anything.”

His eyes roll and he sighs. “I do still have some semblance of a reputation to uphold. Maybe no longer with you, and something must be done about that, but as for the others, they don’t need to know any more.”

“I don’t really care about your reputation,” you tell him, and he laughs as if that were obvious. “Or any image you’re trying to make of yourself, just so you know.”

“Oh, you did miss me, mortal.”

“No,” you snap, “I just…well, I don’t want you getting any more hurt than you are. And…maybe might have been a tiny bit worried.”

The last part you blurt, staring out the window with a burning gaze. You would like him to know, just for the sake of knowing that he’s not necessarily alone in this, but when you say it out loud, like that…

Loki appears to have swallowed something sour, when you glance back at him, and he stares at you.

Confusion, maybe?

Or maybe just shock. Or maybe he has morphine pumping through his veins; that’s a very possible answer.

“Are you on morphine?” You whisper when he doesn’t move, still staring. “That stuff can kill you, y’know. Careful.”

Slowly, he nods, lips parted.

“I…am.”

“On morphine?” You give him a sad smile. “That’s why you’re being friendly. Well, by your standards.”

“No,” he cuts in, cocking his head at you. “Still using an illusion.”

You nod, glancing down at your hands in your lap. “I figured. You can take it off now, I’ve already seen the worst of it.”

Room 203 falls silent for a moment, nothing but the air conditioning whirring in the background as a wave of green energy passes over Loki’s body.

“Just for you,” he clarifies when you look back up at him, “only for you.”

“Of course. I won’t tell.”

Taking a steady breath, you scoot forward in the chair and begin your inspection, ghosting along the parts of him you can, too used to cleaning him up to the point where it’s almost routine. He sits quietly, you point out to him which bits he should really show the others, berate him again for waiting so long to tell the truth.

“I lie,” he murmurs, and you almost catch a smile playing at his lips. “It’s what I do.”

“Roll on your side,” you simply respond. “You’re letting them treat your back, aren’t you?”

He grimaces, but doesn’t move. “In a way.”

“Please? Can I see?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I don’t know if you realize this,” you exhale, exasperated already, “but I’m a little more trusted here than you are. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

He squares his jaw, fighting with himself for a second longer—then rolls his eyes yet again and turns to face the other direction, exposing his back to you.

“Loki, come on.”

“I tried,” he cuts in before you can berate him further on the hideous state of his lashed back. “Really, I tried, but they can’t treat them yet. It’s not a flogging like any that have happened on Midgard, believe me.”

The thought of something worse than a flogging makes your toes curl, and you gingerly brush your fingertips over his shoulder before the sight makes you retch; one of the few unmarked patches of skin left on his back.

“You’re still bleeding.”

He nods, face turned from you. “I would imagine so.”

“Bled through your sling…” a quick look around finds the spare cloths and towels in the cabinet under his bed stand, and you take a couple soft rags. “Want me to, y’know, clean you up?”

He’s silent for so long you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he nods, just once.

“I would–I would appreciate that.”

His whole body jerks with every few dabs of the cloth, trying to at least stop the trickling and sop up what’s pooled in the bony dip of his shoulder blade.

You try to tell Loki which cuts desperately need stitches, but he just chuckles dryly and explains that these cuts aren’t meant to heal; that they rip and open any stitching or bandages applied to them. Each attempt to close the wound is predestined to worsen it.

“So you’ll always have these?”

“Until I can find a way to heal them,” he grunts, letting you help him sit up, “yes. It’ll be wonderful for when I’m feeling nostalgic.”

The sling, as it turns out, is covering a much deeper gash than the rest, one that the skin around the edges looks burnt—but weirdly enough, also looks almost crystallized where it should be scabbed. Almost…icy.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just continue in silence to switch out his sling, sick to your stomach. Nothing you could possibly have to offer, any assistance from anyone on earth could make up for that.

It’s been a couple months now, since New York. There have been no other attacks, clean up has been relatively successful with the camaraderie of the nation. The avengers have been assembled, tested, and proven effective.

Loki’s in custody, no longer hiding, no longer blackmailing you into keeping his secrets while he runs. He hasn’t stepped out of line since, he’s been offering his knowledge, he’s been cooperating.

Yet he’s the only one still bleeding.

“Loki,” you say quietly, glancing at the door, “are they actually helping you?”

He gives his shoulder a testing roll with a wince. “That’s too tight,” he tells you, tugging at the fresh sling. “I’m being treated. Accordingly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve received the help I need.”

“I don’t believe you,” you reply with a huff, fighting with the knot in his sling. “I mean, has Thor even come to see you? He told me he wants to talk to you, but he’s the only person who’s mentioned you…”

Loki gives you a nod when you finish with the sling, finally lifting his head to look at you with an illusion-less face, ripped flesh around his lips where a cord stitched him silent.

A fist closes around your heart, clenching it and leaving a hollow ache in your chest. Your skin burns at the sight of him.

“You’re staring again.”

“Sorry.”

The stitching was crude, unevenly spread along his upper lip, and the left side has a couple gashes where the skin is torn all the way through. Must’ve had to rip out it himself.

“Don’t victimize me,” he warns. “Don’t make me into something I’m not. Don’t.”

Your jaw clenches, eyes flitting from his lips to meet his gaze. “How do you expect me not to?”

He drops his head back to his pillow, shutting his eyes.

“You should leave.”

“Yeah.” You stand, and he doesn’t open his eyes. The closer you look, his scars are fading again, back under the facade you broke. “I probably should.”

Before you can stop yourself, your hand moves to touch him, just once on the back of the hand that’s draped over his chest. He grabs your wrist before you can.

“I don’t think I trust you,” he whispers, eyes still shut tight.

A lump catches in your throat. “You–you can, you know.”

“I know.” He takes a shaking breath, wincing as his blood soaks the pillows. “That’s why I don’t.”

—

You give him a week.

You hadn’t gotten even half the answers you had gone in there for, leaving with more questions than before, if anything.

It’s hard to tell if he was pleased to see you.

So you give him a week. No visits, no telling him he needs to eat, no mention of him behind his back.

That week passes as normally as it could be.

By the next, you find yourself outside room 203 once again, psyching yourself up to just walk in there and cut right to the chase, not giving him even an inch over you.

But you open the door and he’s on his stomach, fists ripping the sheets as a nurse with a needle stitches the lashings on his back shut.

He’s bleeding. Badly.

“No,” you blurt, “stop, don’t do that–”

Your tongue falls limp in your mouth, and completely against your will, you walk straight to the couch beside the bed and sit.

Nothing you can do will allow you to move, and you spend the next few minutes struggling against invisible bonds, shouting silently into oblivion that you’re making it worse, horrified at the sight of Loki’s serene expression as he stares at you.

You can see it getting worse; each stitch undoes the last, reopening the wound from the beginning so that by the time she’s moved to the next cut, the one just finished is a fresh, open wound.

Even with his face perfectly calm, his gaze stone-set on you, his body betrays him. He jerks with every pierce of the needle, the vein on the side of his neck bulges, and he’s ripped the sheets by his fist.

It looks like pure agony, and you can’t do a single thing about it.

So you sit there, frozen to your seat and silenced, until the nurse gives up and apologizes for another failed attempt, promising that they’re trying to find a type of material that can hold as she tries to soak up the blood. She wraps his torso and he stays silent the entire time, knowing full well that nothing will change, and doesn’t move after she’s left the room.

You take a deep breath as Loki does, and the restraints on your body and tongue fall away.

“What the hell, Loki?!”

“Please don’t yell.”

“I think it’s warranted,” you cry, stomping over to his bedside. “You have a death wish, god, you–you–what the hell were you doing?!”

You’re shaking, half from the horror of having to sit there and watch him endure that, but mostly from rage—he could’ve stopped her.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!”

“Shh…”

“Oh, don’t you shush me, I’m so sick of this–I-I can’t believe you made me watch that—”

A cold hand curls around your wrist and yanks, and you fall to your knees by the bedside, nose to nose with the god of mischief.

“Let me bleed,” he grits out, each word ripped painfully from his throat.

“What?”

“Let me…let me bleed.” This time it’s on an exhale and his eyes close, his hand dropping from your wrist.

You can’t find it in yourself to move away from him.

“Why’d you do that, you idiot?”

Half his face squished into the mattress, he manages a hoarse laugh. “Punishment for my sins.”

“That’s not your call,” you hiss, grabbing him by the arm. “You need to roll over, you’re laying on your injury. C’mon, move.”

He actually obliges and the two of you struggle to roll him onto his uninjured side. It’s not exactly comfortable, for either of you, and you realize after the fact that you had to practically hug the guy in order to haul him onto his side.

That’s probably why he went so stiff.

And…why he’s staring at you as if you’d sprouted wings, trying to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” you mutter, a little out of breath yourself from trying to lift him. “You’re a fucking masochist, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised.” He forces out another laugh.

Always laughing.

Always bleeding, always laughing. It’s exhausting, not to mention unbearably irritating when you’re nearly writhing in pain for him.

“Do me a favor, darling.”

“Don’t call me—oh, wait, do you want me to slap you?”

Another dry laugh, but this one sounds truer.

“Don’t make me beg,” he grins, and you almost find yourself wanting to grin back; it’s a breath of fresh air, after all the blood and pain. “Please, would you do this for me?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help the tiny smile you offer back, hidden behind your exasperated sigh. “Yeah, of course.”

���Tie my hair back?”

You swear his cheeks burn bright red, but he doesn’t let his empyrean expression waver, sinking subtly deeper into the pillows and handing you a thin strip of leather.

“Sorry,” he says when you take it, voice muffled, “it only gets matted with blood if I leave it down. I’d cut it, but I can’t be wasting strength on that in this condition—”

“I get it,” you assure him with a smile. “Don’t worry. You’ve already ruined your reputation with me.”

“Right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Biting back a grin, you pull the strip of leather between your hands. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”

“You are unbearably difficult.”

“Thank you.” You lean towards him, a tiny, smug grin just turning at your lips. “You answer any question I ask while I’m doing it. And no lies, trickster.”

He mulls it over for a moment, halfheartedly glaring at your smug self. You do look sure of yourself, leaning onto his bed, eyes narrowed playfully, his leather cord taut between your fingers. Daring him to disagree.

It’s not a bad look. Confidence, he supposes. Power.

The day has reached sunset, and in this moment of weakness Loki can’t help but notice—the light filtering through the lone hospital room window hits your face in a rather flattering way.

That, or maybe it’s been so long since someone smiled at him, laughed with him, teased him—maybe it’s…nice.

Maybe it’s been missed.

Maybe…that would be alright.

―   ―   ―   ―

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424@fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @the-republic-and-face-of-texas

~ scroll here! ~

@doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15

~ scroll here ~

@mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys

~ scroll here ~

@highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo @tonakings @shinisenko @tinchentitri @nildespirandum @thefallenbibliophilequote @vodka-and-some-sass @highfunctioningfangirl19 @sadwaywardkid @lokioneshot @brooksaza @wild-honey-piy @ellaenchanted91 @watermelon-lights19 @just-another-romantic @skinny-macncheese @lokisironthrone @rorybutnotgilmore

~ scroll here ~

@toozmanykids @brooklyn-times @nonsensicalobsessions @londonisacountry @peterparkerbabyyy

[whatarubberchicken]

Play Me a Tune (Make Me Smile)

Because @galahadwilder and his prompts are bad influences... (probably not exactly what you were thinking, but it’s a start...)

Play Me a Tune (Make Me Smile)

“I love my job; I’m living the dream,” Marinette recited to herself. She took a deep breath and tried to relax. Everything hurt from gritting her teeth through that last meeting. Not only had it been a long night, but their current client was turning out to be impossible!

She just needed a breath of fresh air. She was going to eat her bagel, then go back in her office and completely blow this project out of the water! Yes!

She rounded a corner and stopped short.

Great. More musicians. Exactly what she DIDN’T want right now.

Two boys to be exact: a blond with a keyboard and the other on guitar who obviously dyed his hair blue on a regular basis. She was just about to walk the other way….

Except these two were everything her client was not: bright and happy as they sang together, instead of dark and brooding like XY as he tried to cultivate his emo phase. They were also kinda cute. (No offense to XY, she knew a lot of people liked his look, but it just wasn’t for her.) And (full offense to XY) actually talented in music. Their instruments and voices blended together perfectly.

And it made her feel things.

In fact, it made her blush deeply when they grinned at each other and kissed mid-song.

