#now we all say we're sorry and the children will do what the adults say

[eimearkuopio]

🤦‍♀️

He was even on the list.

Possessed by a time-travelling ancestor.

I guess this explains a lot of the breadcrumbs.

Should I have put Alex Horne on there too?

Ugh I think I've even figured out what judge not lest ye be judged meant and it's worse than I thought.

[wardenparker]

Who Took the Merry Out of Christmas

Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Explicit for family dysfunction. This blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.7k Warnings: Post partum depression, marriage trouble, mentions of addiction, demanding family, abusive parents, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, dysfunctional family, a very sweet baby who has done nothing wrong ever, parents abusing their adult children in front of others. (There is a happy-ish ending, I promise.) Summary: It's only been a few months since Frankie came home from South America, and both of your families are bearing down on you for the holidays. A rocky marriage and even rockier relationships with your parents are bound to make for a very tense Christmas. Notes: Sorry it's not light and fluffy this year, gang. It just hasn't been a light and fluffy time. Considering how dramatic this holiday season has been, this little slice of family trauma seemed pretty appropriate.

Christmas. The time of year that is supposed to merry and bright. Well, the bright is accurate, especially in south Florida. Not a dusting of snow to be had, the palm trees in the front yard decorated with lights and the temperatures still letting everyone wear shorts and t-shirts if they wanted. It’s definitely not the white Christmas you had grown up with, but Frankie prefers this over freezing his ass off while shoveling snow off the driveway just to go to the store to get diapers.

The magic rubs off over the years. From childhood we outgrow the sparkle of the Christmas season as we stop thinking of it as magical, and now it's just another set of expectations that inevitably seems impossible to meet.

Both sides of your family had expected you and Frankie to host this year. Because of the baby, they said. Because now that you had a real family, it was time for you to take on the responsibility of holiday hosting. It's frustrating enough to be a first time mother of an eight month old. It's sleepless and difficult and Frankie has only barely gone back to work so money has been tighter than tight.

“Why don’t we just tell them that we can’t?” Frankie leans back from the sink where he’s finally shaving to look at you perched in the bed. You are tired and he knows that despite what you’ve said, hosting Christmas is the last fucking thing you need. “We have the baby. It’s a lot.”

"Because Christmas is next week, Francisco," you remind him. The baby monitor is on your nightstand, and you fiddle with it, but it's mostly a nervous habit. Mirabel wasn't a good sleeper for the first few months and you're constantly worried that she'll start having trouble again. "And they're coming here because of her. It was a miracle they didn't all fly down to cram into the delivery room when she was born, it seems mean to say they can't see her at Christmas."

“One— I wouldn’t have let them in the delivery room.” That memory was for him alone, he has absolutely loved being the first to hold his daughter. To be there to help and watch as you pushed his child into the world. “Two, shouldn’t that mean that they want to save you the stress of hosting?” He asks, leaning back in and putting the razor back to his cheek. “Hell, I say we order Chinese and be done with it.”

"I would agree." Stretching out in bed helps a lot. You've been dealing with a little hip pain lately that gets exasperated by carrying Mirabel around and you make sure to do stretches every morning and night – at least for a few minutes. "But we're in it now. Flights are booked. Meals have to be planned."

“I’ve got to mow the grass tomorrow.” He knows you will remind him of it so he goes ahead and checks it off your mental list. “And you need more mushrooms, right?” He makes a face in the mirror, hating mushrooms but you don’t seem to have picked up on that.

"Beef Wellington on Christmas is a family tradition." Your mother made it ever year from the recipe that her mother-in-law taught her, and now you make it every year for you and Frankie and however many of your friends you end up having over to dinner on the holiday. Usually it's the Miller brothers, this year might include Pope as well.

It’s good that he’s in a different room than you are so you don’t see the face that he makes. He hates the Beef Wellington, he’s just never been able to admit that. When you were dating, you could have served him a boiled shoe and he would have praised it. It was better than an MRE or the shit they served in the chow hall most days on base. And Frankie’s idea of cooking was either firing up a grill or going out to eat, so home cooked whatever was good to him. Especially when he knew he was getting laid after dinner. Now he’s stuck eating mushrooms every damn Christmas and it sucks. “I know.” He sighs, turning on the water to rinse the hair out of his razor. “I changed the sheets in the guest rooms.” He tells you. “And made sure your mom has the ‘good pillows’.” He rolls his eyes, again, happy you can’t see him because you would definitely scold him for that.

“Thank you, honey.” You know damn well he thinks it’s ridiculous and probably had a running monologue going why he made the guest beds about how picky your families are, but his parents are just as bad as yours in different ways. That’s why this holiday is going to be so fucking stressful. Part of why you work so hard to make family visits perfect is because his mother has never approved of you. “We’ll make sure everything is perfect. It will all be fine.”

Frankie hums as he finishes shaving and wipes his jaw dry. It’s a little jarring to see the smooth skin, he’s sported a patchy beard since getting out, but he’d decided that one thing he needed to do was look better after getting his pilot’s license back. He steps out of the bathroom and grins at you. “Hey baby.”

“Hey.” You say it before you look up, and when you lift your eyes you do a double take. “Clean shaven, huh? It’s been a while.”

He shrugs slightly, reaching up and rubbing his cheek lightly. “Figured your mom would complain less if I was clean shaven.” He had even gotten a haircut, not nearly as short as when he was active duty, but trimmed from the longer curls he had recently been sporting.

“Mira’s going to spend half of tomorrow poking at your face,” you predict, smiling softly. It will be the first time your daughter has ever seen him clean shaven.

He snorts. “As long as she doesn’t cry.” He slides his eyes along your body, not caring that you are in a comfy t-shirt and short, you look sexy to him. “So what are my chances of getting lucky tonight?” He asks, lifting a brow.

“Are you suddenly into somnophilia?” It proves your point that you can barely stifle a yawn. Getting up multiple times a night to pee or see what Mirabel needs takes its toll on your rest, and god knows you never ever get to sleep in anymore. Sure, you knew being a mother was going to be exhausting, but this is above and beyond that.

His playful grin slips and he shakes his head. “No baby, not if you’re too tired to enjoy yourself.” He doesn’t sigh, but he does miss the intimacy, the closeness of sex. Instead of complaining, he reaches back into the bathroom to flip off the light and starts walking towards the bedroom door. He will check the doors and downstairs windows one last time before setting the alarm, a habit of his. “You need some water or something downstairs?”

"No, I'm okay." It's not that you don't want him. He's still the same gorgeous man you married and conceived your daughter with. It isn't a matter of want. It's a matter of being so exhausted and feeling so disgusting from never having time to thoroughly shower and always ending up sweaty and sticky somehow. You don't feel like yourself, and you haven't since your second trimester.

But unloading all of that on Frankie doesn't seem fair when he's finally getting back on his feet with work and therapy and kicking his drug habit. The man doesn't even drink anymore, because he doesn't want to slip up again. So you keep your mouth shut and don't bitch about your own discomfort.

He sighs softly as he goes downstairs. Another night where he’s turned down, but he understands. You’ve been dealing with some postpartum issues and he doesn’t want to push. He just wants to make love to his wife more than once a month. It’s another reason why he had thought hosting Christmas would be a bad idea. You are already worn down and frazzled, despite Frankie sharing the load of the house and baby with you as much as he possibly could. This is just going to add more stress to your already loaded down shoulders and he doesn’t like it at all.

You turn over and slip under the covers when he goes downstairs to check the alarms. Being overwhelmed and depressed has you feeling like you're out drowning in the middle of the ocean and have suddenly forgotten how to swim. The best thing you can do right now is try to sleep.

Frankie comes back upstairs, slipping into the bed and curling around you. He hates that instead of curling against him, you huddle against your side of the bed. Wondering if you are secretly still pissed at him for the entire Coke thing. “I love you.” He whispers before he closes his eyes.

You love him, too. You do. And you have this whole time. It's just so hard to pull yourself out of the bottom of the ocean of your depression and uncertainty that you just pretend to be asleep and hope that you both knock out quickly.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. Probably not, but maybe. After all, it can't be worse.

******

“It’s okaaaaaaay.” Frankie bounces his very upset little girl on his hip and shoves a finger in her mouth. She’s teething and of course woke up in a horrible mood. She hiccups and he grabs the teething ring to throw it back in the freezer for a little bit. “It’s okay, baby girl. I know it hurts. Believe me, it doesn’t get better when you have a cavity either.”

"But she'll have good dental hygiene and never have a cavity in her whole life." You call from the kitchen, working your ass off to make sure that each and every bit of Christmas dinner is accounted for perfectly. Frankie isn't the world's best cook by any means, but this family tradition is ingrained in your bones -- beef Wellington, scalloped potatoes, green beans with almonds, and a demi-glace gravy to make everything even richer and fancier. It's a far cry from what you normally eat but that is sort of the point. It's the holidays. This is the time to be fancy.

He snorts. “Not if she gets her teeth from my side.” He calls back. “I’m ninety percent fillings at this point.” That makes her giggle and he grins at her. “Was daddy funny?” He walks her back into the kitchen to find you frantically stirring something. “I’ve got the living room vacuumed and the egg nog is in the garage fridge.”

"Have you heard from your parents yet?" Your in-laws are always early, which is not exactly a sin but it is inconvenient. If they say they'll be somewhere at 7 then they are always there by 6:30, wondering where on earth you've been for the last half hour.

“Not yet.” He loves his mom, he really does, but he’s not blind to her persnickety nature. He’s talked to her about it but it seems like she doesn’t bother you. A wonderful thing considering she’s run off more than one girlfriend of his over the years. “You know her, she’s gonna show up when she wants to. At the most inconvenient damn time.”

“I just want to have dinner in the oven when they get here.” The Christmas after Frankie proposed, your own parents had hosted everyone and Vanessa Morales had been less than impressed when your mother was still getting things into the oven when they arrived. It apparently didn’t matter in the least that they were early.

“Roger.” He kind of treats the parents visiting like a mission, a hostile one.

“Where did the Millers end up this year?” You can’t tell if it’s better or worse to not have his friends here as a conversational buffer. Part of you is grateful for fewer people in the house and half wishes you had friends here to lean on.

“I think Will and Teresa are going to get back together.” Frankie admits. “He said him and Benny were going to have Christmas with her and her brothers.” Frankie had always liked Will’s ex-fiancée and he knew you did as well.

“Good.” That’s a relief, showcased with how easily your shoulders drop with just a touch of tension dropped. “Good. That’s…That will be really good for them. I know they’ve missed each other.”

“They have.” Frankie pauses for a second . “Ben said he was going to swing by and check on Molly and the girls.” He murmurs quietly, regret lacing his tone.

“Where is Pope spending Christmas?” It’s not necessary to express more regret over Redfly’s death. Every single one of you have shed your tears over it and you make sure to check in with Molly at least once a week just like you always have. Family that you choose means you choose each other over and over again.

“He’s still in Australia.” Frankie sighs softly. Yovanna has covered her tracks well and he’s still looking for the woman he had fallen in love with.

"Shit..." All you can really do is shake your head at that. Even if Santiago Garcia is on your shit list for inducing the entire team away to South America for weeks, what happened there wasn't really his fault. It sounds like everything that could go wrong did, and the best that you can do is be grateful that Frankie came home to you in one peace.

“Yeah.” He shuffles slightly, rocking the baby as she continues to gnaw on her first and drool all over his shirt. He knows you aren’t happy with what happened, and he’s never been able to tell you all the details.

The tentative expression on his face makes you shake your head, and you turn back to the pan you have on the stove with a sigh. "You'll tell me when you're ready." It's been months and he's still keeping the whole story from you, but you have always been patient. You have always let Frankie come to you. "Let's just not do it on Christmas Eve. Our families are almost here."

“Okay.” He knows you are upset that he won’t talk to you, but he steps closer and leans down to kiss your shoulder. “Thank you for understanding.”

He'll come to you when he's ready. And you're doing your damnedest to be patient. But it's fucking hard when you feel like you're weathering a private storm on the edge of an ocean hell bent on drowning you.

For better or for worse, that is the moment that the doorbell rings.

“It’s showtime.” Frankie mutters, trying to plaster a happy smile on his face and just managing to look constipated.

"Shit, shit." You shove two trays into the oven right away, barely able to check to make sure that everything is assembled correctly but just dying to have it all in the oven. "Okay. That's got to be your parents." Frankie has walked away with the baby, leaving you to quickly wipe down the kitchen and pray you're not smelly from the sweat you worked up preparing dinner.

Frankie opens the door, smiling when he sees his mother and stepfather standing on the porch. “You made it.” He greets them. “Made good time getting here.”

“Of course we did.” Vanessa Morales moved into the house with determination, but the first thing she does is reach for her granddaughter. “Ay, hola Gordita! Eres mucho más bonita que tus fotos.”

Suddenly feeling shy, she pulls back and buries her face in Frankie’s neck. “Está bien, es tu abuela.” He soothes, rubbing her little back. “She’s cutting another tooth.” He explains.

“Pobrecita.” Vanessa coos, not taking the baby’s cue at all. “Come give your abuela a kiss, Gordita. Dame un beso.”

