#my trumpet case also got ran over one year

[synthshenanigans]

Twas a sad tragedy but yes

Rip Brian, he is always missed

OMG YOURE IN BAND??? WHAT SO YOU PLA. Y

OH well its not like a BAND band [tho i wish i could]. Instead its marching band lol. Ive already graduated from high school so im just helping my sister since its her last year.

BUUT I played the Alto Saxophone! Also did Trumpet & Mellophone for a bit. Now though usually play piano/keyboard at home. [Not amazing at it but I can play all of The Mind Electric & Battle Against a True Hero!]

[wiypt-writes]

Riding On

Ch23: Unnamed, Generic Baked Item

Summary: Fliss picks her wedding dress, whilst Frank has some great inspiration about a birthday present for his future wife…

Warnings: Bad language, 18+, Smut (NSFW 18+)

Pairing: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: This is totally dedicated to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork . But it’s still a f**kin’ biscuit!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 22

 “Mary, enough!” Frank’s voice rose and Mary glared at him, folding her arms.

“This is so unfair!” She exclaimed and Frank took a deep breath as he fed Alex another spoonful of porridge.

“You know what? You might think that, and I’m not even digging into the reasons why you’re wrong, but Fliss is already nervous enough about today and you kicking up a fuss over it is not going to help,” Frank levelled her with a look, “so get it out of your system right now, because if you’re still moaning when she comes down the stairs, you and me are going to fall out. Big time.”

Mary blinked, and then frowned. “What’s she nervous about? She’s only picking a dress.”

“Because it’s her wedding dress. It’s a big deal.”

“Which is why I wanna go!”

“And it’s also why you’re not!” Frank shot back, turning and feeding Alex some more as the baby had started to protest due to his dad’s attention being elsewhere. “Stack, you got bored within twenty minutes when they took you for your bridesmaid dress last week, so no, you’re staying here.”

“But-“

“It’s not open for debate,” Frank’s voice dropped even further, the warning tone unmistakable, “but feel free to carry on, see where it gets you.”

Mary was saved the trouble of responding as, at that point, Alex gave a loud yell and the bowl of porridge Frank had been feeding him from was knocked from his hands and landed all over the leg of his jeans. There was a pause, as Frank glanced down at the slop spreading over his thigh before he looked at Alex whose eyes were watering and seconds later a loud wail of frustration at the lack of food burst from his son’s mouth.

“For fffff sake, why?” Frank groaned, cutting the swear word short as he ran his hand through his messy hair, shaking his head.

“You know, I’m not much of one for all that fate and philosophy stuff,” his mother spoke as she walked into the kitchen, “but this, Frank, really does feel like straight up karma.”

Frank glared at her as he stood up and took the tea towel from the side and wiped at his jeans. “Fuck my life,” he muttered under his breath as Thor happily trotted over to the spilt porridge on the floor, cleaning it up with laps of his large tongue, Fred also hopping down off the seat at the breakfast bar to investigate the coveted, spilt human food.

“Karma for what?” Mary asked, from where she’d successfully manage to distract Alex from his tears by waving his little stuffed lion at him, the baby making grabbing gestures towards it.

“His own spectacular ability to misbehave.” Evelyn looked at Mary as she handed Alex the toy. “You know, he once sat down in the middle of a supermarket and refused to leave because I told him that it was Wednesday and Wednesday does not begin with the letter S”

Mary roared with laughter as Frank tossed the dirty towel into the sink before reaching into the cupboard for another jar of baby porridge.

“Look, that big yellow feathered bastard on Sesame Street told me that day was brought to me by the letter S.” He looked at Evelyn, then to Mary who was still howling with laughter, Alex now joining in, all tears forgotten. “He lied.”

“That was a particularly furious melt down, Francis.” Evelyn grinned and Frank rolled his eyes as he got the replacement porridge ready.

“What did you do?” Mary asked.

“It was your Grandfather that sorted him out, darling. He threw Frank over his shoulder and carried him straight out of the shop. I don’t know what he said or did, but by the time I got back to the car Frank was quiet as a mouse.”

“I think he threatened to feed me to said big yellow feathered bastard.” Frank chuckled as he sat back down and offered Alex another spoon of porridge which the baby eagerly took, making little appreciative noises as he did so. “Did you not notice I never watched another episode?”

“Another episode of what?” Fliss asked, and Frank looked up smiling at her as she crossed the room, Alex’s noises getting more excited as he looked at his momma.

“Sesame Street.” Evelyn supplied as Frank gave Alex another spoon of his breakfast, as Fliss dropped a kiss first on Mary’s head, then Alex’s, before finally pressing one to Frank’s cheek

“I’m not even gonna ask.” She snorted, moving to pour herself a coffee.

“Probably wise.” Mary nodded and at that Frank laughed.

“First sensible thing you’ve said all morning.” He teased, drawing another glare from the ten year old.

“Shut up.”

“Erm, enough.” Fliss looked at her, then to Frank. “The pair of you are worse than he is.” She nodded to Alex and then turned to Evelyn, waving the coffee pot in a silent question.

“Oh, no thanks. I had a tea before.” Evelyn smiled.

At that point, Thor gave a little woof and ran to the utility room, as Verity’s voice rang out in greeting.

“Nanny V!” Mary ran to her, giving her a huge hug as Verity smiled, bending down to give her a hug.

“Hey Pudding!” She beamed, standing up, before she glanced around the room, smiling. “Oh, where’s my little man?”

“I suspect at home on the sofa.” Frank quipped, earning him a light slap round the head as Verity leaned down to give Alex’s head a soft kiss, the baby laughing and grabbing at her hair. Frank hastily un-fisted Alex’s fingers from his Nanna’s auburn locks and handed him the spoon to play with instead.

“You ready?” Verity asked, looking at Fliss. She nodded, taking a large gulp of coffee before setting the mug down on the side.

“I’ll just go grab my purse.”

As Fliss left the room, Frank looked at Verity. “She’s nervous. A little overwhelmed I think.”

“Yeah, well it’s getting nearer and this is a big deal to most girls.” Verity smiled. “Plus, we all know she didn’t get to choose her last one so…”

“Well, let’s do what my mother did to me.” Evelyn smiled, as she looked up from where she’d been examining her lipstick in a pocket mirror. “Ply her with enough champagne and make it fun. She’ll be fine.”

Verity smiled and Frank rolled his eyes. “The last time you two plied her with champagne she barfed all over the bedroom.”

“Well,” Verity smirked, “that’s your problem now, not mine. Lord knows I’ve cleaned up enough of her and Steve’s drunken messes in my lifetime.”

“Thanks V.” Frank nodded seriously. “Thanks, a lot.”

*****

 Fliss took a deep breath, zoning out as she rifled through a rack at the back of the room. Verity, Evelyn, Bonnie and Sian were all chatting away behind her but it was merely background noise as she scanned dress after dress, nothing catching her eye.

“Have you any idea on what you want?” A soft voice behind her made her jump and she turned to see the assistant, a slight, grey haired woman called Sofia who had been assigned to help them today.

“Nope.” Fliss sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m totally useless.”

Sofia laughed and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it Miss Gallagher, a lot of women come in with either no ideas at all or tonne of ideas that don’t work out. If you don’t know what you want, do you know what you don’t want?”

“Yeah, that’s easy.” Fliss nodded. “I don’t want anything huge, or full of tulle or, you know-” she held her arms out to the side. “-princess bride like. Did that last time, hated it.”

“In that case we can completely ignore these two racks!” Sofia smiled and Fliss grinned as she allowed the woman to lead her a little further round the room. “And that’s half the battle. So, have you been anywhere else before here?”

“Two other boutiques.” Fliss nodded. “And I found nothing.”

“You know, most people think it’s all easy and fun hunting for dresses but, well, I know when I was looking it was so stressful!”

“You’re not wrong.” Fliss stopped at one dress which had caught her attention. It was a plain, off white colour with a simple skirt and bodice with a little beaded detail and chunky straps. “I kinda like the cut of this one.”

“Ah, a trumpet cut.” Sofia supplied, nodding.

“But I don’t know about the neckline, it’s a little…”

“Boring.” Sofia smiled as Fliss snorted. “But, we’ll take it for reference.” The woman lifted it off the rack, placing it onto the rail she’d wheeled alongside them. “So where are you getting married?”

“St Pete’s Public Access.” Fliss smiled. “Which is another reason I don’t want a huge dress. I’ll melt.”

Sofia laughed. “Not to mention the sand getting stuck in it.” She grinned. “Okay, what about this one?”

She lifted a similar cut dress off the rail, this one with a slightly more detailed neckline and Fliss nodded. “Yeah, I quite like that.”

“And this one.”

As Sofia held up the third dress, Fliss paused, tilting her head to one side. “I love the back of this.” Sofia gushed, turning it round. “It’s so detailed.”

“It’s beautiful.” Fliss smiled, her hand reaching out to brush the detailed lace as she studied the garment in front of her.

“Oh, wow!” She heard her mum say and she turned to look at her, then Bonnie who held up the bottle of champagne, Fliss handing over her now empty glass. “Lissy, that’s stunning!”

“It’s gorgeous isn’t it?” Fliss beamed, taking the refilled glass off Bonnie with a thanks.

“The detailing.” Evelyn mused, before she looked at Sofia. “Is that a Nicolle Miller by any chance?”

“Yes.” Sofia looked at Evelyn, frowning, and Fliss turned her head to look at her future mother-in-law, raising an eyebrow.

“She’s from Massachusetts.” Evelyn smiled. “I’ve seen a few of her dresses from time to time, they’re quite recognisable if you know what you’re looking for.”

“My fiancé’s from Boston.” Fliss informed, and Sofia’s mouth made a little O of understanding before she smiled.

“Well, if that isn’t a sign then I don’t know what is.” She beamed. “Would you like to see it on?”

Fliss bit her lip, before she looked at her mum her gave her a huge smile. With a grin on her face, and for the first time that day, a feeling of excitement in her stomach she nodded. Handing her champagne over to Bonnie, she followed Sofia into the changing room at the back, and was soon out of her denim shorts and t-shirt, stepping into the dress. Sofia came in to help her do it up, and it wasn’t even half way fastened before Fliss simply knew this was what she wanted, not even caring it was the first one she’d tried on. Nothing was going to come close to this.

“It’s a little big, around the bust so just give me a second.” Sofia moved to the back of the cubicle and picked up a few clothes pegs, tugging the dress around so it fit right and Fliss smiled, smoothing her hands down over her stomach as she stood, admiring it.

It was hard to guess at the actual shape as its bottom dabbled somewhere between a trumpet and mermaid cut. Her hips were accentuated by the firm fitting cream colored, hand stitched floral lace sewn into a nude overlay. Her back and side panels were completely different. The creamy lace design covered her back and sides with just her soft and delicate skin underneath, the nude underlay that covered her breasts and behind a near match to her skin. It hugged her curves perfectly, the lace covered her shoulders and down her chest in a two finger width and came together in a beautiful heart shape neckline, showing off her delicate décolletage shoulders. It kissed her skin, allowing enough cleavage but much to the imagination as it elegantly, and yet still incredibly sexy, covered her body.

It was something Fliss would never have dreamed of getting married in before but now, well, it felt right. It felt like her.

She took a shaky breath, her vision swimming with tears before she locked eyes with Sofia in the mirror, the older woman giving an appreciative nod. “It looks gorgeous, Honey!” She then handed Fliss a tissue and Fliss took it, giving a little shake of her head.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t apologise,” Sofia waved her away, “it’s a big thing. Now, you ready to go show the rest of them?”

Fliss nodded and Sofia gathered up the train of the dress, and Fliss stepped out of the little room and into the main area of the boutique. As she moved into the room, the other four women turned to face her and Verity’s hand immediately flew to her mouth.

“What do you think?” Fliss asked, shyly. “I know it’s the first one I’ve tried on but I don’t think I want to bother with anymore, I love it.”

Bonnie raised her eyebrows, her mouth falling open. “Oh my God, Fliss.” She gasped. “It’s…”

“Stunning.” Evelyn nodded in agreement, as Sian gave a hum.

“Liss, you’ll knock him dead.”

Fliss gave a smile and then looked at Verity. “Mum?”

Verity’s hand was shaking as she moved it down, and she opened her mouth, before she closed it again, taking a deep and shuddering breath, Sian curling her arm round her shoulder.

“Oh, Lissy…” Verity sniffed, her face creasing up as the tears began to slide down her cheeks. Immediately, more tissues were offered as Fliss also felt her eyes watering at the sight of her mum crying in front of her.

“Mum, don’t!” She gave a little laugh and Verity shook her head, dabbing at her eye.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart but I never thought I’d be here with you, trying on dresses as last time…” She stopped herself as Sian gave her a squeeze. “And now seeing you there with that look on your face, in that dress, ready to marry a man you deserve to be with, well, this is all I ever wanted for you.”

By the time Verity had finished there wasn’t a dry eye in the room, even Sofia had shed a tear. Verity stepped forward and carefully pulled her daughter into a hug, before she stepped back, kissing her forehead.

“I love you, my baby girl.” She sniffed. “God, your dad is going to bawl his eyes out when he sees this!”

Fliss smiled, and Sofia then directed her onto a little box before she called over to another woman who headed across the room with a tape measure. As they took a few measurements for the alterations, Fliss was vaguely aware that her Mum and Bonnie were both taking a photo, but in all honesty her eyes were glued to her reflection in the mirror in front of her. And she wasn’t looking at her dress. She was fixated on the huge smile that was on her face, a smile that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop.

****** “Hey, Stack, how about we go outside for a little while?” Frank opened the door to the den. “Alex has gone down for his nap so it’s just us.”

“In a minute, I’m just looking at something.” She replied, her eyes still on her laptop as she lounged on her beanbag, Heartland playing on the TV in the background.

“Come on, you’ve been sat in here for hours.”

“Yeah but this is really cool.” She looked up. “I’ve been tracing Monty’s lineage again for my collage, and then I got looking at Heidi’s and dug into all this cool info on her and the other horses that she was bred from.”

Frank obliged as Mary gestured to him, taking a seat next to her on the floor as she moved the laptop so he could see it.

“So, this is Heidi, ‘Sandybrook Hideaway’.” Mary’s fingers pointed to the box at the left of the screen. “And this is Heidi’s dad, ‘Louella Inschello’ and this is her mom, ‘Tremontano Esmerelda’. I can go even further back and find like her grandparents and great grandparents all the way into the seventies.”

“How come Heidi had the name Sandybrook?” Frank asked. “And not Louella or Tremontano or whatever?”

“It doesn’t work like with humans.” Mary shrugged. “You can’t use people’s prefixes that don’t belong to you when you’re naming a horse. Fliss said that the people who bred Heidi made the prefix Sandybrook because of their farm being near the beach in England, and there was a brook running alongside the fields. That’s what all their horses then became called, Heidi being the first, look…”

She moved the screen along a little, and Frank traced the little line that ran from Heidi’s name to another box. “’Sandybrook Typhoon’, sire- Renkum Renogade, dam- Sandybrook Hideaway…” he trailed off before he looked at Mary. “Heidi had a baby?”

“Yup.” Mary nodded. “Fliss showed me photos of him on their website. He’s huge. And real pretty. He was a big, fancy dressage horse that one her friends used to compete and they kept him at the stud farm to breed from because he was that pretty, but he died three years ago. He broke his leg and couldn’t get better.”

“Ouch.” Frank grimaced.

Mary nodded. “I know. This was his last foal, look. ‘Sandybrook Cleopatra’. She was born in 2017, and check out her mom’s name.”

“Sandybrook Dirty Diana.” Frank smiled, and let out a chuckle as Mary smiled at him as she clicked on a small link which opened up to show a beautiful bay filly with four white socks and a white blaze. Her face markings instantly struck Frank as being very similar to Heidi’s even if she was a different colour.

“So this would mean that this one is Heidi’s granddaughter?” Frank asked.

“Yup.” Mary nodded.

“That’s pretty cool, Stack.”

“Mom thought so too.” Mary grinned. “She showed me how to do it as I wanted to check out Monty’s history. I asked her about Heidi’s and she showed me this and she was like, really smiling when she saw Cleo, she didn’t know they’d had a foal from Typhoon the year he died. And there’s lots of photos of Heidi as a baby too on their history page, and she has a really cool profile.” She took a pause for breath and Frank gently dropped his hand to the back of her head, smiling at her enthusiasm. “They added a bit last week to say she’d died and it’s kinda sad but also kinda nice. They thanked Fliss her for giving her a wonderful home and said there was no one better on the Earth for your horse to be sold to than an Olympic Gold Medal winner.”

“How did they know she’d died?” Frank asked. “Did Fliss call them?”

“She emailed them. She said she had also asked them about Cleopatra.”

“Asked about her? You mean to buy?”

“I think so.” Mary nodded. “She sold Bronson the other month and now Heidi is gone she only has Cap left.”

“Yeah, I know. She mentioned maybe getting another but I didn’t know she’d been looking.”

“I don’t think she has, it’s just because she saw Cleopatra. I mean, it would be cool if she did buy her.” Mary shrugged. “She’s a part of Heidi in a way isn’t she?”

“Yeah, suppose she is.” Frank mused. “So, was Fliss not sure about her then or…”

“She said she liked her.” Mary shrugged. “But she’s not for sale on the website so I don’t know what they said. They might have said no, or maybe it’s because she’s busy. You know what she’s like.”

Frank did, only too well. When it came to buying things for herself to enjoy, Fliss was actually very reserved. She didn’t think twice about buying stuff for the house, or for the family, or her work, but her own, personal things, she seemed to have a real reticence to simply splurge on, and he had a feeling that went back to when she’d been married previously.

As his eyes flicked over the details on the screen, an idea flashed in his head. And it was a crazy one but…

“What do you think she would do if we bought her one for her birthday?” He turned to Mary.

“What, bought her a horse?”

“Yeah.”

“This horse?” Mary pointed at the screen to the picture of the bay mare and Frank nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Probably call you a crazy asshole, start crying and say it’s the best present ever.” Mary looked at him and Frank chuckled.

“I can live with that.”

“You know, you better hurry up if you’re gonna do it. Mom’s birthday is like, weeks away!”

“It’s not until the end of July.” Frank replied. “We got nearly two months. Do you not think that will be enough time?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never shipped a horse over here from England!” Mary scoffed, before they shared a look, almost identical expressions of realisation crossing their faces as they instantly realised they both knew someone who had. “Poppa Bill!” Mary stated excitedly. “He’ll help!”

“Sure he will.” Frank nodded. “Right, you better get me the email address, Stack. And not a word of this to Mom okay? This is top secret.”

“What do you take me for?” Mary looked at him indignantly and Frank looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

“You really want me to answer that?”

Mary pondered for a moment before she snorted. “Not really.”

******

“So, did you have a nice time today?” Frank asked as they lay in bed later that night.

“Yeah.” Fliss smiled, snuggling further into his chest as his hand gently ran up and down her arm, his fingers softly tickling her skin. “I did.”

“Good.” He kissed her head. “I’m glad. You were so worried about it all.”

“That obvious, huh?” She sighed and Frank chuckled.

“To me, yeah.” He shifted a little to look down at her. “But that’s only because I know you so well.”

“I didn’t know what to expect.” She shrugged. “I was just a little overwhelmed at the thought, you know, of having to make the decision but when we got to the first shop, I dunno, I kinda realised that I’ve been making decisions about our wedding all along. And, when it came down to it, it wasn’t really that much different to when we picked your suit.”

Frank chuckled. “To be fair, Sweetheart, we’d been in the shop all of five minutes before you spotted the one you liked.”

“Hey, it wasn’t just me.” She protested, tilting her head to look at him. “You liked it too.”

“I do.” Frank agreed. “But I saw the look on your face when you saw it which is what completely sold it to me.”

A lightweight wool three piece suit dyed a stunning steel blue shade had fit Frank expertly. It made his eyes pop and the crisp white button down underneath offered a nice contrast. But what made Fliss fall for the ensemble was the tie. The flash of burgundy, sand, white and grey stood out against the white dress shirt with the stripes of blue pulling in the blue of the three piece. The tailor suggested a printed silk pocket swath with polka dots and paisley printed against a deep blue background.

Frank caught Fliss’ eye in the mirror as the tailor straightened the back of his jacket and arched his brow. She hastily released her lip from between his teeth and gave him a little sheepish look, and he bit back the snort at the fact he’d just caught her looking at him in the way she usually did when she was feeling a little bit ‘frisky’ for want of a better word.

“But I’m clean.” Frank joked, causing the tailor to look up a little, puzzled expression on his face and Fliss laughed.

“Yeah, well this is clearly your Professor look, not the dirty boat daddy one.”

At that the tailor scooted off, Frank watching him go before he turned to Fliss and shook his head. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

She shrugged and smiled as she looked him up and down appraisingly, stepping forward and smoothing her hands up the lapels of the jacket. “You look incredibly handsome, babe.”

Frank gave her a smile and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You almost sound surprised.”

“Not at all.” Fliss shook her head.

A cough from the tailor interrupted them as he had returned with a shoe box and Frank gave him a nod as Fliss stepped back. Once he had laced up the shiny, burnt brown oxfords, Frank moved again to take in the final, finished look and took a deep breath, smiling.

He liked it. A lot.

“So basically, you picked the first suit you tried on and I picked the first dress I tried on.” Fliss snorted and Frank shrugged. “We’re getting married on the beach, having what is basically a barn dance with food trucks…are we taking any of this seriously?”

“Nope.” Frank shook his head and Fliss laughed again as he moved, rolling her a little so she was on her back and he was hovering over her. “But, I think both of us have taken life far too seriously for far too long enough, time for a little fun.”

“Well that fills me full of confidence since we’re writing our own declarations.” She teased and Frank arched his brow.

“You’re talking to an ex Philosophy Professor-”

“Assistant-“

“Whatever, the point is, I’m very good with words.” Frank smirked and Fliss scoffed. “I got you to go on a date with me, didn’t I?”

“That wasn’t down to your words.” Fliss shook her head.

“No? Was it my devastating good looks?”

“That and the fact you’re basically the best man I’ve ever met.” Fliss smiled. “Well, apart from my dad. And Steve. So you’re definitely in the top three best men I’ve ever met.”

Frank laughed and took a deep breath, before he moved, propping himself up a little on his elbow, brushing Fliss’ hair back off her face. “Joking aside, marrying you is something I’m taking very seriously. I can’t wait to say ‘I do,’ get that ring on your finger and finally call you my wife as well as the mother of my kids. But the minute that bit is done then, all bets are off. No stuffy formalities, no pointless, boring traditions, well, apart from the ones we decide we wanna uphold and absolutely no vowing to obey,” he looked at her as she took a breath, “which is a relief because, frankly, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being bossed around.”

Fliss smiled, knowing full well what he was saying. That vow had been one that John had insisted on, and whilst she had never raised the issue to Frank directly, because in all honestly she didn’t feel she needed to, the fact he’d picked up on the way she’d subtly opted for the other vows when they’d had to pick them for the official, made her heart swell in her chest.

“So, I err, I also had another off the wall idea.” Fliss looked at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I know we said we weren’t gonna give each other presents and stuff for the wedding, but, I thought…actually, forget it.”

“No, come on tell me.”

“No, it’s…”

“Liss!” He said, looking at her and she sighed, her eyes moving away from his, scanning the inked words just below his collar bone.

“Tatoos.” She whispered, looking back at him. “I thought, well, that we could get one each. Not matching as such, but you know, for each other.” Frank blinked and she snorted. “See it’s a dumb idea, I just really want another and well, that was another thing I was never allowed, and-”

“I didn’t say it was dumb.” Frank cut her off, shaking his head. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do.” He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about getting another for a couple of months now, I want one for Alex, so having one for you too, well then I’ve got a full set.”

She smiled, her fingers reaching up and tracing the Taurus on his bicep, Mary’s star sign. “What you thinking of getting for Bean?”

“The time of his birth, and the date underneath all in Roman numerals. On my other arm.”

Fliss beamed. “I love that.” She pondered. “I thought about one for the kids too, maybe on my wrist but I don’t know what yet.”