Marinette quickly finished her bagel and fled back to the safety of her office.

Get it together, girl! she scolded herself. You’ve seen people kiss before!

But… none of them had made her want to stand up and cheer for the couple before. Those two boys were obviously in love.      

Her afternoon was spent sketching new designs in greens, yellows, and blues. She scowled when she realized they all had little hearts in them somehow.

………..

The next day was just as bad; meetings ran late, clients had to be rescheduled, “Where’s the mock-up, Dupain-Cheng?” “You said you needed it next week!” “That was then, we need it now!”

Luckily, she’d already been half-done with it anyway, but it still hadn’t been easy to whip the rest of it up in half a morning when she was supposed to have a whole week…. She sighed, staring down at her muffin in disgust. She missed Papa’s croissants. Maybe she should go visit?

No. No, she couldn���t go running back to them now! She’d never leave!

Before she’d realized what’d happened, her feet had carried her back to that same street corner. And, surprise, surprise, the two musicians were there, entertaining the crowd by racing through a rendition of some pop song as fast as they could.

Marinette snorted in laughter as the crowd cheered at their big finish. Not just young, beautiful, and obviously in love, these two were playful and fun too!

She wished she had time to meet them.

…………….

The third day was cold and wet, and as dark as Marinette’s mood.

Rejected.

Her designs had been rejected.

After all that hard work, all the revisions that had been fully-approved and accepted, the client had completely done a 180.

“These are too whimsical and colorful!” XY had complained (even though he’d been the one to commission a brightly-colored suit from them in the first place). “What?! Do you think I don’t take my music seriously or something?”

You shouldn’t, she’d wanted to snark back. You’re just a synthesizer with a bad haircut.

Luckily, her company was well-established enough that were still going to be paid for their hours, but it still smarted that someone thought she wasn’t good enough.

She sighed. Taking a walk around the area to clear her mind was just what she needed. She’d get over it easily enough; she just needed to recover from that initial sting.

She wasn’t even surprised when her feet automatically carried her back to where the two boys were playing. She WAS surprised that they weren’t playing around and laughing like the past two times she’d seen them. Instead, they were sitting underneath an awning, keeping their instruments out of the light drizzle, and playing softly to each other.

Still, however soft and slow, it was a good melody, and Marinette felt herself drawn closer, in order to hear them better. To her chagrin, however, the blue-haired boy noticed her.

“Well, look at what we have here, Adrien,” he said cheerfully. “A princess in the rain!”

“That’ll never do,” the blond agreed, standing up and opening an umbrella with a flourish. “Would you like an umbrella, my lady?” he asked, giving her a courtly bow.

“Oh! Uh, no, that’s fine,” Marinette stammered, blushing. “You—you’re going to need them later for your instruments.”

“Actually, our cases are waterproof,” the blue-haired boy pointed out, patting the hard case beside him. “And Adrien here likes to cuddle with me under one umbrella anyway.” He winked at his boyfriend.

“I am but a simple man with simple tastes,” Adrien stated dramatically. He turned back to Marinette. “And, right now, I’d really like to see a princess’s smile,” he added, much more gently.

She was sure her face was on fire as she took the umbrella and tried hard to give the boys a strained smile. Judging from the look on the blond’s face, he wasn’t impressed.

“S-sorry,” she finally said. “It’s… been kind of a bad day so far.”

Adrien’s eyes lit up. “A mission!” he cried, darting back over to his keyboard. “The Quest to Make the Princess Smile!”

With that, he started up a jaunty little tune, the other boy following him immediately on the guitar. It was carefree, and upbeat, and ordinarily, Marinette would’ve loved it. Today, though, she just gave them a small smile, and dug into her wallet to throw them a tip.

“Thanks, guys,” she said, tossing them her biggest bill. It was just about time to go back and face her failures at the office—

“Luka,” she heard Adrien whine. “The princess is trying to pay us, even though we didn’t make her smile!”

Oh my God, he was so cute! He actually sounded heartbroken that he couldn’t cheer her up!

“Hmm,” Luka said thoughtfully. “She said she had a bad day, babe. We know how that can be, right?” The blond hummed in agreement, leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder as Luka strummed a quiet, mournful tune. Absently, the blond followed him on the piano.

Marinette felt her shoulders relax at the gentle melody. Soft, sad, hopeful—it kinda sounded like rain, actually. The tension in her jaw lessened as well and she sighed in relief.

Yes. This was what she’d been needing. The two boys continued for a couple of minutes before Luka stopped and smiled at her knowingly.

“Better?”

“It was. Thank you,” Marinette said honestly. She held out their umbrella. “But I still don’t need this. I’m just going back inside there,” she said, gesturing to her building. Neither of them made any move to take it back, though, (Adrien was actually pouting at her again and he was seriously, so cute) so Marinette made to put it by the hat they had out for tips (a derby hat. What a strange choice!).

“Hey!” Adrien exclaimed, standing back up and stomping over to her. “Are you trying to insult my chivalry?!”

“No,” Marinette said, startled.

“Adrien…,” Luka said warningly, chuckling a little bit. “Sorry about him. He likes to think he’s some sort of white knight or something.”

“Uh, hello? The Black Knight is infinitely cooler,” Adrien argued, hands on his hips as he argued with his boyfriend. “And besides, a real knight would insist on walking his lady home—which I won’t!” he quickly added, noticing Marinette took a step back, “because in this day and age that’s considered creepy—but I can insist you take the umbrella, my lady.” He gave her another bow.

Marinette felt a little laugh escape her. He was just so over-the-top!

“There, good sir, you’ve made me laugh,” she said, dipping into a tiny curtsy. “You mission has been accomplished. Well done.”

Adrien’s eyes brightened and he fist-pumped the air. He and Marinette both laughed when Luka played a quick Final Fantasy victory fanfare.

“Thank you. Both of you,” Marinette said warmly, feeling better than she had in days. She stepped closer to Adrien and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “There. A token of my thanks.” Then, before she could lose her nerve, she walked over to Luka and gave him a kiss on the cheek too.

He beamed at her. “Best tip all day.”

Giggling, she waved goodbye and headed back to work, already planning her schedule for tomorrow so she could come back here for lunch.

…

Luka watched her go, seriously considering going after her to beg for her phone number. He glanced at his boyfriend, still standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a dazed expression on his face, his hand touching the cheek she’d kissed.

He chuckled. Adrien had had a crush on her since they’d noticed her a couple of days ago. His boyfriend was so gone.

Mischievously, Luka fingered out a quick, “Another One Bites the Dust!”

That seemed to snap Adrien out of it, and he whirled on his boyfriend, blushing deeply.

“Sh-shut up!”

Luka just laughed. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

[shy-violet-soul]

Try to Remember (1)

Pairing:  OFC Rae, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel Summary:  A forgotten memory surfaces and breaks Rae’s heart.  How will the boys, with their own heartbroken history, help her heal? Warnings: Graphic descriptions of injuries/fatal injuries; grief; parent death; depression; angsty fluff Rating: Mature due to descriptions of canon-type gore Word Count: 3,700ish

A/N:  We all love the funny moments with the brothers.  But their sensitivity to someone else’s pain has always broken my heart a little, and I wanted to explore that. This is a companion piece to Life is Good (for you) & Just Desserts. You don’t have to read them to understand this story. This is my OFC Rae’s “origin” story. 

A huge, sparkly, fluffy hug to my 2 betas @pinknerdpanda and @thesassywallflower. Ladies, you get all the Sam cuddles!

This is a work of fiction based upon characters created and owned by the CW. My work is not to be copied/distributed elsewhere without my written permission.

Playlist for this part: Sign Your Name - Terence Trent D’Arby

It started out as a good day.

On their way back from a hunt in eastern Illinois, Rae had squealed with excitement when she stumbled upon a Yelp listing for an ‘80’s themed diner. Located just outside of Olathe, Kansas, they were apparently famous for their retro cuisine and milkshakes. After shamelessly begging Dean to stop, he’d grumbled about wanting to get home until she said the menu’s magic words: Sloppy Joes. So convinced, the group had detoured to the charmingly dubbed ‘Mixtape Medleys Cafe’. Hair band posters plastered on the walls, Guns n Roses and George Harrison blasted from the jukebox, and a menu loaded with nostalgic delights were a welcome break from gas station food.

 Dean was on his third Sloppy Joe sandwich, already rhapsodizing over the ‘Whatchmacalit’ candy bar milkshake he had ordered for dessert. Serious inroads made into his chicken caesar salad, even health-nut Sam had ordered something with actual, real sugar in it - a ‘Vanilla Cow Tale’ milkshake. Her plate of mini bagel pizzas stood empty as Rae laughed, waiting on her ��Nerds’ milkshake. Another monster defeated, a nice young man saved, the three of them unscathed, and now their bellies were full and faces smiling.

It really had started out as a good day.

People talk about memories hitting them like a tsunami, or a ton of bricks. That’s not how it happened for Rae. It happened slowly. Like a glancing sprinkle of warm rain, barely noticeable. Then, another that spit into her face a bit. A pause, like the moment of calm before the unexpected thunderstorm when it was all blue skies and sunshine just a blink before.

One minute, Rae was laughing with the boys about something. Then, the distinctive drum beat tickled her ear. The reedy keyboard intro snagged her attention, and she glanced towards the jukebox across the diner. One heartbeat, two, and the unleashed memory wiped the smile from her face.

“Come on, honey, it’s our song!” her dad crooned, tugging her mom up from the couch. Rae giggled as her dad started grooving at the end of their outstretched arms, her mom rolling her eyes at his antics.

“You say that about every slow song, Alex.”

Smiling victoriously, Alex pulled her mom into his arms and began rocking side to side, winking at Rae where she sat on the floor with a book in her lap.

“But this is the one we danced to when I knew I was in love with you, Liz. So, it’s the most important.”  Pecking a kiss to her nose, Alex pulled her closer to his chest and closed his eyes. “‘Sign your name across my heart, I want you to be my baby.’”

Shaking her head, Liz smiled fondly at her husband.  “You still can’t sing, sweets.”

“‘Sign your name across my heart, I want you to be my lady!’” he yodeled out comically, drawing giggles from both girls. He tucked their entwined hands up into his shoulder and pressed a grinning kiss to her smile. Rae’s little nine year old heart warmed with happiness; her parents loved her and loved each other. She knew she’d remember their song forever.

And now, they were dead.

“...you okay?”

Rae flinched as a hand on her arm pulled her back to the present. She blinked at Sam seated next to her, then over at Dean. Shaking her head a bit to try and clear the fog, Rae drummed up a smile.

“Yeah.  So, you duct-taped the guy to a chair, and started hacking the place with an axe?” Rae tried to pay attention as Sam told the story. But the crooning rock n’ soul voice had opened Pandora’s box, and more memories came pouring in. As the brothers’ chatter filled her ears, the bittersweet warmth of the recollection skirled into something cold. Instead of the cracked vinyl seat beneath her fingers, the raw bite of rope echoed in her wrists. The scent of french fries and sugar melted into smoke and camphor.  And the images…

“Hey, there, honey bun! Here’s that milkshake for you!” The older, pink-haired waitress plunked the tall, frosted glass down in front of her with a flourish before she started teasing Dean about the saucy mess on his face. Lost in her head, Rae didn’t notice the woman collect up empty plates and promise the men their forthcoming desserts.  

Pointing out missed smudges to Dean as his brother wiped up with a napkin, Sam’s gaze moved back to Rae. For someone who had completely geeked out over a ‘Nerds’ candy milkshake, she seemed to be uninterested in the beverage now. She stared blankly at the glass, off in her own world. Dean noticed her preoccupation, too, and reached over to give the glass a little nudge.

“Hey, Rainbow, it’s melting.  Drink up!”

They watched as Rae blinked back to them from wherever she’d been, glancing back and forth between them before swallowing carefully and pushing the milkshake away from her.

“I changed my mind. You can have it.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I’ve got crispy-peanutty-caramel goodness headed my way. That’s all yours, make me proud.”

Without a word, Rae slid the glass towards Sam, offering it to him with a bob of her chin.  Sending her a quizzical smile, Sam urged it back to her.

“Extra pink ‘Nerds’ on top. Just like you asked. And a cherry!” he crowed, nabbing the goody by the stem and dangling it out to her.  

Normally her favorite part of a milkshake or sundae, the sight of the sweetness through the haze of her memories churned her stomach.  

The smile she offered was a sad little effort. Now Sam’s eyebrows quirked, halfway to his famed ‘puppy dog’ eyes when Rae merely shook her head before getting to her feet.