Mira doesn’t like it when someone crowds her face that she’s not familiar with and she immediately starts to cry, clinging to Frankie and trying to get away from her. “Mama.” He huffs, holding her tighter and cooing softly. “Give her a few minutes to warm up to you.”

Vanessa frowns, but relents when her husband agrees with Frankie. Instead, all she says as she’s lead into the house is, “Your sister’s bebes didn’t need time to warm up.”

“Gabriella lives in the same town as you, mama.” He reminds her, rolling his eyes at her miffed reaction. “Mira has seen you twice since she was born.”

“Even so.” His mother huffs, as though it were a personal affront.

“Feliz Navidad, Vanessa.” You come out of the kitchen a second later with your face freshly washed just to give yourself a boost and offer your in-laws a smile. “Hi, Javier. It’s nice to see you both.”

“There’s my favorite daughter-in-law.” Javier might just be a step-parent, but he has always thought that Francisco had chosen the best woman for him, despite what his wife might say. Vanessa is prickly, and while he might find that attractive since he’s a self-confessed asshole, he tries to make you feel accepted when he’s around. He steps around Vanessa to pull you in for a hug.

“Feliz Navidad, Javi.” The extra moment of consideration from your husband’s stepfather is dearly appreciated, and you accept the hug whole-heartedly. “How’s things?”

“Same.” He doesn’t mind slightly offending Frankie, so he kisses your y forehead and leans back to wink at you. He was a ladies man back in the day and still a silver fox, so it’s always fun to raise the hackles of the man he loves like his own son. Just for shits and giggles. “Better now that I’m around three beautiful ladies.” He turns that charming smile on Mira and leans in. “This one most of all.”

He earns a full belly laugh from his granddaughter and you feel yourself breathe just a little easier. Javier in a good mood bodes well for the night. “Can I offer you both something to drink? Vanessa?”

“I don’t suppose you have wine,” Vanessa manages to make it sound vile, to not have wine in the house. “Actually, mom, she picked up a bottle of your favorite sangria.” Frankie pipes up.

“Let me get you a glass.” The atmosphere is already frigid but that’s just how it’s always been between the two of you. Thank God she doesn’t know about the coke or she’d surely find a way to blame you for Frankie’s addiction issues, too. Just like she’s blamed you for everything else she deems wrong with her only son’s life.

“Javi?” Frankie lifts a brow towards his stepfather. “You want a whiskey? I’ve got a bottle in the den.”

“Good man.” Javi commends, and clasps his stepson on the back as they disappear into the other room together.

Vanessa turns towards you expectantly and pulls a tight smile. “When will dinner be ready?” She asks. “Assuming you’ve started cooking, of course.”

It’s too much for how exhausted you are, and even being prepared doesn’t make it okay. Without a buffer, Vanessa aims all of her venom at you endlessly. “It will be ready in an hour. No need to worry.” And the sooner your own parents get here the better — not that they’re perfect by any means.

“You look tired.” It’s not an observation born out of concern, but criticism. “You should really put a bit of effort in.” She hums. “Fransisco deserves that, doesn’t he?”

Yes. He does. But your husband of six years is also well aware of how much work raising a newborn is. Which is why you just smile and bite back how much his mother's constant nitpicking bothers you. "Your son prefers a natural look," you inform her as politely as you can without snapping. "No make up. So that I always look like myself."

She can’t possibly argue with that, because it would mean insulting her precious baby boy. Instead she just looks around like she’s never seen the place and starts to wander off towards the kitchen.

You’re debating whether or not you need to follow her when the doorbell rings. It’s still a touch too early for your parents to arrive — they shared their location with you so you could track their driving route on your phone from the airport. It should be ten more minutes until they arrive.

“I’ll get it!” You call, wondering if Frankie heard the doorbell in the den, and head back to the front.

“That must be her parents.” Frankie sighs and looks longingly at the bottle of whiskey but he knows he can’t have any. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to Mira.

“Save it for later.” Javi advises. “When your mama’s gone to bed and the baby is down, and you can relax with your wife.” It seems like Frankie is struggling more than he has let on, but there isn’t time to talk about that now. “Go say hi to your in-laws. I can take Mira if she’s okay with it.”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much convincing on either man’s part for Mira to go to her abuelo. Immediately little fingers dig into the hair covering his upper lip and Frankie chuckles. “She doesn’t understand why I don’t have facial hair today.” He explains.

“She can play all she wants.” Javi laughs, bouncing the little girl in his arms. “I got her, Frankie. Go on.”

It’s almost jarring to the aloof and broody man he had spent his teenage years around laughing and chortling at a baby, but Frankie smiles at the sight before turning to see about mitigating the next disastrous arrival.

You’re already at the door, half-smiling and half-bewildered as your parents hand off a bag full of wrapped presents to you like a butler and chatter away as they enter.

“It’s good to see you dear.” Your mother hums, “our trip here seemed to take forever.” She opens her mouth to once again suggest that you move back home and Frankie comes in to greet them.

“It isn’t exactly a short flight.” You can acknowledge that, and it’s why your parents don’t visit more often. Your dad isn’t up to that much traveling anymore. “I’m glad we’re able to spend Christmas with you.”

“So are we.” The problem in Frankie’s eyes about his in-laws spending Christmas with you is that they treat the house like a hotel and you like staff for the visit. They don’t Think they should lift a finger for themselves. “Hey, glad you made it.” He gives them a polite smile and nods at your father before holding out his hand to shake it.

“Francisco.” Even after a decade together, your father still refuses to call your husband by his nickname. He shakes Frankie’s hand with unnecessary force, like usual, and grunts with approval. “How’s things?”

“Going well, sir.” Despite the difficulties raising a child, he knows voicing that to your parents would do neither of you any good. “And you?”

“Retirement is boring.” Your father gripes good-naturedly. “Thinking about finding something part tune just to get out of the house and avoid the nagging at home.”

Frankie snorts. “Yeah I could see how that would be a little overwhelming for you.”

"Never stop working, if you can help it." The older man claps Frankie on the shoulder like he's doling out the sagest advice in the world. "She'll be fine with the baby. But the second you're home for more than twenty minutes an extra day? You'll have a Honey Do list longer than your arm."

Frankie doesn’t mind spending time with his daughter and cleaning up around the house that is also his responsibility but he just hums. “That’s some advice.” He makes it sound like he agrees just to keep the peace. You need help with things and his father-in-law’s outlook is a little old fashioned for him.

“You’ll thank me for it,” your father advises, and gives Frankie another friendly-if-condescending pat on the arm before walking away in search of whatever it is he wants but hasn’t asked for yet. Presumably to find his wife, but that’s an assumption.

“Jesus.” Frankie sighs and turns to start taking jackets and bags from you. “I’ll get their bags to their room.” He grins. “Do I get a tip?”

“Does a kiss count?” Just because you’re both exhausted and you haven’t been in the mood for sex doesn’t mean you don’t love your husband or appreciate the things he does to help you.

“The best kind of tip.” He vows, leaning in and stealing a quick kiss before pulling away. You seem to shy away from physical displays when your parents are around. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you, honey.” Having him jump on board to help means everything, but you frown a second later. “Where’s the baby? I thought I put her playpen away.”

“She’s with Javier.” He smirks slightly. “Old man apparently still has it with the ladies.”

"Well, that's something, at least." Something that his mother is going to hate – that the baby hid from her and went straight to her abuelo instead. "I'm going to pour drinks for people and get the shrimp cocktail out of the fridge so everybody can focus on food instead of bickering."

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can dump these in their room.” He promises, you having already determined which room your parents are staying in.

But as fast as Frankie can move in spite of his bad back, it isn’t fast enough. By the time you walk into the kitchen you find all four of your collective parents staring at each other like it’s a stand off at the O.K. Corral.

“How about a little appetizer?” You ask, after a few seconds of trying to read the room and finding the stony silence completely impenetrable. The only thing you care about is keeping them reasonably civil and having your little girl back in your arms. “Thanks for hanging on to her, Javier.” You offer him a smile when you take her back.

“Oh that’s no problem at all.” Mira giggles at him and leans in to cuddle against his chest, making him smile proudly. “Nothing I wouldn’t do for this little beauty.”

“You wanna stay with abuelo, sweetheart? You go right ahead.” It leaves your hands free, and you’re grateful to have that for a few more moments. So instead of extracting your baby girl from her grandparent, you kiss her curls and cross to the refrigerator to retrieve the tray of shrimp cocktail you put together this morning. “Can I get anyone a drink? Or a refill?”

“Since we are already starting with the alcohol, I would like some wine.” Your mother eyes the glass of whatever is in Vanessa’s hand and tuts slightly. “White of course, red wines are too heavy for me.”

This is what holidays are. What family gatherings are. What they always are and why you dread them so much. Conversation can never seem to be civil, no one ever offers to help. Frankie is always putting out proverbial fires with all four parents while you work to be the perfect hostess but it’s never even enough to keep the peace. Everyone leaves feeling worse than when they came and yet they still insist on seeing the two of you. It’s enough to make you want to flee the scene, but you would never give your mother-in-law the satisfaction of seeing you run scared. It would only cement her low opinion of you.

So you pour drinks and serve appetizers, plastering the smile on your face and eventually taking Mirabel back from Javier just for utter relief of having your daughter back in your arms. By the time Frankie comes back downstairs, the doorbell rings again. Oh god, is all you can think, because you’re not expecting anyone else. What fresh hell is this?

Frankie frowns slightly, exchanging a confused look with you. “I’ll get it.” He promises, slightly caught off guard and wary by the unexpected arrival of someone else. Not that a fucking drug cartel would ring the doorbell. A firebomb through the window would be more their style.

The impatient chimes ring twice more before Frankie makes it across the house, not because it takes long but because of the insistent person on the other side. If your mother wasn’t already inside you would have guessed it was her without hesitation.

“Coming!” The friendly tone that Frankie adopts does stop him from reaching into the entry way dresser and pulling out the snub nosed .38 he keeps in there for just this occasion. He tucks it into the back of his pants before opening the door to find that it’s not necessary. “Benny!”

“Hey man.” Benny is grinning from ear to ear when he leans in the doorway to embrace his friend, slapping Frankie on the back in the process. “Sorry to drop in, but did you get Pope’s text?”

“Haven’t had time to look at my phone.” He hugs Ben Miller back just as hard as the bastard tries to squeeze him after the back slapping. “Everything okay?” He asks that quietly, since you have company and you don’t know about what happened in South America.

“Yeah.” Benny nods like a bobble head, immediately ready to reassure his friend. His brother. “He’s back. Brought Yovanna with him. He was texting around for a ride and a place to crash.”

“Holy shit, he found her.” He had his private doubts about tracking the lover he had sent to Australia down, but he’s happy for Pope. “And you decided to play Uber.”

Benny grins, wide and unapologetic, before standing aside with a flourish. “Special delivery!”

The shorter man grins but he doesn’t rush to embrace Frankie. A little unsure of how he will be greeted, but Frankie bursts out laughing “Cabron!” He huffs, lunging forward and wrapping his arms around his brother in arms.

“Feo.” Pope returns the hug easily, not caring that he holds his best friend a moment longer these days than he might have before. Shit’s changed, after all. “You remember Yovanna?” He knows that everything about that trip is burned into Frankie’s brain just like the other guys, but it seems the polite way to go about reintroducing them.

She seems nervous, hesitant. He knows that Pope had to have told her what happened to Tom. "Sure." He nods and flashes her a smile before he moves out of the doorway. "Come in. Please."

"Lotta cars here..." Pope observes, though 'a lot' is only two besides the cars that are supposed to be here.

"We'll see you guys tomorrow." Benny waves as he jogs back to his truck. Everybody is with family today and that includes him, because Will is the only member of this damn group that can cook worth a damn somewhere other than a grill.

“Thanks Ben!” He knows that Mira can sleep in the bassinet in your bedroom and he can pull down the Murphy Bed you both had decided to keep in there for those late, rough nights with the baby. “Take your shit up to the bedroom next to mine.” He tells him with a smirk. “I’ll let my mother know you are here.”

"Nessa's here?" Pope brightens measurably as he whisks Yovanna into the house. "Christmas with the fam, man. I'm telling you. This is going to be great."

He snorts as he closes the door. Hopefully this won’t make you feel even more overwhelmed than you already have been.

"Frankie!" You call from the kitchen, and he can hear shuffling chairs and footsteps. "Who is it, honey?"

“Well, uh—”

“Hoooooooney, I’m hooooome.” In typical, dramatic fashion, Pope swoops into the room with a broad grin, although he’s not directing it at you since you might actually hit him for that shit earlier this year. Instead, he aims that charm at Vanessa. “I heard the most beautiful lady this side of the border was here and I had to come.”

"Aye, Santiago mijo!" After a lifetime of being best friends with her only son, Vanessa looked at Santiago Garcia as being the baby boy she never had. She disregards everything else in the room to go and hug him, but for a single moment you're actually grateful for that. It gives you the time you need to catch your breath after your heart stops at the sight of your husband's best friend. The one who supposedly was still in Australia.

“There she is!” Pope shoots you a quick glance and an even quicker wink before he is folding Frankie’s mom into a tight hug. He knows that you and your mother-in-law don’t get along, and hopefully you won’t kick him out on his ass in exchange for distracting her from harassing you.