“Well, l can speak to Jake.” Frank kissed her nose. “He’s fucking sweet at art, tell him what we want he’ll draw us a couple of designs and then we can go to the place I got my last one done and book in.” He paused. “So, where you gonna get the one for me?”

“Well, I errr think, I mean if-” She paused, looking at Frank as he waited for her answer and she realised that for a split second she’d been about to ask his permission. But as he simply looked at her, she licked her lips and smiled. She didn’t need to ask, she could just tell him. “I know exactly where I’m going to have it.”

“Show me.”

“So bossy.” She smirked, pushing on his shoulders and making him sit up. Biting her lip she lifted her cami top up a little, her hand pushing up her left breast and she traced the area underneath, just along her rib cage. “Only you will really see it then, well, other than when I’m in a bikini, I suppose.” She stopped talking as she spotted the familiar darkening in Frank’s eyes as he took her in, his eyes sliding up her frame to meet hers. She bit her lip, smiling as he crawled back over her, pushing her back onto the bed a little, her top still hitched up.

“You know,” his hands gently slid up her side, fingers tracing the spot she was talking about, “that area is supposedly quite sensitive.”

“Really?” She whispered, her eyes closing.

“Hmmhmmm.” He hummed, dropping his head, placing a soft kiss just there, and her breath hitched, before she emitted a soft little squeak as Frank’s lips were replaced by his teeth when he gave a soft nip. “Oh, yeah, definitely sensitive. You’re gonna need someone to hold your hand.”

“Luckily I know just the guy.” She sighed, his mouth now trailing a path across her body to her sternum.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll take Steve.”

“You really want your brother there when someone’s tattooing under your boob?” At that she stilled and looked down at him. He paused, his chin resting in between her breasts and he gave her a quizzical look. “What?”

“Are you okay with that?”

“With what? Your brother being-“

“No, idiot!” She slapped his head lightly and he gave an ow of protest. “I mean with me having it there? I mean, if it means the guy there’s gonna see-“

“Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then, yeah, I don’t give a shit.” He shrugged, his lips returning to her skin. “Now, can you shut up and let me give you an orgasm?”

“Just one?” Her voice was a breathy whisper as his lips traced their way up her neck and he gave a little growl, nipping at her jaw.

“Greedy bitch.” He mumbled, causing her to chuckle a little, before his lips met hers in a heated kiss. Her hands snaked into the back of his short hair, nails scratching his scalp a little as his tongue curled against hers in dominating swipes, a rumble in the back of his throat flowing into her mouth.

His hands curled around her hips, before they slid upwards and grasped at the top she was wearing which was bunched unevenly up around her chest. He pulled back and Fliss sat up a little to allow him to yank it off and he tossed it carelessly behind him, where it dropped somewhere onto the bedroom floor. His lips crashed back to hers with an urgency she met back movement for movement. Frank shifted, nudging her legs further apart with his knees, so he could settle in between them, his lips moving back to her jaw, down her neck, moving himself downwards, taking his time and lavishing affection all the way down her body. His hands curled round her knees as his nose skimmed below her bellybutton and he placed a soft kiss onto her tummy before he felt her tugging on his hair.

“Frankie, I want you.”

He peeked up at her, and arched a brow. “I thought you wanted more than one?”

“Changed my mind.”

“Fickle.” He muttered, as he sat up, pulling down her sleep shorts before he discarded his boxers, kicking them down his legs. He gently nipped at the inside of her thigh before he brushed his cheek and beard up her leg, smirking as he heard a tiny mewl from above. With a pace that was agonisingly slow he moved back upwards, his hands moving up the side of her body as he went, gently moving across, thumbs brushing over each of her nipples which were pebbled in anticipation. Fliss arched her back, inhaling sharply as her groin bumped against his, dragging a low grumble from his throat as she twitched underneath him, pressed up against where she needed him most. Taking her hands in his, his thumbs skated over her knuckles before he interlocked their fingers and pressed her hands down on the pillow next to her head.

“God, you’re beautiful." He mumbled leaning down and running his nose alongside hers before kissing her deeply. Fliss gave a little preen of delight at his praise, and he broke the kiss, his lips remaining on hers. “My perfect, Lissy.”

She responded by kissing him hard, a kiss which was broken when he slowly pushing inside her in a gentle, fluid moment, eliciting a moan from them both. He drew back a little and then thrust forward deeply, before he kissed her again, his hips finding a languid, rocking rhythm, his bottom lip nibbling on hers. Fliss rolled her body up taking him deeper, moans and gasps slipping freely into each other’s mouths as he slowly built up his rhythm, his fingers curling around hers tightly as he watched her, felt her shudder as he hit her spot again and again with every rut of his hips until she was writhing underneath him, begging him not to stop.

And he didn’t, not until he’d dragged two orgasms from her, and he’d almost managed a third when he knew he couldn’t fight off his own release any longer. With a whimper that was almost pathetic, he slowed down, his hand dropping between them to stroke at her sensitive nub, and with a hoarse sob she bucked violently as she came again, her walls tightening around him and with a choked cry of her name he let go, his release coating her walls and he throbbed inside of her as she pulsed around him. His elbows gave way and he pitched forward, his sweaty brow pressing into the crook of her neck as his chest heaved, both of them completely spent.

Fliss happily welcomed his weight on top of her as he caught his breath, both of them trembling in the afterglow. She flexed her fingers and he let go of her hands, and she slid her arms round him, fingers dancing up his spine. Frank gave a soft hum of contentment as he lazily raised his head, catching her mouth in a soft kiss before his nose bumped against hers.

He was in no rush to move, which suited Frank fine as he lay there, on top of her, slow kisses being traded before eventually he pulled back and she gave him a soft smile, which lit up her entire face.

“Was that enough for you?” He asked cheekily and she laughed, swatting at his back with her hand.

*****

The next week or so passed in a whirl of work and overseeing the construction at the yard. Frank was still mad busy, but he’d pushed his nagging feelings about his job to the back of his mind. He and Fliss had talked about it at length and he’d decided to wait until the wedding was done before he made a final decision. Whilst Fliss had told him she’d support him either way, he didn’t want to throw his career into turmoil whilst they had so much going on.

The yard expansion was progressing to schedule, despite a pretty nasty storm which had initially set them back a day or so, but Frank had to hand it to the guys Bill had recommended, they’d pulled the lost time back. And, to top it all off, he’d even managed to finish the final mechanical works to his boat, which meant now all he had to do was the cosmetic work. For that, he was happy to let Bill help, his future father-in-law very eager to lend a hand on Friday evenings, especially when the job came with a steady supply of beer.

It was win-win as far as Frank was concerned. Fliss and her mum would sit in the garden, drinking wine, dipping in and out of the pool whilst Mary was at Roberta’s, the four adults taking dinner together, which he always enjoyed, and it also meant he could rope Bill into his master plan for Fliss’ birthday. When he’d first told him his idea, Bill had grown a little emotional, admitting to Frank that seeing him care so much that he want to do something as thoughtful as that for his baby-girl was something he appreciated beyond belief. Frank also consulted Joanne, and between the three of them they now had a pretty watertight plan. Bill was lending Frank the money, for which Frank was grateful for as, whilst Joanne had helped him to the negotiating on the price for the animal, the transportation and associated veterinary fees were more expensive than the damned horse herself. Should the overall amount it was going to cost him go missing from their savings, Fliss was going to start asking questions and he wanted it to be a total surprise.

All in all, Frank was as settled and happy as he had felt in months. Life was good, and as the middle of June rolled round, the feeling in the Adler-Gallagher household was as relaxed and as happy as it had ever been.

“Awww you want a biscuit, Baby?” Fliss looked at Alex who was making grabby hands at the one she had in her hand. “Okay, here…”

She snapped the cookie into two and handed him a half. Alex looked at it for a second before he shoved it in his mouth, turning to look at Frank as he walked into the kitchen. The little boy raised his hands making cooing noises before jamming his precious treat back into his mouth.

“Hey, you got a cookie, buddy?” Frank smiled as Alex made a little noise of delight at the taste, and Fliss cleared her throat.

“He has a biscuit.”

Frank looked at Fliss, rolling his eyes before he moved and picked up the packet, pointing to the label.

“They’re cookies, Fliss.”

Fliss groaned. “Cookies are a specific type of biscuit. What he has there is not a cookie!”

“Look, Lissy, you’re gonna confuse the boy.” Frank looked at her. “Poor kid’ll be going to a restaurant and askin’ for a biscuit, expecting cookies, and then they bring him like biscuits and gravy and-“

“Don’t even get me started on those, Francis.” Fliss narrowed her eyes, pointing at him. “They’re not biscuits, they are scones.”

“The hell they are!”

“Oh piss off, Frank!”

Frank gave a loud laugh. “Hang on, are we actually arguing about this right now? Over what we call a certain baked treat?”

Fliss bit into one of the offending items and smirked. “Get it right and we won’t be.”

“You are such a fucking brat at times!” Frank shook his head as Fliss grinned and shrugged.

“So?”

“Just stating a fact, Sweetheart.”

“So am I. They’re biscuits”

“Oh for the love of-look,” Frank once again nudged the packet on the island, “they’re cookies and nothing you say or do is gonna make me call them anything else!”

“Nothing?” Fliss raised her eyebrows.

“Nope.” Frank folded his arms.

“Hmmm.” Fliss took a step towards him, her hands wrapping round his arms, pulling them away from his chest before her palms flattened on his pecs, smoothing up to his shoulders. “Call them biscuits, Sailor, and I’ll go down on you so fast you can’t even remember your own name.”

“They’re biscuits.” Frank replied immediately, the second she played that card, he didn’t give a shit what the hell they were called.

Fliss laughed, her hands sliding up round his neck. “Like I said, brains are in your dick.”

“Yeah, and now my dick’s gonna be in your mouth, Cowgirl.” Frank shot back, causing Fliss to snort. “Better get to it, I need to go pick Mary up in ten.”

“Hmmm, yeah, I didn’t specify when.” Fliss patted his chest and stepped back as Frank blinked, before he shot her a playful glare.

“You fight dirty.”

“Oh, Sailor.” Fliss tossed her hair over her shoulder as she moved back to the kitchen to move their used breakfast dishes from the sink to the dishwasher. “You should know this by now.”

“So, you basically expect me to drive down to St Pete’s now with a semi hard-on?”

Fliss looked at him. “It’s your own fault?”

“How is it my fault?” Frank laughed, incredulously.

“If you’d have just agreed I was right in the first place, then you wouldn’t have a problem.”

Frank blinked before he shook his head, turning to Alex. “Your momma’s logic blows my mind, Bean.”

“That’s the only thing that’s getting blown, Fliss quipped and at that Frank let out a loud laugh, “for now.”

She shot him another look over her shoulder and Frank groaned, knowing full well that if he didn’t leave he was going to end up pounding her over the kitchen island. And, as tempting as that was, he had places to be.

“Come on, Son.” Frank unclipped Alex from the seat. “Let’s go get your sister.” He reached over and grabbed a cookie from the packet. “Here, have another unnamed, generic baked item for the trip.”

**** Chapter 24

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles Day 5 - Decoration

Find the prompt list here!

I have meddled with powers I did not fully understand and now the Hallmark AU has gripped me. I think you can expect to see more of this sprinkled throughout the month. Oh, well. Multiparters in prompt months are like a tradition for me now, right? 

Hallmark Movie AU

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9  | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

Imagine, Marinette thought as she helped Rose unpack the decorations and ornaments to go on the tree, Luke Stone in a town like this. 

Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard of him releasing anything new recently. So he was from this town, then? He must be on vacation, visiting his family and helping out at the farm. Taking a break, maybe writing some new songs. Funny, to think of the glammed up, heavily bedazzled rock star wearing flannel and working on a Christmas tree farm.

Marinette had winced the day before, watching him tear up his palms hauling the tree she’d picked out yesterday and tie it down deftly with fingers that had to be worth millions of dollars. It pained her to think of the hands that had created such beautiful music being abused in such a way. Surely he should have been wearing gloves, at least. He’d been so cold to her, though, that Marinette hadn’t dared suggest it or question him.

She’d been skeptical when Jagged Stone’s son had made his debut on tour alongside his father. She’d been a longtime fan of the older Stone and didn’t think even his own flesh and blood would be able to match him—but the younger Stone hadn’t tried. Luke’s music was clearly influenced by his father, but was also entirely his own, but so evocative, so emotional, she had been pulled in despite her reservations. She owned every one of Luke Stone’s albums, including the special edition greatest hits album, which she had bought even as she complained to Alya that he was too young in his career to be releasing a greatest hits album.

Marinette hadn’t said much to Rose about the encounter, not sure whether it was common knowledge amongst the town that he was here, and not wanting to infringe on his privacy if it wasn’t. Rose had given her a funny (disappointed?) look when she mentioned the grumpy young man that had helped her, but hadn’t said anything about it, just asked Marinette to come back today and give her a hand decorating the tree after the maintenance staff got it set up.

It wasn’t as if Marinette had much else to do, and Gina’s house felt huge and empty with just her in it, so she’d agreed, and here she was unpacking dusty boxes that had been hauled out of storage. She sighed as she surveyed the contents. The boxes looked like they’d been packed up by unsupervised five-year-olds last year. 

She was sorting the decorations into piles, still absently pondering the mystery of Luke Stone, when the library doors slid open, and the man himself walked in. He was dressed much the same as he had been yesterday, in layers that hid the muscular shoulders and arms he displayed on stage. Before Marinette could react, Rose flitted past her. 

“Luka!” Rose squealed, throwing herself at him. “You’re here!” Luka staggered slightly but wrapped one arm around her waist to catch her, holding her with her feet dangling off the ground as she kissed both his cheeks, her arms wrapped around his neck. Marinette stared, mouth hanging open slightly.

“That was enthusiastic,” Luka laughed, looking down at the petite blond hanging off of his tall frame. 

“I’m happy to see you!” Rose smiled brightly. 

“You just saw me at dinner last night.” Luka bent his knees and set her on the ground. Rose took the hint and let him go, but bounced on the balls of her feet. “And I told you I’d come, he added.”

“And now you’re here!” Rose threw out her arms. “I’m so glad! I have so much to do to get the childrens’ program ready and the decorations are so much for poor Marinette to manage by herself! Have you met Marinette?” she inquired, turning and holding out her arms to present her friend. Marinette closed her mouth and tried to smile as she gave a little wave. “I think you did,” Rose continued, turning to give him a warning look. “I think she said she ran into you at the farm.” 

Luka felt embarrassment creeping up his neck at Rose’s clearly scolding look. He nodded at Marinette. “Briefly, yeah. Nice to see you, Marinette.” He pronounced her name carefully, feeling bad about teasing her yesterday. She smiled a little more, and then looked down, her hands fluttering around the decorations she’d been separating. 

“You can get the lights on the tree while Marinette finishes working out that stuff,” Rose suggested, pointing to a pile of lights sitting near Marinette. “You’re nice and tall, so that should make things easy. There’s step stools in the kids’ area if you need them. Come here and I’ll show you what I want.” She hooked his arm and pulled him around to the far side of the tree. “The plug’s over here, so you’ll need to start on this side.” 

As soon as they were out of sight, Rose slapped his arm. “Dummy!” she scolded in a whisper. “I didn’t send her to the farm so you could be mean.”

“I wasn’t mean,” Luka protested weakly, and then frowned. “What do you mean, you sent her?” He gave his not-quite-sister a suspicious look, and then leaned slightly to look around the tree and make sure they were out of earshot. 

He paused. Marinette had been cute yesterday in her puffy pink coat and earmuffs, but he hadn’t really had time to notice her. Now she looked trendy but comfortable in pigtails and a soft pink sweater over skinny jeans, her profile turned to him. She was an authentic kind of pretty, he reflected, but then Luka had found himself thinking that about a lot of people since he’d left the rock star world, where everybody wore layers of stage makeup, styled and coiffed and dressed so that every detail about them enhanced the image they wanted to project. 

Still, her full lips made a pretty bow, especially when she pouted them slightly in concentration, and her hair had a shine that came from health rather than product, and her eyes were—

Rose’s elbow in his ribs jolted him out of what must have been a pretty intense stare, and he flushed, leaning back slightly so he couldn’t see Marinette on the other side of the tree.

“She already thinks you’re mean,” Rose hissed. “Don’t be a creep on top of it.”

Luka winced. He didn’t need Rose’s reminder to feel guilty for behaving so abruptly yesterday. Already prickly from a morning of needling by his mother, he hadn’t been prepared for anyone to recognize him. No one had up until this point, and he’d thought he was safe. It was an unpleasant shock to have a stranger recognize him, especially someone from the city who might carry word of his presence here back to the press. His mother’s call had sounded like his guardian angel’s trumpet in that moment. When Juleka had called him to help tie her chosen tree on top of her car, he’d done the work quickly and silently, and avoided her gaze as much as possible. 

He’d felt bad about it later, when he’d had time to relax and reflect, but he hadn’t expected to see her again—certainly hadn’t expected to have Rose practically throwing her at him. He gave her a warning look. 

Rose opened her mouth but before she could say anything, Marinette popped around the side of the tree. “Rose, do you have some scissors anywhere?”

“Yes, in the cabinet behind the desk,” Rose said, pointing. “Probably on the top three shelves, there’s a box of craft supplies there. You might as well bring over the whole thing in case you need anything else. Let me know if it’s too high up and I’ll send Luka to grab them instead.”

“Got it,” Marinette smiled, and turned to follow Rose’s directions. 

Luka shot Rose a glare. “Quit it,” he warned. 

“Quit what?” Rose inquired, with a blink and head tilt that made her look like she didn’t have two brain cells to rub together. 

Luka knew better. 

“I don’t need any help, Rose,” Luka muttered, folding his arms. “I could find a relationship on my own if I wanted to.” 

“Mmhm,” Rose hummed in a disbelieving tone. “Because there’s so many to choose from here in this little town.” 

Luka rolled his eyes and didn’t reply. 

“I do like Marinette though,” Rose said, and smiled innocently when Luka gave her a look. “She’s really sweet. We only met a couple of days ago and here she is, bending over backward to get me a real tree and spending her time decorating it.”

“You set her up,” Luka accused, peeking around the tree briefly to make sure she wasn’t coming back yet.  “You’re trying to set me up.”

“She’s so creative,” Rose sighed. “She showed me some of her portfolio the other day, and it’s fantastic. She’s a fashion designer, you see.” 

Luka snorted. “Oh, yeah, she’ll totally fall for me. Without my stylist I’m a fashion disaster and you know it Rose.” 

“That just makes you a challenge,” Rose chirped, and then softened a little as she looked at him. “Look, I know you’re not looking right now, but that’s a stupid attitude to have when an amazing person just drops into your lap.” She tossed her head in a move he was sure she’d picked up from Juleka, though it was less effective without Juleka’s mane to accent it. “I should know. Anyway, do what you want, I just think she’s neat and I wanted you to meet her. I’ve got a good feeling about her. If I’d met her two years ago I’d totally steal her from you. If you’re smart, you’ll keep an open mind.” 

Luka sighed, but he saw a flicker of pink and when he glanced around the tree again, Marinette was back, the box of supplies at her side. She was lifting a large tinsel garland from the box she’d just opened, only to find it was all a tangled mass. There was a sort of mournful look on her face, a little droop of sadness, maybe even loneliness, to her shoulders. He remembered the tightness in her eyes and around her mouth yesterday, and the way she’d spilled out her reason for being here at the slightest nudge. A fashion designer—that was a cutthroat business, especially in the city. Poor thing was probably as tired and strung out as he’d been when he came home.  

He wasn’t even aware he’d sighed until Rose giggled at his elbow. “I think you can figure the lights out on your own,” she said with a little pat to his arm. “I’m going to get back to getting ready for the children’s program. You two just...have fun, okay? Make it festive!” She fluttered her hands at the tree, then waved at Marinette and abandoned him to the awkwardness. 

It didn’t take long to get the lights on the tree—Luka had plenty of practice after getting the farm set up for the season. He stood there for a moment, hesitating. He glanced at Marinette. She had finished the sorting and was back to struggling with the tangled garland, and the look of utter defeat on her face...hurt, somehow.  

“Can I give you a hand?” Luka found himself offering. 

Marinette started slightly, and in an instant her shoulders went back and her smile flashed back into being. Luka was surprised to realize that it didn’t feel fake, despite the fact that he had seen her feelings on her face just a moment before. She was hiding those feelings now, but the smile she offered him was as sincere as the sadness. 

“Um, sure, if you want to,” she said, holding up the garland in two hands. “It’s pretty twisted up. We could just leave it, but...might as well give it a shot, right?” 

Luka took a handful of garland, and Marinette took another one farther down. They moved apart, spreading it out as far as it could go between them to try and see where it twisted back on itself. 

“This looks like the end,” Marinette muttered, plucking at a piece. “Can you just hold it up for a minute?”

Luka did, watching Marinette as she looped the end she’d found back over and under and through the glittering mass. The silence was awkward, and the more Luka tried to think of something to say, the more he felt like there was only one thing he could say. 

“Listen, I wanted to apologize—” he began as Marinette said, “Luka, I’m really sorry—” 

They both stopped, and laughed, and Luka gestured for her to go ahead. 

“I just,” Marinette pushed her hair back and glanced at him, then looked away. “I wanted to apologize for blurting that out about—you know—I should have thought, I should have realized you wouldn’t want to be approached like that, while you’re clearly not working—well, you were working, but not, not like that and I should have—well. I’m really sorry. You’re at home and you probably don’t want people gushing all over you while you’re trying to spend time with your family.”

Luka took a breath, looking at the floor for a moment. “I wanted to apologize too, for being so abrupt with you. I...hadn’t had the best morning, and you did startle me. I’m...well, I guess you could maybe say I’m retired, and I’d rather not be...known, here. I guess I kind of panicked.”

“Retired?” Marinette looked up at him in surprise. “But your music was so good! I mean—” She flushed, and grabbed the garland, moving to start draping it around the tree. “I really liked it, anyway. Sorry, I know it’s not my business...Anyway, I understand, and I won’t tell anyone I met you here.” The garland she was trying to place slipped off, and she sighed in frustration. “I swear Christmas hates me,” she muttered to herself.

Luka picked up the trailing end and held it so that the weight was no longer dragging. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.” 

“Of course,” Marinette smiled, and then she said, “How long have you and Rose been together?” This time the garland stayed where she placed it, with Luka feeding her more as she circled around the tree. 

“Together?” Luka repeated, startled. “We’re not together. She’s dating my sister, actually. In fact if they’re not engaged by New Years I’ll be shocked.” 

Marinette’s head whipped around to look at him. “O-oh. Oh! Oh, I understand now.” She flushed. “Just, before—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Luka grinned. “I can see how that would look if you didn’t know.”  

“Wow, how off base was I, though,” Marinette giggled. “So your family’s from around here? I—oh, that sounded nosy didn’t it, I’m sorry, I swear I’m just trying to make small talk.”

“I’m not offended,” Luka chuckled. “Actually my family just moved here a few years ago. When my mom bought the tree farm I thought it was just another one of her crazy whims and she’d move on to something else before long, but she seems really happy here. What about your grandma? Gina doesn’t seem like the small town type, either.”

The conversation flowed comfortably from there, as they finished the garland and moved on to the other decorations. Marinette didn’t ask him any more questions about his music, and he carefully steered clear of asking her any questions about why she’d come—or been sent—down to their little town, and faster than Luka could have expected, they were closing up the empty boxes and stacking them to the side to be returned to storage. Marinette had a good eye, Luka had to admit as he looked at the tree. Not surprising, he supposed, but it did look a lot nicer than the previous year’s tree. Not only that, Marinette had arranged the extra decorations on the library desk in a pretty little display, and with his help, had even trimmed the windows with some icicle lights they found at the bottom of one of the boxes. Luka knelt to plug in the last set of lights, and when they were on, the whole library screamed holiday cheer to an almost obnoxious degree.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Rose appeared behind him. 