“I’m gonna run to the ladies room. Be right back.”

When she didn’t add on her usual, ‘don’t leave me again’, the brothers looked at each other.

“Okay, something’s up. What did you do?” Dean demanded.

“Yeah, I know. Wait, what? Why does it have to be me that did something? What did you do?”

The elder Winchester scoffed in denial. “I’ve been here the whole time, minding my own business with my ‘Manwich’ perfections.”

“She was fine up until the last couple of minutes. What were we talking about?”

Dean scowled as he thought. “We were talking about that time we went to the Mystery Spot and I died a lot. She was laughing about you trying to keep me from eating breakfast.”

Shaking his head, Sam frowned as he glanced towards the bathrooms. “Something’s not right.” Their waitress, Cyndi, reappeared, her sparkly-blue-shadowed eyes narrowed with concern.

“Hey, fellas, that honey bun of yours not happy with her shake?”

    Flashing her his most charming smile, Dean answered, “actually, she’s not feeling well.  If it’s not too much trouble, could we get our two shakes to go? And the check, if you don’t mind.”

Cyndi hurried to take care of things, and two styrofoam to-go cups and the guest check were delivered promptly. As Rae appeared, the men got to their feet to greet her.  

“Hey, Rainbow, you ready to blow this popsicle stand?” Dean asked.

Quiet, a little pale, Rae saw the concern they failed to hide and valiantly tried to swallow the lump in her throat and smile.

“Yeah, let’s get home.” As Robert Palmer began belting out ‘Simply Irresistible’, Dean tucked Rae into his side and sauntered them towards the Impala.  Sam tossed some bills on the table and hurried to follow.

*********************************************************************************

Sam and Dean stole surreptitious glances to the backseat for the next thirty minutes or so. When the silence began to crawl on her skin like ants, Rae forced some life into her voice.

“How about some AC/DC?” The brothers flashed each other a look before Dean thumped Sam in the chest.

“You heard the woman!  Gimme the good stuff, bro, and keep your cake hole shut!”

Sam’s annoyed tones, Dean’s cackling mixed together with the soft clatter of the tapes rummaging together as Sam fished out the designated cassette and popped it in. ‘Back in Black’ promptly blared forth, and as Dean began drumming on the steering wheel, Rae let herself curl up and fade in the lack of attention.

It was taking everything she had to hide it from them.

Seven months, three weeks, and five days. It had been an exercise in blissful hyper-focus to count it out as Baby ate up the miles. Seven months, three weeks, and five days since they’d died. The early days had been about healing. Then, after the brothers shared the truth of their family business with her, the later weeks had been all about reeling. After countless hours of inactivity, Rae’s broken heart had craved industry. Anything to keep her from looking at memories too closely. So, she’d put that Master of Library Science degree to use and become the best damn researcher the Winchesters had ever seen. The familiar rhythms of reading and analysis comforted her while the unfamiliar topics kept her wholly engaged. Engaged meant busy. Busy meant distracted. Distracted meant forgetting.

Forgetting meant she never had to grieve.

That grief, along with all the memories, bitter and sweet both, Rae cobbled into her own personal Pandora’s box. Then, she promptly ignored it, walking her days untroubled. Until one jukebox song cracked it open.

As the Impala rumbled its way into the bunker garage, Rae blinked into the quiet when Dean cut off the engine. Exhaustion suddenly swamped her, her feet heavy as Rae dragged herself out of the car. As she strode towards the stairs, Rae tried to straighten her shoulders.

They’re watching you. Look normal. You’re fine.

They’d seen her unconscious, peeved, sassy, laughing, focused. But this Rae they’d never seen. Quiet. Not just quiet, but almost...not there. Their sharp eyes missing nothing, the brothers chatted to each other with seeming nonchalance as they followed her down into the library.

“All in all, that wasn’t a bad trip.” Dean dropped his duffel on the table, tagging after Rae into the kitchen.  

“Yeah, it was nice to have a regular milk run. I need to update the records,”Sam mumbled around a yawn.

Rolling his eyes, Dean strolled to the frig and opened it. “C’mon, man.  We scored one for the good guys. It’s Miller time.  Relax,” he urged, pulling out three beers and handing one to Rae.

She took it wordlessly, the glass cold against her fingers. The bunker’s scent of concrete, steel, old books, and gunpowder, so familiar a few days ago, now felt wrong.

It should smell like vanilla from Mom’s baking, and Dad’s Old Spice cologne. Deep voices from the brothers wavered into her thoughts distantly, and an awful lump grew in her throat. That should be Mom complaining about Dad always leaving his coffee cup on the counter, and Dad yelling from the back porch about someone hiding the grill utensils again.  Like horrid little fiends, the memories leaked out of that carefully cobbled box. They roiled in her head like awful eels. I miss the creak of Mom rocking in her chair, and Dad snoring under his newspaper on the couch. I miss them holding hands when they walked together. 

The lump in her throat grew, burning up into her eyes and blinding her. I want to hear Dad whistling while he does the dishes. I want to see Mom trying to carry all the clean laundry down the hall in one go, and cussing when she drops the socks. I want…

“I don’t know why you’re always so down on everyone except Metallica and Zeppelin.  There’s other good music out there, Dean.”

“Whatever, Fall Out Boy. Hey, there was that song at the diner. Dad hated that song, but it was kinda cool.”

“Which one?”

The older brother scratched the back of his neck as he thought. “I think the singer changed his name, but it was Tony. Timothy. Terry?”

Cocking his head to one side, Sam frowned as he thought. “You mean, Terence?”

Dean pointed at his brother. “Yeah!  Terence Trent D’Arby sang it.  How did it go? ‘Sign your name across my heart?’” he mumbled out.

The sob that tore from Rae sounded like it was ripped straight from her soul, yanking their attention to her. The beer bottle slipped from her suddenly limp hand, smashing into foamy shards on the floor. They darted towards her when she wavered, Sam wrapping his arms around her before she collapsed knees-first into the broken bottle at her feet.

“Rae! Rae, what is it?”

“Rainbow, sweetheart, what’s going on?”

Their questions garbled into her ears as if she was underwater. Months of tears torrented through her, opening up an ocean of grief that pulled her under.

The agony left her drowning.

Sam’s heart pounded in his chest as he scooped Rae into his arms when she sagged against him, plopping to the floor and holding her in his lap. Dean knelt in front of them, his own heart chugging with alarm at Rae’s continued sobs.  

“What happened?” Dean carefully brushed messy caramel-colored strands from her face. “Rainbow, talk to me!”

Distantly, Rae felt warm, rough hands on her face, strong arms surrounding her. A fleeting dart of awareness over the Winchesters’ alarm stitched through her, and she tried to speak, but her throat closed up over another choked cry. The urgent calling of her name had her desperately sucking at air as she tried again.

“What? What did you say, Rae?” Ducking his chin to try to look into her face, Sam tried to maneuver her so he and Dean could see her.

“S-saw...”

“It’s okay, Rae, just take a breath. We got you,” Dean tried to soothe her, keeping his voice gentle.

“The s-song-” The men blinked at the coughed out words. Sam’s mind spun as he tried to think.

“You mean, from the diner? The Terrence guy’s song?” Another harsh cry tore from Rae as she weakly nodded her head.

“Theirs.”  

Gently squeezing her a bit, Sam quizzed her again. “Whose song, Rae?”

“M-muh….peh-peh...parents.”

Dean felt his windpipe squeeze as he looked up to meet Sam’s gaze. He saw his own memories in his brother’s eyes - their first meeting with Rae.

Baby’s doors groaned open before the car fully stopped. The brothers sprinted up the lawn, their boots sliding a bit on the rain-slickened grass. Smoke bit acridly into their faces when Dean kicked in the front door. Maniacal laughter mocked them as they took in the scene. Blood pooled steadily beneath a woman crumpled on the floor. A lone figure tied to a chair writhed as it burned.  His horrid, awful screams clawed at them in jagged edges.

“Heil!  All heil to the Thule!” cackled the young blond man rocking side to side feverishly. Aaron Bass hadn’t known the identity of the Thule operative wreaking havoc in the northeast, just that he and the golem couldn’t get there. His plea for help had sent the Winchesters hurrying to Bennington, Vermont. As Sam pointed his gun at Christoph Nauhause, the memory of letting him walk away from them once had both guilt and rage churning in their guts. A bullet in his brain silenced the peals of unholy glee, but the man immolating in front of them continued to scream out his agony. Dean knew the man was too far gone to save; frustrated tears and smoke itched in his throat as he aimed and fired. Abruptly, mercifully, the man died as his flesh burned around him.

Sam leaped over the sofa, crouching down beside the woman. The neat slice across her throat wasn’t deep enough to kill her outright, but the rapid blood loss pouring from the wound would soon enough. As Dean tried to extinguish the flames, Sam tried to comfort the dying woman.  

“Shhh, shhh, just be still,” he whispered, grasping her shoulder to try and subdue her shaking. She didn’t so much as glance at him, her gaze fixed towards the wall. One hand tremored outward, reaching, pointing spasmodically as her breaths wheezed wetly from her. Sam followed the line of her hand, distantly hearing Dean curse behind him.  

A young woman sat tied to another chair against the wall, hidden in the shadows. Blood from numerous, carefully placed stabs and cuts showed shiny in the flickering light from the fire. Tufts of ragged curls sliced from her hair dusted her front and lap. And her eyes, swollen, bruised, shone dark with dazed horror at the scene before her.

“Sam!  Sam, the fire’s spreading, we gotta go!” Dean suddenly jostled against him, following his gaze to the girl. As one, the brothers strode urgently to her side, knives quickly slicing her free. Sirens began calling in the distance as Dean pulled at a stubborn length of nylon. “Let’s go!”

With a violent yank at the last tie, Sam scooped the limp girl into his arms, following Dean as the elder brother kicked flaming furniture to clear a path. In moments, the Impala roared away from the incoming sirens, Dean watching the emergency vehicles brake in front of the scene as he drove them away.

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted.The impotence and desperation of the failure in the rearview mirror suddenly swamping him as he pounded his hand on the steering wheel. In the backseat, Sam swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, at a loss for words in the moment. A movement from the girl caught his attention, her head lolling back as she stared vacantly out the window. The whisper, nearly lost to the rumble of the engine, broke his heart.

“Momma...Dad…”

In the next heartbeat, she’d sagged into unconsciousness. They’d taken her to their hotel room, the next twenty-four hours a whole different battle. The brothers stitched her up, bandaged her, dosed her. They took it in shifts sitting up with her. Watching. Waiting. Not just for any sign of life. No, after that painful loss, the Winchesters were ready to take on whatever reaper dared to darken their doorstep. They wanted a win - needed it. Loss after loss weighed on the brothers like Atlas’ own burden.  

Reaper, or hellhound, or whatever douchebag deity ruled the roost finally decided they were due a sliver of good luck. No one came knocking for her soul that night. They didn’t have to mourn another loss behind silence, whiskey, or work.

Slowly, over the crawling-by days, bandages and antibiotic cream were swapped out for lore books and the internet. She just seemed to fit, all at once, into a space in them they didn’t know was empty. She seized onto things with a tenacity that rivaled theirs. New resources of research opened before them with that librarian background. Dean even started grinning with pride at how she was coming along with her shooting (not that she was going to be let out of Baby on hunts anytime soon). Rae grew into that surprise space so smoothly and quickly, the brothers almost didn’t notice that she never mourned.

She was mourning now.

The pain squeezed her chest until she couldn’t breathe, her hands cold as she sank deeper into this ocean. Her body pulled at oxygen, and it fueled a sudden, awful rage within her. It geysered up out of her belly and into her head, ripping a shrill scream free.

“Why?! I wanna know why!” When her fists tightened in their shirts till the wrinkles pinched them, the boys didn’t even flinch at the sting. Sam squeezed her tighter as she screamed, eyes closed under the weight of her pain. Dean’s hands stroked her hair, a gentle answer as she thrashed in their arms.

Slowly. Slowly, the clangor caved to their quiet. She sagged spent and hiccuping in their arms.

“I don’t even know where they’re buried. I mean, it’s probably at Park Lawn. Dad’s parents are at Old Bennington, but Mom didn’t like it there. She didn’t want people tromping over her grave trying to find Robert Frost.”

 “She didn’t like Robert Frost?” Sam asked quietly.

 A sad, sorry chuckle croaked from Rae.