Immediately, Vanessa is fawning over Santi instead of picking on the fact that you haven’t dressed your baby girl specifically in pink. It’s so much of a relief to see him alive and well in your kitchen that you barely register anything else — and it takes you a second before you register the gorgeous woman standing anxiously in the doorway. Mira tucks her little face against your shoulder at the sight of a stranger, but you just at your daughter’s back and gently step closer. “You must be Yovanna?”

"Sí, I mean, yes." She knows that you and Frankie speak Spanish, but she also knows that she's in the United States, so practicing speaking English is necessary. Her eyes flicker between you and Frankie before she nods. "You must be the wife that is the best thing that ever happened to Francisco." After Pope had found her again, he had started telling her everything that he couldn't before. The flight from Australia filled with stories and names. "You're not Molly, right?" She asks, embarrassed that your name isn't quite coming to her. "That was the rude one's wife."

You tell her your name and disregard the comment about Tom because it’s accurate. You and Redfly never got along but you do try to respect the dead, so you won’t badmouth him now. “We’ll introduce you to Molly tomorrow, if you and Santi are going to be around. We always do a post-holiday thing with the team.”

"I think we are going to find a house?" She admits, shrugging slightly because she doesn't really mind where she is. As long as her brother is safe and she gets to be with Santiago. "That is what he was talking about."

“I’m glad to hear it.” To have him nearby and settled will do wonders for Frankie. He’s missed Pope and missed having his lifelong best friend close at hand. As much as you love each other and as much as you will always work to keep each other supported and happy, there is a part of him that isn’t quite full or right without Pope around. It’s the same way you feel about your own best friend. “Well, um…” Taking a second to grin at your bashful daughter, you turn slightly so the baby can see Yovanna over your shoulder. “This is Mirabel. She’s princess of the palace, and just…welcome. Merry Christmas. Dinner is in the oven and there’s plenty to drink.”

"I am sorry for intruding." She offers, smiling at the baby. "I hope it is not too much?"

“The team is family.” And sometimes family can be exhausting. Sometimes family can be troublesome. But family means doing the work. Which is exactly why you didn’t tell your parents to get stuffed over hosting this Christmas even though you’re exhausted and overwhelmed. “At the holidays, family is always welcome,” you tell her with certainty.

"He did not know how you would accept him." She admits softly, happy that he had been wrong about you being put off by him bringing your husband into the mess he had. "But it is good you have not had any problems since Lorea was killed."

“We haven’t,” you assure her quietly. “It’s the secret that we keep to make sure the boys are safe, and thankfully we have been safe.” For Santi? You can only shake your head and shrug while you bounce Mira in your arms. “I’ve over being upset with him, though it did take a while. Now? I’m just glad you’re both safe. That my husband came home to me. And that he won’t be doing anything like that ever again.”

“I understand.” She agrees. “It was stupid for them, for me. But at least they are home safe now.”

“Our families don’t know anything about it,” you tell her, not admitting for the moment that all you know is the name Lorea and that people had died. Two facts which Frankie had only told you so you could gauge your own safety if you were ever approached by someone who claimed to know him or know about what happened on that mission. You hadn’t asked more and he hadn’t offered, and since you had still been upset with him for going at all, it had never been brought up again.

Yovanna tilts her head in curiosity but she doesn’t comment on it. It’s very obvious that you don’t know the details and she doesn’t think that it’s her place to tell you about it. “Is there anything I can do to help?” She asks. “Since we are showing up unannounced.”

“Get settled and help yourself to a drink or an appetizer,” you offer, motioning to the small table on the other side of the kitchen counter. It’s where you and Frankie usually eat, especially with it being easy for placing Mira’s high chair, but tonight dinner will be served in the formal dining room. Which makes the little kitchen table a perfect apps-and-drinks table. “Welcome.” There will be plenty to talk about. More than plenty. But right now you refocus your attention. It’s time to give Mira a bottle and set her down for a nap, which will hopefully mean that she sleeps through the setting of the table and even the eating of dinner.

Everyone has been chatting, or at least Santiago has been distracting his mother while your father and Javi chat amiably. Your mother is fusing with something, one of the sides you had already prepared. Tasting it and adding something to it. He wants to stop her, but then he will just be told he doesn’t know what he’s doing in the kitchen, so he decides to not fight that battle today.

"I'm going to feed Mira," you tell Frankie as you slip past him in the kitchen. It will be a much-needed moment of relative quiet and you aren't going to pass it up. "I'll just go upstairs so I can feed her and put her down without fussing with a bottle. Is that okay?"

“You do that, babe.” He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder supportively. “I’ll try to keep everyone from killing each other.” It’s a large task, but hopefully he will be able to do it.

"Santi can help." It's not a suggestion that will take much pressing. Your quiet, introspective husband's best friend is a magnet for attention even without trying. "I'll be back down in a little bit. If you need me sooner, I have my phone on me. Just send an SOS text."

"I won't need it." He promises foolishly, unaware that the mothers will start in on him individually just as soon as he walks back into the kitchen.

"Good luck," you hum under your breath, before whisking your daughter off up the stairs.

"Francisco, be a dear and run this upstairs." Your mother's purse, one that she had earlier insisted that she needed to keep on her, now needs to be put in her room. She waggles the bag at him impatiently when he doesn't immediately jump to take it.

"She can do that, can't she?" Vanessa looks around, not even using your name to refer to you, and frowns after a moment. "Where did she go, Frankie? She should be taking care of her guests."

"She's feeding Mira, mama." He explains. "You remember what it's like to have a hungry, tired baby." He frowns slightly at her and takes the purse. "I'll take it upstairs, it's not a problem."

"So she took her away to feed her?" Vanessa clutches the pearls she isn't wearing. "One of us could have easily given her a bottle! She's teaching our granddaughter to hate us right away. Pobrecita Mirabel."

"She's breastfeeding." He huffs out. "Plus, she's putting her to bed."

"We're mothers too." To Frankie's surprise, your own mother chimes in, in support of Vanessa's viewpoint. "We can give a bottle just as easily as anyone else."

The look that your father shoots Frankie is apologetic at best but he says nothing, only drinks from his glass and turns to say something to Santiago, whom he vaguely remembers from your wedding. It's just about the least helpful atmosphere in the world but at least he isn't adding to the fire.

He shakes his head and doesn’t point out the glaringly obvious fact that if you are sticking your boob in his daughter’s mouth, then they couldn’t just as easily fed her, but it’s not worth the argument. Instead he turns around and hustles upstairs to deposit the bag at the foot of their guest bedroom.

It isn't exactly an ideal day. For anyone, it seems. But the only way out is through so he heads right back downstairs again once that is taken care of. When he comes back to the kitchen it's your father at the stove that catches his eye this time, but again Frankie doesn't say anything on that point. There's no use rocking the boat. Not now that his stepfather has most of the room entertained with a work story and no one is complaining at the moment.

"Oh damn." Your mother huffs, waggling the bottle. " We are out of wine." She raises her eyebrows at Frankie. "Will you be a dear and get another?"

"Is there another?" His mother asks, as if it was necessary to make the request any more irritating.

"Of course, mama." The implication that you didn't prepare well for today doesn't sit well with him, and Frankie heads straight out to the garage to get more of the wine that had been specifically bought for today.

You had bought an entire case. The sight of it makes Frankie smirk with pride. "That's my girl." He hums as he grabs another bottle. Hopefully this means that both mothers will get drunk enough that they won't be able to nitpick you.

It's a hope, as in vain as it might be, and when Frankie goes back into the house he finds things much as he left them. He refills both mothers' wine glasses and then ends up fetching the scotch from the den again for the fathers. It's constant back and forth, not able to sit and talk to Pope or to Yovanna, or even remember where he puts his own drink while he makes sure everyone else is settled.

"Goddamn." He mutters to himself. It's almost as if it's coordinated. Like a family who keeps a server running for their table by requesting something new every time they come back.

And it stays that way until the second you come back downstairs, baby monitor in hand, and sniff the air with a growing look of horror and panic on your face. "Shit. Shit!" You race to the oven with tears already stinging your eyes to find smoke and the smell of burning food coming from your finnicky, ill-behaved oven.

“What?” Frankie rushes back from den where he had been sent to dig out the bottle of bitters after Javi offered to make his father-in-law the best old fashioned he had ever drank. The bottle had been pushed to very back of the cabinet where the liquor was locked up and he had been half convinced it had been thrown out. “What’s wrong?”

"This!" When you drop the oven door open, a cartoonish cloud of smoke billows out. The once gorgeous-looking beef Wellington that you took such tender care to assemble is blackened beyong recognition when you pull the pan out and let it drop onto the stove top like a brick.

It's ruined. Completely and entirely. And you can feel your mother-in-law watching you while she picks out her preferred insult.

“Shit.” Frankie knows how much you have been anticipating this dinner. You hadn’t specifically said to look in on the damn thing but he feels guilty. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”

"I don't know how—" With your shoulders hunched and tears making your voice wobble, you pull the other pan out of the oven to find that the potatoes are scorched as well. Half of dinner is completely ruined. "I've made this a dozen times before!" Sure your oven isn't the best, but replacing it is expensive and you have just learned to live with how it cooks. But nothing like this has ever happened before. "How? How did this happen?"

“Well, you had the oven set to low.” Your mother offers and Vanessa nods. “You cannot possibly cook your little beef thing when it is set so low.” Your mother-in-law adds most helpfully. “I noticed it and asked your mother, so we turned it up for you. I’m sure that you are just too overwhelmed with things to have noticed.”

“It was set low on purpose.” You turn again, this time look at the temperature setting on the oven, and feel yourself deflate when the digital read out says 425F. “Our oven runs hot,” you explain to them, so upset that you’re physically shaking while tears stain your cheeks. They push in and they treat you like shit and then they ruin things and yet they’re still acting like you’re the one who is incompetent. “If you had just asked, I would have told you why it was set low. You’ve essentially set my oven to over 500 degrees and burnt half of dinner because you didn’t think i knew what I was doing.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Your mother gives you a bewildered hurt expression and covers her heart like you are attacking her. Frankie moves over to you and sighs softly as he sees the burnt remnants of the meal you had worked so hard on. “Why have you bought a new oven?” She demands. “Your husband is a pilot. He should be taking care of these things.”

“You should have asked, Mom.” But of course she didn’t. Your mother is the queen of that ‘Mother Knows Best’ attitude and has never admired to being wrong in your whole life. “Being a pilot doesn’t make him a millionaire, and we’ve got the baby. Life is expensive right now. We’ve been saving up like reasonable people.”

Vanessa bristles at the implication that there is something lacking in her baby boy but Santiago sees that as well and quickly steps in to distract her. “It’s being taken care of.” He assures your mother but she huffs and shakes her head. Which makes Vanessa snap her head to the side. “Don’t you dare think ill about Francisco.” She hisses. “He works all the time to make sure your daughter stays home. He’s working himself to death.” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Mama. Stop.” He ordered, feeling like this is getting out of hand. “It’s true. You don’t think I know you called Javi to borrow money?” She demands.

"I work from home, Vanessa. I don't sit around on my ass all day doing nothing!" True that you took your maximum maternity leave, but you had damn well needed it. Postpartum healing took its toll and the depression that went with it had hit you hard. And after Frankie had come back with so many secrets? Well, it's not as if your home life is all sunshine and roses right now.

"Then why does—"

"It doesn't matter why, Mom. It's only our business." None of them need to know about what happened with Frankie's license or anything else. It's not as though they have ever offered to help or support you before so you're not about to share your troubles with them now.

“But—”

“ENOUGH!” Frankie nearly bellows the order, making your mother jump and snap her mouth shut, eyes wide in near fear. Your father looks down at his glass guiltily and even his own mother gasps as she presses a hand to her chest. Only Javi looks somewhat amused by the entire thing, a small smirk of approval twisting his lips. “I don’t give a damn that you drove for hours or flew here to see us for Christmas.” He seethes. “This is our house and I am not going to put up with you mistreating my wife.” His eyes narrow as he turns towards his mother and then towards his mother-in-law. “Either one of you. You don’t like it? Leave.” His tone is stony and flat, leaving no room for argument.

Pope and Yovanna are dead silent in the corner, not willing to meddle in family drama when they've only just arrived, and three of the four parents exchange appalled looks.

"We didn't raise you to be so disrespectful." Your mother snaps, standing from her chair with steam practically pouring out of her ears. "Or to be a terrible cook. Go get our things. We're going to a hotel until you come to your senses."

“Go get them your goddamn self.” Frankie snaps back. “And you aren’t welcomed back until you apologize to her.” That’s one set of parents he’s pissed of completely, so he turns to his mom. “Mama? You gonna be nice or is it gonna be more passive aggressive bullshit comments? Because if it is, you can get the fuck out too.”

"I have never made a passive aggressive comment about--" she begins, but Javier actually laughs at her pious pearl clutching.

"Nessa, that's all you've said to your poor daughter-in-law for years." He tells her bluntly. "Come on. I'll get our stuff." Vanessa looks absolutely appalled, but Javier just shrugs. "Prove me wrong," he insists. "Apologize."