“Wow, look at this place, it’s awesome! Everything looks great! You two make a fantastic team!” She grinned at Luka, and he raised his eyebrows at her in warning. “Everything is so festive,” Rose went on, clearly ignoring him, as she laid a thoughtful finger to her lips and examined them, “except for you two. You’re ruining the mood.” 

Faster than Luka could track she whipped something out and stuck it to his forehead, then turned and did the same to Marinette. Only when he saw the bright blue gift bow stuck to Marinette’s forehead did he realize what Rose had just done to them, and he rolled his eyes as he reached up to touch the bow on his own forehead. Rose swatted his hand away and then grabbed his arm, hauling at him until he had no choice but to stand up or fall over.

“There, now you’re properly decorated too,” Rose beamed. “All right, you two have spent all morning helping me, so get out of here and go do something fun! It’s such a pretty day!”

“Rose, it’s freezing,” Luka tried to say, but Rose was already pushing them towards the door, and he gave into the inevitability of it all with a sigh. 

“Go down to the café, have lunch on my tab, both of you,” she ordered, dumping their coats in Luka’s arms before shoving them out of the door. “Thanks for all your help!” she called, waving at them as the doors slid closed.

“Real subtle,” Luka grumbled, reaching up to peel the bow off his forehead as he turned to face Marinette. That was a mistake, because the way her mouth was pursed in a little moue as she worked to remove her own bow was kind of adorable.

Damnit, Rose.

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

[neighborhood-goblin]

Lmao remember that COF College AU

Finally decided majors and details for some of the characters I plan to include XD

My first time using a cut lol

Tristan

Business Major 

Cassian absolutely wants him to inherit the family business

Tris isn’t so thrilled by that

Sev and him are roommates

Neither of them can cook anything other than ramen or pizza rolls

Sometimes they order pizza

Disaster bi on so many levels

Went to one GSA club meeting but then noped right back into the closet

Not out to Cassian or most of his friends yet

The only person who knows is Sev

Has a brown tabby cat named Rex

duh

lmao going back through there’s like nothing here

they def got longer as they went on

Nyk

Linguistics, Interpretation, and Translation Major

(In HOF she is really interested in the Pyrean language and lore so I thought it fit)

Was homeless for a while

Ran away as soon as she graduated high school

(She couldn’t be around Val any longer)

Applied for a lot of scholarships and was able to gather enough money to attend college

Roommates with Sparrow

Helps Sparrow get to her classes sometimes

Elliot, Riella, and Kade come over to their dorm a lot

Elliot cooks for them

Probs gonna be bi and genderfluid in this au

Has a calico cat named Xephyra 

Phyrie for short 

Is a part of the GSA club

The GSA club consists of Anders, Elliot, Sparrow, and Kade

Sev

Fine Arts Major

Is really good at drawing but also likes painting and sculpting, too

Roommates with Tristan

Would rather die than ask Tris to get something off of a high shelf for him

He’s 5′3″ (160.02 cm)

Def petite

Tris put a whiteboard on the fridge to write shopping lists on but now they both just use it to write notes to each other

“Saw u staring at Nyk earlier HMMMMMM”

“stfu like you weren’t ogling that dude she was with”

Disaster gay but everyone just assumes he’s straight like ????

After his parents died he bounced around a few foster homes but was adopted by a doctor named Hestia when he was fifteen

He loves his mama and visits her on weekends

The food he brings back to the dorm is the only good stuff he and Tris ever eat

Knows Kade but only a little

All of my modern Sev hcs still apply

Kade

Veterinary Medicine Major

Shares the same major as Sparrow and they’re decent friends

He helps Sparrow get to the classes they share when Nyk can’t

Loves animals and is planning to adopt a doggie soon

Roommates with Elliot and Riella

He lived in a really crappy place before he became friends with Riella

The sibs invited him to move in with them (Kade also obviously helps with rent)

Became good friends with Nyk and he and the sibs spend a lot of time at her/his dorm

Used to shadow Hestia at the clinic (before he decided he wanted to be a vet and not a people doctor) and she gushed all the time about her son 

He met Sev and def thinks Sev is adorable 

Has also seen Sev around campus but hasn’t worked up the courage to talk to him yet

Demi and gay

Is a part of the GSA club

Thinks Anders is funny

Almost no one agrees

Elliot 

Culinary Arts Major

Idk it just came to me and I was like “might as well”

Cooks for Riella, Kade, Nyk, and Sparrow regularly

Has a golden retriever named Jax

Jax is crazy

He gets the zoomies

Jax is usually wary of strangers but he’s warmed up to Riella, Kade, Nyk, and is close with Sparrow

Aroace

Attends GSA

Regularly tells Anders where he can shove his musical numbers and snide comments

Roommates with Riella and Kade

Took online classes until Riella graduated so they could move together

Met Kade through Riella

Can’t handle spicy food and is appalled by the fact that Kade, Riella, and Sparrow are all fueled by eating the spiciest things possible

Refuses to eat anything with pepper on it, but keeps a shaker for his friends and sister

Nyk and him bond over being unable to tolerate anything hotter than a hot tamale candy

Likes driving

Owns a minivan

It’s unclear as to why he needs a minivan he just has one

He named it Elliot jr. as a joke once but now no one lets him forget it

Is super ultimate BFFs with Sparrow

Helps her around campus when Nyk and Kade can’t

Sparrow 

Veterinary Medicine Major

Nyk, Kade, and Elliot help her around campus (still blind and thriving)

Owns a parrot named Chirp and guide dog that everyone is 95% sure is just a wolf that Sparrow illegally bought a service animal vest for

No one knows the name of the dog

Sparrow claims that Chirp can talk but only does it in front of her

Sometimes Elliot will also claim that he’s heard Chirp talk but no one can tell if he’s telling the truth or not (He’s not even sure at this point)

Lesbian ace and is highkey dating Riella 

Elliot pretends it annoys him but secretly he’s thrilled because he adores the both of them (he’d never reveal this but Sparrow knows anyway)

Attends GSA

Brings her animals

Chirp usually just sits on her shoulder, and the dog at her feet

Has super unruly hair

Only a select few are permitted to touch it: Elliot, Riella, and Nyk

Nyk will braid it sometimes, but Sparrow usually likes to have it free 

Roommates with Nyk

Nyk decorated their room super cute, fairylights strung all around it and polaroids on the walls (though I guess she can’t see them rip)

Nyk loves Sparrow’s animals, and the animals get a long great with Phyrie (except for one time that Phyrie attacked Chirp but that doesn’t happen anymore)

Riella 

Dance Major

Not much is known about Riella but I just thought this’d be a cool major for her

idk she gives off ballerina vibes for some reason

Sapphic and dating Sparrow

Roommates with Elliot and Kade

All three of them share a bookshelf and love talking about books

They also play video games a lot together

Minecraft is not a competition but do not play with the three of them they will win

They share an ACNH island on the switch they pooled money for

Loves having her hair in french braids

Nyk usually braids it for her before classes

Ig Nyk just braids everyone’s hair smh

Wears rompers everywhere

Met Kade when a creepy dude approached her on her way to a class and Kade pretended to know her to get her away from the creepy dude

He started walking her to that class just in case and they became friends

Anders

Performing Arts Major

Super dramatic and way into theater

Has been out of the closet for years as genderqueer and pan (Prefers he/him pronouns; he’s used them all his life and he’s used to them)

Goes to GSA club and loves telling obnoxious stories

Has hinted at being in a relationship but no one knows who it is, and the club tries to find out sometimes (It’s Latham)

Grew up with Latham and they started dating when they were seventeen

Latham isn’t out of the closet yet, so he asked Anders to keep it a secret

Anders doesn’t mind at all, he’s just happy to be with the boy he loves :)

Was a part of marching band in high school, and still practices his trumpet in his free time

Regularly texts everyone a gross amount of emojis 

Latham and him moved in together when they graduated and started going to college

Latham does all the cooking

The last time Anders attempted to cook anything, the pan caught on fire (the cooking pan not Anders) (XDDD) (I think I’m hilarious) 

He’s not allowed to cook anymore

They each have their own beds but usually sleep in the same one when they don’t have guests (they are both huge cuddlers) (Anders is the little spoon)

Has a pet snake because he lives to be extra (It’s a ball python)

(I can’t remember what Anders’ phoenix is named so the snake is nameless for now)

Latham

Pre-Law Studies Major

Wants to become a lawyer

Absolutely talks crap about everyone he knows with Anders

Identifies as queer but is closeted

His family are all very religious and anti-LGBTQ+ so he’s scared to come out to them

The only person who knows is Anders

His father in particular scares him

His dad really doesn’t approve of Latham being ‘friends’ with Anders, ever since Anders came out publicly

Is decent at cooking (nowhere near as good as Elliot)

Doesn’t have a lot of friends

Kind of knows Tristan and Elliot but not really

Has a Pomeranian named Xane

He’s obsessed w/ little dogs 

[nitewrighter]

Hey :) i kinda miss your prefall Gency fic... Do you think you can write some more ? Take care ♥

I’m still thinking about the canonical existence of Overwatch Propaganda Cartoons that we saw in that preview of Hero of Numbani.

...can you tell I watched old GI Joe opening theme songs specifically for this fic?

Also credit goes to @apocryphist for coming up with “underhand” which really should be the only name for villains in the Overwatch universe.

-----

Genji drummed his fingers on the conference room table as he rested his chin in his other hand. Mercy sat to his left, nonchalantly tapping out some correspondence on her tablet as they waited. On his other side, Tracer was bouncing her knee with her fingers interlaced on the table in front of her, doing her best to at least put forward the semblance of a strike team leader despite her fidgeting. Winston sat stiffly next to her, apparently trying to scroll through lab results on his own tablet but clearly too nervous to stay focused. It was a bright and slightly breezy afternoon in Zurich, and normally Genji would have been gracefully slashing his way through the training grounds at this time, but instead they were all here.

“I can’t stand it when they don’t say what the meetings are about,” mumbled Winston. 

“It’s probably a top secret mission!” said Tracer.

“’Secret?’” said Winston, sounding even more nervous, “I’m... I’m not exactly good at ‘secret.’”

“Is it unrealistic to hope we got more intel from Doomfist?” said Genji, glancing at Mercy.

“I wish,” huffed Mercy, “But from what debriefings I could get my hands on, he hasn’t given us anything useful.”

“How is that possible?” said Genji, “After all the internal damage he did to Talon’s internal power structure, shouldn’t they be scrambling without him? Shouldn’t there be a power vacuum?”

“I don’t know any more than you do...” said Winston, readjusting his glasses. 

“Honestly I thought you’d know more about it, what with the Blackwatch stuff,” said Tracer.

“Still benched,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Officially,” said Mercy with a slight side-eye.

Genji gave her an amused “Hmph,” before saying, “Either way, Reyes pushed me out of the loop now that I’m on your strike team... not that I paid that much attention to the loop befo---”

The door opened and everyone perked up at the sight of Jack Morrison and Sojourn walking into the room. Jack seemed uneasy, but honestly Mercy couldn’t really recall the last time he seemed at ease.

“Okay, before we start, I want all of you to keep an open mind with this,” he said, looking across all of them.

“...Very encouraging, Strike Commander,” said Sojourn, with slightly sardonic amusement. She put her hands on her hips and turned to face Tracer’s strike team, “As you all know, when you’re recruited into Overwatch, you sign a waiver allowing us to use your image in... all sorts of stuff. Press releases, scientific publications, training videos for new recruits---”

“Posters,” said Mercy, already skeptical.

“Posters, too,” said Sojourn with a smile, “However, back during Omnic Crisis Reconstruction, we were using the images of heroes for a lot more.”

“Heroes?” Genji repeated quietly as Sojourn produced a remote control from the pocket of her jacket and hit a button. The venetian blinds tilted to shut out the sunlight and the lights of the room dimmed as the wallscreen lit up behind Sojourn. The screen lit up in bright colors and red and yellow explosions as a trumpeting fanfare started playing. Tracer’s face lit up as a young cartoon version of Jack Morrison appeared on the screen, pumping his fist in the air. 

“The world needs heroes!” said the cartoon Jack Morrison, “Are you with us?” 

Genji glanced at Jack who was very clearly cringing at his cartoon self.

“Oh yes!” said Tracer, her eyes bright, “It’s been years since I’ve watched this! You guys know the song, right?” she said looking at her teammates, “..No?”

The theme song was already playing, and Tracer was singing along with it eagerly.

There’s no need to fear

Overwatch is here!

Saving all we hold dear!

Mercy made a ‘I really hope this meeting isn’t going the way I think it’s going,’ face at Genji and Genji suppressed a chuckle, but Tracer seemed absolutely thrilled and even Winston was humming along with the theme song. The theme song kept playing and even introduced different members of the old Overwatch Strike team. One of the animators clearly had fun lavishing a lot of attention on Ana Amari’s hair whipping around from the force of an explosion behind her. A still-blonde cartoon Reinhardt brawled fist-to-fist with some kind of black and neon green robot. Cartoon Morrison jumped a motorcycle off of an aircraft carrier with cartoon Reyes wielding a missile launcher in the sidecar. Torbjörn and Liao were working side by side in a lab before the camera panned out to reveal they were in a bright blue tank-like vehicle Genji safely assumed was entirely made up to sell toys, firing off RPG’s with even more explosions. Sojourn chuckled watching her cartoon self fire two submachine guns at black and neon green helicopters while parachuting out of an exploding jet. There was, all in all, a frankly ridiculous amount of explosions. It finally ended with one last massive explosion and fanfare and cartoon versions of Sojourn and the entire original strike team all pumping their fists in the air with Morrison in the center. 

Sojourn hit another button on her remote, the wall screen blipped off, the venetian blinds opened and the lights came on, leaving everyone sitting at the conference table blankly.

“Ahh! Still just as good as when I was a kid!” said Tracer, excitedly.

“Now, I know what you’re going to say--” Morrison started.

“Propaganda,” said Mercy, “You want to put us in propaganda.”

“You’re already in propaganda,” said Sojourn, flatly.

“This is propaganda aimed at children!” said Mercy.

“Do you know how young Talon is recruiting?” said Sojourn.

“That doesn’t mean we should stoop to their level!” said Mercy.

“Wars aren’t just won by strategy and firepower, they’re also won by ideology, by public support,” Winston suggested.

Mercy remembered something Moira said and it sent a shiver down her spine. 

The true struggle is for the superiority of ideas.

“Thank you, Winston,” said Jack, “It’s not necessarily about convincing them to join, it’s about convincing people that we have their best interests in mind. Which...” Jack gestured, “We do.”

“Those bad guys didn’t look like Talon,” said Genji.

“Oh, it wasn’t Talon!” said Tracer excitedly, before dropping into a dramatic narrator voice, “Underhand is a Ruthless Criminal Organization determined to rule the world!”

“Uh--Underhand?” said Winston. Jack said nothing but somehow managed to look more dead inside.

“...Overwatch and Underhand...” Mercy repeated incredulously.

“So--we’re going to be in a cartoon?” said Genji. For some reason, his armor seemed to feel tighter, pinching, constricting around him.

“Well, we did some polling after the Doomfist fight and ran some algorithms through a handful of popular forums and social media,” Sojourn explained, “It turns out you’re all very popular with the younger crowd. Winston and Tracer pull the biggest numbers, but you, Genji, are incredibly popular with boys aged 6 to 14.”

“I...I am?” said Genji.

“Shining armor,” said Mercy, smiling at him, and steam vented from his shoulders.

“And Mercy has a death-grip on the ‘Girls aged 3 to 11′ demographic,” said Sojourn.

“So... more girls are getting into STEM?” said Mercy.

“I’m.. not sure about that, but they seem to really like the fact that you’re pretty and you can fly,” said Sojourn, flipping through the report on her own tablet. 

Mercy’s face dropped and she shook her head. She pursed her lips and thought for a few moments. “I’m not sure about this...”

“If we’re all over the news already, it could help to put stuff out there that gives us more control over our image,” said Winston, he scratched the side of his head, “It... would be nice to show people I’m more than just a gorilla...”

“Genji?” said Mercy, looking over at him. Genji was running his thumb over the knuckles of his prosthetic hand and he seemed to snap out of some particularly stressful train of thought.

“Oh...um... well... it would give you a chance to talk more about Overwatch as a peacekeeping organization?” said Genji, “And if you’re talking about it to children...” 

“They might be less inclined to carry on the conflicts of previous generations!” said Mercy, her eyes brightening.

“Like we said, ideologies,” said Jack.

Mercy inhaled thoughtfully. “If--if we’re going to do this, I want my likeness used responsibly. I don’t want to advocate for violence in any form.”

“...yeah I figured you’d say that,” said Jack.

“And, even if we’re going through fictional conflicts, I don’t want it... glamorized and sensationalized like the old cartoon. We don’t need all those explosions---”

“You did pull Genji out of that explosion a few weeks ago though,” said Tracer.

“Well that’s different--! That’s--!” Mercy huffed, “I think we should push more of Overwatch’s scientific and humanitarian efforts. Show that making the world a better place is more complicated than just.. shooting at bad guys.”

“We could have a science corner!” Winston chimed in, “’Winston’s Science Corner!’”

“Ooh! And maybe I should say something about friendship and teamwork at the end!” said Tracer.

Genji was shrinking a little where he was sitting, unconsciously sliding his wrist plate back and forth.

“What do you think? Edu-tainment?” said Sojourn, glancing back at Jack.

“Could go over easier than a purely fictionalized narrative,” murmured Jack.

“Aw, I wanna fight Underhand, though!” said Tracer.

“Well in any case, you can expect more correspondence from our PR department as we move forward in this project,” said Sojourn. 

“You might not be fighting Talon in some far-flung corner of the world, but make no mistake: this is an important part of the fight,” said Jack.

“And who knows,” said Sojourn as an assistant hurried in with a cardboard box and set it on the conference table, “You could end up some kid’s best friend.”

Tracer and her strike team all stood up from their seats to look into the box.

“Oh commander...!” Tracer looked about to burst with excitement as she reached into the box and pulled out an action figure of herself, “I love it!” She turned over the action figure in her hands and saw a button on the back. She pressed it.

“Cheers love! The Cavalry’s here!” said the Tracer action figure.

“That’s my line!” said Tracer, delighted.

“It’s quite a stunning likeness,” said Winston, taking his own action figure out of the box. He pressed a button on the back of his action figure. 

“Primal Punch!” declared the Winston action figure and Winston chuckled.

Mercy took both the Genji and the Mercy action figures out of the box and chuckled a little. 

“Yours is so pretty, Doc! They even got the wings!” said Tracer as Mercy fiddled around with the action figure’s wings.

“Yes, ‘pretty and flies’ indeed.’ I might be more inclined if she comes with a lab coat accessory,” said Mercy, giving a skeptical glance to her action figure’s bust size. She pressed a button between her action figure’s wings and scoffed a little as the action figure said, “Heroes never die!” 

She held Genji’s action figure out to him and he hesitantly took it. “What do you think?”

Genji turned the action figure over in his hand and looked at the button on the back. He pressed it, but the figure said nothing.

“Oh we um... didn’t really have a ‘catchphrase’ for you yet,” said Sojourn as Genji gingerly ran the finger of his prosthetic hand up the blade of the action figure’s sword clasped in his little plastic hand, “We were hoping you could put in a word for it. These are just mock-ups, really.” 

You’re incredibly popular with boys age 6 to 14...

Genji moved the arm of the action figure up and down, the figure striking downward with its sword, and he thought of young boys playing with this miniature him. Running with the action figure clutched in little hands with white knuckles, playing out battles, having the action figure swing its sword at all those foes, imitating his own swordsmanship, fighting their brothers with sticks, punching each other, kicking each other---

“No,” Genji said on reflex.

“What?” said Sojourn, glancing up from Tracer chattering about her own action figure.

“I--I said no. I shouldn’t have an action figure. I shouldn’t be in the show,” said Genji. His voice was tight.

“Genji...” Mercy started.

“...is it about how you look?” said Sojourn, “Because Genji, I can tell you, seeing people like us on the screen means the world to kids with prosthetics---”

“No--” Genji was stammering, “It’s not about that, it’s--”

“Genji, you’re a part of the team,” Tracer tried to reassure him, “It wouldn’t be the same without you--”

“Children shouldn’t want to be like me!” Genji blurted out, and there was a small plasticky snap. Genji glanced down and saw that he had unthinkingly broken the arm off of his own action figure. The entire room had gone silent, staring at him. He set both the action figure and its broken-off arm on the table and exhaled. “I’m-- I need to think about it,” he said, pushing up from the table and walking briskly out of the room.

“Genji, wait--” said Mercy, standing up. Her eyes flicked to the broken Genji action figure on the table and she picked it up, tucking both the figure and the broken off arm in the pocket of her lab coat. The door slid shut behind Genji but she quickly walked after him, leaving Morrison, Sojourn, Tracer, and Winston alone in the room. A long quiet pause passed between the four of them.

“Maybe just web shorts?” said Winston, “Just.. um... just the science corner?”

“Winston--” Tracer huffed.

“Right--sorry,” said Winston.

“...well, they did keep an open mind,” said Jack, “Mostly.”

“Don’t make me break out your action figure, Jack,” said Sojourn.

----

It was a known fact that if you broke visual contact on Genji, you had a pretty low probability of finding him again unless he wanted to be found. Still Mercy spent more of the remainder of the afternoon looking for him than she was readily willing to admit. The fact that he was able to disappear from the hallway that quickly made her assume he had taken the window (very mature, by the way, Genji, she thought with an eye roll) but she checked all of his usual spots and even went to his room before finally huffing and returning to her lab.

It was about 11 at night when the door slid open.

“Genji, we’re beholden to the UN. I know that was an uncomfortable situation, but... there are still protocols,” said Mercy, not even looking up from her screen.

“I know,” his cybernetically reverberative voice hummed from the other side of the room.

“I don’t know how... informally Reyes maintained his meetings, but we can’t--” Mercy looked up from her screen and read his posture and expression. Her shoulders slumped. She pushed up from her desk and walked across the lab over to him.

“I’m sorry, I know. I just shut down,” said Genji as she closed the distance between them, “I don’t even know where it came from, ever since I joined Tracer’s strike team, I thought I’ve been getting better but--” he cut himself off as she hugged him. He stood there for a few seconds before returning the embrace. A part of him wanted to take his faceplate off, breathe in the smell of her hair and the smell of coffee on her, but he tamped that down. They had embraced before, after Gérard Lacroix’s death, and had broken out of it, both of them muttering about it being inappropriate and messy, but after missions together on Tracer’s strike team, there was no such shame in taking comfort in each other like this. She loosened the hug slightly to look at him.

“What you said... about you and children...”  she trailed off.

“I...” Genji sighed, “I’m an assassin.”

“You’re an agent,” said Mercy.

“Whose skills all come from the fact that he was raised to be an assassin,” said Genji, “What I went through as a child---I don’t want another child to go through it. And I don’t want children to think that’s what they want because it’s not.”

“They won’t have to,” said Mercy, putting her hands on his shoulders, “The Shimada Clan’s practically collapsed! You get to decide who you are, not them! You get to choose what you do with your skills,” one of her hands trailed down his arm and clasped his organic hand, “And you choose good. You’ve been choosing to do good.”

“...kids shouldn’t want to be like me when I don’t even know what the hell I am,” muttered Genji.

Mercy gave a helpless chuckle, “Join the club. ‘Mercy’ is easier to be than Angela. People listen to ‘Mercy,’ except not really, because she’s just pretty and she flies and at the end of the day, she’s just a bloody idea, so no one actually listens to her because she’s not real---”  she caught herself, “God, they’re really going to turn us into cartoon characters, aren’t they?” she said, pushing her bangs back from her face, “As if things weren’t already weird enough.”

“Cyborg ninja. Angel doctor. Time traveler. Gorilla from the moon. It really makes no difference at this point,” said Genji with a shrug, looking over her shoulder, he noticed a small figure on her desk. “Is that---?” he broke out of the embrace and walked over to the desk to see his action figure standing there. The arm had been glued back on, the seam of the break barely visible. He picked up the action figure. “You fixed me? It--It-- I mean it. You fixed it?” he said glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Well I couldn’t just leave you like that,” said Mercy, chuckling a little. 