“She hated birch trees. Had one in our backyard that kept getting fungus. She held a grudge on the man for making the damn trees so popular.”

Dean dragged his fingers softly through her hair, squeezing her knee with his free hand.

“She held a grudge on a dead guy for a poem about a tree?”

“Yup.” Her chin quivered back another sob. “Daddy had me researching arborists to try and save it for her again.” She shrugged her shoulders, a loose, weary move as she swallowed the stickiness in her throat. “And now they’re gone. Me, too, I guess.”

Sam felt his heart pounding on the lump in his throat as he let himself hug Rae the teensiest bit closer against his chest. Let his chin rub against her hair just a breath.

“You’re not gone, Rae. I know - I know it’s hard. Just try to remember that you’re here. And we’re here.”

The message hung loud and clear in the quiet, their comfort an anchor in the torrent that still tugged at her. For whatever reason, her life had been spared. Purpose still existed for her. Friendship, camaraderie still surrounded her.

If Dean’s gaze urged his brother to voice anything softer, warmer than friendship, Sam’s bitch face shot him down as Rae tiredly rubbed her eyes.

“Hey, Rainbow. Why don’t you go take a hot shower? I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

Her eyes still dim, she tried to smile for Dean.

“My hot chocolate or Dean hot chocolate?”

Easing back on his heels, Dean took her hand as he and Sam both helped her up.

“There is nothing wrong with a shot of rum in hot chocolate. Delicious and nutritious!” he proclaimed. His words had the desired effect as a bigger smile tugged at her features.

“Can’t argue with that.”

Sheepish eyes ducked away from their gazes as Rae squeezed their hands and headed for the hall. A moment later, they heard her bedroom door shut. They stared at each other, the heaviness of the scene still playing on them.

“We’ve gotta tell her, Sam.”

“I know.”

A/N: Liked it? Read part 2 HERE.

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Don’t Be Sad

Chris Evans X OFC Sebastian Stan X OFC A/N:This is a personal fic for a friend and i, i won’t be tagging 

It was only seven thirty and both the kids were up and running around.  It's like there internal clocks don't want to let any of their parents sleep in.  Chris was groaning next to me, reaching over to calm down Lily who was crawling into the bed.  So if she was here, then where was Violetta?

There was a loud crash in the living room, followed by a quiet giggle.  Found her.

“Seb, or Kait.  Whichever one of you is awake right now, your daughter is getting into something out there” I rolled into Chris's side, relishing in the warmth that was exuding him. “Goddamnit, I thought she was still asleep” Seb pushed himself out of the bed, footsteps fading until he was in the living room.

Her giggles echoed through the room until she was crawling into the bed, plopping down between Lily and Kait.  It was a good thing everyone was dressed this morning, or else we were going to have to answer some awkward questions.  

“Daddy!” Lily was rubbing her little hands all over Chris's beard, giggling when he wrapped an arm around her. “Daddy's awake sweetheart, but you should still be in bed right now” It was too early, and all I wanted to do was sleep at the moment. “no seep, befast!” She was squirming between our bodies while Violetta crawled all over Kait. “C'mon ladies, I'll make breakfast while these lazy butts sleep” I pushed myself out of the bed and grabbed Lily, Violetta abandon waking up Kait to follow me into the kitchen.

The girls were sitting in their seats within seconds, each excited for what I had to offer.  And unfortunately it wasn't much, we had to do a much needed grocery run. Add that on the to do list before we get started on the day.

“Mama, baby?” Vi was pointing at my belly, I smiled and rested a hand against the side. “Mhm, mama's having a baby” Lily was still fascinated at how big my belly was getting. “Baby!” Vi clapped her hands excited.

They had both been born around the same time, much to the boys disappointment.  They were each becoming fathers at the same time, so no one could go to the other for advice. They had to go to their own parents for advice, though Sebastian's mom was more than happy to help.  Sure they were a little put off by our relationship at first.  But they saw how happy we all were and wanted what was best for us, and once grandkids were introduced, it was all over.

I plated the eggs for Lily and Vi before making myself a bagel.  Everyone else were on diets for roles, or too picky in the morning.  Myself included.  But the doctor told me not too many sweets this time around, and I wanted what was best for our second child.

“Papa!” Lily scooted down from her chair and ran over to Sebastian who had emerged from the bedroom. “Hi pumpkin, you being good and eating breakfast?” Seb walked over and sat her back down in her chair, kissing Vi's head before walking around the kitchen island. “Morning, the other two still asleep?” I asked before taking another bite of my bagel.  The cream cheese was a little off putting, but I needed to eat. “Chris jumped in the shower, but she's still out like a light.  How's jr doing?” Seb placed his hands on my belly, rubbing the sides ever so gently.

I nearly moaned from how good it felt, this baby had been kicking and moving a lot more.  And normally it wouldn't bother me, but when they did it while I was trying to sleep. Well, it was becoming a lot harder to stay relaxed.

“Trying to break my ribs, one by one” I held my free hand over one of his, sighing as he pressed the tips of his fingers along my belly. “He's just excited is all, can probably hear us all talking and thinks it's time to get some attention” Seb was smirking, and I wanted nothing more than to slap him.  Not too hard of course. “He gets attention from Chris all the time, kids gonna have an ego as big as yours” Seb feigned hurt, clutching his chest as he looked at me. “I take that as a compliment, he needs to have an ego the size of mine” I rolled my eyes, of course. “We need to go grocery shopping later, so let the other two know that” I kissed his cheek and went back to my bagel.

Sebastian saluted me before heading into the bedroom, laughing at whatever scene he walked into.  Living with the three of them could be interesting at points, and with the addition of the two little ones, with one on the way, it was wild. It was easier when Chris and Seb were home, they could help take care of the girls so Kait and I could sleep.  Or at least try and sleep that is.  There was never a promise of taking a nap when it came to any of us.  Which is how I had gotten pregnant so quickly after Chris came back home.

“Mommy!” Lily was holding up her plate, showing me she had even all of her breakfast. “Very good baby, what about you Vi?” I glanced over to her plate, she had eaten most of her eggs, her eyes on me then. “Done” She pushed the plate away, wanting nothing more than to go play with Lily. “Go and play girls, we gotta go to the store later” I took their plates and set them into the sink.  I could wash them later after everyone ate.

Kait was the first to walk out of the bedroom, muttering how Sebastian and Chris were both huge jerks in the morning.  So either they had been loud enough to wake her, or they resorted to tickling her awake again.  Even I knew not to do that, she would reach out and smack you with the strength of ten men.

Chris walked out after her, wiping at the tears in his eyes.  His smile was wide and bright, so something happened in the bedroom to piss off Kait.  And with no sign of Sebastian just yet, that clued me in to that he was also in on whatever happened.

“Seb said the babies been kicking a lot” Chris's hands were warm, rubbing gentle circles all over. “Mmm, he has.  I secretly think he wants to kill me before he's born” I rubbed his arms softly, resting my forehead against his chest. “He won't be able to, he'll be too sad” Chris was treading a thin line.  One he liked to cross just to annoy me at times. “Lily wasn't even this bad, and you were hovering all the time back then” I pressed myself tighter to his chest, groaning as his arms wrapped around my shoulders.

The kitchen was silent, save for Kait making herself breakfast with the limited amount of food we'd had. Thank god she was the chef of this family, because if it were up to me I'd of killed everyone by now.  Not because I had no idea how to cook, but cooking for four adults and two kids?  Well I'd be burned out before I even got the chance to eat myself.

“Daddy!” Vi ran over as Sebastian walked out of the bedroom, pulling his shirt down. “Hi baby, you gonna be good when we go to the store?” Sebastian lifted her in his arms, holding her close as he walked over to kiss Kait good morning. “Yes daddy” She was swinging her feet, her cheek resting on his shoulder. “Well we better go soon, the Pats are playing at one and I refuse to miss another game because pissy pants Stan wants to hide the controller from me” Chris raised a brow at Seb, they were always being petty with one another.

I held a hand up letting Seb know that if he said anything back to Chris that all hell would break loose. It was still too early in the morning to be dealing with anything other than sleeping.

***  

“Chris, put her down before you hurt yourself” I glanced over at Chris who was carrying Lily on his shoulders. “She wanted to go for a ride on daddy's shoulders though, I couldn't tell her no” I rolled my eyes and headed into the grocery behind Kait and Sebastian. “Just be careful please, last thing I need is either of you getting hurt” I set my purse down into a cart, going over to the produce first.

Chris was trying to keep Lily from ordering him to the bakery.  She loved getting a cookie, and all of us knew that the baker thought Chris was cute.  She would always blush when he went over with Lily or Vi.  She saw the wedding ring on his hand though, and never tried to flirt with him.  So I didn't mind if he made her day a little better, as long as she didn't try and flirt.

“She's got him wrapped around her little finger” Seb was standing beside me, picking out apples. “He's been whipped by her since the moment I gave birth” I couldn't help but laugh, Chris was now carrying Lily and Vi, one girl in each arm. “How do you think it's gonna be with a newborn?  For Lily I mean” Seb set the bag into the cart, his eyes locked onto the side of my face. “I think she'll be excited, but we're gonna have to keep an eye on both of them for the most part” This pregnancy was a lot harder on me than my first.  The doctors were amazed I had even been able to get pregnant.

It had been a shock that I had been able to get pregnant the first time, seeing the test stare back at me with the words pregnant written across the label.  Kait had come to me not even three weeks later, showing me her own test.  We waited for the boys to come home to give them the news, Chris was ecstatic, his arms wrapped around me so tightly I thought he was going to suffocate me.  Sebastian was in tears, hugging Kait close to himself as he whispered pregnant over and over.

She was due a month after I was, and that was the hardest month for any of us.  While I was home with Lily, Sebastian and Kait were out trying to get everything ready for Vi.  Lily had been a complicated pregnancy from the get go.  Morning sickness, fluctuating weight, mood swings constantly.  And that was before I hit my third trimester.  After that I was put on bed rest by my doctor, not allowed to do much of anything until the baby was here.  But once she arrived, it was as if time stood still, our little family was growing.

“Kait wants to try for another one, but I think she's already pregnant” Sebastian kept his voice low, he was attuned to how Kait acted around her time of the month.  And for the most part she wasn't acting normal at all. “I think so too, she's been eating my ice cream.  And everyone in the house knows she loathes mint chocolate chip ice cream” I rubbed my belly as the baby kicked gently, clearly lacking the attention he deserved. “I'll bring it up to her tonight, I'm sure she'll be even more excited for baby number two” Sebastian smiled, sneaking over to where Kaitlyn was looking through the peppers.

Her squeal was loud, causing Sebastian to laugh loudly as he wrapped her tight in his arms.  Chris set Vi down next to her parents before walking over with Lily still holding onto his side.

“Let's finish up getting our groceries so we can go home please” My ankles were already swelling, and my back was aching.

Chris nodded and set Lily down, holding onto her hand as he lead her through the store.  Maybe shopping would actually be easier this time.

*** So, grocery shopping had gone alright for the most part, until Lily and Vi ganged up on the boys and demanded ice cream for dessert after dinner.  And who was going to tell them no?  Surely not me, they wouldn't want to be around me anymore.  So we got them ice cream, which lead to Kait and I getting even more junk food.  Which in then lead to the cart being full of somewhat healthy food, and more junk than we were proud of.

Chris's road rage came out when we were driving back home, the car filled with the soft music as he drove down the pike.  Until someone cut us off at the last minute, causing Chris to jerk the wheel, his hand pressing over my belly.  He was absolutely fuming, yelling at how the asshole should've paid attention to where he was driving.  Lily and Vi put in their two cents, Vi saying how the guy was an asshole, which got a reaction from everyone.

“I didn't teach her how to say it, so it was one of you three” I looked over at Chris who was shaking his head.

And I knew that even though Kait swore like a sailor, she refused to have her little ones swearing all the time.  That left Sebastian, of course.  To be fair, I was happier that she didn't say the guy was a fucking asshole, as Chris had so lovingly called him.

The neighbors were staring when we pulled up, unloading the groceries into the house while the girls ran around outside.  They were all skeptical of what exactly we all had going on, making bets on who was actually married to whom.  We liked to switch it up from time to time, some days I would leave with Chris and others I would leave with Sebastian.  Of course there were even times I would leave with Kait, hands locked together as we headed down to the little corner store.

It was no secret they all thought we were originally roommates, that was until we caught wind that they had heard us enjoying one another. Nothing wrong with being in a happy relationship.  That is, until one of us gets pregnant.