Frankie waits, brows raised and he actually hopes for a moment that his mother will apologize. Her mouth opens and she starts talking, making his heart sink.

“She should—”

“Nope.” He cuts her off, a disappointed look on his face. “I should have put my foot down years ago. That’s my fault. Until you apologize to her, and mean it, you aren’t welcomed in our lives.” He tells her, even though it breaks his heart. “You’re my mother and I love you. But this is my wife. The woman I vowed to spend the rest of my life with. The woman I love. You would have never put up with the kind of shit you give her out of Javi’s dad.” He reminds her. “And I’m done having her cry when you leave.” He nods towards the door. “Merry Christmas. Now I’d like you to leave.”

The stone-silent kitchen is a staring contest for long moments while Frankie’s mother realizes that her son is actually giving her an ultimatum. With a dramatic huff, she pushes out of her seat and storms to the door, shouting something about how his sister would never treat her like this. She shouts so loud that the sound of the baby crying bleeds through the baby monitor and cuts down the stairwell, but when you let out your own wretched, exhausted sob, Frankie stops you.

“I’ve got her.” He promises, reaching out and holding onto your shoulders. “I want you to pour yourself a big glass of wine and go upstairs and get into a bath.” He knows how much you love to soak in the tub, but you haven’t had much of a chance to do that since Mirabel was born. “I’ll take care of everything.”

"I have to figure out what the hell to make for dinner," you insist, intermittently glancing back between Pope and Yovanna, and toward the stairs where your baby girl is screaming.

“I’ll handle it.” Frankie implores, lifting his brows. “Trust me, baby. Go upstairs. I’ve got this.”

"I'm so sorry." The entire day has collapsed and it feels like it's your fault. Despite the fact that you were actively sabotaged and abused for the last hour – only an hour! – it still feels like you failed.

“It’s not your fault.” This comes from Javier, sighing softly as he glances at the two of you. Your mother and father are still upstairs, rummaging around after leaving the kitchen quietly in the face of Frankie’s ultimatum. “Don’t be sorry. Let your husband take care of you.” He looks at his step-son. “I’ll read her the riot act.” He promises.

"You're the only one I wish could stay," you admit to your father-in-law with a deflated shrug, but lean into your husband's side for a moment and just breathe Frankie in. "Okay. I'm going to have a wine bath. Whatever else we end up doing for dinner, there's a huge salad in the refrigerator and a tray of Christmas cookies in the pantry."

“Okay.” He kisses the top of your head before he pulls away to grab the monitor. “Big glass of wine.” He reminds you before he looks over at Pope and Yovanna. “You two good?”

"We're good." Pope nods, but he's already out of his chair and moving to wash his hands. Even after being gone for a few years, he still knows this house and these people as well as anything else in the world. "Go take care of your baby girl. We'll be ready to help when you get back."

“Thanks man.” He nods towards Javi and then rushes out of the room. “Daddy’s coming, Mira.” He calls out. “It’s okay.”

"It's...not usually like this." It's the best you can do to reassure Yovanna when you come out of the pantry again with a bottle of your preferred white wine and a large glass. That bottled sangria that Vanessa likes is garbage, no matter what she pretends.

“It is okay.” She promises. “Family can be difficult.” She smiles, knowing how often her brother puts her in hard situations.

"I'll...be back in a little bit." The idea of a glass of wine in a bath is basically unheard of in your life now and it's something you used to do at least once a week. The chance to relax and feel like you get to start the day over again is incredibly welcome.

"Take your time, hermana." Pope insists. "Take the bottle with you, if you want. We've got this."

With Mira, Frankie has her up on his shoulder, rocking her soothingly. “It’s okay. Shhhhhhh shhhhhhh.” He shushes softly, angry at his mother for not caring about waking his daughter up. She hiccups and starts to quiet down, not needing a bottle or a diaper, just some comfort. “It’s gonna be alright.” He promises, to both her and himself.

He can hear you in the hallway, light steps on the way to the master bathroom so that you don’t make more noise and disturb Mirabel any more than she already is.

It doesn’t take long for her to fall back asleep, although he spends precious minutes carefully laying her back down and making sure she stays asleep. Smiling softly when she shoves her thumb in her mouth as she sleeps. He creeps out of the room and back downstairs as he hears the water start to run from the master en-suite.

“Okay.” Pope is standing in the kitchen with a tied off trash bag sitting near the garage door and the two pans formerly full of burned food now scraped out and refilled with steaming, soapy water. “What’s the plan?” He asks, nodding to Yovanna beside him. “What can we do to help?”

“I’ve got some steaks in the freezer.” It’ll only take twenty minutes to thaw them. “If you want to go fire up the grill, I’ll pull them out.”

"Heard that." Thankfully the stunning Florida weather guarantees a warm Christmas with perfect grilling weather, and Pope heads outside immediately. He can have that grilled fired up and ready in no time.

"I can help, too." Yovanna insists. She would feel awful to not help out under any circumstances, but especially now. "Anything, Francisco. I'm happy to."

“There’s salad, but I know there’s also a carton of mushrooms.” Frankie explains. “Will you slice them and an onion to sauté?” He asks. “She loves onions and mushrooms on her steak.”

"Absolutely." A relatively small task that will make all the difference to someone who is having a hard day? She is more than happy to do what he asks. The three of them set to work immediately and within half an hour the smell of burnt pastry and potatoes is replaced with grill smoke and sauteed aromatics.

You come downstairs in clean, comfortable clothes with a glass of wine in your system, smelling like a bath bomb and looking like you're just starting a brand new day. When Yovanna is in the kitchen with a sautee pan instead of Frankie or Pope, you have to sit with your embarrassment for a moment.

"I'm sorry for...before. That wasn't the first impression that I wanted to make."

“The men are outside.” She tells you with a smile. “The salad looks gorgeous but Francisco said you like onions and mushrooms on your steak.” She explains. “And do not worry. I am just happy that you look more relaxed now.”

"Much." You huff out a laugh, feeling sheepish about the whole thing. "Families at the holidays..."

"Are always pretending to get along?" She laughs. "It is the same everywhere."

"Well...thank you, again." If you knew her better you might go so far as to give her the giant hug of gratitude that you would like to, but that will keep for later in the day. For now the two of you exchange knowing smiles about how ridiculous families can be and you go out the sliding door to the patio where Frankie and Santi are standing at the grill inspecting the image of your sleeping daughter on the baby monitor.

“I’m telling you man, she’s gonna be a problem when she gets older.” Pope huffs. “We need to start scaring away the boys now.”

"What if she grows up to like girls?" Of course they're already in protective mode. That doesn't surprise you in the least. "Or maybe she won't want romance at all. Anything is possible."

“Yeah but the boys can get her pregnant.” He points out, lifting a brow at Frankie’s immediate frown. “Well that’s not happening since she’s going to stay a virgin.” The overly protective father scoffs.

"She's going to be educated on her body and consent, and she's going to have the unwavering support of her parents," you correct them both. But there is still a soft smile on your face when you tuck yourself under Frankie's arm. "And if all else fails, she has Uncle Pope, Uncle Ironhead, and Uncle Benny to scare off anyone who doesn't respect her."

“What about me?” Frankie huffs as he settles his arm at your waist and hauls you closer. You look relaxed, and he’s glad. “How are you feeling, baby?” He asks.

"A little better. Pretty stupid, but better." When you lean into his chest he presses a kiss to your hair and you sigh. "Think our mothers are ever actually going to apologize?"

“If they don’t, we will have peace.” His eyes slip closed and he smiles slightly. “The dream.” He jokes before he opens his eye and looks at you seriously. “They will eventually. When they realize we are serious.”

"No contact with all of our parents except Javier." Another huffed laugh from you ends in a sigh. "Merry Christmas, I guess. Is it bad that I feel relieved?"

“We are having Christmas ribeye’s, with that salad you made, you can have your onions and mushrooms, and I know you have those rolls in there.” He grins. “Washed down with your wine and Christmas cookies.”

"Well...Mira is having a bottle the rest of the day anyway. No reason not to enjoy." With your arms around his waist, you tug Frankie tighter and practically shudder with that sigh of relief that rocks out of you. "Thank you, baby. I know neither of us ever wanted it to come to that with our parents, but thank you for stepping in. And for taking care of things afterward."

“Of course.” He knows that your trust and faith in him has been shaken by the drug charges and then disappearing to South America, but he wants to rebuild it. “Anytime, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.” That, thankfully, was never in doubt.

******

A year passes with so much incident that it is a task of its own to decide where to start when someone asks you 'what's been going on?'. Planning the next Christmas is easier simply because of logistics. Hosting doesn't feel daunting when the people who are coming to the house are supportive, helpful, and kind.

Dinner is a potluck this year, with all the boys from Frankie's unit bringing their partners. Even Benny has a girlfriend – one who promises she's capable of bringing more to a potluck than jarred salsa and bagged chips – and Frankie is once again going to grill ribeyes. New traditions are falling into place, but the fact is that you're actually looking forward to things this year instead of dreading them.

“Babe.” Frankie ducks into the kitchen to admire the new oven that he had delivered six months ago. “Do you want to do that mashed potato casserole you were talking about or do you want to do baked potatoes this year?”

"Why don't we do baked potatoes and we can put out a bar of toppings and stuff? I can throw some bacon in a pan and chop some scallions." Things are better. You're talking more. You're listening to each other and asking questions instead of assuming. Frankie even comes home early from work once every other week to look after Mira while you have therapy. It's helped your postpartum depression immensely.

“That sounds good.” He agrees, grinning at you. “Pope and Yovanna are going to bring the salad this time. She loves that dressing recipe you gave her.”

"It's a good one." Yovanna has fast become a close friend, joining the sisterhood you have with Teresa, and now with Benny's girlfriend Roseanne. "Everybody should be here pretty soon. I figured there was no use in pretending this is formal. We're all perfectly happy to sit around together and hang out."

“Have you heard anything?” He asks softly, aware that you might have some feelings about everything that went down last year.

"Only from Javier." Frankie's stepfather was the only one who had been in contact, and even that was respectfully sparse. "I've sent him some photos of Mira and he texted this morning to say Merry Christmas and that he hoped the package he sent got here in time."

Even though you have been remarkable about the silence, Frankie steps closer and folds you into his arms for a reassuring hug. “It’ll all work out, baby.” He promises. “I just love seeing you excited for Christmas.”

“It’s easier to be excited when I’m not dreading the arguments and insults.” You lean into him a little tighter and sigh. It’s shit that things had to blow up the way they did last year, but things are better now. You’re both happier. The boys are all back together and Pope had proposed to Yovanna at Thanksgiving. Will and Teresa are ecstatic about expecting their first kid together. Things are good. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“I love you too.” He murmurs softly, kissing your forehead. He had told you everything that had happened and while you were unhappy about it, you hadn’t held it against him. That’s the best gift he could have ever asked for. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[stubz]

"Maverick is here."

"Hi Maverick! Want some coffee?" the human groaned.

"Only if it's Irish..."

"Heh, if only."

The two humans tried but couldn't help the shift of tone when talking about the youngling. Couldn't help the sighs or forced enthusiasm when it came to Maverick.

Maverick, age 6, species Ewelsjay, and the unknowing arch nemesis of Kim and Max.

.

"Maverick get down from there!" the man shouted up to the child dangling from the fire sprinklers.

"But it's fun!" giggled the child.

"They're not for climbing! Get down now!"

"No I'm no-!" the sprinkler snapped.

"I told him," he growled running towards the crying youngling. "a million times I told him don't climb the sprinklers! They're not for climbing! But did he listen? Nooooo."

..

"Maverick! What happened!?"

"Mr. Aurum, Maverick climbed the fire sprinklers and fell when they broke. Luckily it wasn't that high and he landed on the mats, he only has a bruise and scrapped knee."

"And you let him??"

"..No. I did not. We have told Maverick multiple times not to climb them because of this very reason."

"Oh Mavy. You need to listen your teachers. I'll have a talk with him."

"See you tomorrow then."

...

"And he looked at me as if I let his kid climb the sprinklers!!" he took a swig of his Irish coffee.

"Tell me about it...the guy acts as if it's always our fault. One time he told me it was my job that his kid puts his bag in his locker. His 6 year old kid...he's 6 years old! I tell him and sometimes he does it but most of the time he looks me in the eyes and says you do it."

"Exactly! We're not servants!"

"Gah please let them move or switch schools!"

....

"All right kids, foods ready so line up."

"But before you grab a plate let us tell you what's just for the humans today. The kitchen made an accident today and put in too much of a spice that can be dangerous for other species, it's the blue pot. Okay? Only humans can eat that."

"Human kids, only have a little to start with because its spicy. If you like it then you can have more later."

The kids nodded and started to serve themselves, only the humans taking food from the blue pot.

When they ate the adults chuckled and smiled watching their fellow humans eat the spicy curry. Some kids loved it for the spice or flavor while others chugged their milk. They're non-human friends laughed or gasped.

"Human Kim, can I try some?"

"Sorry Maverick but not today. It's not safe for some of you kids. We'll have this again on Friday though and we'll make sure it's safe for the rest of you kids."