“’You’ve rescued me again, Doctor Ziegler!’” said Genji, making the action figure bob with his words. They both snickered. “Maybe that can be my catchphrase,” said Genji, a smirk in his voice.

“Absolutely not,” said Mercy, giggling.

[loulougoingsolo]

Whose paw print was that??!

Who knew all it took for me to get out of a funk was a dead, funky rat? Let’s vlog about that!

I live in the countryside, and across the road from my house, my neighbours keep chicken and horses, which means the rodent population in this area is strong. I get my fair share of the rodents regularly visit my quarters, but thankfully, the ones who get indoors, are mostly tiny mice. I’ve also managed to block most entryways to my kitchen and livingroom, and my little visitors can’t access my inner sanctum anymore - but I have traps in my hall / bathroom wing (this is a really tiny house, so wing is a bit of an overstatement), and I catch a mouse every now and then. I have an agreement with the surrounding nature - if the animals come to my home uninvited, I have the right to kill them. If I disturb wild animals in their living quarters, they have equal rights to kill me. But in today’s vlog, no-one is getting killed. The culprit to the mysterious stink in Link’s house is most certainly already dead, and the mission for today is to find the carcass.

But in today’s vlog, no-one is getting killed. The culprit to the mysterious stink in Link’s house is most certainly already dead, and the mission for today is to find the carcass.

My parents have a much bigger house than I do, and they get some mice in the attic every now and then - and because they rarely go there, the way they sometimes find out there’s a mouse caught in a trap is by the horrifying smell that comes down through the air vents. My mom has a really bad sense of smell, so usually it’s me who smells it first, when dropping by. It’s amazing how much a tiny mouse can smell - and I can only imagine how horrifying a bloated dead rat is. My parents also have had rats a few times, and the most recent one took weeks to catch, but fortunately we finally caught it and it didn’t have time to start smelling.

(In case you’re asking why it was me and my mom who did the hunting, and not my dad...let’s just say that my dad is a gentle spirit, and unfazed by the expectations put on the male gender by the society. He does own blue overalls, though.)

Link has invited Rhett over to his house to find the stink, and Rhett arrives, looking like a very tall truck driver. Somehow, he pulls off the look quite well - and we should probably get used to it, since a hat is an efficient way to control the mane. I wonder when we are getting a new Mythical hat, I have the black and camo one from a couple of years back, and I’d very much like another (it turned out to be a useful thing to wear in the sun, after I got over the fact that I, too, look like a truck driver wearing it.)

Turns out, the Neals have an actual rat problem. My personal opinion is that they should probably get an exterminator to drop by. One rat trap isn’t going to solve this - and based on how Jade prefers to sniff the house plants instead of guarding the house from furry intruders, she is no help in the battle.

I really envy the fancy coffee maker. My dad has one, and I regularly drop by just to drink coffee just because it grinds the coffee beans. But it would be an overkill to buy an expensive thing like that just for myself, when I drink two cups (well, two enourmous mugs, really) max per day. Which reminds, me, now would be a good time to make that second cup. But isn’t this nice?

Oh man, Link’s overalls are exactly like the ones my dad has, and just like my dad, he has to make a little dance performance after putting them on. I don’t want to think that Link is just like my dad, only 30 years younger. And then he does things like this. When he walked through the gate wearing a head lamp, I cracked up. My dad ALWAYS wears a head lamp when he does something where he needs to see properly. Is there some manual of how to be a dad where they teach this stuff?

For someone who doesn’t watch horror films that often, Link really knows how to enter the space under his house in a very genre accurate way. This vlog could easily be turned into a horror film, and I’m personally a little scared of what’s to come. But I’m sure we’d heard by now if the guys somehow ended up eaten by giant rats while filming this, so maybe they’re ok.

Now that we got Link under the house, I want to tell a story about a rat who lived under my parents’ trash can (outside) one year. I was house watching for my folks while they were traveling, and because it was November, it was the time of year when mice usually start coming inside houses to escape the winter. I caught 6 mice during the two weeks, and each time I caught one, I took it to the outside thrash can, in a plastic bag.

My parents knew the trash can needed to be replaced, because it had a hole in the bottom, and when they finally came back home, they dropped by to get a new trash can. When they went on to remove the old trash can from the place it was standing in, a rat ran away from under it, and was never seen again. It had been living under there for a while, and had organized the space very neatly. The dead mice I had carried out were lined up next to each other in one corner, and the plastic bags in which they used to be, were in another corner. The rat was saving the mice to eat later.

So, that pile of trash under Link’s house, was most likely put there by either the rats while tidying the place, or by whatever animal it was that left that paw pring in the dirt. I think that could be a raccoon paw print - they have five “fingers” like humans. Looks like the Neal house is home to all kinds of creatures, big and small. I wonder if the raccoons took food under the house, and the food attracted the rats to come over, too?

Link crawling in thight small spaces reminds me of the movie Descent, and that is possibly the scariest film I’ve ever watched. I’m so glad he got out of that hole alive.

How old exactly is the house Link lives in? The roof space looks like it’s been there for decades, and for some reason I assumed this was a fairly new building. Whoever owned the place before the Neals was obviously aware of the rats, so I really hope Link gets someone professional to sort this out before he has to sit on the sofa with a family of rats to watch tv.

Well, at least the source of the stank is found, and probaly only hours before an explosion which would have made things even more unpleasant. And because this gruesome story can’t really get any worse at this point, I’m going to say that a dead rat is food for more rats - and leaving rat traps unattended means that if they ever caught anything, they probably lured more rodents to the space. And who knows what other creatures, flies and bugs, and...eww.

I know the reason the rat looks so chubby is because it’s literally ready to explode, but that is by no means, a small rat. Are rats, like everything else, bigger in America? (I was going to place the screenshot of the stinker here, but let’s just not do that.)

So, what did this vlog teach us? As the sorroful notes of the trumpet travel across the neighbourhood (I wonder what Link’s neighbours thought of this?), and the rat is put into it’s temporary resting place (before the dump), we can admire Link for his bravery in dealing with this ordeal. We can appreciate the fact that Rhett looks like a senior skateboarder with his cap reversed (I prefer this version of his look).

Most of all, we now know that under the peaceful exterior of the Neal residence, someone with five fingers in each of their hands, crawls in the dead of night, looking for a way to access the house, and the innocent people and dog, who sleep in their beds, thinking they are safe. 

Let’s not think about that.

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 126

July 15

Some disappointment today, Barry was not able to get neutered because the techs noticed some discharge from his eye and crusty nose and were worried he might have a URI or other infection that could impede his recovery. This is very weird because he did have some noticeable eye discharge when he came home but I hadn't noticed any at all before then. It could be a stress response from going to the vet, I suppose, or he might have bumped his eye on something, but just to be on the safe side, we're doing some medication and bumping forward the surgery. It's a bummer because it throws off the timeline, but it must be done. 

Yikes, that paragraph got interrupted by Barry himself, who managed to get behind some storage boxes and fell off whatever he was standing on. He yowled to wake the dead and I had to go rescue him. He came out poof-tailed but I don't think he hurt himself, At least I can't find any specific places that seem to bother him, but I'll keep an eye on that too. Big kittens get in big mischief, and they're a lot more mobile about it than the littles I usually deal with! 

I redid the garden watering system today, cut the wick into ten five-foot lengths and ran one from the bucket into each plant. That seems to work better, though I'm going to have to work on adjusting the height of the bucket to control the flow, I think. Word has come down that my husband's university is going to require professors on campus at the beginning of August even though students are all going to be remote, so our trip definitely isn't going to be longer than ten days. Oh well, still better than going back into a full classroom! At least he can sanitize his own office. I'm bidding in that surplus auction from the other day on a microwave so he can have one in his own office. He's got a mini-fridge already but was using the communal microwave and that's no good right now. In any case, I figure the wick system will keep the plants alive for ten days or so. 

Okay, Barry came out and chased the Cat Dancer around like a wild man for several minutes, so I think he's feeling pretty good. Bixby is not quite as into it, but he had a much rougher day and is missing a couple of body parts right now, so he's expected to want to take it a little easy. 

I went over to the drugstore again and fed the cats there, although this time only Mamacat came out and bogarted the entire two cans of food. Wow! I think she must be nursing part time still, but I put out a third can just in case she wanted to bring the kids out for some supper. She never did, even though I waited forty minutes, so I expect she was down in the storm drain sleeping off a Thanksgiving-sized feast. I do have to feel sympathy for any mom who sneaks away from the kids for a few minutes just to eat as much as she wants in peace! Kind of like me on Halloween night with all the mini Snickers bars. 

The kiddo wanted something new to read today, so we looked at the Epic app to see what stuff he might be into. There doesn't seem to be as much on there for older readers as I would like, but I put together a collection of some stuff I thought he would like and he got a couple hours of entertainment (and several points for screen time) out of reading. I wish our library would open for pickup at least, so we could get some new books for him. He just finished rereading Trumpet of the Swan and loved it, anybody know any books similar to that? 

Today's meals were nothing fabulous either, beef stew in the crockpot and bread. We did finally get to the bread store after saying all week "Wow, we really need to get to the bread store," so that's nice. The kiddo can polish off half a loaf by himself if not stopped, so bread is always in high demand. Luckily he can also polish off a pound of grapes or a bag of baby carrots, so it's not just empty carbs that he's hoovering up, it's everything. I am told to not expect this to change for the next eight or nine years. 

[nosferatyou]

New Tune: Chapter 5 (Jake Kiszka x Reader)

WC: 3.3k

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of emotional abuse, and some sick guitar solos.

Summary: Two guitarists meet at a Rock Festival, only having a week with each other before they have to return to their own lives. The bond they create is unfeigned and resolute.

“You have fun last night?”

“Huh?” I look up from my guitar to see Asa, sporting a confused look on my face.

He shook his head and laughed to himself, handing his phone to me.

“You must've really gone overboard last night if you don't remember this.”

Some random Greta Van Fleet fan account had posted a video of Jake and I from the night before. The both of us jumping off stage and into the pit, and pictures of us in the mosh.

“Scroll down, there's more.” Asa suggested, waving his hand towards his phone.

I guess all these accounts tagged the whole band to get our attention, and it definitely had mine. Multiple people had taken pictures and videos of us together, some accounts more… professional than others. Many were excited to see Jake with a girl, but all were mostly confused as to why he was moshing in the first place. It cracked me up honestly. I quickly sent some of the posts to myself before handing it back over to him.

“You think this will have any repercussions?” I asked, a worried look creeping over my face.

“I doubt it, at least not for us. We barely have the following that they have, even then our publicist is so used to the shit that you get into.”

“I guess so, I just hope it isn't a problem for him. Id feel awful it was.”

“Well you'll see him later right?” Asa asked. 

“Yeah, I’m sure we are just gonna laugh about it, but I honestly didn't think this would happen.”

“Y/N, everyone will have moved on by tomorrow morning, don't stress too much.

“I'll do my best.” I said meekly.

I don't even want to know if any of the articles have reached my boyfriend Sam. Knowing him he's already well aware, and seen all he can. I just don’t want to think about that right now, or any of this. The both of us should be able to have fun without it being blasted everywhere. 

I glanced over to my phone, which I haven't touched since yesterday, and god knows when the last time I actually charged it was.

 Asa noticed what I was looking and asked “Y/N when was the last time you checked your phone?” 

“During our last practice..” I said hanging my head in shame.

He nodded, staring at his coffee, seemingly lost in thought.

“If you ignore him now he's just going to get more upset.”

“Asa, you think I didn't know that?” I snapped, my voice raising.

I caught myself and took a deep breath “I’m sorry, it's just, my patience is wearing thin, I just need to get home.”

“I don't know why you're with him, Y/N. This is abuse and you know it!” He raised his voice, feelings he was holding in finally getting let out.

“He has never hit me and he never would.” I put my guitar next to me, it doesn't seem like I will be needing it anymore.

“You know that's not what I mean. The way he treats you? The possessiveness? None of it is okay. You just outright ignoring him because its too much to handle just shows me that deep down you agree. You ignore everything that's hurting you, I've known you long enough to realize that much.”

I just stayed quiet, my head hung low. Everyone knew the truth, everything he was saying was true. I always knew it. I just. He’s what I deserve, with the way I treat myself and the life I live. It's not something anyone can handle. I'm not going to find anyone else who can. So I'm okay with Sam. He's the best I will do. At least I think he is, but I don't want to put anyone else through having to love me.

“Y/N I care about you. We all do you know? You're family and to see you put up with everything he drags you through is just…” He stopped to think of his words. “You have such a big heart, he never will deserve you.”

And with that he got up and walked to the back of the bus, not before letting out a huff and running his hands through his hair.

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

I had been a bit shaky all day. Everything Asa said was starting to get to me. His words creeping through my mind every other minute, and then it’s all i could think about. Along with the drama I caused with Jake and his community, but I have to put on a happy face for the boys and it's nothing a bit of liquid courage couldn't help. 

I knocked on their door three times then stepped back. Adjusting the guitar strapped to my back. All of their cheerful voices suddenly stopped before I heard someone loudly clamber their way towards the door. It swung open, almost slamming into the side of the bus. A very excited Sammy was behind it, a giant smile on his face.

“Y/N! You’re here! Come on in.”

 He squished against the wall to let me in and then closed the door behind me. I was greeted with the sight of all the boys at the wrong instruments. Jake on the drums, Josh with a guitar, and Danny playing the bass. Sam ran from behind me and grabbed the mic from the stand. 

“This ones for the ladies.” He said with a smooth voice, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

He counted off and they all started playing “When a man loves a woman.” Sam practically overpowered everyone else with his singing, which was arguably him just screaming the lyrics. The rest of them kept up though, which was unsurprising. Josh tripped up on his part a couple times, but for someone so new to the instrument he killed it. 

They all finished off the song by just wailing on their instruments, and of course, Sam just screaming into the mic. When all was quiet he asked into the mic,

“Well?”

“Fucking fantastic, all of you. I would have brought my trumpet if I knew you guys would be doing this!”

“You play trumpet?” Inquired Danny.

“Been playing for about 15 years. I started back in high school and just never stopped.” I explained while unpacking my guitar.

“Jake you couldn't have brought around a cooler person.” Said Sam, grabbing your case and tucking it away.

“You all are way to nice. But I at least brought my guitar, so let's get to jamming.”

***

“Did you attempt to learn all of our songs before coming?” asked josh, who seemed very impressed with my skills after playing through their set list.

“Found a couple tutorials, so kind of. I also am just a professional at jamming. Don’t forget that I’m also a musician.”

“Oh it's definitely not forgotten.”

Jake stepped into the conversation asking “Think she can handle Black Flag?” A suggestive look on his face.

Him and Josh made eye contact, both nodding and looking back over to me. Man, I hate the fucking twin talk.

“I think it's right up her alley.” Josh said looking back over to me before going back to his spot at the mic stand.

They all talked among themselves for a moment before getting set up again and back in their own spots. Sam sat on the couch, Danny in the back nearer to the bunks, Josh upfront, and Jake and I standing where the table was. The amps were everywhere and kind of evenly distributed. They luckily had an extra for me, and a couple of pedals that Jake wasn’t using. I mean it was just Comp and Reverb, but my guitar already had a funky tone to it.

Josh counted off and Jake went right into it. Tapping his strings faster and faster, Giving me a playful smile. When he got faster I mouthed “Show off.” He just smirked and went into a heavier riff. 

He started playing slower and once the rhythm section joined so did I. I could tell by their nods that they were planning to come in, so in tow I joined with them. Josh joined in with heavy and raspy vocals, with this being a much darker song. He nodded to me and put his pick in his mouth holding it there. Telling me this will be a softer portion. But that didn't last long, because Josh started screaming and Jake joined in with a heavy solo in his typical style. Keeping eye contact with me the whole time. He smirked at me and just kept playing, doing his back bends, wailing on his guitar in the upper register. I played rhythm just to amuse him during his solo, I saved my best for later. I noticed how quickly his hand went back to the position from before and  I joined him for the main riff. We all went back into that flow again through the next verses, and then Josh let out the same scream as before.

 I gave Jake a wink and then stole his solo from him. At first replicating what he did in the beginning of his. He laughed and shook his head, reacting to me showing off. After a bit I broke off into my own, a heavier tone than his. I stepped on the Comp and the delay pedals to add my own personal flair. I'd be kidding myself if I didn’t say I was showing off in that moment. I pulled out all my best guitar moves and licks. I kept with their flow of course, but I put more of a Eric Clapton meets David Gilmour. Bending the shit of of my strings, working up and down the blues scale. Using this moment to get out all of my frustrations and anger. I beat that guitar, wailing away, putting out everything I could. I did just as Jake did, keeping eye contact with him when I could, a smirk on my face. I was playing well, same as him even, but I wasn't going to beat him this way. I threw one more smirk his way and swung the guitar onto my shoulders in one confident swoop. Seamlessly playing with the guitar, tapping in the upper register of my guitar for a bit, then upon hearing Josh start joining in with vocals I swung it back down, and made eye contact with Jake again. He laughed with a smile on his face and we both joined in on the main riff. With the song coming to a close we all harmoniously closed out the song with a quieter tone. But of course not without Josh's expert screams and Danny beating those drums to death. 

 We all let out a huff and sat in silence for a moment. Sam broke the silence by saying

“Jesus Christ the two of you killed that. Jake, you shouldn’t be surprised if your spot in the band is stolen.”

Jake directed his attention back to me, a goofy smile on his face.

“I definitely wouldn't be. She lived up to her end of the bargain, that’s for sure.”

I was full of adrenaline, I felt the same way I did after every show with my own band. The smile on my face and my breathlessness made it clear. These boys gave a new challenge that no one else has provided. Especially Jake, throughout all of tonight we kept our eyes on each other. Only leaving to catch cues, but even then we both merely missed some, which didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the boys. 

His contact doesn't just happen when we are playing. Whenever we are together his attention is all on me. Especially when we are with the boys, hes quieter than when we are alone. He sits back and watches everything unfold. I’ve definitely noticed, but i'm unsure if he has.

I catch his eyes when he finishes his sentence, it gives off a look of intrigue more than anything else. 

Before I could get in my words josh Piped in,

“I don’t know what your talking about, Jake, but you are sure as hell right. She's absolutely fantastic.” His eyes dropped for a moment in shame. “And I admittedly have never heard any of your songs.”

“Well that has to change doesn’t it?” I said with a playful smirk.

I grabbed my phone and an aux plugged into one of the amps. Starting off with one of our earlier pieces, which was heavily blues inspired, but still kept our psychedelic style in it.

We all squeezed onto the small couch and just listened to the music. I was pretty nervous because I knew their musical domain more laid in folk than anything else. They all bobbed their heads along, and their concentrated looks on their faces made it impossible to determine what they were feeling. 

I stopped it after a couple of songs, and turned to face them.

“So? Are we god awful?” I asked.

“Honestly I love how you're truly mixing the new with the old. The organs and the guitar mixing together has a very Doors vibe. It's got something very unique to it all, Y/N. I love it.” Danny said, his focus drifting of to think of the right words. 

“I personally love the way your guitar is standing out. Its tonality is really something else, very you.” Jake reached over and squeezed my hand, and my cheeks burned red. It was like they had a mind of their own. I quickly turned to Sam who was sat next to me so maybe Jake wouldn't notice.

“Okay so.” He said with a very determined look on his face. “ Let's talk organ player, because I really like his whole thought process and-” He was cut off by the sound of my phone ringing over the speaker. Dread filled my whole body and I tensed up. All of the thoughts I had repressed during tonight came flooding back. Jake who still had my hand in his, took notice to that.

“Fuck I shouldn’t of brought that.” I said to myself.

“You gonna answer that?” Josh asked, a quizzical look on his face.

“I-”

“Y/N go answer it, You know you should. We will be here when you get back.” Jake said softly, he looked at me with compassionate eyes. He squeezed my hand one more time and let go. 

I let out a shaky breath and went to go pick it up. I unplugged it and walked off the bus to get some privacy.

The air that was normally dry and burning was now frigid compared to it. I shivered as I stepped off and hesitantly hit the answer button. 

Wow two phone calls in one week that's a new record.” Annoyance extremely visible in his voice.

“You only picked up because you know you're guilty.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a long sigh.

“ What am I guilty of Sam?” I paused and let out another huff. “I’m honestly confused.”

He spat out “ Your’e fucking sleeping with that jimmy page wannabe.” 

Anger bubbled in my gut. His constant accusations were starting to get on my last nerve.

“Sam are you fucking serious? Honestly I don't know why I put up with your shit.”

“You put up with my shit? Are you fucking serious Y/N?” I get ignored by you every damn day for 

God knows what reason.” He stopped for a moment. His angry tone switching to something more of condescending. 

“I think you owe me an apology if anything.” I could practically feel his judging eyes through the 

phone.

“ I mean you ignore me, sleep with other men, and leave me here to deal with all of it. Alone.” 

God at this point I’m starting to see what Asa is saying. Sams getting on my last nerve.

“I owe you nothing.” I said curtly.

He just laughed.

“Seriously, Sam. I owe you jack shit for all you've put me through.” 

“Ooh is Jimmy Page getting in your head about us? Giving you false confidence?” 

“I’m not fucking Jimmy Page!” I yelled a bit too loudly for how close quarters everything was. But my volume stayed there, if not increased.

“You see one article about me having actual fun and you’re getting so fucking jealous that you throw accusations around to rattle me up and ruin my good experiences at work? I worked so fucking hard to get here and you can’t handle me getting all this attention can you? You seriously can’t trust me can you? Fuck you, Sam.”

Rage boiled in my veins. I couldn't keep still in my spot, I was pacing rapidly back and forth, and my free hand was clamped so tight my nails broke skin.

Even if I wanted to do stuff with Jake I have enough decency to keep it in my pants. 

He stayed silent, his fragile ego probably breaking over the fact that I could finally stand up to him.

“ You really can’t handle your liquor or the truth can you?” He simply said.

That bastard. 

“Oh Fuck off you free loading bitch.”

I hung up and threw my phone to the ground in a plight of rage. 

I marched around in circles, whisper yelling curse words to myself to calm any anger I had. 

I don’t think I can take his abuse anymore, I just feel so stupid for even taking it in the first place. How the hell did I not see any of this? I'm an actual idiot for not seeing his bullshit. 

I took a final deep breath, picked up my phone, and marched onto the bus.

All the boys were standing in positions around the room that could only be described as “Act natural”. All of them gave me a nervous look when I re-entered. 

With gruff tone I said “Who wants to play an Im angry and want to let out steam song?”

All of them very quickly grabbed their instruments and got into position.

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

After a very long (and loud) rendition of “Sweet Leaf” we all collapsed to the couch in exhaustion. Usually one song wouldn't have had any of us beat but prior we had been playing for at least three hours. They all put something into that last song, I obviously let out all my frustrations into that song, and I guess they had as well.

We sat in a peaceful silence for awhile until Josh finally spoke up 

“Well while you were… Out. We all finally discussed an idea pertaining to you and we came to a mutual agreement.”

I gave him an obvious look of confusion, and then looked over to Jake whose entire face was washed in excitement.

“Josh why does that sound like you’re about to murder me?”

He laughed and said “ No need to worry, darling! We were just wondering if you wanted to join us for our encore tomorrow? We all obviously play well together, and we’d love to have the honor of sharing the stage with you tomorrow.”

A huge smile broke out on my face, excitement now evident in me as well. 

“Fuck yeah I want to! What song were you thinking?”

“Well now that's up for discussion, but I have a couple ideas that I think will blow people out of the water.”

“I can’t wait. It'll be a fantastic way to end the week.” 

“The feelings mutual.”

[life-of-ice]

Masaki Sako's Entrance Exam

@taiyuu-high-oct

Trumpets blared out from the phone.

Masaki woke up, and leaned off his be to reach for his phone to turn off all five of his alarms. He blinked blearily and squinted to try and identify the time.

Maybe it’s 10:00? God, I really need to stop being so lazy and fix the settings on my phone.