“Shit, I missed the first quarter” Chris plopped down onto the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched the tv with close precision. “No one's scored at least” I sat down on the arm rest beside him, rubbing my hand along his back gently. “Doesn't make me feel any better” The Pats were playing the Steelers.  And I knew Chris was trying to keep himself composed.  This was going to ensure who went on to the Superbowl.

Sebastian was plopped down on the opposite side of the couch, his brow furrowed as he read through an email his manager had sent him.  Violetta looked over, gasping as she saw the wrinkles on Seb's forehead.  Her little feet carried her across the floor as she slapped his forehead.

“No winkles!” I couldn't help but snicker, it was something that Kait had taught her, and it was adorable. “Oh, I'm sorry baby.  Daddy didn't mean to make his angry face” He smiled and pulled her into his lap.

Chris was frowning, the Steelers were pushing towards their goal line faster and faster.  His own brow furrowed as the ball was thrown, the player losing grip before he could make the touchdown.

“Winkles!” Vi was in Chris's lap now, slapping at his forehead until he laughed, grabbing her sides gently. “It's the game sweetie, why don't you go play with Lily for now?” He set her back down onto the couch, eyes glued to the screen.

She had crawled back, into Sebastian's lap slapping at his forehead until he chuckled and tickled her sides.  Lily was asleep next to Dodger. I smiled and looked around the room at everyone, whether they were napping, reading emails, watching football, or reading a book in the corner, it felt homey.  I couldn't imagine my life without these people, or their wrinkles.

[whiskeystained-a]

miss congeniality sentence meme ** change pronouns, etc to fit your muse!

"wimp!” “yep. the three stooges.” “this broad’s got two asses.” “i really love this borscht.” “that is one really, really purple russian!” “his victims didn’t get a chance to choke on a peanut!” “you’re not killing anyone, you peanut eating bastard.” “how’s your head, my little broski?” “i shouldn’t have moved!” “you made a choice. it was wrong, but that’s it. it’s over.” “by the way, you look like hell.” “is this you not arguing? cause you suck at it.” “no i get these made special by the same guy that put the tattoo on my ass.” “i forgot the alamo.” “i got a cousin in texas.” “not unless it’s the miss lamaze pageant.”  “yeah, right, in a thong.” “in a tasteful one piece!” “i don’t even own a dress, i don’t even own a brush.” “what part of that is supposed to shock me?” “damn right. the spinning, the twirling, the smiling. the cute little tap number.” “i don’t know, man. she’s got a lot of rage.” “so join the marines.” “my god, can you really be this superficial.” “hard to believe, right?” “especially without their knowledge!” “if you are ( muse name ) i quit here and now.” “yeah kinda having a bad hair day. hair decade, really.” “you like caps?” “it is always yes, never yeah. sit down.” “have i offended you in some way?” “i haven’t seen a walk like that since jurassic park.” “it’s not the bloody ice capades.” “because i’m preparing to run away!” “it takes a very secure man to walk like that.” “it’s all in the buttocks! don’t i look pretty!?” “hey hey! i’m gliding here! asshole.” “when she gets there, he’s gonna take one look at that fake rack and send her back.” “look, she’s gonna cry again.” “oh! if i only had a brain!” “i am somewhat less than amused.” “with some work she’ll be ready for the world’s finest trailer park.” “both painful and grotesque, isn’t it.” “hopefully remove the beer stains and steak residue.” “as long as it doesn’t say thank you very much for the country music award.” “yeah, well, my iq just dropped ten points.” “i am in a dress, i have gel in my hair, i haven’t slept all night, i am starved, and i’m armed. don’t. mess with me.” “my god, i’m good.” “operation thong has commenced.” “why don’t you stun gun yourself.” “one little mistake, and i’m a bloody bellhop.” “washington -- nice apples.” “she’s obviously been drinking too much coppertone.” “yeah, i’m talkin’ to you -- i’m lookin’ at you.” “at least she thinks i’m funny.” “i wake up every morning, look in the mirror and say who is that old (man/woman) wearing my pajamas?” “don’t cry for me ... alabama.” “OH JESUS CHRIST! sorry, i had a bite of my bagel and i forgot to pray.” “they slammed their doors when i said chocolate. they didn’t give me a chance to say fat free!” “excuse me! i am in the middle of a rem cycle over here!” “no armored car?” “that would be in my other dress.” “this (man/woman) has no talent!” “listen to me, you old fruit cake.” “how dare you, you cupcake!” “you are not having sex on this stage.” “i know, you think i’m gorgeous.” “what’s her talent, bar tending?” “of course he had a gun. it’s texas. everyone has a gun. my florist has a gun.” “i don’t have a gun. my ancestors were quakers.” “what’s the other seventy percent, cleavage?” “i would so love to hurt you right now.” “you have sarcasm and a gun!” “i am a miserable, grumpy, old elitist. and that works for me.” “none of your damn business, that’s why.” “you look good wet.” “those better be candy dishes.” “it’s for the little baggies under your eyes.” “oh, good, hairspray, something i recognize.” “it stops the suit from riding up!” “that would be harsher punishment for parole violators. . . and world peace.” “that was charming. are you drunk?” “glad you enjoyed it. now if you’ll excuse me i have to go unscrew my smile.” “hey, listen to me, sparky.” “well, leg waxing. fake orgasms. the inability of men to commit.” “what, you want me to beat it out of her?” “uh, it’s light beer, and she’s gonna throw it up anyway.” “i’ll sit here with my very large, very cheesy pizza.” “first step pizza, second step flaming batons.” “i guess we’ll be needing some more pizza.” “this is my third one of these and i don’t feel a thing!” “don’t worry about that, we all suck.” “no wonder you’re still a virgin.” “speaking of illegal, have you ever committed a crime?” “one time, i stole red underwear from the department store.” “my mother wouldn’t buy them for me! she said they were satan’s panties!” “ --- anyway, he attacked me.” “(he/she)’s just got a boot up (his/her) ass about something!” “(he/she) threw a chair out the window!” “why don’t you jump on (him/her) dressed like a bavarian fruit cake!?” “where are you getting your information from, a pajama party?” “betrayal implies an action, you just stood there!” “part of the job is following orders!” “the other part of the job is using your brain!” “take the rule book and just throw it out the window!” “i like the rule book! i like knowing what i can and cannot do!” “don’t do that! that slow creepy thing in the shadows! (name) used to do that!” “you’re a genius.” “no, i’m just pissed off.” “if i ever had a child, i imagine they’d be somewhat like you. which is perhaps why i’ve never reproduced.” “maybe (he/she) couldn’t take the pressure. (he/she) ate four slices last night!” “i overslept my beauty sleep.” “which one of these is, uh, lipstick?” “i forgot my breasts, hold on i’ll be back.” “that was incredibly stupid of me.” “oh, shit.” “that must’ve hurt.” “not even a traffic ticket. model citizen, beauty contestant, pageant director, loving (mom/dad.)” “a sniveling, obsequious, weasel of a human being.” “(his/her) assistant (name)? asshole (name)?” “you ate pizza, you stole panties, you’re a wild woman.” “wait a minute, i’m not with him with him it’s not like that.” “come on, muffin!” “(he/she) certainly lit my fire.” “what, disgusting perverted (name)?” “you’re drinking my talent!” “i once saw a girl who rearranged furniture.” “that and a right hook.” “oh, (he/she)’s kicking (his/her) ass!” “we’ll be back with our final five lesbians. err, interviews.” “can we say lesbians?” “you got a problem with that?” “terrific answer. damnit.” “my god. i did it.” “and if anyone tries to hurt one of my new friends, i would take them out. i would make them suffer so much that they’d wish they were never born. and if they ran, i would hunt them down.” “a brief shining moment and then that mouth.” “yes. wear the crown. be the crown. you are the crown.” “i was right in the middle of my song! and there was this big explosion!” “where you’re going, i’m sure they’d love to meet a former beauty queen.” “yeah, he means m-e-a-t.” “when i met you, dennis rodman looked better in a dress! but now you’re a lady!” “you know what you’re under arrest, get in the car.” “you got a really good shot at that insanity plea.” “twenty five years of bitching beauty queens and what do i get? FIRED!” “get it, the women’s correctional facility?” “i don’t know, maybe we could have dinner?” “no, just a casual dinner.” “if we happen to have sex afterwards, so be it.” “you think i’m gorgeous, you wanna date me.” “and i’m suddenly very aware and proud of my breasts.” “that’s funny, me, too.”

[hockyeah]

Mind Candy (6)

Chapter: 6/?

Ship: Marliza

Summary: Of all the things Maria wasn’t doing, bribing her misbehaving child with candy just to talk to her incredibly attractive teacher was very high on that list. Definitely.

Word Count: 2807

Warnings: N/A

_____________

“For future reference ma’am, it is encouraged to at least call before showing up to eat lunch with your child.” the secretary smiled painfully as she peeled a bright green visitor sticker from a large roll of glossy paper. She was the same one that had signed Susie in late earlier that same week. She seemed, if possible, even more tired than before, and Maria couldn’t tell if she was tired of Maria or of her job in general. She made an extra point to be very polite and kind to her, as Maria would hate having her job.

“My bad, I’m so sorry.” she apologized profusely, and the secretary gave her another tight-lipped smile, handing her the sticker. Maria shifted the packages in her arm to place the adhesive on her blouse and opened the door to the school. The big metal hinges gave a slight squeak as they moved open. Maria waved goodbye to the secretary before stepping out and letting the door close behind her with a dull thud. She had stopped at a coffee shop on the way to the school, picking up two coffees, a juice box and two bagels with cream cheese. Maria had made the last minute decision to pick up a coffee for Eliza, but she had run into the problem of not knowing how Eliza drank her coffee, so she had simply gotten her one with cream and a touch of sugar, the same way Maria drank hers. She held the brown bag of food to chest chest as she traveled down the long colorful hallway leading to the cafeteria.

A horde of third graders shuffled past her, moving in a disjointed line. Maria paused as she noticed a pigtailed girl in a striped shirt, recognizing her as Theodosia, the daughter of Aaron Burr, an old family friend. The sight of Theodosia also reminded Maria that Susie was staying the night at the Burr’s tonight, meaning that she wouldn’t have to worry about cooking a real dinner. Theodosia noticed Maria standing to the side smiled toothily, waving at Maria silently. Maria waved back, smiling at the girl, grateful for the unspoken reminder. She brushed past the end of the line, finally reaching the cafeteria.

She spotted Susie’s class easily seated towards the center of the cafeteria. Of the many teachers sat at the teacher’s table in the middle of the cafeteria, Eliza was not one of them. She scanned the tables, wondering where she was. She spotted the distinctive pencil stuck out of the back of her updo seated at a table with the rest of class. Maria thought it was sweet that she sat with her students, and, she assumed, talked to them at the table. It truly showed that Eliza cared about her students.

She maneuvered through the countless kindergartners eating lunch, heading towards Susie’s table. Susie looked up from her conversation and frantically waved at Maria, who smiled as she finally reached the table.

“May I join you lovely ladies?” she asked, setting down the bag of food.

“Mommy!” Susie exclaimed, springing up and grabbing the bag, looking through it and pulling out the juice box, both bagels, and a single container of cream cheese. She pulled the paper off one of them, examining the everything bagel with a look of discomfort. “I don’t like this kind.” She admitted, studying the bagel intensely. Maria laughed.

“That’s why I bought it for me. The other one is a plain one, just the way you like it.” she explained. Eliza looked over and caught Maria’s eye, smiling with the barest hint of what just had to be a blush.

“Oh.” Susie replied, setting down the bagel and grabbing the other one. “Thank you!” She cheerily ended, taking out a plastic knife and spooning out obscene gobs of cream cheese onto the bread.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Maria concluded, sitting down beside her daughter and across from Eliza. She looked up at the incredibly attractive woman and smiled before remembering the other coffee she had bought just before.

“Oh, and Eli- Miss Schuyler, I brought you a coffee.” Maria stumbled out, her heart hammering in her chest for no reason other than being in the presence of her. She held out the cup, and Eliza raised her eyebrows as she reached out and wrapped her hand about the cup. Their fingers touched, and Maria’s face flushed as she quickly dropped her fingers, letting the cup slide effortlessly into Eliza’s perfectly manicured hand. Eliza let soft a soft breathy giggle and turned back to her students.

“Did you see the turtle yesterday?” One girl with impressively long blonde hair and bright blue eyes exclaimed. Another girl with tanned skin and short slick straight dark brown hair gasped excitedly. Maria tuned into the conversation as she carefully spread cream cheese over her bagel.