"Aw. Okay." the human cracked a small smile and ruffled his golden hair.

"How about you try some of this? It from the same place on earth."

"It's green!"

.....

"Excuse me, Max and Kim? Maverick told me something very concerning yesterday."

"Oh, what was it?"

He told me that yesterday there was a dish just for the humans. That no one but humans were allowed to eat it." the Ewelsjay glared at them.

'Here we go' they both thought.

"Mr. Aurum the kitchen made a mistake when making one of the dishes yesterday and put in too much of a spice that is dangerous to most species. So to not waste the food and keep the others safe we only allowed the human children to eat it.

This was a simple mistake and Kim has talked to the kitchen already and made arrangements to make the dish again on Friday."

"Really? 'Too much spice' is what stopped my child from eating? Unbelievable."

"...listen-"

"Sir, this type of spice is one that can be rather harmful to younglings, even adults, and since we couldn't quite call everyone's parents asking for permission we decided to play it safe." the human placed a hand on her co-workers back. Trying her best to calm her friend. Even though she too wanted to rip Aurum a new one.

"I'll be the judge of that. Tell me, what's the name of the dish and how exactly the kitchen made it."

"Mr. Aurum I don't think-"

"Goat curry and it has many different variations but this recipe had 1 seeded scotch bonnet pepper."

And with that the Ewelsjay left with his son.

"Are you sure that was a good idea?"

"No but I don't care. Besides as much as an a-hole he is there's no way he'll let Maverick eat it before he tries it first."

"Ooo the perfect crime."

*the next day*

"Teachers teachers teachers!"

"Yes Maverick?"

"My Dad tried the goat carry and his face turned bright orange! He took one bite and then screamed for water but it didn't help."

"Yeah water doesn't do much. Rookie mistake."

"Yeah but then I remembered what teacher Kim said about milk and gave him that and it helped!"

"So how's your Dad now?"

"He's stuck in the bathroom still drinking milk." he said so matter of factly making the humans snort.

"A-and now do you see why we didn't want you eating it?" asked Max trying his best not to laugh.

"Yeah...I guess I should be listening to you two. You are my teachers."

"Glad to hear that. Now go to put your stuff away and play."

"Okay!" once he was out of earshot the two finally allowed themselves to laugh till they cried.

Maverick was a handful most times but moments like these reminded the two that he was a kid. And kids learn from those around them. Hopeful Mr. Aurum would learn what his son did today, listen to the teachers.

[carolmunson]

alive with the glory of love

(older!rockstar!eddie x older!actress!wife!)

a valentine's slice of life with our favorite rockstar almost thirty years into our marriage. the year is 2023 and we're still stella rink and we're still famous as hell. aged like fine wine. a decades long career and a decades long marriage with two twins in their late twenties. this is semi from the twins perspective. we know what our life was looking like before, let's see what it looks like now. :) eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple cw: 18+ minors dni, allusions to smut/wearing lingerie, but overall this is a short little something. reader and eddie are both 57, so, sorry if you don't want to be fifty seven. but if i have to be in my 'early twenties' every time i read a fic, you can be older for like, seven and a half minutes.

The phone eases into focus, Violet’s giggle sounds as she presses record, leaning on her elbows at the kitchen island. The room is a sun drenched, black and white tiled vision — still partially stuck in the 90s, remnants of your old life, despite the ongoing renovations. Despite the teasing from your adult children. Some stuff just never lost its charm – plus, the kids were calling it ‘a 90s vibe’ and you were both pretty sure that was cool. 

“Morning, happy Valentine’s Day,” Violet says sleepily, Van trudging in behind her. They both take lazy seats on the bar stools across from the chef stove that their father is delicately working over. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” Eddie calls over his shoulder, daintily pouring pink batter into a cookie cutter mold on a hot pan. The kitchen and dining room are filled to the brim with flowers and balloons. Eddie’s been up for hours getting everything set up for you, some things never change. Some things never get old. 

“What’re you doing?” Van asks. 

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m making mommy—” He turns around with a furrowed brow, deepening his forehead creases before he realizes they’re recording him. He sighs before turning back to his task, “Guys, again with the phone?” 

“C’mon dad, they love you!” Violet begs, putting her phone down and shoving it in her sweatshirt pocket, “Van show him the comments on the last one.” 

“They think you’re hilarious, they want you to have your own account,” Van encourages, he opens his own phone to bring over to his dad. He grew up to be a spitting image of the two of you, as if they pasted Eddie’s face on his and gave him all your other features. The color of your eyes, the texture of your hair. Your bright, enrapturing smile. A perfect fifty-fifty. 

Van scrolls slowly through the endless comments, Eddie squinting down at them, “Van, I don’t have my glasses.” 

Eddie peers down lower, “What does that mean? ‘I know it’s big’? What’s big?” “New…choker…just…dropped? I didn’t make chokers for merch,” he shrugs, waving him away to pay attention to the stove. “Ew,” Violet laughs, “Stop making him read these out loud, that’s so gross.” 

“You should still make your own,” Van says, sitting back down, “It’d do way better than the one for Corroded.” 

“Have your mom do it,” Ed shrugs off, “She knows how to do all that internet shit.” 

“That Howard Stern clip is going viral again,” Violet says devilishly, “The girlies are obsessed with you.” 

“I don’t care about the girlies, Vi,” Eddie blushes, flipping one of the pancakes on the pan, “I care about your mom.” 

“I just wanna show them what you guys do for your favorite holiday,” Violet whines, “They’ll love it.” 

“They’re gonna call him a simp,” Van teases, a look of realization washing over his face,  “Wait, you’re such a simp for mom, actually.”  

They both laugh, Eddie doesn’t know what ‘a simp’ is so he laughs too.

“That’s a good word for like, a DND character type — you should see about that in your campaigns,” Ed continues while he plates a pancake on an ever growing stack of pink and red. 

“Ohmygod Dad, no, that’s not—“ Van laughs silently into his hands. 

“Stop making fun of him, he’s old,” Violet pleads between giggles, taking her phone out again, “Dad, seriously can you just tell us what you’re doing? Why do you love Valentine’s Day?”

“Is this for your TikTok thing?” he asks, pulling his dark curls up in a ponytail with a black silk scrunchie, bangs he can’t quite part with falling in waves over his brow. ‘My Pilates teacher was telling me they’ll be safer on your hair,’ you’d said — and he’s never been one to say no to you. Every time the kids came home they’d take their phones out and make Tiktok’s of the two of you, sometimes you’d make a solo one for Violet or Van’s page if you felt like it. But with Twitter and Instagram, you didn’t want to overload your assistant with some other form of social media – but it looked like the two of you were really popular. Especially Eddie. 

Violet educated you about ‘fancams’ which were just clips to music. There were a lot of the two of you together, or you solo from your movies and shows in the 90s. Progressions of you then and now and how you’re still ‘so hot’ and ‘unproblematic’. Eddie’s almost always started with the clip of him at Howard Stern, jaw ticking while he tried to keep his composure: ‘Excuse the fuck out of me, what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth?’ The comments were always flooded with a mess of young people losing their shit: ‘god i’ve seen what you’ve done for others’ ‘stopppp he’s obsessed with her’ ‘@vidawn i hope your mom can fight’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn i’m five years younger than u but i would be a great step dad’ ‘when is someone gonna fight howard stern FOR ME?’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn they’re thirsting over your dad again’ ‘i’m banging on the walls of my enclosure’ 'ewwww we hate cheaters' ‘i NEED to fuck him’ ‘@vannywayne you look EXACTLY the same’ ‘are they looking for a third?’ 'idgi he looks dirty' ‘they are notttttt making them like him anymore’ ‘not him being old enough to be my father i’m sick’

“Obviously,” she snaps back, rolling his eyes when he starts touching himself up for the camera. 

“Should I do a couple of push ups so I look buff or…?” he teases. Violet and Van make a face that puts any face you’ve given him to shame. It’s the only regret he has about having kids with you – all that attitude had to go somewhere. 

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, “I’m ready for my close up, Vi.” 

“You’re so cheesy, dad. Just be normal for like, five seconds,” Violet huffs, taking out her phone again, “You’re ready?” 

“M’ready,” he smiles. “Okay, so, what’re you doing?” Violet asks again. 

“I am making pancakes,” he starts, pouring red better into the cookie cutter mold on the pan this time, “In a heart shape, for your mom.” 

“How long have you been doing this?” she asks, a smile spreading across her face. It matches her dads. There was no mistaking that Violet was Eddie Munson’s daughter. 

“Since we got together, so – the first one was in 1990,” he muttered, flipping the pancake, “I do it every year ‘cause she loves it. They’re strawberry, but they’re pink and red ‘cause I put food coloring in them.” 

“Is Valentine’s Day her favorite holiday?” 

Eddie grins, “No, her favorite holiday is the fourth of July. Not ‘cause she’s got a boner for America or anything. She just likes fireworks and when I use the grill.” “Is it your favorite holiday?” Van asks this time. Eddie nods, a bright blush pushing up on his face. 

“How come?” Violet and Van ask at the same time. Eddie turns the burner off, placing the heaping plate of heart shaped pancakes on the center of the island. He opens the wine cooler on the opposite wall, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two flutes from the top cabinet.

“‘Cause I get to spoil your mom all day,” he smiles, “She deserves it.” 

“You spoil her every day,” Van teases, “I can’t think of a more doted on woman on earth than mom.” 

“She’s very special,” he shrugs. 

“And you do this every year?” Violet asks, zooming in on the pancakes. 

“Every year for the past thirty four years, well, minus ninety-two,” he frowns a little, “We had some time apart that year.” 

“Still had my chef make them for me though.” 

Your voice cuts in from the large arch way connecting to the dining room and Violet pans quickly over to get you in frame. 

“Hi mom,” Vi says, “Is this your favorite holiday?” 

“No,” you shake your head and laugh, the same laugh he fell in love with, “It’s the fourth of July. C’mon Vi, how long have I been your mom? Do you even know me?” “You’re supposed to be in bed, honey,” Eddie frowns, “You’re ruining the surprise.” 

“The surprise that’s older than my kids? How could I forget,” you grin, rounding the island and greeting your husband with a gentle kiss, “Happy Valentine’s day.” 

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs into a second chaste peck, “You’re supposed to let me bring them up to you.” 

“My kids are home, I don’t wanna spend all day in bed,” you pout. He pouts back dramatically, tugging on your arm to pull you flush against his chest. 

“I thought you loved spending all day in bed with me,” he pushes some of your hair back before resting a palm on your cheek, moving in to kiss you deeply. The scruff on his chin scratches around your mouth but you never care because he still kisses you, he kisses you every day. He’d kiss you all day if you let him. You had too many girlfriends whose ex-husbands were on their third wife and every year they’re more surprised that Eddie is still on his first.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Van says, Violet stops recording. Their faces sour.  

“Yeah we don’t want a January ‘94 repeat or anything,” Vi jokes. The twins high five at their own mean reference to your horrific sex tape debacle, but you and Eddie toss them a playful glare. 

“Hey, she might be your mother, but she’s my wife,” Eddie warns, hand sneaking down to rest on the small of your back to pull you close to him, “Don’t mess with her.” 

“Yeah,” you tease, crossing your arms, “You saw what he did to Howie’s studio. I just gotta say the word.” 

“So scary,” Violet rolls her eyes, leaving the kitchen with her twin in tow, “We’re taking the Jeep to get Jamba Juice, do you want anything?” 

“My usual,” you answer while Eddie goes to the fridge to get grapefruit juice out of the fridge, “And get daddy’s usual too. Do you want his card? Where’s your card, hun?”

“Wherever you last left it,” he responds, gracefully pouring grapefruit mimosas for the both of you. 

“It’s in my purse,” you call out. 

“Which one?!” Violet calls back, both of them waiting by the door. 

“The pink Kelly!” 

“Got it! Do you want anything else?” Van calls out. 

“Just uh,” Eddie giggles to himself, tossing you a once over, “Take your time!” 

“Gross!” they yell back in unison. Eddie waits for the door to close to pull you back into him, he watches you at first. Brown eyes cascading over the slope of your nose, your cheeks, the crinkles at the edge of your eyes, your smile lines. He looks at you like he’s looking at you for the first time, every time. He looks different, but the same. Dark curls smattered and entwined in silver, a nose ring, a never ending scratch of overgrown stubble. Deep lines on his forehead that exaggerate his already animated features. Lips still full and warm, hands still big and covered in rings. He’s kept his body real tight for fifty-seven, still throwing himself in the gym daily. ‘If I’m gonna be addicted to something now it might as well be like, my cardiovascular health, babe.’ His crows feet make him somehow more attractive, his smile got better with age. He still makes your heart race when he catches your eye from across the room. “You wearing that little red thing I like?” he purrs in your ear. The tie to your robe sliding between his inked fingers.

“Maybe,” your finger trails over a tattoo on his bicep, “Maybe, I got something new for you to see. Maybe it’s black, maybe it’s strappy. Maybe it’s that thing you saw when we went shopping last week.” 

“Christ,” he huffs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping back over to the counter, “Do you ever stop getting hotter? Eat your breakfast before I bend you over this bar stool.” 