After squinting at it for a few more minutes, he shrugged, and hopped out of bed. Getting the clothes he laid out the night before, he quickly got dressed, and made a mental note to do some laundry once he got home. And buy some groceries maybe, they needed some more. After all, Masaki’s parents were going to be gone all day. He put some bread in the toaster, and ran off to finish getting ready for the day.

Brushing his teeth and his hair, he idly scrolled through tumblr,  and resolutely ignored his contacts case which stared at him accusingly.

Ooh look, new posts about quirked animals! Can’t believe Nezu’s not on that list. Kinda weird, but okay. I think it’s time to go soon, let’s hurry back upstairs!

Masaki jumped as trumpets blared again from his phone, one more alarm set for the express purpose of making sure he wasn’t late.

Well shit.

And now he really needed to boogie. Grabbing his shoes, his prepacked backpack, an his piece of toast, he dashed out the door to reach the last train before it left for the docks.

“Aw shit!” He dashed back inside to retrieve his bag of jewelry, and then finally left, sprinting for all he’s worth towards the train station.

“Good luck on our exam!” yelled his neighbor as he rushed by.

“Thanks!” he yelled back.

Still sprinting he hears a chorus of mutters from besides him and sees a blue haired girl, making large leaps to go at a fast pace.

"Oh no I'm going to be late and miss the last train, if I don't make it I'm not going to get in….."

Having noticed Masaki, she looked up. 

"Oh hello! Based on what you're doing, I bet you're running late for the train too, huh?"

Masaki nodded in response, too busy running to respond properly.

She giggled, and he smiled at her.

They got to the train station, and somehow, when Masaki turned to make sure he was getting on the right train, he lost her.

That's a shame. It's kinda sad to ride the train by yourself.

Masaki got off the train, and ran to the docks, hoping that the transportation was not what he thought it would be. 

He looked up at a gargantuan boat, with TH printed on it in bright letters.

Of course it's a boat, the school's on an island, dumbass. Ok, so maybe it won't be that long.

"Hey applicants! Be prepared for a 30 min boat trip!"

Yeah, no. It wasn't going to be a short boat trip.

After a long, long boat trip in which Masaki queasily reconsidered all of his life choices to go to school on an island that he couldn’t fly to, they finally arrived at the dock of Taiyuu High School.

The place for hero hopefuls.

Three people welcomed the applicants on a podium, one was a lady with black and white hair, who was kinda scary looking. Another was a deer man in a suit, and the last was a dog. 

The dog looked smart.

"Hello! I am Mrs. Chikyu, and I'm the principal here at Taiyuu High. This is the vice principal, Mr Kazumi. Alright applicants! First there's the written test," the lady waited for the groans and moans to subside then continued, "Then there's the practical exam! The practical exam is an obstacle course where you'll have to beat up some robots, save some people, and get to the finish line as fast as you can!" 

She paused for their murmurs again."Also, the test is on another island. So be prepared for one more boat trip! But for now, follow either me, or Mr. Kazumi to go your written exam rooms."

Not another one.

All of the applicants finish in record time it feels like, die to the anticipation of the practical exam. And they board one more boat to get to another island.

Masaki sighs as he watches the other applicants mill around, all of which seem much more confident then he was. He started putting on his multitude of jewelry, first the iron ring, then the turquoise necklace, then the silver bracelet, and finally gold earrings.  Masaki glanced disastefully down at himself.

“Man, I haven’t been this mismatched in a longg time.” he muttered, eyeing the shininess of his jewelry in comparison to his drab sleeveless hoodie, sweatpants, and red shoes. 

A few minutes later, they finally arrived. 

Masaki looked up in astonishment at this humongous facility, that was used only once a year for just entrance exams.

Imagine what the real thing is like, Masaki.

The principal clapped her hands to grab their attention. “Alright folks, let’s get started! Don’t forget, you need to finish one lap through the course! Okay, GOOOO!”

Startled by the abrupt start, everyone froze to look at the principal who only smiled back at them. She shooed them forward, “I said go already! Come on, guys!”

Along with most of the other applicants, he finally took the hint and took off, dashing as hard as he could as he headed for his first obstacles.

It looked like the first zone was an absolutely trashed city. All of it was ruined, with building skeletons, fires, and wreckage, everywhere he looked. He vaguely remembered something about rescuing people from the principal’s first speech, but she skimmed over it so quickly that Masaki definitely could not remember what was said about it. 

Masaki was going to fly over the course to get to the end faster, and maybe get to the so called villains a bit faster. He did need a place to jump off from, because while his wings were strong, they acted more like a glider because of his body wasn't completely adjusted for wings. 

He ran towards the closest building skeleton with the intent of climbing it, when he stumbled over a humanoid robot.

I wonder what this is doing here. Maybe it’s a robot that someone defeated already?I

A sign flashed on the robot’s chest. It said “Rescue Me”.

“Alright, gotta do what the lady asks.” said Masaki shrugging. He picked up the robot, and ran towards the closest “safe zone” which were marked by the forcefield around it, to keep applicants safe if they needed a break, or to store these “people” to save. 

He was almost to the safe zone when he heard a heavy thud. He turned quickly to see what was behind him, and what he saw was a giant robot with a two printed on it, aiming a laser at the person on his back. 

Masaki looked up at the robot. “Well, that’s fun.” 

The robot made a big show of charging up its laser, and Masaki sprinted into the safe zone to get the person inside. The laser fired seconds after he entered, and it hit the barrier.

He wiped the sweat off his face in his short respite, and launched himself back into the fray, watching carefully as other people used their quirks to destroy robots and move forward, someone was punching very neat holes through the robot, someone appeared to be teleporting robots’ heads off, it was nuts. 

Masaki faced down the robot that was firing at him earlier, and eyed it. He already knew what he was going to do, but he needed to be sure that there was enough time for him to do it. 

1.

2.

3.

Ok, let’s go!

Masaki started tapping his eyeballs frantically, and activated his quirk, forming two iron and turquoise knives. Dissipating his wings, he whipped out the knives to begin stabbing and climbing up the giant robot. Reaching the top, having barely broken a sweat, he formed a much, much larger chunk of turquoise and started bashing the robots head like there was no tomorrow. Satisfied with his destruction, he dissipated his weapons, reformed his wings, and launched himself off the robot, going on to the next robot that he saw repeating the process on quite a few others.

This is wayyy too easy. How’s this an exam? How many robots have I destroyed? How many people have I rescued? God, I hope I have enough points to pass…. Oh lol, she just fell off that robot!

Masaki had no idea how many he had destroyed, but he figured his point level was getting higher. He had made a few of the robots shoot at each other, and the ones with a 3 on them were easy to trip up. He continued to rescue people both from robots, and from other applicants who were being so stupid with their quirks. 

He growled in frustration as he threw up a wall of earth to protect the person he's rescuing.

Like really guys, it's not that hard to just aim!

Cursing as his eyes twitched in pain from the dust around him, he reached the next zone, only to find that it’s just a mountain.

Round two, same procedure. 

Make knives. 

Climb Robot.

Bash the robot’s head in, dissipate his weapons, and glide down. 

Rinse, and repeat.

Masaki made it to the next zone in record time, having an easier time making it uphill then the other applicants due to having climbed one of the robots and soaring over the peaks instead of climbing over it like an average pleb.

He reveled in the feeling of the wind through his hair, and wondered what it would be like to really have wings. Wings made of flesh and blood that he could feel. 

If only I were more like my parents. 

In the midst of his enjoyment, he winced as he realized that he probably missed a bunch of people to rescue. 

The mountain came to an abrupt end, as it started steeply plunging downhill, showing a terrain made of different sized rocks. It looked like a landslide. The robots looked like they were having a hard time navigating through the terrain. 

I’m going to have to be more careful.

Instead of rushing at the robots like he had earlier, now he went a bit slower, to make sure he wasn't knocking anything down. 

He climbed up on more robot, and knocked it out with his usual technique, when he realized that it was collapsing. 

Oh no. Oh no no no no.

Masaki watched in horror as he saw the thing tilt and crashdown, underneath him, and frantically leaped off, hopefully to avoid the giant landslide that he was sure was going to crash down and crush something.

He landed several meters away, and braced himself for the inevitable thud.

Only it didn't come. All the rocks remained in their exact positions before the robot had fallen.

Of course they wouldn't make it so it could hurt anybody. I guess the rocks really are stable!

Masaki had glided his way to the last zone, having rescued people and bashed robots along the way, when he came to what looked like a shore line. A big shoreline. There were floating robots with lasers floating around.

He could see the end in the distance, indicated by two bright yellow flags, and saw other competitors heading towards it already, making creative uses of their quirks to get across.

Masaki sighed and blinked his eyes blearily. There wasn't any place high enough for him to glide off of, so he's going to have to swim over to one of the robots and climb one of those.

Damn, I'm so tired.

He sighed, and got into the water, shivering at its cold temperature and began swimming. He agonized at the sight of all the other applicants making much better time than him, and when he finally reached the robot, he didn't even try to do anything cool. He swung up, bashed it with huge chunk of turquoise and called it a day.

He finally reached the top, and reformed his wings for the last time. He jumped and glided down from the robot, almost to the finish line when he saw someone struggling in the water.

It was a person covered with freckles and an awful tie dye job that he had seen earlier in the waiting room.

Oh dear. I think he's drowning. But how is he drowning? I mean, his head is above the water.

With a pang of shock, Masaki swooped a bit lower to see what was wrong, and misjudging his aim, nosedived into the water.

"SHI-!"

The other person, taking no notice of him, continued to struggle in the water.

"Hey-" Masaki coughed. " I'm going to try and get you out, ok?"

The winged boy dissipated his wings, and grabbed onto the other person by the arm, and tried dragging them to the finish line, which was so, so close, but so far away from a kid who had been going full force with nothing but his brute strength.

Why did I ever think I could rescue someone else in the water when I'm this exhausted? Also, why does the person feel like they got stabbed a bunch or something?

Masaki reached down to his feet and created a large piece of plastic to float on the surface of the water with the freckles person. 

Yeah, I'm not going to make it. This plastic is only going to last for a few more seconds, I hope someone's going to come out here to come help us.

Masaki felt a weight on the piece of plastic that was keeping them afloat. He looked up to see a grey skinned girl, reaching down and touching the two people. The world spun, and then they landed, thankfully, at the finish line.

Masaki got up from his face plant, and looked at his savior. 

"Thank you for saving me!" said Masaki rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, about that, I didn't mean to mess with your race."

She glanced at him for a moment, muttered something, and walked off.

He watched her leave and shrugged. Let bygones be bygones, right?

Masaki went to crouch by the freckles person, who now that he realized, was covered with holes. 

Yup, sure, why not.

The brown haired boy shook their shoulder.

" Hey. Are you doing ok?"

They stirred, and sat up. 

"How the fuck did I get here? I mean I know I fell off a robot, but jeez. Did I suddenly gain the ability to teleport?"

" Well, no, but that girl can teleport!" The holey kid with green eyes spun around to look at Masaki. " She got us out!"

"Oh that's good," They sighed, and frowned. "What do you mean, we?"

Masaki grinned sheepishly and blinked hard to try and clear his vision. "Um, I tried to rescue you? And I started drowning myself?"

He snorted. "That's one way to go."

Masaki grinned. "Yup, it sure is. Isn't it super cool that we made it! I hope we passed! And..."

The two walked off together towards the main building, and waited for the rest of the applicants.

".... And that's how my quirk works!"

The Principal butted in, and announced to the crowd of kids.

"Alright guys! See you next time! Your results will come in the mail in a few days! Good luck!"

With that, they were delivered back to the docks.

Masaki returned home to an empty house, and finished his chores for the day. He left a note for his parents telling about his day, and took off all his jewelry. 

As he fell asleep, there was only one thought in his mind. 

And now we wait.

[abovethesmokestacks]

Congrats on the milestone! 💖 is it possible to get “The date didn’t go well.  Yeah, she/he didn’t like how I kept mentioning all of our adventures.” + Nick Vaughn? Please & thank you ☺️

Mysteries

He’s back at Grand Central, far too little sleep in his body, but he’s there, as if pulled in and unable to resist. The case rests beside him, the trumpet inside hastily polished. Not that it’ll matter in the end. In the end, it’s all on him.

“Jeez, Nick, what are you doing here?”

Your voice pulls him out of the haze where he may or may not be dreaming about still being in bed, blowing this thing off just for a precious two hours more sleep. Smiling, Nick, shrugs, the motion morphing into a stretch and oh dear god, that feels so good. Once this day is over, he’s gonna go home, he’s gonna faceplant into his own bed and he’s gonna sleep for twelve hours straight.

You roll your eyes at him, “Come on, you look dead on your feet. You need some coffee in you.”

He’s in no mood to protest, simply gets up, grabs his case and slouches after you. It’s far too early to be that chipper, it has to be. Then again, it’s coming up on noon, and he’s not the only one looking haggard around here. He’s likely not the only one wishing he was back in bed, either. You lead him through the station and into the bar where you work, directing him to a chair with a simple, “sit”. Easy enough. At least the stool will be too uncomfortable to fall asleep in. Resting his head in his hands, Nick listens with half an ear as you putter around, barely notices when a tiny cup of coffee lands in front of him. It burns on his tongue before his eyes bulge and he nearly chokes in an attempt not to spray it all over you and your pristine dress shirt.

“Are you okay?” you ask, and while there is concern in your voice, your lips do a poor job of hiding your smile.

He grimaces something that he thinks might be a smile, but the sharp, bitter taste is now ingrained in his tongue and it makes his face wanna curl in on itself.

“Think you gave me battery acid.”

You snort. “Triple shot of espresso. You need a kickstart, Vaughn, because I refuse to stand here and listen to you whine about how you blew your audition.”

“It tastes awful,” Nick mutters, ignoring the reminder of why he’s dragging himself up and back to Midtown when he could be sleeping the day away like a sane human being.

“It tastes great, you just need to stop drinking the shitty kind of diner coffee. Coffee should not have a sheen of gunk on it.”

“Snob.”

Shaking your head, you set about opening the register, stealing a few glances at him while he sips the tiny, supercharged cup with exaggerated grimaces. Nick might be putting on a little bit of a show. Just a little. He knows it makes you smile.

“So…”

“If you say ‘big day, huh?’, I will leave,” he tells her, pushing the now empty cup away from himself.

“Oh, how you wound me,” you deadpan, leveling him with a stare. “I was gonna ask how your evening was. Last I saw you were disappearing into the night with a pretty blonde? I never thought I’d see the day when you went on a date.”

“Wasn’t a date. Kinda got her into trouble in the end.”

“How much trouble could you have gotten her in, you’re a trumpetist!”

Nick snickers. “Okay, first off, ouch. Second, a lot apparently. She missed her train and her purse got lifted.”

“That doesn’t sound like your fault,” you point out, coming around the bar counter to sit down next to him. “Unless you tripped her and then ran off with her purse.”

“Funny.”

“Okay, so you got her in trouble?”

“Maybe not in trouble.” He sighs. More like he got himself into trouble. “I made trouble for her. She needed to get back to Boston, but her purse was gone, so no money. I tried to offer to pay for a cab, but my card…” He can’t get the words out, it still stings. Declined. “Anyway, I tried chasing after the guy to snatched her purse, it was a whole mess, we ended up at some party and she sang while I played-”

Furrowing your brow, you hold up a hand, “Okay, stop. Where is this story even going, because so far it sounds like a date. A very cheesy one that would definitely be a rom com,  but still, very much a date.”

Another laugh. Date. Right.

"Well, if it was a date, then the date didn't go very well.” Maybe he sounds a little calloused, Nick thinks, but he’ll blame last night. And the espresso. Soured his heart down on the spot. He looks up at you. “Yeah, she didn't like how I kept mentioning all of our adventures."

That wipes the mirth right off your face, “You… You brought those up? Nick, why the hell would you need to recount our childhood adventures?”

“Yeah, $64,000 question, right? I just… It started as a thing to make her smile. You remember playing Nancy Drew? And I was somehow both the Hardy boys? So I told her I was an excellent detective and worked with Nancy Drew, and then you kind of just… kept popping up.”

You scrunch up your face, “Jesus Christ, you told her about that?”

Nick nods, “And the time we ran away for two hours. And the bike incident. And the- the-”

It the thing that’s never been spoken of between you. Not since it happened. High school graduation, you were gonna leave for a college at the other end of the country, he was going to movie into the city to attend a conservatory. The most awkward kiss at the end of the night, fumbling, with lips barely grazing and stuttering goodnight that followed. Nick clears his throat.

“Plus, we also, kinda ran into Hannah. That… didn’t really help. She… she actually kinda ditched me after that.”

You looked at him as the seconds ticked by, before finally shaking your head and reaching for the landline phone Nick couldn’t believe this place still had.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” you muttered, looking at him before smiling. “Nick? This is Nancy Drew. From the future. Listen. You are gonna walk in here one day- No, I’m not telling you where! It doesn’t- Look. You are gonna walk in here one day, and you are gonna tell me all about how you messed up a date. And it’s not gonna be the first time. You need to stop burning your bridges, Nick. And you need to stop blaming yourself. One day, you’re gonna meet a girl, and she’ll be great by all accounts. I won’t know her until we meet up three years after she turns down your proposal, and the only from what you tell me. Maybe I’m being unfair to her, but that’s on you.”

It’s a thing you two started. In a world before cell phones, you’d hang around payphones just before curfew and call your future selves, gushing about your futures. It was a good way to keep dreams alive. Calling the other way is apparently for killing them. You take a breath.

“You and I, we’re gonna blow it. The night of high school graduation, we’re gonna kiss, and we’ll blow it. Not for long, we’ll meet up again, obviously. But for eight years, we’re gonna blow it, but you better listen close now Hardy-comma-Frank-and-Joe. I don’t regret it. Sometimes I think about it, think about how you made my pulse run away from me, and how I angsted over it the first year of college. It happened. No, we were dismal. No finesse whatsoever. But I don’t regret it. It didn’t ruin us. So don’t ruin yourself over things to come. It’ll work out. Trust me. I’m Nancy Drew.”

Nick, amused smile tugging at his lips, is leaned back as much as the pitiful backrest allows. “What is he saying?”

You put down the phone, lean over the counter, “Dunno, hung up on me. Rude bastard.”

“Probably had to go solve a new mystery.”

“Probably.”

“Here’s another mystery for you, Nancy Drew.” His voice dips, goes low and gritty. “Would you do it again?”

“It?” He’s so close now and you can feel his breath, the soft scent of strong coffee, a whiff of whatever cologne he’d sprayed on before leaving home, the wool of his coat.

“Kiss. Not back then. We… we really blew it then. Wrong time. Or right, and we just…”

“Blew it,” you finish.

“Right. Maybe now’s not the right time either.

You smile at him, lean in, press your lips to him. It’s awkward. You’re hanging off your stool, body wavering as you try to keep your balance, and he’s positioned so that you have to stretch up and he has to lean down because the seats are nailed to the floor. It’s awkward because it’s been eight, going on nine years since last time and he’s had a night, a year, more than a year, and you’ve had your life and he’s learned about your own failures, but the warmth that blooms in him when you finally part makes it worth it.

“You never know unless you try, right?” you whisper.

So they try. They try and try, and it gets easier and maybe the world is a little kinder than he thought. Maybe it’s as easy as Nancy Drew and Hardy-comma-Frank-and-Joe. Maybe it’s as easy as reconnecting, running into each other here of all places. Maybe he should have known this was too good to be a coincidence. 

But then again... 

These things happen, right?

Little mysteries of life.

| Pia's 3k Drabble Round (closed) |

[thesportssoundoff]

Keeping up with my Yankees centric MLB preview, I wanted to continue onward and take a long look at the trade market the Yankees may be waddling into. Over the past two seasons, the Yankees have done most of their damage via trades both as it pertains to shedding unwanted salary, clearing 40 man space (Caleb Smith and Garrett Cooper to Michael King) and making big fish splash trades like Giancarlo Stanton and James Paxton. The Yankees have opted to make deals in large part because it's cheaper but also because they are just flat out good at it. So good in fact that it was reported toward the trade deadline that teams were absolutely going to get Brian Cashman to overpay because they didn't want to be the latest team to give up something for nothing. So if Brian Cashman opts to upgrade through trades, here are some names to keep in mind as we go through the late fall/early winter*

*As an aside, no Syndergaard, no DeGrom, no Bauer, no Kluber and no Lindor. For starters, I just don't see those deals as being remotely possible so I'm not going to waste keystrokes. Beyond that? I mean WE also all know WHY those deals make sense for the Yankees would be a barrel of fun so why waste time? They'd be amazing additions to any team let alone this one.

1. SP Robbie Ray, Arizona Diamondbacks 12-8 4.34 ERA 174 innings pitched 12.13 K/9 4.34 BB/9 98 ERA-

In a very chippy and controversial post season presser, Brian Cashman stated plainly that the people they were aiming at the deadline ultimately didn't get traded. We know for a fact that one of the guys that the Yankees chased up until the deadline was Diamondbacks arm Robbie Ray. According to Jon Heyman and other NY media members, the trade fell short when the Diamondbacks asked for a FOUR player package headlined by Clint Frazier. My guess is that the Yankees and Diamondbacks are going to circle back around to one another and the winter meetings will be ripe with Ray to the Yankees rumors. Robbie Ray is not the answer if you're chasing down a stud ace starter. He's a less talent but still quite good version of James Paxton. Let's discuss the positives; Robbie Ray is a strikeout machine who was somewhat fluked by the juiced ball in 2019. His xFIP is a full point lower than his actual ERA which suggests some flukiness. He was third in the MLB in K's per 9 innings and at 234 strikeouts, would easily give the Yankees a power lefty arm they yearn for. He's under contract until 2021 and is still on the right side of 30 which matters because Severino could be the only starter on the rotation now who is around beyond next year. The downside is that giving up assets for a guy who doesn't solve your desire/hunger for a #1 starter isn't normally wise business. Severino, Tanaka, Paxton and Robbie Ray is a really good top 4 in your rotation but it's not the sort of rotation you can trumpet out vs Houston's or even on the same level as Cleveland's top 3 of Klueber, Corrasco and Bieber. Ray also has crazy walk totals and like most power pitches he tends to give up flyball contact at a relatively spooky rate. Also could dude shave his beard in time before pitchers and catches report? That shit looks like it'll take a while.

2. SP Matt Boyd, Detroit Tigers 9-12 4.56 ERA 185.1 innings pitched 11.56 K/9 2.43 BB/9 98 ERA-

Sticking with the names and faces we know of that didn't get dealt, Matthew Boyd! The Yankees apparently checked in on Boyd a few times and Detroit figured the best way to start negotiations was with Gleyber Torres. Because idiocy exists in Michigan seemingly. To his credit, Boyd decided to "reward" the Tigers down the stretch for their view on him with a 5.55 ERA and a .505 slugging percentage against. With elevated walk rates and elevated contact overall, Boyd was pretty terrible in the 2nd half. The good news is that he throws for power, is under 30, has crazy K rates and is under contract into 2023. He is worth a lot if you buy into the upside but worth a whole lot less if you take in the totality of the circumstances. he was slightly better away from Detroit and the fact that he pitched to softer contact on the road might have some pitching coach figuring it's just a desire to get out of a dead situation. It would also be fair to note that every team trading for a Tigers pitcher is going to remember how they jerked around teams on Michael Fulmer only for him to completely fall apart. Matthew Boyd is the ultimate gamble; ridiculous stuff, amazing K rate, good walk rate and a penchant for loud hits with a terrible second half to send him. My guess is Detroit would probably like to hold onto him until the trade deadline and then reconsider things.

3. RP Ken Giles, Toronto Blue Jays 1.87 ERA 23 saves 53 innings pitched 14 K/9 2.41 BB 41 ERA- 1 flat WHIP

The final name on our Trade Deadline targets from July. Apparently of the three names above, the Yankees were closest on Ken Giles as an added bullpen arm before something in the medicals spooked them. Giles had a great year in Toronto and was a quality-ish arm for Houston before falling off the map and losing his confidence, eventually getting swapped out for maligned Roberto Osuna. If Chapman opts out, it's worth noting that Giles is probably going to do around 8 to 10 mil or so through arbitration which would put him below Britton and Ottavino in  the financial totem pole. The guy who runs Toronto also was in Cleveland when they drafted Clint Frazier so clearly they have a comfort there on their end. Britton can close and Giles can be your 8th inning guy.