“He said her name was Frances!” she added, and then, after another questioning pause, “What kind of name is Frances?” Eliza let out a small titter as Maria looked at the girls, confused.

“What in the world are you guys talking about?” she asked. Susie laughed.

“There’s a new art teacher and his name is Mr. Laurens and he has a turtle in his classroom!” she spewed off all the information in one long sentence, not stopping to take a breath. The other two girls nodded vigorously, Susie having explained everything as clearly as them deemed fit.

“It had a pretty green shell and he said that we might could hold it one day.” the blonde girl continued. Maria looked at her and smiled. Her face was unfamiliar, and Maria didn’t want to keep identifying her by her hair color.

“What’s your name?” she asked the girl, then facing the entire table, “Actually,” Maria corrected herself, “what’s everyone’s name?”

“My name’s Amelia.” the blonde smiled, her long hair flopping off her shoulder and trailing to an impressive length on her back. She was poking at a thermos of chicken noodle soup with a half eaten roll laying on top of a napkin on the table.

“I’m Angelica.” she girl with short dark brown hair spoke next, her face speckled with light freckles. Her bangs were hastily clipped back with a pink clip, and she was takings bites of a grilled cheese sandwich off of a lunch tray, taking intermissive sips of her strawberry milk.

“My name is Abigail and people try to spell it with a a-l-e but it’s actually a-i-l.” A quiet and portly girl with thick glasses hunched over her school-prepared chef salad and large book spoke up quickly before returning to her reading.

“You know me, silly.” Susie said playfully, tilting her head and looking up at her mother. Eliza laughed again at Susie’s antics.

“Of course I do, Susan Michelle Reynolds.” she said back equally playfully. Susie’s eyes widened as she sat back up at her seat, not expecting the use of her full name. The gaggle of girls laughed and continued their conversation. Maria tried to follow along, but her focus kept wandering back to Eliza who sat, engaged in conversation with the girls. They talked and Eliza spoke with the same sparkle in her eye that Maria loved to see and wanted to lose herself in.

“Oh, my!” Eliza exclaimed, glancing back at the clock. She stood, sliding her tupperware back into her floral bag. “We have to get going, don’t want any of you to be late for recess.” she wiggled her eyebrows and spoke with the air of a storyteller moving to the next chapter in a book. She walked to the end of the other table, dismissing the group of boys who sat at it. She walked back to Maria’s table and did the same, asking the girls to go throw away their garbage. The lunch had seldom lasted thirty minutes, and Maria was left to wonder what else could she do with her time.

“Thank you for eating with me, Mommy” Susie said, wrapping her arms around her mother before hopping up and following her class. Maria stood, ready to collect her garbage and leave, but Eliza looped back around from the garbage can with a washcloth in hand, wiping down the two tables before turning back to Maria, who was planning to make her exit.

“Stay? I’d love to talk for a little longer without all the girls.” She asked quietly, balling the cloth back up in her hand. Maria felt the blush creep up her neck and spread plainly across her cheeks.

“O-Of course.” she stuttered out, knowing that she was very clearly bright red. Eliza smiled at her before going and speaking with another teacher and placing the dishcloth back in the kitchen. The other teacher nodded her head, lining her class up alongside Eliza’s. Eliza walked back over past Maria, beckoning her to follow her out the big double doors. Maria shakily took a step towards the door, turning back to wave to Susie and followed Eliza, taking step after tentative step until she had reached the door.

She walked down the hallway with Eliza, her heart fluttering wildly, Eliza taking intermissive sips of her coffee and shifting the flowered bag up into her arm. She was wearing a simple white blouse with a small and subtle blue pin on the right of her collar. Her pants, however, were neither simple nor subtle, instead featuring hundreds of small multicolored birds that flowed together into a beautiful pattern of blue, purple, and red birds. Frankly, Maria loved it. She tuned back into real life just as they passed the teacher workroom and Eliza abruptly stopped. Maria stumbled to a halt.

“What?” she asked. Maria saw no reason to stop, and craned her neck to look inside the teacher’s lounge. A tall man with long curly hair stood at the refrigerator, looking for something.

“I think the new art teacher’s in there, and I haven’t introduced myself yet.” She explained, looking at the man. Maria’s mouth made an O shape, and she wondered if she would go in follow Eliza or just wait awkwardly outside. Eliza entered the door, but looked back at Maria.

“You can come with. We’ll just say you’re here for a parent-teacher meeting which, until recently, would probably be true.” Eliza giggled and continued walking. Maria followed, walking past a hallway of mailboxes and into the small teacher’s lounge. The man had stood up and shut the refrigerator, turning to face Eliza. He jumped back slightly at the sight of her, clutching a tupperware to his chest.

“You scared me.” he laughed. Maria heard his laugh and suddenly felt like she knew he would be a good person. It was odd, completely irrational, but she somehow knew it to be true. He looked at Eliza questioningly and held out a hand.

“I’m John Laurens,” he said, shaking Eliza’s hand cordially, “the new art teacher.” He smiled, his face and arms coated with a thick layer of freckles. He was wearing a soft green short-sleeved button up and well fitting khakis, his long dark curls pulled up into a ponytail, revealing a shaved undercut. Eliza smiled, releasing the grip on his hand.

“I’m Eliza Schuyler, kindergarten teacher. You had my class yesterday during specials.” She replied. He nodded, laughing.

“Oh yeah! They were more interested in the turtle than me!” he laughed. Eliza smiled. Maria let out a small chortle as well, and Mr. Laurens turned to face her unexpectedly, holding out his hand again. “And you?” he asked.

“Maria Lewis, parent of Susie Reynolds.” she warmly smiled, shaking his warm hand. She blushed, realizing he may still think that she worked at the school, and rushed to clarify,

“I’m here for a parent-teacher meeting with Eli- Ms. Schuyler.” she stumbled over her name, unsure how to address Eliza properly. He smiled and nodded, shifting his tupperware under his arm.

“Well, I’ll leave you ladies to it. I have a class in-” he looks down at a worn leather watch or his wrist, “Oh, shoot. Fifteen minutes.” his brow contorted. He walked briskly, exiting the room, and turned back to wave at the pair. Eliza gave a short wave and Maria followed suit. Eliza looked over at her and began exiting the room itself, remarking,

“He was nice. C’mon, let’s go.” Maria nodded and followed, entering the large hallway that divided the hallways of the school. At one end, the cafeteria sat, and at the other, the main lobby of the school. Maria had never really taken a good look at the school itself, always rushing to get Susie were she needed to be without consequence.

They reached Eliza’s room, Maria stopping to study the number art outside of classroom, she turned back to Eliza, absentmindedly reaching for the doorknob, to discover the door was already open, her hand falling into the open air. Her gaze traveled to the open door, Eliza holding it open, grinning, her cheeks bright red.

“Ladies first?” she asked playfully. Maria blushed a shade deeper than before, doing a mock-curtsy and entering the classroom. Eliza followed, shutting the door behind them and going to sit at her desk. Maria spotted the only other adult-sized chair in the classroom and pulled it over, facing Eliza.

“I like your pants, they look good on y-you.” Maria stuttered, immediately regretting saying anything, for her speech wasn’t as eloquent as it could be, as she was sat across from a woman who had seemingly flipped her entire world up down.

“Smooth as always aren’t you, Lewis.” Eliza raised her eyebrows, her glowing cheeks shining through her sarcastic tone. Maria loved the way she blushed. A simple elegant pink spreading her her cheeks and sharp cheekbones. Maria could feel her ugly, blotchy, unapologetic red blush taking permanent residence in her face.

“Smooth as the yogurt you managed to get in your hair.” Maria responded, playing back into her tone. Eliza sat up abruptly, a hand going to her dark hair and and trying to feel for it.

“Seriously?” she exclaimed, frantically pulling her hair out of it’s loose bun. Maria laughed and nodded.

“Yes. Now come here, I’ll get it out for you.” Maria leaned over the desk as Eliza tilted her head, revealing the small dot of yogurt that had lodged itself on the side of her head. Maria picked it out, letting it fall to the ground, and then realized the closeness between her and Eliza, the proximity nearing one of more than just casual closeness. She took these few seconds to study Eliza’s beautiful face, her milk white skin and dark eyes, her sharp cheekbones with the more prominent blush resting lightly on top of them. Maria realized how much time she had spent staring and quickly pulled away, sitting back in her chair.

“Did you get it?” Eliza asked, touching the spot of her that Maria had pulled yogurt out of only moments ago. She, too, was flustered from the close proximity and she leaned back in her chair, let out a long held breath. Maria nodded, laughing quietly. Eliza looked at her, her face bright red joining in on her laughter.

“I can’t believe I introduced myself to the new teacher with yogurt  in my hair!” Her words dissolved into laughter, placing her head in her gentle and elegant hands. Maria giggled alongside her, her pulse racing. Eliza took a large breath sitting up in her chair before letting out another loud guffaw. Maria didn’t know if it was the anxiety of the situation, or the mild hilarity of the event taking root in the nervous energy of the room. Her sides hurt from laughing, and Eliza finally looked up from her hands, straightening her clothing and twisting her yogurt-free hair back up into a bun.

“You missed a piece,” Maria said, leaning over the desk and tucking a few stray strands of hair behind Eliza’s ear. She hesitated momentarily, her gaze lingering on the cheeks of the beautiful woman sat across from her, contemplating the probability of kissing Eliza on the cheek. It would just be a simple peck, meaning nothing. Her reasoning took place in the blink of an eye before Maria felt her lips being pressed against Eliza’s cheek, brief and unexpected.

Eliza’s mouth formed an “o” shape while the retreating blush resurged on her cheeks. She moved her hand to her cheek, her fingers gracefully running over the spot where Maria’s lips lay only seconds before. A wide grin split over her features and she locked eyes with Maria, her cheeks glowing.

“What an interesting way to fix my hair.” She remarked, raising her eyebrows. Maria grinned sheepishly, shrugging. Eliza spoke again,

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind if you decided to fix my hair more often.” Maria’s eyes widened.

Was Eliza flirting with her?

[leafmedic]

@voltiers​ || from here

         He’s always noticed her, he thinks. Not in that wistful, borderline pathetic way the manager looks at her sometimes, of course ( not that she isn’t a cute lady ) — but because it’s hard to miss someone who has the same hair colour as one of his favourite drinks. They’ve never exchanged more than courteous greeting smiles and nods, however.

         Chin on palm as he chews idly on his straw, Kazuya turns his attention away from the scenery outside, glancing at the girl sharing this small booth with him. With the sun hitting her pink crown through the window beside them, his marshmallow-topped bagel half-finished, and their feet knocking unintentionally for the third time, the detective decides to speak.

       “Do you work nearby, Sakura-san?” He smiles that perfunctory smile he uses when he needs to be pleasant. “Can’t help but notice you come here almost as often as I do.”

Just her luck for the shop to be busy on one of the few days she has a moment to sit and enjoy her coffee. She even splurged on a muffin, a break from her usual croissant with that perfect hint of chocolate to start her day on the right foot. But it seemed everyone and their mother had the same idea and she was currently sharing a small table with the tall man she’d noticed in here a few times as well.

Hard not to notice the tall blond that caught her eye every once in a while.

She was taking the first taste of her muffin when he asked, a curious surprise to her. Looking up, blinking twice as she recognized why this would be normal to speak to the person you were eating with, she fought the blush of embarrassment.

“Yes, at the pediatric clinic a couple blocks down.” The muffin was calling, so she paused to sneak in a small bite. “Do you work near here as well?”

[chaos-and-recover]

all of them. all. of. them.

WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME EVERY TIME is it because you know I have nothing better to do? Because you are right.