“Let’s bring it upstairs like you wanted,” you smile, following him closely to press your hips up against him, “We can get a little messy.” 

“Yeah?” he growls, pushing part of your robe away to see a peek of black lace and strappy leather, “Fucking god, Stell.” 

“C’mon,” you whisper breathily, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, “They’ll be home soon.” 

Some things have changed, some things remain the same. He still fucks you like a rockstar.

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 Prologue #3: The Big 2-0

It’s the day of my and Chantal’s birthday party and our dads are helping us set up. We kept it small, just family and close friends. Of course, Paul is coming, too; we’re not super close, but he does live here so it’s only fair to invite him. Plus with Lucy here he won’t feel too out of place.

Pops takes a look around the grounds. “I’ve got to say, I really enjoy it out here. It’s so peaceful. What do you say, David? Can’t you picture us living off the land?”

“Oh yeah, scooping up goat shit is what I’ve always dreamed of.” Dad smirks. 

“Dad wouldn’t last a day here!” Chantal laughs. 

“I guess we’ll stick to visiting, then,” Pops concedes. “Ah, here come Cece and Ben!”

“Happy birthday!” Cece calls out and she gives us both hugs. “How does it feel to be 20?”

“It’s awesome! I finally feel like a real adult!” Chantal replies. Even though we’re twins, sometimes I feel like Chantal is my older sister–technically she is, I guess, by a couple of minutes. She’s always been more put together, more mature, more goal-oriented.

Even though I’ve been doing a lot more planning for my future, a lot of the time I still feel like a kid cosplaying as a grownup. I keep waiting for the day everyone realizes I don’t actually know what I’m doing.

“Not me,” I say. “I still feel like I have a lot of growing up to do.”

“You do,” Dad responds.

“Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he laughs. “You don’t suddenly become an adult one day and have it all figured out.”

“You’ll learn and grow, and make mistakes, and learn some more,” Pops adds. “Just like we all will.”

“Well, at least I know I’m not the only one,” I say.

“So, Cece, have you and Ben picked a wedding date yet?” Chantal asks.

Cece groans. “Ugh, not yet. I don’t even know when I’ll have the time to plan anything. We’re going to be traveling so much with the band this year. I don’t want to be engaged forever, but we might have to wait until things slow down.”

“Well, I’ll help out however I can,” Chantal offers. “You know how much I love planning things.”

“Paul’s sister-in-law is an event planner,” I chime in. “Maybe you can hire her, or she can give you some information on vendors and stuff.”

“Thanks, guys,” Cece says. “I need all the help I can get. It’s just so overwhelming.”

“I told you, we don’t have to do anything big,” Ben tells her, rubbing her shoulder. “I don’t think you’d want that, anyway. As long as I get to be your husband, I’m cool with whatever.”

“I know, but I want to do something. Maybe we could have a small ceremony before we leave so we don’t have to put it off.”

“Sounds good to me!” Ben agrees. 

“What are you planning on doing about your last name?” Dad asks her. “You’re already double-barreled, so I’m assuming you won’t be taking on a third.”

“Well, I was planning on leaving it as it is. Ben doesn’t care if I take his and we won’t be having kids, so no need to worry about that.”

“That’s a good plan.” Dad sighs. “You know I support your decision to remain childfree, but it is a shame to think that my family name won’t be passed on.”

“I’m sorry, David,” Pops tells him. “I’m not really attached to my surname, but I know how important your heritage and your family are to you.”

“It’s okay. I have 3 beautiful children, a soon-to-be son-in-law, and a loving husband. I’m blessed no matter what their names are.”

I think about my own name. Like my Pops, I’ve never really felt attached to my last name. I was so young when my mom got married that I barely remember her being an Ayers. Besides, now that I'm no longer speaking to her, I feel even less connected to her side of the family.

Destiny and Trinity were both given their fathers’ surnames, and Chantal plans to change hers whenever she gets married. I guess I can pass the Ayers name down to my kids, but do I even want that? I guess that’s not something I have to think about quite yet.

Right now, the most pressing issue on my mind is when we're going to cut the cake.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[allur1ngs]

instead of : "i saw mommy kissing santa claus" it's actually just: "i saw unnie kissing santa claus"

just reader kissing santa bada during christmas eve like them 2 and the girls just saw that secretly not even recognizing bada 😭 like the girls were actually trying to see if santa was there but their reactions were something-

this is sooo cute!!🎄

"ouch, watch where you're walking!" cheche nudges kyma.

"i can't see anything!" kyma whisper-shouts back loudly.

"shh!" lusher quiets down the other bebe girls, holding a finger up to her mouth.

it's a cold, starry night on december the 24th—the clock is minutes away from striking twelve in the morning, and beginning the christmas festivities. the bebe girls--or more accurately, lusher as the spear header--gathered together with the expressed interest of "catching santa"...

"why are we even up this late?" hyo groans. "we're not going to see anything, y'know. santa's not real--"

"shhh!!" lusher exclaims loudly, placing her hands over soweon's ears. "there are children around--"

''oh come on, we're all adults here--" cheche argues back before she's cut off.

"guys." tatter mumbles, grabbing the girls' attention, and halting their bickering.

"what?" all the girls say in unison.

tatter motions for them to come closer and peek their head around the corner of the wall. they girls clamber over, each of them taking various positions against the wall before looking ahead.

the living room is dark--only barely lit by the beige, flickering string lights hung on the christmas tree. but, even with the sparse ligthting, the girls are able to make out two figures.

one is wearing a delicate and beautiful red and white velvety christmas dress. it's you. you're smiling widely, putting gifts under the christmas tree.

the other figure is tall, and is also wearing red and white clothing, although their's isn't a dress, it's a suit. a santa claus suit.

"santa." lusher breathes, her eyes going wide and sparkling.

in the living room, you stand up. "i think that's the last of them." you then turn back to face santa, your smile never fading. "what do you think, santa? are those enough presents for the girls?"

santa opens their mouth, about to respond when they catch something dangling just above them. they look up, prompting you to do so as well.

there, dangling from some decorated lights is a mistletoe.

"oh, how'd that get there?" you wonder aloud, voice full of cheer. "well, we are standing under it..."

santa wraps their arms around your waist, bringing you closer until you're chest to chest. they lean in, about to place a kiss against your lips--

"unnie's about to kiss santa!" lusher gasps.

"we have to stop them--bada's going to kill santa if she finds out!" soweon shakes her head worriedly.

"unnie, stop!!" lusher and the rest of the girls shout, running out of their hiding place.

you jump at their voices, your hand slapping over your chest in pure shock. santa also parts from you, surprised, but still keeps you close to their side. now facing the girls, santa's face is illuminated, revealing--

"boss?!" all the girls exclaim in surprise.

bada stands before the girls, dressed in a santa claus suit, looking anything but jolly. "yah, what are you all doing up?"

"we came to catch santa..." soweon trails off, glancing between you and bada. "what are you doing up, unnie?"

"we were putting your presents under the tree." you answer, moving to huddle into bada's warm side.

"why just now?" hyo asks.

"because if we’d put them out any sooner, you all would have tried to open them before christmas." bada says, deadpanning.

"that's not true--" lusher tries to argue, but even the other bebe girls give her a "really?" look. "okay, maybe we would have--"

"go to bed, won't you?" bada cuts her off. "we were in the middle of something." she gestures between you and her, which makes you bashful.

"sorry, boss." hyo starts to push the girls away from you and your wife, an apologetic grimace on her face. "we'll go back to our rooms. pretend like we were never here."

"i'm so glad that wasn't santa." soweon says quietly. "i was worried unnie would cheat on bada."

the girls all glance at each other, deciding to not destroy the youngest bebe girl's hopes and dreams.

meanwhile, you can't help but laugh at what had just happened.

"oh, it's funny is it?" bada smirks, pulling you back into her chest.

"a little." you banter, twirling the pompom end of your wife's santa claus hat.

"well, i think you still owe me a kiss, don't you?" your wife smiles.

"yeah, i think i do." you nod, weaving your fingers between hers.

under the twinkling lights and a cherry-red christmas mistletoe, you and santa share a kiss.

[one-and-a-half-yikes]

IM fandom got me actin up cause I wasn't even gonna say anything about this chapter lmao

So let's tall about it

Chapter 349: Imperfect Parents

It is not lost on me in the slightest that we're using plural nouns in this title instead of just referring to one parent. I can't imagine why.

Okay so, I'm fully understanding of why people are upset with this chapter and I get that we were so close to a good ending for the boys but-

Canola is right.

I'm not sorry she absolutely is right about this and we gotta address it now. Putting this on the record here and not just on the discord where I already went over all of this.

Let's start with the beginning.

Canola makes it clear that no minor should be in Felix's care, and upon inquiring we are given a very clear reason as to why.

And she is correct. When the Labyrinth chapters were dropping I need it to be made clear I had no patience for any of the Questers' actions regarding this scene. Every last one of them knew damn well Boris shouldn't have gone in there and they still let him regardless. The fact that Cuphead was the only one who had his wits about him enough to say no is embarrassing because when the fuck did he become the reasonable one amongst the group? Why were Leticia and Cuphead the ONLY ADULTS WHO REALIZED THAT BORIS WAS A CHILD

Everyone knew about the children going missing in Fairmont. Everyone knew how dangerous this was but because Boris didn't look like he was traumatized by the other previous quests everyone decided that he was mature enough to handle this quest. The problem lies in the fact that the Questers treat Boris like he's 25 when he's only 14. Not only that, but unlike everyone else who was going into the Labyrinth Boris was DEFENSELESS. He didn't have any real means of saving himself, and given what was in the Labyrinth? Do y'all really think a pipe was going to save his ass? The only reason why Boris lived was because Sarah used him to escape Fairmont, that's it. Otherwise he very well could have fucking died in there and then guess whose fucking fault THAT would have been

In the context of this particular conversation it doesn't matter that Canola doesn't have the full context because she doesn't need it. I said this on the discord and I'll say it again here. Every excuse and reason that people are giving for why things happened the way they did is a NAIL in Felix's coffin preventing him from adopting Boris, not a boon in his favor. These are grown ass adults, they do not need protection from their stupidity and negligence. Because let it be understood, when Canola says "Felix's isn't equipped to care for any minor" she means because of this very reason. Because what the Questers did here was negligence and child endangerment, plain and simple.

If Felix is genuinely serious about adopting Boris he needs to understand that simply listing all the problems he has isn't good enough. You're not being graded for a damn test here, no one cares about your impassioned speech about how much you love and care for those boys after everything they've gone through; it's a nice sentiment, but absolutely meaningless in the grand scheme of the conversation he's having with Canola.

Fundamentally what a social worker like Canola is asking of Felix is: with the behavioral issues and trauma this child has, can you really look after them and give them the proper care they need? Can you guarantee them a safe environment to heal and process their trauma? Can you put your foot down and reprimand Boris when he's out of line?

All of these are necessary questions to ask and all of these questions Felix has failed even before the idea of adoption occurred to him.

Things are not going to get better unless a change is made in the dynamic of the quest group. Everybody, not just Felix, has to stop treating Boris like he's an adult and recognize him for the traumatized child he is. And that means putting their foot down and Boris actually experiencing repercussions for things he does without adult guidance and supervision. Something he dearly needed during the TalentTown arc and was denied by everyone in the group who turned a blind eye to it, not because the don't care about him, but because none of them are truly equipped to deal with a child.

I don't think all hope is lost for Boris to be clear, but I am saying a change absolutely needs to happen in the group and soon if they don't want Boris getting separated. If they care, they'll do it without hesitation.

[r0tting-rat]

The fanfiction officially has a name now! And a house in the sims as well, although that's still a work in progress… Anyway! I don't promise anything yet, but let me share the concept with you, okay? (This is just a wip, I did not put any effort into this so I'm sorry) (Also, I abandoned Stoker and gave my soul to Poe, as you can probably see by… well, everything.)

Midnight Overture: Cotard's Delirium

It's 1988, and in the little city of Pacewood, near Towerdom Lake, down a little road half hidden by the trees, is Oleander Manor: a beautiful house of bricks and ebony who stands tall, proud, and old against the gray sky of January.

The people say the manor is haunted, but who could blame them? It's old, the portraits hanging from the walls depict men and women in beautiful gowns from the 19th century that not even a direct descendant could name, of course the place is haunted — although the current owners of the house claim otherwise.

Living in Oleander Manor are three children, orphans, with their two legal guardians: a pair of automata bought by the long-passed owner of the house and adoptive father of the three, Augustus Barnard. The older of the the kids, Annabel, will inherit the house and everything inside — automata included — as soon as she turns 18, which won't happen until 6 more years.

If questioned, the two automata will claim to have never seen any ghost or presence inside their house. The kids, however, never miss an opportunity to tell you everything they know about the corpse in the basement, about the woman with their mother's voice in the attic, about how, sometimes, the walls whisper and bleed. 

“Mr Sonne doesn't like it when we talk about them, he says we're past the age of imaginary friends.”

You're just looking for some easy money and a place to stay, you're not planning to plant your roots in Pacewood — or anywhere at all, for that matter. You'll take any job, do whatever needs to be done, work for whoever offers a good enough pay, even if they're... well, not human, to your big dismay. 