4. SS Nick Ahmed, Arizona Diamondbacks .254/.316/.437 19 HR 82 RBI 79 runs scored 93 OPS+ 92 wRC+

The general thought process is that if Didi leaves, the Yankees will just shift Gleyber Torres to shortstop full time, put DJ at 2B and have Gio and Voit round out the infield. In that case they probably will want somebody who can rotate around at a variety of spots in the infield to keep everybody fresh aka the same role they had in mind for DJ LeMehieu when they signed him. If they want a more traditional shortstop and use DJ/Gleyber/Gio as a trio of rotating infielders (or play DJ at 1st) then Nick Ahmed might make a lot of sense as a trade option. Going back to names from the past, the Yankees have inquired on Ahmed in the past; once as a potential 2B (the role went to Neil Walker) and once as a fill in for Didi when he had TJS. Ahmed had his career best year which is still noway near Didi's peak years BUT his glove is world's away better than Didi's peak years so that's the trade off.

5. 1B Daniel Vogelbach, Seattle Mariners .208/.341/.439 30 HR 76 RBI 79 runs scored 112 OPS+ 111 wRC+

The original plan in 2019 was a Greg Bird/Luke Voit platoon gig at 1st and DH. It didn't work out that and to his credit, Voit took the job and ran with it for the first half of the year. In the 2nd half, injuries and a lack of confidence in his ability to read the zone led to Voit being off the playoff roster. He's got all of the tools to be a really good hitting 1st baseman (less about the defense said then the better) but Voit remains a "Yeah but" for the Yankees. He's too good on paper to not make the team but too question marked filled at this point to be a reliable set it and forget it starter at 1st. Daniel Vogelbach falls into a similar boat as Luke Voit; both see a lot of pitches, both hit for power, both are cost controlled and both struggled in the 2nd half down the stretch. Vogelbach isn't great shakes defensively which would give the Yankees a sketchy lefty-righty platoon with bad defense but the pop and the OBP skills are tremendous and well worth considering if Vogelbach is not considered a key part of the Mariners rebuild. The argument could/should be made that the Yankees already have a Daniel Vogelbach in waiting in Mike Ford though.

6. SP Jose Quintana, Cubs 13-9 4.56 ERA 181 innings pitched 8.0 K/9 2.4 BB/9 107 ERA-

Went over this one elsewhere. For a Yankees staff that really could use the innings, Jose Quintana would provide a reliable somewhat affordable (at 11 mil) innings eater with upside. His stuff was basically the same as usual (he K'd a bit less than usual) and figures to have some bounceback ability especially if the balls are untreated this year.

7. DH Kyle Schwarber, Cubs .250/.339/.531 38 HR 92 RBI 82 runs scored 120 OPS+ 120 wRC+

So as previously stated; if Brian Cashman wants you then chances are he'll find a way to go and get you eventually. In 2016, Cashman went toe to toe with the Cubs in an attempt to get Kyle Schwarber for Aroldis Chapman. It didn't work out and apparently they tried again for the stretch run in 2017 as well. When the Yankees lineup was being wiped out with injuries, they went out and got a DH in Edwin Encarnacion with the belief being that they could hit their way by teams with no upgrades to the rotation. It didn't quite work out in the playoffs but Encarnacion was very reliable for the Yankees last year. Could the Yankees jump on a potential Cubs soft rebuild by grabbing Schwarber and using him as an occasional outfielder but mostly full time DH who mashes lefties and provides balance at the top of the line up between the likes of Stanton, Judge and Gleyber? Schwarber is an abysmal defender who mashes and then some but cannot hit lefties for the life of it. The price would probably be high despite his warts because he's still relatively cost effective and lefty power is always in demand.

8. RP Blake Treinen, Oakland Athletics 4.91 ERA 16 saves 58.2 innings pitched 9.1 K/9 5.6 BB/9

If the Yankees have to go and find some additional bullpen arms, they might find a friend out in Oakland. Blake Treinen was superb in 2018 and despite having similar peripherals for most of 2019, the results were way worse. EVEN accounting for regression to the mean, this was a hell of a decline for Treinen who ended the year on IL. At 31 years old and likely at an elevated (by bullpen standards) cost, the Yankees could take a low risk high reward flier on Treinen.

[johnabradley]

Exclusive: Carole Middleton's first interview: 'Life is really normal - most of the time'

‘Two things you need to know. Carole’s very, very nervous, and she doesn’t do sofas,’ the Telegraph’s team on the shoot warned me the night before I went down to Bucklebury in west Berkshire to interview her. ‘When we asked her to perch on one,’ they continued, ‘Carole’s response was, “Who sits around on a sofa?”’

Sure enough, a couple of days after the shoot, when Carole, clutching a soya latte (she’s recently gone vegan/flexitarian) and slightly late, sweeps into the boardroom at the HQ of Party Pieces, the business she set up in 1988, she doesn’t sit down but immediately takes me on a tour of her empire. Just like that. I don’t quite know what I expected – not trumpets, but perhaps some sense of ceremony – but then I don’t think she knew what to expect either. She’s never done an interview before.

The tour goes on so long that at one stage I wonder whether she’s planning to do the entire interview on the hoof as part of a cunning ruse to get it all over and done with before I’ve had time to press record. It does, however, give me time to adjust my retinas to the life-size Carole, inevitably smaller, but also more youthful, than the version the world has become accustomed to. This, lest we forget, is the future British king’s grandmother – arguably the second most famous granny on the globe.

In one sense, empire, as Carole Middleton would be the first to point out, is far too pompous a word for the collection of brick sheds and barns that Party Pieces has, over the years, colonised on a country estate in Berkshire, a 15-minute drive from the Middleton family home. There are a couple of large warehouses with radios blaring pop music and shelves of pre-filled party bags, fancy-dress costumes, table runners, Let’s Be Mermaids garlands, rose-gold team bride plates and much, much more. ‘And this is just a small part of it,’ says Carole.

There are around 7,000 products in total on the Party Pieces website. She’s seen the cactus, llama and fern trends come and, in some cases, go. But there will always be dinosaurs and princesses. The largest part of the business – at least half – remains children’s party accoutrements, but now there are also accessories for baby showers, 30th and 50th birthdays.

The subtext of all this is that Party Pieces is a serious business that was successfully operating a long time before what Carole later refers to as Catherine’s ‘impact’. It’s a private company and they won’t release figures, but during their busiest periods, they dispatch around 4,000 orders a week.

The beamed open-plan office is where most of her 30-strong admin team (none of whom seems given to hat-doffing in her presence) sit. As does Carole. ‘It’s better to be with everyone so you can see what’s going on,’ she notes. ‘They say it’s a bit like a hurricane arriving when I come in.’

The many Americans who order from Party Pieces would be charmed to know that chickens ran through central HQ until the Middletons moved in. But the décor is more Ryman than Soho Farmhouse. The beige carpets are worn, with several threadbare patches, and there are MDF desks and swivel chairs. The walls in the small boardroom are banana yellow.

Carole herself, however, is a vision in a khaki Ralph Lauren blazer and black T-shirt, black skinny M&S trousers (her legs are phenomenal) tucked into Russell & Bromley riding boots, and minimal jewellery – small drop earrings, a couple of gold rings and a thin gold chain with which she constantly toys. It is classic Middleton style, although Carole tells me she far prefers dresses (‘not ones that are tight round the middle though, my shape’s changing’). Maybe it’s the hair. She gets it done locally and it’s shorter and glossier than in recent pictures. The fact that it seems slightly darker emphasises how alike she and her daughter Catherine, the future Queen of England, look. Perhaps it’s the golden tan or the light-touch make-up – the kind where you can’t see the edges. But whereas Catherine and her sister Pippa look much the same on camera as off, Carole, all flashing, watchful hazel eyes and fluttery, girlish nerves is, at 63, far more striking, delicately boned and simultaneously softer-looking in real life than in pictures.

But the voice is what everyone wants to know about. Is it stewardessy (in her early 20s she worked for British Airways)? Elocutioned? Lynda Snell? None of the above. The best description is probably modern posh – not affected, not mockney. If we’re on a scale of BBC presenters, I’d say Mishal Husain. In terms of warmth… maybe Martha Kearney.

Although she hardly ever looks me in the eye, she is very cosy once she gets going: smart and interested. On the shoot, she asked everyone about themselves and dispensed breastfeeding tips to the make-up artist. I don’t think the solicitude towards others is forced, though it does take her a while to warm up (not in terms of temperature, she’s obviously got terrific circulation as there’s a bracing chill in that boardroom). But she does seem like a lot of fun.

You can see why the Middletons remain such a close family (Catherine texted her on the shoot to wish her luck) and why they all, spouses in tow, gravitate towards Granny Middleton. ‘I do love a good party,’ she says later. ‘I’m definitely a night owl and a real chatterbox. My children look at me sometimes…’

Obviously we’re not here to discuss the children, and certainly not their spouses (Pippa is married to James Matthews, a former racing-car driver, hedge-fund manager and heir to the Scottish feudal title Laird of Glen Affric; James, after an on-off relationship with TV presenter Donna Air, is currently single; their oldest daughter, we know about). Carole and her husband Michael have been commendably discreet during the 13 or so years since Catherine began dating the Duke of Cambridge. As Carole says, ‘Over the years, it’s proved wise not to say anything.’

But Party Pieces, her one-stop-solves-all business, has been going for more than 30 years, ‘and I just thought I should celebrate a little’. And it is a good story, part Catherine Cookson, part careers manual for would-be entrepreneurs, as well as being a business that, says Carole, has been flagrantly copied. Her own role model she says, was Laura Tenison, founder of kidswear brand JoJo Maman Bébé, whom she went to watch at a few conferences in the early days of her own company.

Carole Goldsmith, as she was, seems to have had a strong work ethic from the start. Her father Ron was a painter and decorator. Her mother Dorothy, aka The Duchess (because she always looked so impeccable), was a character. ‘Everyone adored my mother,’ she says when I relate how the taxi driver who picked me up from a local train station and drove me to the Party Pieces HQ, told me she’d been a close friend of The Duchess.

Ron and Dorothy moved to Berkshire from west London 10 years after Carole and Michael. Carole’s own closeness to her children and grandchildren is an echo of the relationship she had with her own family, which was ‘small but tight’. Her younger brother, ‘Uncle Gary’ of Maison de Bang Bang fame (at the time of Catherine and William’s wedding, the press had a joyful time detailing Gary Goldsmith’s party reputation), is also an entrepreneur.

Carole spent her first six months in a council flat in Ealing. She initially left school at 16, got a job with the Prudential in Holborn and hated it. ‘It was one of those massive offices with rows and rows of desks.’ So far, so early 1970s. But Carole knew she could achieve more and asked Ron if she could return to school to do her A levels. She got four: art, economics, English literature and geography, which she wanted to teach. ‘But my parents couldn’t afford to put me through college, so I thought I’d see if I could get a bit of money together and fund myself.’

While she’s recounting this, she suddenly remembers she got a job – she can’t remember the year – on the John Lewis A level trainee scheme. This has always been considered the gold standard in retail and was extremely hard to get on to. Carole is bemused by her own memory lapse: ‘Gosh… how did I forget? I can’t even remember when it was. I’ll have to check with Mike.’

This is a woman who clearly spends even less time navel-gazing than she does lounging on sofas. Too busy cooking. She adores cooking. ‘I probably have more cookery books than anything.’ At the moment her favourites are Mary Berry (‘she does use a lot of cream, though’) and Amelia Freer. The combination of the nation’s favourite baker and the fashionable nutritional therapist, who helped singer Sam Smith lose 3½st, seems very Carole.

The John Lewis gig was a dream, particularly her stint in china and glass at Peter Jones, which is where she realised how interested she was in finding out what kind of merchandise sold. But then they told her she had to do a spell on the shop floor as a sales assistant. ‘I thought, blow that. I’m not doing that for six months – it was really boring.’ So she got a secretarial job (she can still do Pitman shorthand) at BEA (before it merged with BOAC to become British Airways in 1974), but didn’t think much of secretarial work, either, so brushed up her French and got a job as ground staff.

‘It’s not like it is now,’ she explains, coming over momentarily a touch Mrs Bennet. ‘You had to be able to speak another language. It was almost like being at university.’ I think from all this we can conclude that Carole Goldsmith was pretty clear she wasn’t going to be fobbed off with also-ran situations.

The newly formed BA had trained too many pilots, so it was redeploying them on the ground and Carole found herself working alongside them as well as other senior staff.

Enter Michael Middleton, six years her senior, ‘rather shy’ but very handsome… A year after they married, she had Catherine; 18 months after that Pippa and then the Middletons moved to Jordan for three years, where Michael worked as a aero manager for an international air station (he was never a pilot). Jordan life sounds comfortable. There was a lot of socialising at the British Embassy, some help at home and the girls were in nursery school. But, says Carole, ‘I wasn’t convinced I wanted to be an expat mum and Mike’s job there was coming to an end.’

By the time they returned to the UK in 1987, Catherine was four and a half, Pippa 18 months younger and Carole, now 32, was pregnant with their third child, James. ‘I thought, “Oooh, bills to pay.” But I also had this strong feeling that I hadn’t achieved anything. I got married at 25, had Catherine at 26…’

Party Pieces launched the same year her son was born, in 1987, with a simple idea about a one-stop place where you could get everything you need for a children’s party. Carole visited the Birmingham Spring Fair, where she sourced some suppliers of paper plates and cups, stuck up a self-designed flyer at Catherine’s local playgroup in Bucklebury, and began stuffing bags from her kitchen table.

Business was steady if unspectacular – this was pre-internet, so responses weren’t always immediate. But then she had the brainwave of advertising with The Red House, a children’s book club she’d subscribed to once her brood began to read: 10,000 flyers to begin with and then 100,000. That’s when Party Pieces really took off.

She moved from her kitchen to a small business unit in nearby Hungerford – Mike built the packing benches. ‘That’s when Michael gave up his job at BA and came in. My mother thought that was big, because at that stage he probably wouldn’t have got employment again, but we could see this was a business that could scale up.’

When I ask about struggles or disasters she more or less shrugs off the notion. ‘We were pretty much the only ones doing this sort of thing when we started. It was really clear almost from the start that this was going to work. I got help from other mums – paperwork and that kind of thing… I think it’s easier to start a business when you’re young. You’re less aware of the pitfalls and maybe you have less of a lifestyle to lose.’

Listening to Carole talk about those early years, what comes across is her resourcefulness and stoicism. She feels they were lucky. ‘Running a business is really very simple: you buy things and sell them for a profit.’ Mike’s decision to quit his job was, she says, their wild card. She is very clear that the business was her idea. ‘And it was a good idea or it wouldn’t have taken off.’ Were there no sleepless nights over the financing? ‘We never took really huge risks. We had to fund our own growth,’ she replies. She doesn’t get stressed, she says, although she was clearly anxious about this interview. Maybe that British Airways training ingrained the necessity of appearing serene while paddling furiously below the surface.

When I ask about juggling a fledgling business with three small children, particularly when working mothers were not as common as they are now, she responds instantly. ‘It was my business, so I could work around the holidays.’ She makes it sound straightforward. She understands the tussle, though, but in the end, she’s a boss. ‘In this office, I see the challenge of working mothers – but if I need them here…’

There was spillage into their home life, ‘Mike and I often talked about work in the evenings or on holiday, but we enjoyed it. I never really felt I was a working mother although I was – and the children didn’t either. They grew up with it.’

The girls were at school till 6pm. That’s a long day: someone who observed them from a distance says Catherine and Pippa were always hard workers at school and encouraged by Carole to hone accomplishments that would serve beyond academia, such as skiing. ‘James would get picked up – very occasionally by someone else – and come back to the office and be here with me,’ continues Carole. ‘I was often finished by 6pm and I didn’t have a long train journey. I think it’s really good to work. It was part of the children’s lives – it still is – and they’d come and help. They did a lot of modelling. Catherine was on the cover of one of the catalogues, blowing out candles. Later on, she did some styling and set up the First Birthday side of the business. Pippa did the blog. I still value their ideas and opinions.’

There was never any doubt in the Middletons’ minds that they would base their family and business in Bucklebury. ‘Do you live in London?’ Carole asks me, looking sympathetic when I nod. Later, when she drives me to the train station, scooping a pile of papers and a plastic cup from the passenger seat of her Range Rover, to save me phoning for possibly non-existent taxis, she shows me the spot she and Michael first fell in love with.

She loves this tiny pocket of remoteness – the fact it’s only an hour from London, that she can take their four spaniels and one golden retriever (James, who lives with them when he’s not in London, shares two of the dogs) for a long walk straight from their house, and the solid, picturesque red-brick architecture. ‘We really fell on our feet moving to this area,’ she says. Their first home was ‘a very sweet semi-detached cottage. We stayed there until Catherine was 13, so the children spent a lot of their youth there.’

There were two more moves – Oak Acre, a detached house where Prince William famously landed his Chinook helicopter in 2008, and the more secluded, seven-bedroomed, Grade II- listed Bucklebury Manor. She’s good at nesting, she says. ‘If you choose your house wisely, you don’t have to do too much. We almost just replicated what we did before. Farrow & Ball Cord and Hay [both shades of beige] – you can’t go wrong.’

In photos, Bucklebury Manor is what estate agents would call impressive, a description that must set Carole all ajangle. She’s on a mission to appear as unaffected and normal as possible. Later, when we’re discussing her love of Christmas trees and how she likes to have as many as possible in the house, including one in the grandchildren’s rooms, ‘so that they can decorate it themselves’, there is one of many long pauses, while she ponders the consequences of a seemingly innocuous exchange. ‘That makes me sound as though I live in a mansion, doesn’t it?’ Erm, you’re the future king’s grandmother, I think. Would a mansion be out of the question?

Maybe she’s right to be cautious. Over the years it has been she, rather than Michael, who has caught the full beam of the Middleton-focused attention, much of which fixes on the idea of her as a pushy arriviste. She stopped reading the stories about herself online over a year ago. I’m surprised it took her so long. ‘Well, I thought it was better to know what people thought. But it doesn’t make any difference. I’m not really sure how I’m perceived now,’ she says. ‘But the thing is… it is really normal – most of the time.’

When I ask her where she most likes to shop, there’s another pained pause. ‘How’s this going to make me sound?’ I half- expect her to confide that her secret vice is Harrods’ personal- shopping department, but only if she can get it closed to the public. But no. Peter Jones is her happy place. ‘The staff are lovely and they all know me.’ She also loves Burford Garden Company in the Cotswolds, where she and Pippa will happily spend the best part of a day.

More Middle England you cannot get. She even loves Michael McIntyre. She could be protesting too far when she later opines that Jigsaw is a bit pricey. She loves Samantha Sung’s shirt dresses and Goat, but likes to shop in the sale. She finds the music in Selfridges a bit overwhelming and she only very occasionally patronises Catherine Walker, but I suspect this is how the Middletons really are.

Carole is known to drive a hard bargain when she negotiates – she’s not a businesswoman for nothing. She seems genuinely concerned that if I take the train back to London from a different station, I’ll have to buy another ticket (all of £22). There are things they spend money on – property, children’s education, holidays – and things they consider to be a waste of money. Fashion is definitely a bit suspect. ‘Do you think it’s important?’ she asks me. When I say it’s a huge UK success story, that first impressions are clearly important and that style, rather than fashion, is worth cultivating, she nods. ‘Now you put it like that, I see what you mean.’

In some ways, there’s a touching naivety about Carole. I don’t think any of the family, with the possible exception of James (and this is based solely on pictures; I’ve never met him) give one iota about being cool. She’d rather be doing other things than clothes shopping. Party Pieces remains a full-time job for her.

‘I don’t see myself stopping [work]. If I did I’d have to have so many projects on. I’d have to redecorate the house. I’d love to travel, but then I’d miss the grandchildren. No,’ she ponders, as if just deciding this, retirement is not on the cards. ‘I’ve got a billion ideas I still want to do.’

[quiet-onset]

One Normal Case

Hsquad Write-a-Thon Day 2: Crossover Day - Psych x SPN (fight me, I dare you)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3,947

A/N: I know I missing day one, but my computer shut down in the middle of writing, so I have to write it all over again (insert rolling eye emoji here). If you’ve never watched Psych, I definitely suggest it; It’s hilarious! Don’t forget to tag me in your writing if you participate!

“Shawn.”

“Gus.”

“Shawn.”

Shawn sucked his teeth loudly, “Come on! You really don’t want this case?”

“No, Shawn, I don’t want this case. I didn’t want the last case. Or the one before that. Or the one before that.”

“What about the one before that one?”

“No!”

You chuckled at the pair from behind your newspaper, growing accustomed to their bickering. You hadn’t been a part of Psych Investigations for more than a year, but they were already like the big brothers you never had. You’d join the team as their brains; you were the best when it came to technology. Phones, computers, security systems, you name it.

“Don’t laugh at us.” Shawn teased. “You haven’t even given us your thoughts.”

Gus looked at you pointedly, “Yes, let’s hear what the other sane person thinks.”

You parted your lips to speak, but Shawn spoke up, his brow furrowed and his hands up defensively, “I already said what I think.”

“I think,” You started. “That the rent is almost due, and we’re broke, so sorry, Gus.”

“I am the winner. Suck it.” Shawn sang in a ridiculous voice.

“You suck it!” Gus retorted.

“You suck it!”

“Both of you suck it!” You interjected. “Now, let’s go.”

It was a matter of time before the three of you were in Gus’s blueberry of a car. The two decided that a pit stop for food was necessary, so you arrived at the station ready, bellies full of chicken tacos. Shawn stepped through doors, calling for the attention of the tall detective, “Lassie, sound the trumpets and roll out the red carpet! The master is here!”

“Spencer. Guster.” Lassiter nodded. “You.”

You rolled your eyes as you looked up at him playfully, walking towards the interrogation room. “You know, just because you don’t know how to use Microsoft Word doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me.”

He followed quickly behind, “I know Word! It’s Excel I don’t know.”

“Ouch, self-burn!” Shawn said from the rear.

Gus snickered, “Those are rare.”

“Shut up!” Lassiter said quietly. “You all need to tone it down today — Spencer, I swear to God if the next word you say is in a deep voice, I will strangle you myself.”

Shawn looked at Gus, then to you and Lassie before clearing his throat, “Point taken. Continue.”

When you arrived in the spectator area of the interrogation room, you looked through the glass with confusion. There were two men in suits you didn’t recognize, questioning the suspect that had been apprehended.

To say they were attractive would be an understatement. They were a pair of Adonises. They were clearly very tall, and their suits formed to their bodies well. One had short brown hair, a stern look on his face as he pointed down to the picture and back at the suspect. The other leaned back in his chair, observing the suspect as he pushed a strand of his long, shiny hair away from his face.

“Jesus, Y/N, close your mouth.” Shawn chuckled.

“What?” You defended. “They’re attractive. And one of them might have better hair than you.”

“You take that back.”

“Who are they?” Gus interrupted with the obvious question.

Lassiter glared at the two, “FBI. They say they’re laying claim to the case.”

“No, we need this case, Lassie.” You said urgently.

“Captain says we’re only supposed to help if asked. Otherwise, I don’t want to see any of you anywhere near this.”

You huffed as Gus and Shawn answered with a yes that obviously meant no. Looking back into the interrogation room, you saw the two men stand from the table. You watched the man with the long hair pull his suit jacket closed with one hand as he followed the other. In a matter of seconds, they were standing in front of you and the rest of the gang.

The one with short hair spoke up, his voice gruff as he directed Lassiter, “You keep him locked up until further notice.”

“We’ve got some leads we’re gonna follow up on, but we’ll be back. So call us if you find anything.” The taller man nodded.

The other looked at you, Shawn, and Gus, a look of boredom mixed with confusion in his eyes. “Who are you?”

Shawn stepped up first, as usual. “I am psychic detective, Shawn Spencer.” He pointed to Gus. “This is my partner, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,” Then to you, “And our assistant, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.”