1. What is you middle name? Barbara. It’s my mom’s first name2. How old are you? OLD AS BALLS. Or like. 32.3. When is your birthday? April 4th.4. What is your zodiac sign? Aries5. What is your favorite color? purple6. What’s your lucky number? I don’t know if I have one?7. Do you have any pets? nope. I am sad and empty and pet=less8. Where are you from? Canada, eh?9. How tall are you? 5′11″ or somewhere in there. Apparently freakishly tall, according to my tiny, tiny friends10. What shoe size are you? ladies’ 9 1/2-10. Currently wearing size 9 boots every day because I haven’t gotten around to getting new winter boots and got those ones for a cosplay a few years ago because they looked rad and were cheap but NOT COMFY and I NEED NEW BOOTS.11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? lemme tell you it’s not nearly as many as it was when I worked in a mall with a Payless and went there WAY too often. There’s probably like 5 or 6 I wear regularly now.12. What was your last dream about? I... actually don’t even remember? I remember waking up the other morning thinking “what in the FUCK” about a dream I’d had but now I can’t remember what it actually WAS lol13. What talents do you have? none lol14. Are you psychic in any way? I mean I don’t know if I ACTUALLY am but I’ve learned to trust my gut when I feel really sure of an outcome of something because I’ve been right more than I’ve been wrong15. Favorite song? Falling Slowly from the movie Once is probably my favourite thing in the world.16. Favorite movie? 10 Things I Hate About You, The Princess Bride, and a bunch of objectively awful movies that I love.17. Who would be your ideal partner? Someone who will leave me tf alone. Actually I would probably thrive in a long distance relationship where I don’t have to like... see them all the time and can still have my own space?18. Do you want children? Not especially. I recently figured out that may be negotiable though which was... interesting.19. Do you want a church wedding? Not necessarily but if I did have one I would only want it at my grandparents’ church because history (my parents were married there; I was baptized there; my Oma loved that church).20. Are you religious? Not even a little.21. Have you ever been to the hospital? My guy I spent so much time in the ER as a kid that they almost called social services.22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Nope, I’m a nerd.23. Have you ever met any celebrities? Yes, quite a few. That was like, My Thing in high school24. Baths or showers? baths if they stay warm for more than 0.00005 seconds.25. What color socks are you wearing? black, with white writing. They’re my July Socks because I am JUST that awful and love a bad pun.26. Have you ever been famous? I had my 15 minutes of fame in 2004. Green Day were involved. The story circulated the local music/industry community for at least a year. That’s all.27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? I don’t think I would like that AT ALL.28. What type of music do you like? I listen to so much music, honestly. Name a genre and I could probably name at least one artist I like from it.29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? Not totally but I’ve gone halfway there. Not sober lol.30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 231. What position do you usually sleep in? Usually on my stomach32. How big is your house? not as big as the rest in the neighbourhood now but when it was built in the 70s it WAS one of the biggest around33. What do you typically have for breakfast? either: a bagel w/ cream cheese, Eggos (with chocolate chips sometimes), toast w/ peanut butter & banana, Cheerios w/ banana, or oatmeal34. Have you ever fired a gun? only a laser gun lol35. Have you ever tried archery? yeah, I actually liked it? I wasn’t very good. Although my Opa did make my brother and I our own bow and arrow sets when we were little. Nobody lost an eye, so it worked out well.36. Favorite clean word? I don’t know if I have one?37. Favorite swear word? I like made up ones, like “fucknugget.”38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? Without ANY sleep at all, like a day and a half. With minimal sleep, a few days - a week or so.39. Do you have any scars? Yes and they’re all dumb.40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? lol doubtful41. Are you a good liar? Sometimes. For like, inconsequential shit I don’t even need to lie about.42. Are you a good judge of character? I wanna say yes but I’m actually just kind of a bitch and super judgy anyway?43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? Every one I try turns out like a really shitty southern accent44. Do you have a strong accent? I don’t think so but people from elsewhere might disagree45. What is your favorite accent? Irish, specifically Galway-area. I also like certain southern accents, like... wherever Matthew McConaughey is from. That’s a nice accent.46. What is your personality type? Like... those acronyms? No idea lol. I don’t do those personality tests.47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? Probably my Roots cabin sweater which I got for Christmas last year but I know ain’t cheap.48. Can you curl your tongue? Yes49. Are you an innie or an outie? Innie50. Left or right handed? Right, although I’m fairly competent with my left from when I was 8 and broke my right arm and had to use my left for everything for a while.51. Are you scared of spiders? Yes, they’re awful little demon bugs.52. Favorite food? Poutine lmao. I’m a stereotype.53. Favorite foreign food? Burritos.54. Are you a clean or messy person? Horrifically messy.55. Most used phrased? Lord, probably “lmao.” Or “your face.”56. Most used word? Probably “fuck”57. How long does it take for you to get ready? Depends for what. For just like, every day shit, like 20 minutes. If I actually wanna look good I need more time. Both of those require at least 20-40 minutes of sitting despondently on my bed wondering if I REALLY need to go where I’m supposed to go.58. Do you have much of an ego? I don’t think so?59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? Lick/suck til I get bored, then bite. (Hey boys ;) )60. Do you talk to yourself? Yes, way too much.61. Do you sing to yourself? Quietly, but I do.62. Are you a good singer? FUCK no.63. Biggest Fear? The existential horror of Never Getting My Life Together.64. Are you a gossip? More than I should/want to be 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? Ever? That’s a hard question. I have a really unpopular opinion about Manchester By The Sea (I KNOW how we’re supposed to feel about Casey Affleck) but I don’t even know if that’s the best EVER, it’s just very good and that makes me angry.66. Do you like long or short hair? On myself? Kinda miss my long hair now.67. Can you name all 50 states of America? If you give me time to figure them out, probably.  (let’s see - Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Hawaii, Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, Idaho, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Kentucky, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Montana, Indiana, Michigan, Illinois, Rhode Island, New York, Maine, Vermont, Massachusetts, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, New Jersey, North Carolina, South Carolina, Colorado, Delaware, Wisconsin, Nebraska, Connecticut, Minnesota, Wyoming, Arizona, Missouri, Mississippi, Kansas, New Hampshire, Oklahoma. BAM.68. Favorite school subject? I was a nerd and loved History. I took American History in grade 11 SPECIFICALLY because my 10th grade History teacher was so good and he taught it, I wanted him again. I also liked English. Math can choke.69. Extrovert or Introvert? Introvert. But I play an extrovert on the internet.70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Nope.71. What makes you nervous? Crowds, specifically crowds hindering where I need to go or what I want to accomplish.72. Are you scared of the dark? No, I’m scared of things IN the dark lmao.73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Sometimes, but usually I couch it in “I think it might be this actually” which probably comes off as passive aggressive.74. Are you ticklish? Yes but if you exploit that you gonna die75. Have you ever started a rumor? Probably lol76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Yep. I used to manage a store. I’m also a supervisor at my part-time job.77. Have you ever drank underage? I really didn’t that much but I did a little.78. Have you ever done drugs? Never hard drugs because I’m lame.79. Who was your first real crush? Third grade. Luke Costello. That crush... set a bit of a tone lol.80. How many piercings do you have? None, not even my ears, which everyone finds baffling for some reason.81. Can you roll your Rs? Yes!82. How fast can you type? I don’t know my exact WPM but it’s pretty fast I think.83. How fast can you run? Not very.84. What color is your hair? Red85. What color is your eyes? Green/hazel86. What are you allergic to? Potentially cats and/or dogs, dust, MAYBE alcohol lol.87. Do you keep a journal? Nope88. What do your parents do? they’re both retired but they were both teachers, the absolute nerds.89. Do you like your age? Sure90. What makes you angry? Dumb people at rush hour on public transit.91. Do you like your own name? I don’t hate it.92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? Not in a long, long time and when I used to they were all ridiculous and terrible, thank GOD I never had any.93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? I wouldn’t care.94. What are you strengths? I’m pretty chill I think?95. What are your weaknesses? Maybe too chill when things are important.96. How did you get your name? It was crazy popular in the 80s and my parents just liked it.97. Were your ancestors royalty? No, but there may have been a Polish lord somewhere in the line? No one is really sure. We ARE sure about the bank robber though. She’s my favourite.98. Do you have any scars? Oh hey a repeat question.99. Color of your bedspread? Purple100. Color of your room? Also purple

[junker-town]

NFL Dad, Week 10: Too much poop for one Sunday

One dad, two toddlers, and seven hours of RedZone: How much football can you watch when the kids keep pooping?

I’m late to RedZone by half an hour today because we took the kids to a birthday party. As kids’ birthday parties go, this was a very good one: champagne for the adults, a bagel platter with excellent lox, and probably some stuff for the kids to do, I don’t know. I was eating bagels.

As we were walking home, thousands of families with young kids spilled out of the Barclay Center, clogging the sidewalk and slowing our progress home. It was the result of my omnipresent nemesis: Disney princesses, this time in ice skating form. Luckily, my daughter didn’t pick up any context clues from the schlock peddlers selling Cinderellas JUST janky and off-brand enough to not get sued into oblivion.

My son started to nod off in the stroller, and my wife and I started shaking him like he was a character in a Freddy movie. EYES OPEN, BROCHACHO. We learned our lesson about that last week: Stroller mini-naps lead to no nap at all, and we ain’t about that life.

When we get home, I take my son into our bedroom to change his wet diaper. He immediately rolls onto his stomach, because (A) that makes it impossible to put a fresh diaper on him and (B) he is only truly happy when he’s making my life more difficult.

My wife enters. “I got this,” she says. “Go do your job.” She is a saint.

I go into our living room and turn on the TV. My daughter is wearing my swim goggles for some reason. A minute later, my son enters the room. He is naked from the waist down. I don’t approve of my kids Porky Piggin’ around the house, but my wife said she had it. She has her reasons, I’m sure. I bite my tongue.

There are three small and pungent turds on the floor.

I go back into our room to grab my warm-up pants, and I hear my wife gasp so loudly that I fear one of the kids is injured. I re-enter the living room and there are three small and pungent turds on the floor. My wife is somehow uncertain about the culprit: “If that was ...”

WOMAN! The dog hasn’t pooped on the floor in a decade, and the only other suspect has shit on his naked thighs. I pick up the turd nearest me with a baby wipe and put it in the diaper pail; my wife handles the rest.

A couple minutes later, my son comes over to the couch — still pantsless — and urinates on my computer bag. I look at my wife.

Ladies and gentlemen of the internet, let the record show that my wife wanted my son to “air out” following several hours in a wet diaper. “I didn’t expect him to poop,” she says, which seems obvious enough. “And I didn’t put a diaper on him after he pooped because I figured, ‘What else could he do?’”

I say nothing. The secret to a good marriage — besides the dull work of continuous respect and communication — is laying off the slow hanging curveballs instead of crushing them into the third deck and moonwalking around the bases.

But yes, this was a helpful reminder that shit and piss are the main reasons I put diapers on babies. I respect all sides in this debate, however.

EARLY GAMES, FIRST HALF

— Here is how to beat the Jaguars: Don’t let their defense or special teams score. That’s it. Like, maybe try to keep Leonard Fournette from ripping off an 80-yard TD, but mostly: Make Blake Bortles throw passes. He sucks at that! You’re gonna win!

Anyhoo, the Jags score a 56-yard fake punt touchdown. They miss the PAT and are only up 6-0. Doesn’t matter: Chargers are gonna lose this game.

— Stefon Diggs hugs the goalpost after scoring:

Stefon Diggs with the Antonio Brown memorial leap to hug the goal post http://pic.twitter.com/GtZuPkBpYg

— CJ Fogler (@cjzero) November 12, 2017

“That’s gonna be a penalty. You can’t use the goalpost,” says the announcer. Let’s try to keep this in mind the next time we’re like, “The NFL allows fun celebrations now!” A player pretending he finished a Super Mario level results in the same amount of penalty yardage as trying to decapitate a guy with a helmet-to-helmet hit. What an asshole league.

— Josh McCown and Ryan Fitzpatrick, who have combined to play for almost every quarterback-starved franchise in the modern NFL, throw interceptions on consecutive plays. The video should be played on loop on a 96-inch Sony wrapped in a gold frame in the National Gallery of Art.

— Oh no, John Fox. Oh Grampy what is you doin’.

That’s Benny Cunningham diving for the end zone. Officials ruled him out at the 2-yard line. Fox challenged the ruling, claiming it was a touchdown. The replay shows Cunningham fumble the ball into the pylon, which is a turnover and a touchback.

I would LOVE to be sympathetic and try to justify the challenge, but Fox isn’t exactly the kind of coach who’s earned himself a long leash with savvy or even gutsy in-game decision-making. And the video does him no favors, either.

John Fox, when he realizes he just challenged his own team into a turnover http://pic.twitter.com/PiVybx8D0n

— Big Cat (@BarstoolBigCat) November 12, 2017

— Vontaze Burfict has been ejected for making contact with a ref. I guess those refs missed the MMQB’s soft-focus profile last week.

Vontaze Burfict—student of the game? Doting dad and husband? The Bengals linebacker would like you to know he’s not the guy he’s made out to be.

Here’s what to do with redemption profiles: Move them to the trash icon on your computer without ever pitching them.