What an unfortunate situation! Three children with an incredibly morbid imagination, a pair of automata unable to keep their hands to themselves who seem to have grown a tad too close to the new hire, and a wanderer with automatonophobia. It could be worse though.

Friendly reminder that this story will contain:

For sure: gore, blood, suggestive themes, torture, mental illness, child and animal death, vivid descriptions of violence and injury, "yandere" behavior from our dear boys.

Most likely (still considering): explicit and consensual nsfw content between adults. Sorry, but I like to be… precise when it comes to this stuff.

Therefore, this story will probably be 18+ (if I do decide to include the nsfw content, otherwise it will be tagged as Mature and be 16+), so yeah, beware.

[thenntrewrite]

I'm not exactly sure how to approach this, so how about we start with some redesigns I've made and explaining the thought process behind the designs? We'll start off with the man, the myth, the legend himself:

Meliodas

I'll be honest. I do not like the shota/childlike appearance that is Meliodas. I get that it's suppose to be part of a running shtick of, "oh my God, he's a child—wait no he's a grown ass man?!" or a personal preference for the author (who makes a lot of his adult characters look like children/quite young for their age), but it's playing into one of the tropes I hate (looks young but is actually an ancient being). If it's your cup of tea, more power to you, but it's not my kind of flavor, so we're redoing him design-wise while also trying to keep some things (colors mainly).

So for his design, the thought process was like this:

Since he's a demon, I was like, "okay, bet" and told myself to pick one (1) from the three (3) options I gave myself, which was dragon, goat and crow— dragon in reference to his sin (Wrath) which is usually associated with dragons, goat because of goats being associated with hell and Baphomet and the Devil always have goat features, and crow because Morgan le Fay (which is his future wife in my rewrite, surprise! This bit is moreso fanservice to my middle school self. I'm sorry Melizabeth lovers, don't eat me alive)'s animal is usually the crow and crows are seen associated with death and that ties in with his curse of immortality.

Now, the goat jumped at me the most because it's the one most heavily associated with Hell, and he is the son of the Demon Lord whom I named Felec (based on Arthurian Legend, the little information we have on him), and I saw these amazing goats for someone's DnD character, and it just fueled my need to draw him as a goat more. The original idea was to give him goat-like features which was the ears, horns, the pupils, but then I got to thinking, "man, the seven deadly sins are all suppose to be from different races, yet it's hard to tell with how all of them looked practically human" and I know I can easily say, "ah no, this is just his human form, his true form is a lot more demonic and he needs the human form to blend in", but then I thought, "that's so boring", so lo and behold, I start with his eyes and worked my way from there.

I changed his hair to curls because his old spiky hair was not working, and his outfit had got to go because I thought, "he'd look more sick with goat legs", and made him two different outfits to accommodate that and to fit the medieval fantasy setting better. I was thinking of blending some attributes of a dragon and a crow to make him more demonic like, but I don't know, I just really like what I made and thought other features would throw everything off balance. Maybe he comes off more like a cursed goat and rolls with that idea so people don't suspect him of anything, but hey, I can always tweak it to make him more demonic if it doesn't come off that way. And I did not want to give him dark colors for his fur—that's going to go to his youngest brother, Zeldris.

(Here's my first official post! Hope you enjoy @gh0stofyesterday )

[nerdygaymormon]

Queer Gospel Music

This past year I came across several songs that I enjoy listening to on Sundays. I created a playlist for myself for Sundays and thought I'd share with y'all.

Yet : Ashley Hess - Ashley Hess was a finalist on the 2019 season of American Idol. I heard her perform this song at the Gather Conference where she introduced it by saying, "The next song that I'm gonna play is a song that I wrote in my lowest time. But it's a song that's so special to me because it was the moment that I felt like I finally came out of hiding, and that the Lord not only saw me, but loved me and embraced me." I can relate so much to that. Plus, I don't hear many songs from the perspective of "I'm trying, so God please don't give up on me."

God Loves Me Too : Brian Falduto - Brian played the gay kid in the movie School of Rock, and catapulted the character into an LGBTQ icon when he delivered the line “You’re tacky and I hate you.” Now as an adult, Brian is back and singing that no one has to earn God’s love. Brian wrote the song after visiting a church that was welcoming and accepting of queer people. I look around and see I’ve found a place where peace and love abound. I’ve waited my whole life for the truth. It is true, God loves you. It don’t matter if you’re LGBTQ

My Little Prayer : David Archuleta - David wasn't out yet when he recorded this, but I imagine he really related to some of these lyrics, such as I'm beginning to understand that you (God) have a plan for me.

The Queer Gospel : Erin McKeown - I love these lyrics. There are those who think we're wicked. There are those who call us names: depraved, lost and sick, and would rather bathe us in shame. But we put the "sin" in sincere, we put the "do" in the doubt. God is perfectly clear. We are perfectly out. Love us as we are. See us and we're holy. In this shall we ever be wholly ourselves.

Good Day (feat. Derek Webb) : Flamy Grant - Matthew Blake was a worship leader for 22 years who has become a “shame-slaying, hip-swaying, singing-songwriting drag queen” named Flamy Grant (it's a play on the name of gospel singer Amy Grant). The lyrics talk of coming back to church after having left for feeling oppressed. They’ve come back to church because despite what some say, God’s love is expansive enough for everyone. God made me good in every way, so I raise my voice to celebrate a good day. 

Believe : GENTRI - The pianist for this group is gay. After coming out, he was having a hard time with faith and was angry at God, and he felt God gave him this song as part of his healing process. Believe there is an answer. And while you feel you're buried deep in a disaster, believe more hands are waiting, ready to lift you up and carry you back to safety. You're not alone, keep holding on. And believe.

Explaining Jesus : Jordy Searcy - In 2014, Jordan was a contestant on The Voice. He grew up active in a church and since being on the television show he has written several religious songs, including this one. Jordy discusses the shortcomings of churches, comparing the ways in which church members act and interact with each other, including how they treat the gay community and oppress women. If you're gay and over 85, you've felt for your whole life that when God made you, he just messed up. In the chorus he apologizes that this has been the experience, I'm sorry no one explained Jesus to you.

Satan's Tears : Kyler O'Neal - Did anyone ask how real you are? Has anyone said that you are loved, or that you’re the one they’re dreaming of? Those questions start this beautiful song by trans woman Kyler O’Neal. The song addresses a young gender non-conforming person unaccepted by their world, and the singer promises to wipe away Satan’s tears which were created by a cruel society

Same Love : Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Mary Lambert - Macklemore sings that his gay uncles should be allowed to marry, and speaks of how Christianity has hurt gay people. "God loves all his children" is somehow forgotten, but we paraphrase a book written thirty-five hundred years ago. The song concludes with Mary Lambert singing I’m not crying on Sundays, which I think means not letting religious intolerance and churches harm us anymore

No Place in Heaven : MIKA - Mika is singing about how religion teaches there’s no place in heaven for gay people because the way we love is sinful. Father, won’t you forgive me for my sins? Father, if there’s a heaven let me in

God Is : The Outer Banks - I don't know that they had queer people in mind when they wrote the song, but the lyrics relate to the conflict between one’s queerness and relationship with God. God was never angry. God was not against me. God was never far away. God is not disappointed.

I Know it Hurts : Paul Cardall & Tyler Glenn - I just wanted to believe, but how am I supposed to believe this about me? And then we find each other, queer church members who can understand what we’re going through, who know the hurt. For most queer people, they leave church and go on a different path. They’re not lost, a faint light at the end is guiding their way, they’re finding another way back home.

Losing My Religion : R.E.M. - The song was interpreted as the struggle of a closeted gay man coming to terms with what his religion taught about gay people and is seen as an example of queer coding in the era of “don’t ask, don’t tell.” Lead singer Michael Stipe had declined to address his sexuality, so when “Losing My Religion” came out, people assumed Stipe was coming out as gay. Consider this the hint of the century. Consider this the slip.

HIM : Sam Smith - This is a song about a boy in Mississippi coming out and the conflict between his sexuality and his religious upbringing. He is grappling with the feeling that there’s no place in church for him because he’s gay. Holy Father, we need to talk. I have a secret that I can’t keep. I’m not the boy that you thought you wanted. Please don’t get angry, have faith in me.

Pray : Sam Smith - You won’t see Sam in church, but they say they’re a child of God at heart and are begging God to show the way. I’m not a saint, I’m more of a sinner. I don’t wanna lose, but I fear for the winners

Faith : Semler -  This song reached No. 1 on the iTunes Christian music chart and is about growing up queer in a faith community and how the rejection by the church left them scarred. When my religion turned against me, they said my hopes and dreams were faulty. I showed these holes inside my hands, and they claimed they couldn’t see.” Even as they struggled with the church, Semler kept a relationship with Jesus and flourished far more than she did in any church building. But I don’t wanna get small to be in those rooms

Hey Jesus : Trey Pearson - Trey made headlines in 2016 when as the lead singer of the Christian rock band Everyday Sunday, he came out as gay. Three years later and Trey has a question: Hey Jesus can you hear me now? It's been awhile since I came out, I was wonderin' do you love me the same? As a person who struggles to reconcile faith with sexual orientation, I find this song quite moving.

Heaven : Troye Sivan feat. Betty Who - Troye sings about what it’s like for a religious teenager to come out as gay. Without losing a piece of me, how do I get to heaven? Without changing a part of me, how do I get to heaven? All my time is wasted, feeling like my heart’s mistaken, oh, so if I’m losing a piece of me, maybe I don’t want heaven? Troye explains “When I first started to realise that I might be gay, I had to ask myself all these questions—these really really terrifying questions. Am I ever going to find someone? Am I ever going to be able to have a family? If there is a God, does that God hate? If there is a heaven, am I ever going to make it to heaven?” The video features footage from LGBTQ+ protests throughout history.

Revelation : Troye Sivan and Jónsi -This song was written for the movie Boy Erased, which is about a young man being sent by his parents to a conversion therapy camp to try to change him to not be gay. The lyrics are about feeling liberated from the toxic teachings he learned at church about LGBTQ+ people. It’s a revelation. There’s no hell in what I’ve found, and no kingdom shout. How the tides are changing as you liberate me now and the walls come down. In other words, God doesn't condemn me for my queerness.

Orphans of God : Ty Herndon & Kristin Chenoweth feat. Paul Cardall - The message of the song is we are all loved by God, we are all thought about, we are all created equally and God loves us all the same.

Midnight : Tyler Glenn - The Neon Trees frontman gives an emotional song about his departure from the Mormon church but not from God. The ballad is accompanied by a video that shows Glenn removing his religious garments and replacing them with a glittery jacket, which is such a powerful metaphor.

[montammil]

PLZ PLZ PLZ just one drabble where marshall and the other two have Stockholm and Lawrence takes them for like a 'family day' 😌 ofc ignore this if you want<333

Sorry this is short, even though I'm inexperienced in more wholesome writings (if you ignore the Stockholm syndrome LOL) I still love writing them! Thank you for the request :D

TW: Stockholm syndrome, parental whumper, infantilization (treating and referring to adults as children)

...

It took a lot of convincing from Marshall and Sadie both to talk Lawrence into taking them to the aquarium today. Lawrence never liked taking them outside their home, for several reasons, but Sadie was an expert at giving him puppy dog eyes and begging enough for whatever they wanted.

Lawrence wasn't too worried about them getting recognized--it had been a few years since their disappearances, after all. He just hated the idea of risking their safety. The outside world was a cruel place.

"Remember to always stick together," Lawrence told them as soon as they pulled into a parking space. It wasn't too crowded, thankfully, but they still had to park quite far from the entrance. "If I see any of you wandering off, we're going straight back home."

Marshall smiled larger than he had in months. "I hope they have penguins!"

"You'll find out when we get there," Lawrence chuckled, opening his car door.

Lawrence led the way inside with Sadie clutching onto his left arm and Marshall clinging to his right side. Nathan lagged behind, walking a bit slower than the others.

Despite preferring being in the comfort of their home, even Nathan felt relieved they could finally do something fun together (that wasn't the same daily routine).

A change in environment, no matter how small or uneventful, was refreshing for the three victims. They've spent enough time trapped within that house.

"Hello," the receptionist greeted. "How many?"

"Four," Lawrence replied, offering a polite smile. He pulled out his wallet and began fishing out enough cash to pay. The four were given bright green wristbands, which they secured on each of their wrists before proceeding inside.

Sadie looked around in awe, grasping Lawrence's arm again. "What are you most excited to see, Dad?"

His heart warmed whenever his kids referred to him as that. "Hmm... dolphins, probably. Though I'd love to see an octopus too. How about you, kiddo?"

"I'm happy with anything! It's all so cool," Sadie marveled, taking it all in.

Marshall still clung onto Lawrence tightly, but with less enthusiasm than before. He seemed more nervous now. "There's so many people..."

There really wasn't, but it was definitely more people than the poor thing was used to nowadays. They could have gone on a weekday to lessen the crowd, but the aquarium would be practically filled with screaming kids on field trips.

Nathan scoffed. "You're the one who was demanding we go here."