“His name is my name, too.” You added with a smile.

The one with long hair let out a quiet chuckle, while the other deadpanned Lassiter. “What the hell is this?”

“These are a bunch of dimwits who were just leaving.”

“I was not and I shall not. I shan’t.” Shawn started simply. He turned to the FBI agents, scanning them quickly. He noticed that the stern one had bruised knuckles and placed his fingers to his head; his signature psychic move. “I sense that you’ve been in a fight recently.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s what he does.” You told him. “He’s a psychic.”

“Then what does he need you two for?”

Gus shrugged, “Sometimes we help. But most times, we’re his self-control.”

“Also!” Shawn said loudly. He pointed to the tall one and looked back at you, “That one is single, so you might wanna hop on that saddle.”

Your mouth dropped open as you punched Shawn in the arm. He groaned loudly, holding his arm as you looked back at the FBI agent, who was simply smiling and laughing. The other one shook his head and walked past you toward the exit, “I don’t want these clowns near this case, Lassiter.”

“Noted,” Lassie answered.

You watched as the remaining agent pulled out a card and handed it to you, “You’re not supposed to be actively working on the case, but if you happen to come across something, give us a call.” He trailed off, asking for your name.

“Y/N.” You felt the heat creep up through your neck as he smiled.

“Y/N.” He repeated, a kind smile on his lips.

He was gone moments later, and Lassie took the suspect to lockup. Shawn and Gus began to tease you, singing about how you now had a boyfriend in the FBI. Before the two could start their ridiculous attempts at belting, you punched them both in the arm, “I hate you both.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Gus whined.

Shawn rubbed at the spot, “Now, my flawless skin is gonna have a bruise. I hope you’re happy.”

As you looked down at the business card, reading over the name and phone number, you smiled, “Actually, I am.”

“John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt?”

“It was a joke, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes as they got into his car, preparing to go for the first lead. He huffed as Sam settled into his seat. “This was supposed to be a break from crazy, Sam.”

“I know, and it will be. Just relax.”

Dean let out another annoyed sigh as he drove toward their first lead in downtown Santa Barbara. After everything the brothers had been through, they just wanted a simple case. Open and close, like they used to do. Call it the Winchester way of getting back to normal. But, of course, every case had a catch.

This catch seemed to be a wanna-be psychic, Tweedle-Dee, and Tweedle-Dum.

“Maybe he really is psychic,” Sam said. “You don’t know.”

“If he was really a psychic, he would’ve turned and run at the sight of us.” Dean scoffed.

“That other guy and the girl vouched for him though.”

Dean side-eyed his brother, rolling his eyes at Sam’s naïvete. “Is this about the girl?”

Sam returned the favor, “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, I know it’s been awhile since you got some, but are you really gonna go for the girl who is the assistant to a quote, physic detective?”

“So you think she’s crazy?” Sam asked with a light chuckle.

“Batshit. All of ‘em.”

Sam thought back to the way you punched Shawn in the arm and the way you tried to hide your smile when he handed you his card. He bit his lip to keep Dean from noticing his smile, “Well, if they’re working for the Santa Barbara PD, they’ve gotta be doing something right.”

“Sure, whatever.” Dean waved him off as he pulled into the parking lot of a commercial building. “All I know is that I’m not gonna be responsible for them getting killed, so they need to stay away from this.”

The brothers went into the building to follow up their first lead. Based on the autopsy report, they were fairly sure they were dealing with a wraith. The suspect in question was a janitor in the building where the victims saw their therapists. So, all that was really left was to find out which of the therapists was the wraith.

As the two approached the doors to a group therapy session, Dean heard a familiar voice. “No, the guy is Yin and the girl is Yang, but they work together to outsmart me when I solve crimes. Did I not introduce myself? I’m psychic detective Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner, Michael ‘Mailman’ Wobbles.”

“My legs are uneven.”

Dean groaned and ran a hand over his face, “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“I’m gonna check out reception.” Sam chuckled, leaving Dean to deal with the two men.

When Sam arrived at the reception desk, he saw you once again. You were sitting behind the smooth wooden desk with an earpiece in your right ear, typing away on the computer as if you belonged there. He chuckled to himself; to any other person, you’d be the perfect picture of a cute receptionist. He, however, knew better.

When he walked up to the desk, you didn’t look at him. The sound of the pads of your fingers hitting the keys on the keyboard filled the silence. Same cleared his throat, and you finally looked up. You smiled at him, “Oh hey, what’s up?”

“So you’re a receptionist now?”

“I’m basically a receptionist at Psych anyway. Shawn and Gus never let me do the fun stuff.”

“Gus?” Sam asked.

“The other John Jacob…”

“Gotcha.” Sam nodded, a small smirk tugging the corner of his mouth upwards. “So, Psych must be where you really work.”

You looked back at him with the same face. “Yep. Mind telling me where you really work?”

Sam was taken aback, “Excuse me?”

“I’m really good with computers and hacking and stuff. Shawn had a premonition of sorts, so I did some digging.”

“You hacked into the FBI?”

You shrugged at his surprised face, “You say that like it’s hard.”

Sam couldn’t believe that they’re cover had been blown so quickly. That combined with the fact that you technically worked with the SBPD had him on edge. He and Dean could not get caught again. They had too much to worry about without having to figure out how to escape the police again.

You noticed the worried look on his face as you returned to typing. “Don’t worry, we haven’t told anyone. Shawn and Gus are actually kind of in awe.”

Sam let out a nervous breath, “You say anything confident enough, and people will believe you.”

“Apparently so.” You snorted.

Sam leaned in closer to you, lowering his voice to a whisper, “There are things going on here that you don’t understand.”

You’d have been lost in his eyes if you weren’t so prideful, “And you do, Agent?”

“Yes, I do, and—“

Suddenly, Sam's eyes were locked on the security camera feed behind you. He saw not one, but two wraiths. Their true faces showed on camera, their rotting flesh pulling apart at the seams. But when Sam turned around, they seemed like two normal therapists having a conversation. “Do you know who they are?” Sam asked, nodding in their direction.

“No, but I can find out.” You said slowly, your brow furrowed in confusion.

“I need names and addresses.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s something I have to deal with. Just,” He paused when you handed him the printed sheet of paper, two names and addresses listed on it. He sighed as he looked back up at you, sensing the all too familiar weakness of emotion building up in his chest. “Just stay away. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You sensed a level of sincerity in his eyes and nodded, “Whatever you say, Sam.”

Sam thanked you and turned to leave before doing a double take. With a small smile on his lips, he asked, “You know my name?”

“The internet is a vast place. Tell Dean I say hi.”

You watched as Sam laughed quietly and turned to leave again. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that you pulled the information back up on the computer. You opted to scribble it down instead of waiting for the printer. You got up from the receptionist’s desk and quickly made your way to the entrance where Dean had just finished scolding Shawn and Gus. “2554 Cobalt. 6243 Brentwood.” Shawn whispered.

“What the hell are you talking about, Shawn?” Gus asked.

“The enormous tree of a man with the hair of a wild stallion. The paper in his hand had two addresses on them.”

You jogged up to them, “You were right. They’re not FBI.”

“Well, we gotta tell Lassie,” Shawn said, reaching for his phone. You smacked his hand away and rolled your eyes when he whined.

“I think they’re doing something dangerous. We gotta go after them.”

Shawn gasped, a grin slowly appearing, “An adventure, you say?”

You both looked to Gus, who folded his arms, “No. Nuh-uh. No way. You can’t keep dragging me into this white nonsense, Shawn.”

“Normally, I’d be with you, Gus. But whatever these guys are into, I don’t think the police can help.” You offered.

“Besides, I need you, Gus.” Shawn threw his arm around his best friend. “Who else would keep me from doing too much white nonsense? Otherwise, I’d just spiral into the pool that is White Nonsense, trademark, and you know I can’t swim.”

“Yes, you can, Shawn.” Gus glared at him.

Shawn sucked his teeth, “Oh, come on!”

You and Shawn stared at Gus until you could feel him breaking down. He rolled his eyes before roughly digging his car keys out of his pocket, “I swear, if I die, I’m haunting both of you.”

You chuckled as you followed them to the Blueberry, “Gus, you’ve literally had a gun pointed at your face before. What could be worse than that?”

It could, apparently, be worse than that.

The three of you had been sitting in the Blueberry for a few hours down the street from the first address when one of the therapists arrived. You recognized Dean’s old Impala parked across the street from the house and hoped they hadn’t noticed you. You watched as the therapist pulled into her garage. Before the garage door could close, you saw her walk to the trunk of the car. She hit the trunk with the palm of her hand just the garage door closed completely.

“I think someone’s in there,” Shawn noted.

“What do we do?” Gus asked.

Just then, you saw Sam get out of the car and lean over to speak to his brother. “Guys, look.”

You all watched as Sam pulled out a gun from the back of his pants and headed toward the house. Gus leaned back in surprise, “So, we’re just gonna watch a fake FBI Agent break into this lady’s house?”

“Don’t be such a wuss, Gus.” You teased.

“Yeah, Gus.” Shawn snorted.

“So I don’t wanna be an accessory to murder, and, all of a sudden, I’m a wuss,” Gus muttered.

“If you were an accessory, it’d be sunglasses. Maybe a sleek watch, but that’s a bit overboard.”

“Um, I’d make a sexy-ass watch, Shawn.”

“Can we focus here?” You clapped loudly, gaining their attention. “Because the other therapist just got here.”

It dawned on you then that Sam had gone by himself. His brother had driven off to God knows where, so Sam was outnumbered. You unlocked the door and slid out, “I’m going inside.”

You could hear the pair calling after you, but you kept jogging towards the house. You snuck around the side to get to the back, trying your best to stay quiet. You noticed that back door was open, so you slipped inside.

You pressed your back against the wall of the kitchen, leaning over slightly to get a glimpse of the living room. That’s when you saw a heinous sight.

A young girl, probably no older than twenty-five, was tied to a chair and gagged as tears ran down her face. You could hear her trying to say, “I’m not crazy! I’m not!” As she sobbed into the gag. She saw you then, and her eyes widened. You gestured for her to stay quiet as the two therapists smiled at each other, saying something about sharing her. You looked around the room to try and come up with a plan when you saw it.

In the mirror, you saw their faces of rotting flesh and almost gasped. It was like they were dead, but only in their reflection. The moment you parted your lips to gasp, you felt a hand over your mouth and an arm around your waist.

You were pulled back against the wall, the confusion never leaving your face. When you looked up, it was Sam’s eyes that were boring into your own. He placed a finger to his lips and gave you a pointed look that definitely meant you’d talk about that later.

“What was that?” One of the therapists, Dr. Franklin, asked.

“I’ll check it out.” The other, Dr. Hanley, said.

Sam quietly handed you the gun which trembled in your hands. He went into his suit jacket and pulled out a long metal blade. Your mouth fell opened when he reared back, grunting as he sent the blade through the heart of Dr. Hanley.

You felt the urge to scream as blood started to flow from the wound, but someone else had beaten you to it.

When your head turned, you saw Gus shrieking at the sight, Shawn stoic next to him. “What the hell?” Shawn shouted.

“Look at his reflection!” You called to them.

You watched their expression change slowly from surprise to fear when they caught sight of Dr. Franklin’s rotting flesh. “Oh my god. Oh my god!” Gus screamed.

“Get the girl and get out! Now!” Sam ordered as he began to fight Dr. Franklin.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Gus said, already headed out the door. Shawn grabbed him by the collar and gave him a disapproving look when the first gunshot sounded. They scrambled for the wall, pressing their backs against as another gunshot sounded.

“Sam!”

Suddenly, the front door was kicked open, Dean on the other side. He quickly saw the wraith and aimed his gun, shooting three times. The wraith turned, unharmed by the bullets. “The one time I don’t use silver bullets,” Dean grumbled.

You peeked back out to see the wraith headed towards Dean. Sam was on the floor, cradling his head with blood pouring out of his shoulder. Dr. Franklin must’ve shot him, you thought.

You turned to Shawn and Gus, “Get the girl out.”

“Are you crazy?” Gus asked. “We’re not leaving you here!”

“Just do it!” You demanded.

They gave each other reluctant looks before heading into the living room and untying the girl, leading her out fairly easily since Dr. Franklin was preoccupied with Dean.

With Sam nearly incapacitated and Dean unable to kill the wraith, you knew there was only one option. You scrunched your face in disgust as you leaned over and yanked the long silver blade out of Dr. Hanley’s body. Slowly, you walked over to Dr. Franklin with the blade in your hand, your presence undetected. You watched in fear as a long needle started to protrude from Dr. Franklin’s wrist. Then, after taking a deep breath, you raise your arms over your head and forcefully brought the blade down through Dr. Franklin’s chest.

His body fell over to the side as you offered Dean one of your bloody hands. He cleared his throat before quietly thanking you, taking your hand. You both went over to Sam and helped him up, his groan of pain rumbling through his chest.

When you arrived outside, Shawn and Gus were comforting the girl as the sound of sirens became evident. Dean looked at all of you with sincerity, “Thanks. You were actually a big help.”

“So what are we gonna tell the police?” Gus asked.

“That rotting flesh people were trying to kill this girl.” Shawn started. “Obviously.”

Dean tried not to deadpan the two but patted them on the shoulder anyway. “Just let us do the talking.”

“I leave town for one day, and you’re in a fight with kidnapping therapists.” Jules hugged him tight as he chuckled. “Shawn, promise me you’ll stop doing stupid stuff.”

“You know I can’t promise that. Stupid is in my nature.” He told her, kissing her forehead.

She turned to Gus who patted her on the back. “You know I’m looking out for him.”

“Sadly, I am, too.” You told her. You quickly found yourself looking past Jules at Sam who had just finished wrapping up his gunshot wound. He was with his brother, a smile on both their faces as he sat in the back of the ambulance. Jules followed your eyes, and she gasped.

“Which one?” She asked.

“Long hair,” Shawn said.

“Y/N!” She grinned, slapping your arm.

“And he’s single.” Gus teased.

“If you don’t go over there right now, I will be disappointed in you forever,” Jules warned as she tucked into Shawn’s side.

“I’m going, I’m going.” You laughed.

You approached the Winchesters with a shy look on your face, immediately catching Sam’s attention. When you stood in front of the two, Dean rolled his eyes with a small, endearing smile on his lips. “I’m gonna go fill Lassiter in.” He said, letting his hand rest on your forearm as a gesture of thanks before leaving you to speak with Sam.

“Wraiths?” You asked.

“One of the many supernatural creatures we hunt.” He nodded. “Hey, I really just want to say thank you. I’m not sure what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.”

“Well,” You grinned bashfully, “If you really want to thank me, I can think of a way or two.”

“Really?” He smiled, his dimples indenting deep in his cheeks. When you nodded, he laughed and offered you his hand. “C’mere.”

He pulled you closer until you were practically standing between his legs. You leaned down instinctively as he tilted his chin up, brushing his nose against yours. It was only when Sam heard your quiet, cute laugh that he pressed his lips to yours. You cupped his jaw, reveling in the scruff that tickled your palm as your lips moved languidly together. When you both pulled away to breathe, you heard Shawn’s voice rise over the murmur of police officers.

“I saw that in a vision! I predicted that!”

Your forehead resting against Sam’s, you both laughed breathlessly.

Sam raised an eyebrow, “Is he really psychic?”

“Not at all, no.” You chuckled, pecking his lips once more. “But don’t tell anyone that.”

“I would never.”

[halloweennut]

Music Lessons

Here’s a quick Felicity centric piece about her giving music lessons to Webby, as inspired by @musekicker who has been helping me out with ideas for fics/drabbles (also, go read her ducktales drabbles! they are so good). Fic after the cut.

Being between seasons and shows was hard for someone like Felicity who lived and breathed rehearsing and performing. Of course, small little productions and charity events kept her busy, but they didn’t exactly pay rent. So, with her years of musical training - voice, piano, various strings, flute and trumpet - not to mention dancing, Felicity had the bright idea to teach music and the occasional dance lesson. She had flyers all over Duckburg, and a friend at the local newspaper ran her ad for cheap as well.

Fortunately, there had been plenty of parents wanting a teacher for their children, especially  the rising middle and more bourgeoisie families. As long as they paid, weren’t rude, and didn’t expect their offspring to be Handel, Bach, or David Bowie after two lessons, Felicity was happy to teach. Granted, she was happy to teach regardless - she loved her craft, and sharing it by performing or teaching she loved most of all. After a while, whether it was her personality, teaching abilities or her status as an uprising ingenue of the theater, Felicity found herself with a near full schedule again during the off-season.

As such, having a phone call in the morning for an introductory session that afternoon wasn’t a surprise.

“My boss doesn’t want this getting out into the the public that he’s hired you,” a curt female voice said over the line,  but quickly turned slightly softer, though it was hard to hear. “Not in a bad way, but he prefers his privacy, especially in regards to his niece and nephews.”

“I understand,” Felicity said, cradling the phone between her shoulder and head as she grabbed her schedule. “I don’t tell anyone about the people I teach. It’s all private. Who am I teaching exactly? And for what?”

“His niece and the cello,” she replied. “Are you available this afternoon? Something came up with her normal instructor.”

Felicity paused, scanning her schedule. Between one piano lesson and one voice lesson she had a two hour block available, which was ample time to see where the niece was in her studies and continue where she left off, then get home and ready for the voice lesson.

“I do have room for a one and a half hour session at three,” Felicity answered. There was a flutter of paper on the other side of the phone.

“That works.  We’ll send a car for you at 2:45, “ the voice said. “Please be prompt.”

The phone clicked in her hand before Felicity could even respond. She scoffed at the phone, but nonetheless penciled down the lesson before pulling her cello from what should have been a broom closet. She had an hour before her first lesson of the day, easily enough time to practice.

---

At 2:55 the bumpy car ride finally ended, and Felicity’s suspicions were confirmed about who had hired her. Other than the crash prone driver, who she recognized as none other than Scrooge McDuck’s, the large mansion she stood in front of, hopefully unscathed cello on her back, was certainly his. Felicity had run into Scrooge once or twice before at a few productions and charity events, but he hadn’t been the talkative type. Granted, those were times she had been in the chorus or he was just avoiding obvious charity workers as a way to avoid being pleaded for donations. She also didn’t expect to talk to him that day either.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry that?” Launchpad called from the cab of the car. He had been kind enough to carry it from her apartment door and into the car, and while more or less careful then, Felicity was shaken from the ride and was more concerned about making sure her cello stayed intact.

“I think I got it from here, thank you though!” Felicity smiled sincerely. Launchpad nodded with a thumbs up, and drove off as she made her way up the steps. The doorbell ringing was punctuated by the sound of a bumper getting crumpled and a hub cap rolling off it’s housing, causing Felicity to flinch. The door opened to reveal an older woman, who looked down at her expectantly.

“I suppose you’re the music teacher?” she asked, gesturing for Felicity to come inside.

“Yes, I am. I’m Felicity. Felicity Columbia,” the swan responded, quickly entering the foyer. “Were you the one who called earlier?”

“No, that was Penelope, Mr. McDuck’s secretary at the Money Bin,” the older woman began to walk ahead of her, leading her into the mansion’s halls. It was a very quick paced walk, and Felicity only had a few glances of the rich interior of the house.  The walk stopped in front a set of double doors. “Should you need anything, I’m Mrs. Beakley.”

“Just a few rules,” the tone was like a drill sergeant’s as Mrs. Beakley turned to face her, and Felicity felt herself straighten up. “No snooping, no prying into anyone’s lives here, and no telling anyone who has employed you. Our last instructor did that and we had to fire him.”

“Yes m’am,” Felicity agreed. She didn’t try to bother and tell her that these lessons were called ‘private lessons’ for a reason, not wanting to start anything that could get her in trouble or lose a student. Mrs. Beakley looked pleased.

“My granddaughter is in the music room after these doors,” she said, much to Felicity’s confusion that she thought her student was Scrooge’s niece. “I’ll be coming in to check your progress in approximately 45 minutes. Clear?”

“Crystal,” the swan replied, placing a cautious hand on the door knob. “Can I head in? It’s almost two and I’d like to get started.”

Mrs. Beakley nodded, and Felicity opened the door to a small study. The walls were lined with oak shelves and a great deal of books and portraits of the mansion’s owner. Felicity let herself admire it for a moment when she heard the opening notes of a short warm-up begin on the behind the door on the other side of the wall. Felicity smiled - it was very rare that students took initiative to begin warm-ups without her. With a gentle knock to alert her student, Felicity opened the door to a small, well-lit room with a piano tucked away in a corner.  The small duck’s head snapped away from the neck of her cello towards Felicity, who waved.

“Hello!” she said, making her way over. “I’m Felicity, your cello instructor for the day. What’s your name?”

“Webby,” the young duck replied, and shook Felicity’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Sorry it was short notice!”

“It’s not a problem,” Felicity chuckled. “I’m always happy to teach. While I get my cello out, can you continue your warm-ups? Then you can catch me up on where your regular teacher left off. Sound good?”

Webby nodded with a determined hum, and turned her attention back towards her instrument, sliding into a neat progression of scales. The swan smiled as she rosined her bow - this was going to be a very productive lesson.  

By the time Mrs. Beakley stopped in to check on them, Felicity had been brought up to speed on where Webby was in her lessons - “Very advanced for your age group,” she had said, which Webby preened at. “You should feel accomplished.” - and they not only finished where her previous teacher left off, but began a new piece as well. Mrs. Beakley entered into the room to the sound of a more advanced piece  being broken down and worked through, stilted but on its way.  The two cellists looked up when she entered, Webby grinning wide.

“Hey granny!” she happily said, waving her bow in greeting. Felicity smiled with a quick ‘hello’ as well. Mrs. Beakley nodded with a slight smile.

“Webby, Miss Columbia, how is the lesson going?” she asked. Webby stood on her chair, excited as she lightly bounced on her heels, still holding onto her cello and bow.

“It’s been great! We’ve started a new piece and I learned this neat new finger position! It actually cramps my hand!” Webby stated. Felicity smiled.

“It’s only for a little while, Mrs. Beakley,” she said assuredly, “just until she gets used to the position. You should be very proud of your granddaughter. She’s very proficient, not to mention diligent when it comes to practice.”

“I’ll be prouder once she stops bouncing on the furniture,”Mrs. Beakley said, eyes wary as Webby quickly sat back down with a sheepish apology. “But I am very proud of her. I’ll leave you to back to your lesson then.”

Felicity and Webby nodded and turned their attention back to the next line in their sheet music, which featured the hand-cramp inducing finger position. At the end of the lesson when Beakley came back,  a good quarter of the piece had been broken down with instructions to practice it, as well as look onto the next few lines and break them down the best Webby could.

When Felicity was returning her cello back to it’s case, Webby bounded over to Mrs. Beakley, having a conversation that the swan couldn’t quite here, but Webby’s tone of voice was cheerful at least. As she closed the lid, she felt a tap on her leg, and turned to see Webby standing behind her, arms crossed behind her back and looking almost serious.

“Everything alright, Webby?” Felicity asked. The duck nodded.

“I was wondering if you could be my cello instructor from now on?” Webby asked, much to Felicity’s surprise. “I had a lot of fun during my lesson, which isn’t normally the case, and you didn’t make me feel like I was doing anything wrong, even when I was wrong! Please be my music teacher?”

Felicity, for a split moment, wanted to strangle whoever was teaching her before for making Webby feel wrong while playing and making the lesson not fun at all, but swallowed it down. Besides, they had been fired. She looked up at Mrs. Beakley, who nodded, and she smiled and looked back at Webby.

“I’d be very happy to be your teacher, Webby, if you’ll be my student, “ Felicity said. Webby squealed in delight and lunged forward, jumping up to hug Felicity around the waist. The swan couldn’t help but laugh, and quickly returned the hug with a pat on the head. “Webby, how about you case your cello, and I’ll talk to your granny about a lesson schedule.”