— “Hey, DeShone Kizer doesn’t look like ass” was a thing I was typing when a Browns wide receiver was stripped, resulting in a defensive score for the Lions. After jumping out to a 10-0 lead, the Browns now trail 17-10. The Browns just always Browns so hard. It’s amazing how Brownsy they are.

— Rookie Austin Ekeler walks a tightrope down the right sideline to score a touchdown and put the Chargers up 7-6. I wrote that sentence like I’ve heard of Austin Ekeler before.

I watch around 400 prospects prior to each draft. I've never watched Austin Ekeler play football.

— Josh Norris (@JoshNorris) November 12, 2017

— Adam Thielen’s touchdown celebration is a game of leapfrog with his teammates:

Vikings play leapfrog FTW http://pic.twitter.com/D92aT1QpD7

— CJ Fogler (@cjzero) November 12, 2017

I remain agog that fans are impressed by these simplistic, unoriginal celebrations. While American chumps are oohing and ah-ing over hide-and-seek, the CFL is celebrating like IT’S the dominant football league in North America.

Here's the entire CFL limbo TD celebration (h/t @joshellman) http://pic.twitter.com/S952tA4rv3

— Vikings Blogger (@firstandskol) November 12, 2017

Now THAT is quality.

— Just when you think the Browns can’t Browns any harder: DeShone Kizer attempts a quarterback sneak on the 2-yard-line with 14 seconds left in the half and no timeouts. He’s tackled short of the goal line, and the clock runs out. The Browns go into the locker room with no points from a drive that ended a yard short of the goal line, down 17-10 despite outplaying the Lions for most the half.

SECOND HALF, EARLY GAMES

— The Colts’ Chester Rogers (???) catches a deep ball that goes for 62 yards and a score thanks to broken coverage and lousy tackling. The Colts lead the Steelers 17-3, and I would like for you to remember this the next time someone says, “The Steelers are the most complete team in the NFL right now.” Hogwash. I’ll take a team with a secondary and a consistent quarterback.

— Alvin Kamara scores a TD to put the Saints up 24-3 in Buffalo. That’s three touchdowns on the ground for New Orleans, and none thrown by Drew Brees. This is an affront to everything I’ve learned from the last 10 years of fantasy football.

— I take a nap and wake up to the Steelers tying the game with a 2-point conversion. Order has been restored to the world. It’s 17-all in the fourth quarter, and — barring a third 60-yard touchdown bomb from Jacoby Brissett -- the Steelers will put together another drive to salt this one away.

— My daughter wakes up from her nap, and there’s a poop situation that requires a bath. I’ll spare you the details, if only so I don’t have to relive them.

When my wife puts her in the bath, she is screaming and inconsolable. She won’t sit down, and any attempt to force her down just makes her shriek more loudly.

After a couple minutes of trying to calm her down, I strip down to my underwear and get in the bath with her. The water is lukewarm and only about two inches deep, and I try to ignore the couple flecks of stray poop in the bath. She stops crying, and I coax her to sit down. I read her a book about sea creatures, and my wife finishes the cleanup.

— With a minute left in Chicago, the Packers shank a short field goal that would have given them a ten-point lead. “Looks like this one might be exciting,” I almost think before remembering that we’re talking about the Bears, John Fox, and a rookie quarterback whose bar to become the greatest QB in franchise history is “Jay Cutler.”

Mitchell Trubisky’s bar to become the greatest QB in franchise history is “Jay Cutler.”

The Bears don’t even get to midfield before turning the ball over on downs.

— Remember when I said the Saints having three rushing touchdowns and no touchdown passes was an affront to fantasy? Make that SIX rushing TDs with zero through the air. This is patently unfair. Related: I do not have Mark Ingram or Alvin Kamara in any of my fantasy leagues.

— The Chargers are up 17-14 with less than 2 minutes left in Jacksonville. They can ice the game with a first down. This is what happens instead:

Austin Ekeler fumbles, the Jaguars recover the ball, and Tashaun Gipson returns it for a touchdown.

The touchdown is overturned (replay shows Gipson was down by contact on the recovery).

Marqise Lee takes a hard but clean hit in the end zone, and it appears a penalty may give the Jags the ball on the 1-yard line. Lee dances at the Chargers defenders, and gets flagged for unsportsmanlike conduct.

On the next play — 3rd and 25 — Blake Bortles makes a terrible decision and Tre Boston picks off his pass (Boston’s second pick of the quarter).

The Chargers run the ball three straight times to burn the Jags’ timeouts. Again, a first down would have ended the game. L.A. punts it back.

Joey Bosa is key in putting Jacksonville in field goal range, unnecessarily throwing Bortles to the ground after he’d thrown the ball. Josh Lambo — who the Chargers cut in the preseason to keep Younghoe Koo (RIP) — makes the game-tying field goal. This game is going to overtime.

Those two minutes of game time were some of the most watchable football I’ve seen all season. It was like someone reversed the polarity of the Texans-Seahawks shootout. “OK, let me just flick the COMPETENCE switch to OFF.” I love it.

LATE GAMES, FIRST HALF

— The afternoon slate is Cowboys-Falcons, Giants-Niners, Texans-Rams, and some leftover Chargers-Jags. Hey, smell this Chargers-Jags, has it gone bad? (You are hit with the scent of spoiled milk and used diapers.)

— Ed Hochuli is working Cowboys-Falcons, and wastes no time wasting our time with an overly lengthy explanation of a call. I agree with Drew Magary about taking away the refs’ mics. Let them work in silence while the PA announcer and TV crew explain the hand motions for the crowd and viewers at home.

— It’s weird the different stages kids can be at despite being similar sizes. My daughter, at age 3, is capable of having a conversation and expressing her feelings with words. My son, 18 months, understands everything we say, but is less a human than an organic chaos engine. The kid does forward-facing trust falls off of stairs.

— The Texans defense looks mean early — Jadeveon Clowney has been wreaking havoc, and Rams receivers can’t seem to get an inch after the catch. The Rams only have a 3-0 lead because of a Tom Savage fumble, which is also why the Texans have no chance to win this game unless the defense scores three touchdowns.

— OVERTIME UPDATE: After the Chargers got a defensive stop, Philip Rivers attempts to huck it long to Travis Benjamin, but the pass is picked off by A.J. Bouye, who nearly returns it for a touchdown, but is pushed out at the 2-yard line. The Jaguars are penalized for taunting, which pushes the ball back to the 17, which is a huge deal because Jacksonville’s long snapper is injured.

God, I love this game. It’s like watching raccoons accomplish human activities. “Their little paws are so dextrous! Incredible!”

With the Jags setting up for a game-winning kick, the Chargers get called for delay of game, and the extra five yards is enough for Lambo’s partially blocked kick to get through the uprights. Lambo, a former MLS goalkeeper, breaks out the soccer goal celebration:

Celebration of the NFL season. Josh Lambo getting his football on http://pic.twitter.com/PrmZ4ELq7y

— Chris Deeley (@ThatChris1209) November 12, 2017

— The Texans take the lead (whaaa???) 7-6 on a Bruce Ellington touchdown. Are you sitting down? I hope so, because Tom Savage just led an eight-play, 75-yard drive.

— The first interesting play of Giants-49ers is in: Marquise Goodwin hauls in a bomb from C.J. Beathard that gives the Niners a 10-6 lead.

CJ Beathard + @flashg88dwin... 83-YARD @49ERS TOUCHDOWN! #GoNiners http://pic.twitter.com/KgGj2cpNQn

— NFL (@NFL) November 12, 2017

Goodwin was clearly emotional at the end of the play, and it’s because he and his wife lost their baby boy early that morning due to complications during pregnancy. Just horrible, horrible news, and I am in awe of anyone who could muster the strength to stand up and leave the hospital after that.

— My son blows a raspberry on my wife’s leg that sounds like a wet fart that would make Foley artists jealous. He’s 18 months old, struggles to communicate with words, and falls on his face several times a day, but DAMN can the kid make fart sounds.

He tries to raspberry our dog, with less success.

— A Tom Savage red zone interception leads to a Rams field goal just before the half. It should have been at least a 10-6 lead for Houston, and instead they trail 9-7.

— Cowboys-Falcons is … fine, I guess. I’m not paying close attention, but it looks like the absence of Zeke Elliott has led to Dak Prescott trying to do too much. Dak’s hurting from the absence of Tyron Smith, too — Adrian Clayborn’s having a great game. Clayborn sacks and strips Prescott, ending what had been a solid Cowboys drive. The Falcons lead 10-7 at the half.

LATE GAMES, SECOND HALF

— My wife, attempting to sanitize the floors after the first poop incident, makes the mistake of letting the kids see the cleaning supplies. Soon my son has the broom, and my daughter has the Swiffer, and she’s shouting, “KALAYLA! KALAYLA!”

“What does ‘kalayla’ mean?” I ask her.

She widens her eyes and says, “Maloa!”

It is possible we’ve been listening to the Moana soundtrack a little too much.

— A Tom Savage pick-6 is wiped off the board by Rams defensive holding. Alec Ogletree was responsible for both the interception and the penalty. It looked like a ticky-tack penalty to me, but I feel that way about 95% of defensive holding calls. It’s a garbage penalty that shouldn’t result in an automatic first down.

— RedZone cuts away from a replay of a 94-yard Robert Woods touchdown to get back to commentary on the challenge of Sterling Shepard’s catch.

NINETY-FOUR YARD TD!@JaredGoff16 to @robertwoods! #LARams http://pic.twitter.com/QUd2pQiUgq

— NFL (@NFL) November 12, 2017

.@sterl_shep3 only needs one hand! What a grab! #GiantsPride http://pic.twitter.com/aIpFwubPru

— NFL (@NFL) November 12, 2017

Yo, RedZone, you know I love you, but go ahead and put Dean Blandino on hold so I can see that 94-yarder a second time. I can wait 15 seconds to find out if the good catch was ruled a catch.

— The Giants miss a 34-yard field goal and are still down 17-13. Ben McAdoo exerts some more of the leadership that’s led the Giants to two straight months of losses:

McAdoo is definitely a cop http://pic.twitter.com/y1kwQ3bFFW

— CJ Fogler (@cjzero) November 12, 2017

I disagree with the above tweet; I think McAdoo looks like an early aughts Central Valley rap-metal fan. But I include it because it’s a picture of what Garett describes here:

@mattufford I'm almost certain that every time they have shown McAdoo on TV, he's just watched the Jumbotron and never said a word into his headset or anyone else. You're the coach, say something!

— Garett Dmytrowich (@garettdmy) November 13, 2017

He’s right!

— I give my son his bath, and get back to the TV in time to see Sammy Watkins strolling in the end zone. It’s 23-7. Looks like that’ll do it for the Texans.

Also, I should note that I had only written as much as “Looks like that” in the sentence above before Tom Savage got strip-sacked.

FURTHERMORE: I got as far as “written” in the sentence above before Robert Woods scored again. That’s two touchdowns in 19 seconds for the Rams, and the Texans are EXTRA cooked.

— My daughter comes up to me. “Where’s Moana?” she asks, looking at my computer. We listen to the soundtrack on Spotify regularly, and I’ve shown her a couple of videos from the movie (“You’re Welcome” and “How Far I’ll Go”) while encouraging her to poop on the potty. Once she fills up her poop chart with stickers, she’ll get to watch the whole movie for the first time.

After subduing her desire to be any of the Disney princesses who just go to sleep until a man solves their problems, I’m more than happy to steer her towards Moana. It’s every father’s dream to teach his daughter celestial navigation.

— Matt Ryan throws a TD to Austin Hooper, and the Falcons lead 24-7.

what I think about every time they say "Hooper" during a Falcons game http://pic.twitter.com/rnfv5bK8rf

— Matt Ufford (@mattufford) February 6, 2017

— While I attempt to brush his teeth, my son swats my hand, smearing toothpaste on his forehead. My daughter thinks that’s funny, so she wipes toothpaste on HER forehead. “They’ll be able to play with each other,” my wife and I told each other when we planned on having two kids close in age.

— Make that six sacks for Adrian Clayborn. Let’s see, the Falcons’ next opponent is ... oh, the Seahawks. And their new left tackle just injured his ankle. Splendid. Can’t wait for that.

— Matt Breida zips through the middle of the Giants defense for a 33-yard TD to put the Niners up 31-13. The Falcons are up 27-7, the Rams are up 30-7, and this column is over without sticking around for any final scores. I’ve dealt with enough shit today, thank you very much.