Webby dropped down to the floor with a peppy ‘alright’ and a pumped fist and quickly went to take care of her cello. Felicity picked her case off the floor, slinging it carefully over her shoulder as she made her way over to Mrs. Beakley.  “Am I her instructor now? I just want to make sure it’s alright with you and Mr. McDuck.”

“I am satisfied with your tutelage, and Mr. McDuck will be pleased that we now have a better, more discreet instructor for Webby,” Mrs. Beakley replied, opening the door for Felicity. “Webby, say goodbye!”

“Bye, Felicity! See you next week!” Webby called with a wave from her case.

“See you then! Remember to practice,” Felicity waved back. Webby nodded with the sureness of a soldier and returned to her case. Mrs. Beakley closed the door behind them and Felicity was finally able to ask as she followed Beakley back to the front door: “Is she really Mr. McDuck’s niece? It’s what, um, Penelope said earlier.”

“Honorary niece, Miss Columbia. It’s easier just to say niece and be done with it though,” Mrs. Beakley answered curtly as she opened the front door to let the swan out. “Will you be available this same time next week for lessons? I suppose your hours will change once the show season picks back up again into production however.”

“Yes, and the week afterwards as well,” Felicity responded. “And, yes, my hours will change once my company has shows in production. How did you-”

“I keep tabs on anyone who interacts with my household,” Beakley said flatly. Felicity didn’t have a verbal or mental response to that. “Have a good day, Miss Columbia. Launchpad will drive you home now.”

The door closed, and once Felicity processed everything up to that statement, she unstuck herself from her spot on the stair and down to the waiting towncar.  

[odilestory]

Two Years - Super!Reader x Tim Drake

pretty long one shot with Jon’s sister (superman’s daughter) and Tim Drake. *SLIGHT NSFW BUT NOTHING SERIOUS* towards the end. also mostly based off Super Sons,,,enjoy! 

--

Being a Kent is about as normal as you’d expect. Obviously, my brother and I inherited my dad’s powers, those being dominant traits (I’m guessing). I remember when I gained my first ability; the super hearing. I was around three years old, in preschool. Now, when you first get the ‘super traits,’ you can’t control them. At all. So, when a kid woke up crying during nap-time, to me it sounded like someone was blowing a trumpet right next to my ear, and I woke up bawling as well. At six, I got the heat vision while in the bath. Thankfully, mom figured out she better take me out of the tub before I boiled myself. At seven I got the strength. I saw two kids fighting on the playground and decided to step in. I interfered by pushing one of the kids, but much to my dismay I didn’t push him to the ground. I pushed him across the school yard. That was an interesting call home. But, by far the most exciting power I gained was when I was eight. That’s when I started flying, and boy was dad excited. Mom was concerned, but she trusted me (even though I was eight) and she trusted dad to help me with it. We had just gotten a trampoline (I think it was a birthday present for me and Jon) and of course, I had to try it out. I remember Mom holding Jon next to Dad while I jumped. One, two, three, and on the fourth, I stayed up there. Just hovering. I looked at my Dad, confused at first, but soon we both smiled at each other and he flew up to meet me. The rest of the powers came over the years. Flying will always be a major perk of being a Kent.

Now I’m seventeen and Jon is ten. I’m a senior and Jon is in fifth grade. We both go to the West-Reeve School, of course he’s in their elementary program and I’m in the high school. We used to go to public school, but Bruce (Dad’s apparent best friend and semi-local billionaire) made quite a donation to the school and insisted that Jon and his son Damian, a.k.a. Robin (did I mention Bruce is Batman?), go there in exchange for their own heroes-and-vigilantes-in-training-headquarters as I like to call it. I had friends at the school, so when Dad told me Jon was going and asked if I would like to, I said sure. The only catch being I had to drive them back to our house everyday. Damian usually stayed at our house after school to do homework. To get home, he usually got zeta beamed back to Gotham via their HQ. Occasionally, I use the head quarters as well, but mostly to monitor Jon and Damian. Some nights, however, I meet up with Batgirl in Gotham and patrol with her under the mantle Supergirl, soon to be Superwoman in about eight months. We’re good friends with the bat-family. After all, I drive one of them home everyday. They’re kinda like my older brothers and sisters in a way. Whenever we would visit them or visa versa, Dick would always entertain me while Dad and Bruce talked about League stuff.  Jason taught me a lot about self defense, and even though I would probably never need to know, he taught me how to shoot a gun (much to Dad’s disapproval). Damian was like the annoyingly rude little brother that I never knew I wanted. Steph, Cass, and Babs are like my sisters. We even have a group chat dedicated to bitching about our brothers. Tim was different though. As embarrassing as it is, I’ve had a crush on him ever since I met him at a Wayne Enterprises party. I think I was thirteen and he was fourteen. We kinda hit it off at the party I guess, and we started hanging out a lot. His smart matched my smart, and his stupid matched my stupid, even though at times we were either smarter or more stupid than the other. Not long after I caught feelings, and after about a year and a half of crushing, he asked me out when I was fifteen and he was sixteen. Shockingly, we’ve been able to keep it a secret from both our parents. Being vigilantes helps a lot, I’ll just say I’m on patrol with Steph or Babs and instead hang out at his house while Bruce is gone. Alfred and Babs are the only ones who know, and they’re sworn to secrecy and trusted as well. However, I get the feeling Dick knows too; he always gives me these looks when I’m around him and Tim. I’m not worried though, like Alfred, he’s to be trusted.

—

On this particular day, Friday, I had plans to go out with Tim. It was our two year anniversary of him asking me out. I never really kept track of anniversaries, but he seemed to enjoy the thought of it, so I went along. He said he had something special planned, even though as far as I knew we were doing the usual and just hanging out at his place while Bruce was on patrol. We didn’t get to see each other as much lately. He had a lot of cases and he started his internship, which meant he was extra busy. Somehow, he still found time for our time. My first mistake of the day happened before we left the school parking lot. Jon had a big school project on a try-fold that he wanted to put in the trunk. I was waiting for them to get to the car, sitting in the driver seat, texting Tim. I was in the middle of typing when Damian got in the passenger seat and informed me that Jon needed to put his project in the back. I couldn’t open the trunk without the keys (my car wasn’t the newest thing ever), so I left my phone, open, on the seat as I went out to open the trunk for Jon. Of course, in the minute I was out of the car, Damian had noticed I left my phone open. And he found it interesting how I was texting Tim. So, being the sneak he was, he went through as many messages as he could, undoubtedly finding the short “love you”s and “babe”s hidden somewhere in there, because when I got in the car again, we had this weird look on his face like he was trying not to laugh. Or gag. The second mistake wouldn’t have been such a huge factor if Damian hadn’t looked through my phone, but he did. So this didn’t help his developing theory disprove itself: I told the boys I needed to stop at the store and said that I’d buy them a snack if they wanted to come with. I really needed to go to get coffee. For Tim. I figured it would be a nice gift for him. I knew his favorite kind, and the store was on the way home, so I took advantage. Before we started driving I finished my text to Tim, saying “see you later :)” during which I caught Damian trying to take a peek at my phone, but he tried to play it off as stretched him neck. We got out of the car in the store parking lot, I locked the car, and walked into the store with my hand on Jon’s shoulder and Damian on my other side. I made a B-line for the coffee, and left Damian and Jon to pick out their food. It took we a while to find the right kind, so both the boys had found me and their snacks before I could find the right coffee. The boys were quietly bickering next to me. I found it, and picked it up off the shelf checking the price. Damian was quick to notice the one I had picked. He smirked and said, “Is that the one you’re buying?” I responded without looking at him. “Yep. Why’d you ask?” “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that Drake quite enjoys that brand and roast. Any significance?” Damn that kid. Him and his detective mind. Then Jon had to help him out and interrogate me too. “Yeah, sis, you don’t even drink homemade coffee, you only get iced mochas from the shop. Why are you buying it?” They were trying to get me. “A present for a friend.” Was the best I thought of in the moment. “Tt.” Damian made that weird noise and turned, walking to the register. I followed, cursing myself under my breath. If he had suspicion, he was gonna tell Bruce, and then Bruce would call my Dad, and then everyone would know. Including the media. I can just see it now: “WAYNE WARD DATING JOURNALISTS’ DAUGHTER!” Great. The ride back to our house was a nightmare. I could hear Damian murmuring fractions of sentences to himself. He was most likely debating how he should tell Bruce.  When we got back to the house, as I unlocked the door, I heard Damian whisper to Jon, “We need to talk. In your room. And she can’t hear.” I scoffed and set my bag down on the couch, going to get a snack from the kitchen. Mom and Dad were still at work and would be for another hour or so. “Sis, me and Damian are going to my room, and no super hearing! We are having a confidential conversation!” “You got it, hun!” I yelled as Jon ran up to stairs to his room, Damian trailing behind. It was a rule in our house that if someone explicitly said for no powers to be used, then we weren’t allowed to use powers. It’s a big trust and loyalty thing, often used as punishment. Instead of grounding us, we weren’t allowed to fly or use super strength or speed. Which, in a way I guess is grounding us. I decided to get the little weekend homework I had done before my night out. I was going to meet Barbara for dinner and catch up time at 6, and then be at Tim’s at 8. I had never been over there that early, it was usually always after 10, but Tim said Bruce was away on business, so he would’t be there. And Damian went on patrol with Dick whenever Bruce left him alone, so we didn’t have to worry. I was done with homework by the time Mom and Dad got home, around 4:30, and Damian left around then as well, making sure to give me a look before he walked out the door. I greeted my parents as usual when they came home. “Hey!” I said when they walked in “How was work?” “mm, it was good. Nothing special today. Did Damian already leave?” Mom said, giving me a kiss on the forehead before setting down her things. “Yep. Just a few minutes before you guys got here.” “How was your day, sweetie?” Dad lifted me up from my chair and spun me around a few times, making Mom laugh. “And where’s my son?” “Your son is upstairs, hopefully doing homework. My day was good.” Jon ran down the stairs and jumped onto Dad’s shoulders, making him stumble. They started their own conversation as I walked to the kitchen to meet Mom. “Do we have anything going on tonight?” I jumped up and sat on the counter, watching as she took out a snack for herself. “I don’t think so. Why, do you have a date?” “A date? Not on my watch!” Dad commented from the living room, earning a look from his wife. I laughed a bit nervously. “No, but I was planning on meeting Babs for dinner at 6 and then maybe helping her on patrol. Is that ok?” “Fine with me. Clark?” She looked to him. “Alright with me. Just be home before 12. She can handle the rest of the night on her own. And call me if you need any help.” “Ok, Dad.” I laughed and hopped off the counter, putting the books I was done with back in my bag and headed up to put it in my room for the weekend. Before I made it halfway up the steps, I was interrogated again. “What’s this coffee for?” Mom yelled from the kitchen. I froze, but gave her the same answer I gave the boys. “Present for a friend. I’m gonna drop it off on my way to Gotham.” “Ah.”

The rest of the night went without conflict. It took me around thirty minutes to fly to Gotham, so I left at 5:15. I liked to be early. I headed out with a kiss from Mom and Dad and a hug from Jon, a change of clothes and the coffee securely in a bag. I landed in Gotham and changed into civilian clothes and walked to the restaurant Babs said to meet at. I gawked at the sight of it. It looked too fancy and expensive. Bruce was definitely paying for this one. Over dinner, I would find I was right. We just talked about stuff in general. She asked me how it was going with me and Tim, and I told her about our planned meeting. She teased me about it, but in a sisterly way. After dinner, we parted ways and I headed to the manor. I arrived promptly at eight and was greeted by Alfred. “Good evening, Miss Kent. Here for Tim, I presume?” “Hi Alfred! Yup, is he upstairs?” I entered as he stepped aside. “I believe so. Is there a special occasion tonight?” I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “Two year anniversary, actually.” I smiled at him and he smiled back. “A congratulations is in order, then. Might I ask when you plan on telling Master Bruce?” I sighed. “I have a feeling he’ll find out soon enough.” I turned and headed to Tim’s room. “Whatever you say, miss. If you don’t find him in his room, check the theatre. I saw him there earlier.” “Thanks Alfred!” I hurriedly walked up to stairs and stopped at Tim’s door. I could hear him talking to himself. Cute. I knocked on the door, and then heard some shuffling and a laptop shut. I opened the door and saw Tim finishing writing a note on his desk. I set my bag down on the end of his bed. His room was clean. A rarity. He looked up and smiled at me. “Its been a while.” He said smoothly. “I know.” I walked over to him and put my arms around his neck, and his went around my waist. “Boy, have I got a lot to tell you.” “Well, we’ve got plenty of time. How long can you stay?” “Dad said to be home my twelve. I can stay ‘till 11 just to be safe.” “Sounds good to me.” He smiled and kissed me. Not quickly, but not too slowly either. Maybe for two or three seconds we held onto it. We pulled away at the same time, smiling. “So, what’ve you got planned, lover boy?” I sat on his bed and watched him walk over to me. He stood in front of me, hands on his hips. “If it’s cool with you, I thought we could just hang out. Nothing super special, just fluffy stuff. Watch a movie, cuddle, make out. The basics.” Tim was usually kinda shy and awkward, but we had become so close that he almost reminded me of Dick. Outgoing, and more forward. As just witnessed with the “make out” thing. I laughed lightly. “Sounds perfect. Before we get into it though,” I reached into my bag and pulled out the coffee. “Here’s this. It’s not a lot but you seem like you could use it.” He got this dorky excited look on his face. “Thanks, babe. You didn’t have to get me this, but thank you. So much. I’m sure it’ll be helpful.” He took it out of my hands and gave me a kiss on the forehead, then went to set the bag of grounds on his desk. He turned to me. “Theatre?” He held out his hand. “Theatre.” I took it and we made our way downstairs. We picked an action/thriller movie that got pretty good ratings. Tim was picky about movies. Lucky for him, we barely watched the movie. We were either talking to each other while cuddling or complaining about the movie’s production. We were both quite the critics. Within the last thirty minutes of the movie, we got into a heated make out session that included removing a few garments of clothing. Shirts were no more, but I kept my bra on, I don’t think he minded. I was sitting on his lap, legs hooked behind his back, on one of the couches in the theater room. Last time I checked the time, it was just ten ‘o’ clock. No one was supposed to be home until at least 1 a.m., so we had plenty of time My hand started tracing shapes on his chest and abs, he then moved kiss my neck and collar bones, trying to give me a hickey, earning a soft moan from me. I tried not to be loud. I didn’t want to scar Alfred. We had gone farther than just make out before. We had gone all the way a few times, and I thought tonight would be one of those nights. But before he could take his lips off my neck, we heard: “Drake?” We looked at each other with panic. We were making out, shirtless, and Damian was about to catch us. How embarrassing. “Drake? Are you home?” I quickly handed him his shirt and he found mine, I got off of him and sat next to him, quickly putting it back on and watching him put on his. Damian was gonna get it for ruining my night. “What do we do?” I whispered to him. “I don’t know! If you go upstairs he’ll see you!” “I could speed past?” “He’d still notice…” “Shh! I hear his footsteps,” I put a finger to his lips. “Tim he’s coming in here!” He sighed. We both knew there was nothing we could do. He didn’t even have to say anything, we both knew. Damian walked in. He laughed. The little demon laughed! “So, my suspicions were correct. Between the texts and the coffee, I knew you’d be here, Kent. I told Dick I needed to stop by, and now that I know I was right, I’ll be on my way. Good night, Drake, Kent.” He laughed as he walked out, clearly pleased. After he was gone, Tim and I just looked at each other. We burst out laughing. I fell into his chest and we hugged each other, just enjoying each other’s company. It was almost eleven now, I would have to leave soon. “Thanks for the coffee, babe.” “Thanks for the hickey, sweetie.” I gave him a kiss, said goodbye, gave him a final kiss, and flew off.

I got home at 11:34. I unlocked the door and saw Dad in the kitchen. I figured he had just gotten back from a crisis. “Welcome home.” He walked over to me. He looked tired. “Were you in the city?” I asked as he hugged me. “Yeah, had to check something out. It wasn’t major. Only took an hour.” “Ah. Well, I’m goin’ to bed. Night.” I made my way to the stairs, but again, I was stopped before I made it upstairs. “Why do you smell like…cologne?” I froze again, and sighed. I gave up. I walked back down and sat on the couch. He sat beside me. “Who’s the boy?” I put my head in my hands. He put his hand on my back. I could feel him smiling. “Tim Drake…” He laughed and pulled me to his side. He wasn’t upset at all. He was probably glad it was someone he knew. “How long?” Here goes the shocker. Slowly, I spit it out. “Two…years…” I winced, awaiting reaction. “Two years!?” He pretty much yelled. I heard Mom and Jon coming down the stairs to see what was wrong. I hung my head back on the couch. This was gonna take some explaining.

[virgils-hoodie]

Music of Our Lives - Chapter 1

Okay, Ladies and Gentlemen, we are about to go on an adventure together!! This is my first Long story, and I plan to update as often as I can, so we will see how this turns out for everyone involved. Enjoy! 

First Day of High School… Wonder how I’m gonna screw this up.

Virgil approached the High School, nervous for what lay ahead of him. His parents promised him that they wouldn’t move again until after he had graduated, but he doubted that, prepared to leave in a couple months.As he made his way down the hall, Virgil checked his schedule.

1A-Concert Band                                 S146      Jason Mabrey 2A-Biology                                           E202       Frank Nosal 3A-CP English 9                                  W374     Jessica Fisher 4A-Intro to High School                       W260      Mike Preskorn 1B-World History/World Geography    W355      Hollie King 2B-Latin 1                                            W285     Julie Marshall 3B-Algebra 1                                        E120      Eric Haupert 4B-Intro to Photography                       E158      Karen Slusher

Virgil groaned upon remembering what his first class was. Earlier in the summer, his parents told him that they were going to have him take a performance elective, and they had him pick out an instrument, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy band class. They had also decided that they wanted him to be in the band so badly that they would buy him whatever instrument he wanted, as long as he learned it over the summer.

So, naturally, Virgil decided on the least conspicuous instrument he could. One he could easily toss in his backpack and not worry about. He chose the piccolo. What he hadn’t thought of, however, was the high range of the small instrument. And the fact that he may be the only guy playing it. And the fact that he would most likely get a lot of solos.

As Virgil made his way to the band room, located in the basement of the school, he was worried about what he might find down those stairs. He pushed away the concerns as he took his first step into the band room.

The first thing he noticed was the chaos of all the students in that class warming up at the same time. He made his way to a seat near the flute section, after not seeing any other piccolos. This did not look good for him.

The second thing he noticed was the overall age of these students. Most looked like Freshman, but there were a few here and there that stood out as upperclassmen. One such upperclassman was currently taking charge of the clarinet section, getting them all in order and seated neatly. Another was talking to the Alto Saxes, giving them instructions about something Virgil couldn’t quite hear.

As the director made his way up to his small podium in the front of the room, Virgil quickly set up his piccolo and waited as the room quieted down. The Band director spoke with authority as he addressed the band.

“Good Morning Concert Band! For most of you, welcome to your Freshman year. First things First, I would like to introduce some people to all of you. These are the people to talk to if you need help, unless it’s serious, in which case, bring it to me. To begin, we have our Flute and Piccolo section leader, Danielle Stella, then we have our clarinet section leader, Logan Prince, and our alto sax section leader, Patton Hood, Low Reeds, Kimberly Hood, Trumpets, Damon Bernal, Trombones and Baritones, Maddie Smith, Tubas, Cody Blanchette, and Percussion, Nicole Brady.”

Virgil sighed lightly, leaning back in his chair and watching as each one waved at the class.

“Now, I want to see just what kind of instrumentation we have today. We are going to go in Score order. I want everyone to say their name, grade, and favorite song. We’ll start with Piccolos.”

Virgil sat up abruptly and stared wide-eyed as he said that. The director turned towards the flute section.

“Do we have any piccolo players?”

As the girl next to him pointed at Virgil, he panicked. What was he supposed to say? What if his voice cracked? What would everyone think of him? What- His thoughts were cut off when the girl next to him gently nudged his arm, smiling encouragingly. He took a deep breath and spoke just loud enough to be heard in the room as everyone went silent.

“My name is Virgil Sanders… I am a Freshman, and my favorite song is “I’m not Okay. (I Promise)” By My Chemical Romance.” He glanced around the room as everyone stared at him until Danielle spoke up as first for the flute section.

As he leaned back in his seat again, he watched the others around the room for a bit before moving to read a book on his music stand. It wasn’t until the voice of one person in the back cut through his thoughts that he looked up to see who it was.

“I Am Roman Prince. I Am Currently In My Freshman Year Of High School, And My Favorite Piece Of Music Is “All I Do Is Win”, By DJ Khaled.” Virgil scoffed slightly, figuring only the girl beside him could hear, but he could have sworn he saw Prince throw a pointed glare at him.

By the end of the class, Virgil was exhausted without even playing anything. This was largely due to the discovery that any freshmen in Band are required to join the marching band. Which started the next day. He made his way towards the door as everyone was packing up when Danielle ran over to him. “Virgil! I know you’re new to the area, so I was wondering if we could trade phone numbers... I-In case you have any questions, of course. And also to make sure you know when the marching band events are.” Virgil looked over at her, then nodded reluctantly, quickly scrawling down his phone number on a piece of paper.

“Just know that if I don’t know who it is, I block the number, so say your name when you text me. Also, don’t share that with anyone. I don’t want to be in any group chats, or be sent any chainmail texts, Okay?”

She nodded quickly, then walked off, leaving him alone to wait for the bell to ring, until... “Virgil?” He looked up, only to see that Roman was making his way towards him. “It is Virgil, right? I was wanting to talk to you. I saw your family moving in up the street from me at the end of last school year.”

“So?” Virgil replied, getting annoyed.

“Well if you let me finish, J.Delightful, I was getting to that. I was wondering if you needed any help finding your classes.”

Why would he want to help me?

Virgil shook his head. “No Thanks, Princey. I think I’ll find my way just fine.”  As the bell rang, he quickly left the band room, eager to get away from the crowd of musicians.

As the day went on, Virgil slowly became more and more annoyed with everything and everyone, eventually reaching his breaking point when he walked into his last class for the day, Intro to High School and saw Him. Virgil quickly sat as far away as possible from the flamboyant fantasist, then pulled his phone out to avoid being noticed by him.

By the end of the day, Virgil was ready to leave, heading straight for the busses until he felt a hand on his shoulder, making him turn around and slap off the hand, looking at who was behind him. “Apologies, Virgil.”

Virgil sighed. “What do you want, Princey?”

“Well, I saw you heading for the bus, and I was wondering if you’d like a ride home. I already cleared it with Logan, so he’s okay with taking you home. I know that the bus is very crowded, so I figured you would prefer to ride in a car and go straight home.”

He looked up at Roman, debating. He knew Roman was right. He despised the bus, but he also wasn’t sure why Roman would be offering to help him. Curiosity got the better of him and he nodded.

“That would be great, thank you.”

Roman smiled. “Awesome! Follow me.” As he walked off, Virgil stayed beside him, keeping pace with his long legs.

“Roman?”

Roman looked over, surprised. “Yeah, Virgil?”

“Why are you so determined to be nice to me? I understand being polite, but this is above and beyond... So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, What gives?”

“I want to help you because I used to be you. Back in 7th grade, my family had just moved here. They agreed that we wouldn’t move again until Logan had finished High School. He’s only got this year and next year left. I’m hoping they decide to let me finish as well, but Logan is their prize child. He gets the good grades and the Academic Honors. I’m just a Band and Theater kid, average at best. I could do theater and band anywhere. It’s harder to transfer academic success…”

Virgil watched as Roman’s face fell, and his façade faltered.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up... I was just curious... Most people usually don’t want to help me. I was just wondering if this was genuine, or-”

“-Another Trick.”

Roman smiled over at Virgil, who sheepishly grinned in return, happy to have found someone who understood him.

AN: Wow, this was a beast to tackle. Starting a story is always the most interesting part for me. Anyways, I will be taking Holiday AU/Prompts for the remainder of December, and I will write some of my own until I get suggestions. Let me know if there is something you want to see!

Tags: @sassy-and-messy @tinysidestrashcaptain (Let me know if you want to be added to any Tag lists for my work!)