"Nate," Lawrence scolded, then turned his attention back on Marshall. "If you get too overwhelmed, we can always take breaks or leave early, okay, baby?" His gaze fell on Nathan. "That goes for all of us. This is supposed to be a good experience--I don't want anyone getting stressed out."

"Look! Piranhas," Sadie called, pointing to an exhibit at the entrance of the tunnel.

Lawrence kissed the top of Marshall's head before taking a few steps forward towards it. He gestured for Nathan to come closer too. He wanted them all to stay in sight.

As much as he trusted the kids wouldn't run off (or try to report him to staff), old habits died hard and he couldn't help but feel slightly paranoid in public. It was rare for his anxiety to affect him--only when his children were involved would he ever worry.

Marshall cringed. "Why do they look like that?"

"I think they're cool," Nathan muttered.

Sadie pointed to the sign. "It says they're actually not as bloodthirsty as movies portray them as. I guess I'm not surprised." She made a face. "They still freak me out a little though." She rushed on ahead, ignoring the exasperated sigh Lawrence gave. "Ooh, there's seahorses over here! That one's pregnant, I think." She gestured to the obvious one. "He's so cute."

Lawrence chuckled. "Seahorses are probably one of my favorite animals. It's nice seeing one in person."

Nathan shrugged. "I think they're overrated."

"There's more exhibits this way!" Sadie exclaimed, running down the hall.

"No running," Lawrence reminded her. "We aren't in a rush."

It was both funny and exhausting to him how different they all were; Sadie was running ahead, Marshall was clinging onto him, and Nathan could barely keep up in favor of trudging everywhere.

Not that he didn't like it. After so long treating them like children, they were finally acting like it.

"The penguins are here!" Sadie called in response. Marshall gasped and ran ahead too. Nathan kept at the same pace, unaffected. Penguins must not have been very high on his list.

Only once when Lawrence had the two in their line of sight, he slowed down to Nathan's pace. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah," Nathan muttered, keeping his eyes focused on the floor. He no longer got angry and embarrassed at the terms of endearment.

It took time for the kids to adjust, but now even Nathan would say 'love you' back to him from time to time. Only if he was feeling particularly loving towards Lawrence, however--which was pretty rare. Regardless, Lawrence was proud of him either way.

Lawrence glanced back at the other two for a brief moment, just to make sure they were still there. "Is there anything in particular you want to do after this? We'll probably only be here an hour longer at most."

Nathan played with the zipper on his jacket. "You'll say no."

"Maybe," he admitted. "But I'd still like to hear it." Despite being so controlling of them, he really did love hearing his kids talk.

"It's stupid, but I was wondering if we could stop by an arcade. There's one across town. It's alright if you don't wanna. I don't even care anymore, honestly." But it was easy to tell it was a lie. His cheeks were red despite the nonchalant act. "You probably hate games, anyways."

Lawrence snorted. "Nate, I'm not ancient. When I was a teen, I practically lived in the arcade."

"That was thousands of years ago," Nathan smirked. He peered over to see Marshall pressed up against the glass of the exhibit, watching the penguins play around while Sadie read the facts about them displayed nearby.

It was like they completely forgot the other two were even there. Maybe that was better. He secretly loved their company, but it was rare he got one on one time with his dad.

Lawrence pinched his cheeks. "Watch yourself, brat," he teased, "we can go but don't make me change my mind."

Nathan swatted his hands away playfully, letting a giggle escape his mouth. He tried to keep quiet, so Marshall and Sadie wouldn't overhear, but it didn't matter much anyways. They weren't paying attention to him or Lawrence at the moment. "I'm excited to introduce you to Street Fighter."

"Oh, please, you weren't even alive when that game released," Lawrence rolled his eyes fondly. "C'mon, let's go catch up with the others." The pair began walking over to join Marshall and Sadie who were already moving on to the next exhibit. He stopped behind them. "Ooh, electric eels."

Sadie shook her head. "Those are actually moray eels. Moray eels have cuter faces, electric eels have flat, weird-looking heads."

"Like you," Nathan snickered. She shoved him in a playful retort.

"There's the Nemo's," Marshall rushed towards the clown fish and leaned into the glass.

"'Nemo's?'" Lawrence cooed at how adorable he was.

Marshall glared at him in a mock pout. "You know what I mean! If you didn't make me watch that movie a million times, I'm sure I would've called them clown fish." He stood normally again and wrapped his arms around Lawrence, burying his face into his chest. "Anyway, I'm ready to go home. I'm so tired already." This was the first time in a while that he walked this far.

He was met with a kiss on top of his head. "You were such a trooper today. Thank you. Nate and I are gonna go to the arcade after this, but I can drop you off at home." He glanced at Sadie. "Do you want to come to the arcade with us or stay home?"

"You can drop me off at home too, I'm, also kind of tired. Can we check out the gift shop before we leave?" she asked.

Lawrence grinned. "I think it's obvious by now I spoil you all."

[writerobscura]

The USA

Sorry for the radio silence; I'm still processing how 51% of my country thinks it's okay to elect a bigoted, misogynistic felon to the presidency.

This election is a reminder that half of this country is so fucking hateful that they're willing to elect someone that makes us a laughing stock around the globe while those who bought and paid for his campaign gut democracy.

Are you doing better than you were four years ago? Of course not. You were getting subsidy checks Biden pushed through a Republican congress post-pandemic.

Wages went up for essential workers, and that expense got passed on to you because corporations aren't going to short to their shareholders - and the President can do nothing about that without holding companies accountable to regulation - which our new president has no intention of doing.

The next two years:

My adult children will lose their healthcare when he and his Republican senate quash the Affordable Care Act - but hey, so long as you have a few extra bucks at the end of the month for cigs and beer, what do you care?

Some states will be able to seize the medical records of women and mothers and use those records to fine or put them in jail (abortion, IVF, getting your trans teen the care they need) - but hey, none of those things affect you personally, so fuck 'em and hey, women aren't even human, am I right you newly registered voting Gen Z fellas?

College debt, infrastructure repairs, social programs - kiss all that goodbye because fucking the planet up is a small price to pay so you can get gasoline for under $2.99. Oh, and that Latino spouse? All it takes is one call from a disgruntled 'Murican and our new INS will be there with 'post-citizenship deportation review' papers.

Wars? How easily everyone forgets that Ukraine is at war right now because your guy failed to help him when Russia flooded his country with separatists. You think he's going to stop arming Israel? Where's the money in that?

Xenophobia may have worked when the USA was 100% self-sufficient in the 1900s, but it cannot be done in this day and age - but hey, going back to the old days is what it's all about, right?

Living in a hurricane or natural disaster prone state? You better pray to whatever G*d you worship that nothing happens in the next 2 years because the Pubs have the Senate and the presidency - no more FEMA funds and 'emergency handouts.'

Tariffs instead of taxes on the rich? Zero-sum situation. Guess how many companies import basic things just to make the shit you eat and use daily? Monsanto is no longer an American company, most farmers in the USA 'import' their seed, though because lack of corporate regulation has allowed them to destroy all farms that don't use their seed. While we're on the subject of tariffs, any foreign company can say, "We just won't sell to you, America." What's the backup plan? Oh, right, he has none.

Prices will rise, wages will stagnate, tariffs won't work, so guess who gets billed for that deficit? Not the wealthy—they spent billions electing this assclown, and there's no way they're investing one damned penny in the rest of us.

But hey, they know you can take it because you voted to have all this...You voted for all of the above at the expense of literally half your fellow countrymen.

If Kamala won, you would've lost NOTHING. Your worst case scenario under her presidency is that you would've been running in place financially while those you consider morally or racially beneath you, might've been gotten ahead a few steps.

So yeah, 51% of my country would rather watch it all burn down than suffer anyone they consider less of a human being, be given an equal chance.

[ordinaryschmuck]

I saw a post about how Carmen Santiego has great character designs and diversity through race and body types. I considered it a good post and one that makes a good point...And then below it was a reblog about how a person went "If Carmen Santiego can have a diverse cast of HUMANS, then what the hell is up with Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss?"

First of all...What the hell do either of those two things have in common? They sure are animated shows, I'll give you that. Except that one's a children's animated spy thriller and the other two are adult musical comedy dramas in Hell. Stylistically and tonally, neither of them have anything to do with each other and you just randomly made a point because...you hate Hazbin and Helluva? Cool. Congratulations. Now get a new personality and just fucking watch something else if these two shows made your hatred this obsessed when you randomly attack a show through a post that has NOTHING to do with it. The OP wasn't attacking Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss. Unless they constantly attack it and they made that post to prove a previous point, something that does NOT come across in that original post, there's no reason to go "Hey, why didn't these completely different shows with their own styles take notes of this kids show with ITS unique style?"

And here's the thing: I like Carmen Santiego. I like the way that it looks, and I think its style really is unique compared to other animated series that have come out around the same time. And I do agree that it has a great diverse cast that shows off a lot of body diversity where every single character looks unique in their own way. But here's the thing: I would not go out of my way to attack other shows, to the point where I'd hijack someone else's post to say, "Yeah, this show is WAY better than this other one I hate." And if I had in the past...I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I hate that I acted that way and I will try to do better. Because that's what I do with media criticism or talking about stuff I don't like. I try to act BETTER than I have in the past because that's not how you talk about media. Whether you like it or hate it, it's never a good thing to talk about something you hate when the discussion is about something someone else loves. Sometimes it makes sense, as there are often two products that are similar to each other. Like Marve/DC, Star Wars/Star Trek, and The Owl House/Amphibia. Those are media where there's a lot to compare and contrast, with people being unaware that the main reason why they like the other basically boils down to personal preferences when it comes to consuming media. But with Hazbin/Helluva and Carmen Santiego, there's really NOTHING to compare and you're just going out of your way to talk about something you hate when it's not relevant to the conversation. It's like people who hyped up Puss in Boots: The Last Wish just to shit on Velma. Yeah, The Last Wish is a thousand times better than Velma, but there's nothing similar about both products that make the discussion worth it. You're just using something you love as a weapon towards something you hate.

I get it, people like some things and hate others. It's how we're wired as human beings and I can't stop that. Nor do I think I CAN stop it. But just feel like this is making media discussion worse when all we can think of to do when discussing something we love and bringing in something we hate into the conversation. It's not necessary, and you're feeding the creators that thing you hate by still talking about it. You want to know the best possible way to react to "objectively bad" media? Stop talking about it. Stop watching it. STOP ENGAGING.

If you don't fucking like it, stop consuming this piece of media and go watch something you enjoy instead. Give THAT your time. Show how THAT does everything right and sing its praises. Raise up this one thing that you believe is "objectively good" so it can effectively overshadow this thing you consider "objectively bad." There's a way to discuss media without shitting on something you don't like.

[lostfirefly]

Well, I don't know why I came here tonight, I've got the feeling that something ain't right

Hey, hey, hey!! I haven't published anything for a long time. The stress of studying took all my energy. Welcome to another fun day for Catherine and Buggy! English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Masterlist is here

Description: Neighbor asks Catherine and Buggy to look after the kids at their birthday party while she goes to get the cake.

Warnings: Fun, fluff, jokes. A composite image of the kids at the party. Sorry in advance for the fact that children swear, but I just thought that they often repeat everything after adults. Small references to my followers.

Words: 5344

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots, @hey-august, @yujo-nishimura, @emmiebugz-blog, @mydearlybeloathed

The title is taken from "Stuck in the middle with you" by Stealers Wheel.

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“How long are we going to sit like this, cotton candy?” Buggy stroked Catherine's back as she curled up in his lap. 

“It's only been fifteen minutes, stop nagging.” She took his ponytail and began to wind it around her finger. “You stayed late at the circus two nights in a row. I missed you. And now I want to spend some time with you in our chair.” 

“It’s nonsense, Cathie-pie. We're doing nothing.”

“We’re enjoying each other's company. It's so great and romantic. We're resting, you're hugging me, I feel like I'm in the safest place in the world right now.” Catherine curled up even tighter and pulled the blanket over them. “Let's sit for a little while longer, please.”

Buggy rolled his eyes. “Fine. An hour, ok?” He hugged her tighter, kissed her forehead and quickly wiped the lipstick mark with his fingers. “Why do I always give in to you?” He noticed Catherine start laughing. “What's so funny, little shit?” 

“Your nose. It's so funny, it bumps into my head, then my cheeks.” Catherine saw how sad Buggy became. “Oh, don't be upset, my silly clown. I love your nose. It also whistles funny sometimes at night. But I like it, it makes me feel like I'm home.” 

“You like mocking me, right?”

“I'm not mocking you! Remember when I went to visit my sister recently? I missed your snoring and whistling, so I had to put a chicken whistle by my pillow and I hugged the teddy bear. It all reminded me of you and our home, my little bear.” Catherine exhaled and started running her fingers around Buggy's arm. “I want you to come to my parents’ house so much. I want to show you everything. My room, photo albums, my favorite places. I was sitting in a coffee shop and thinking how great it would be to sit here with you. Maybe you'll come to Loguetown with me sometime?”

“I don't know, Catherine. We’ll see, ok? Fuck, totally forgot I have something for you.” Buggy sent his hand to the night stand and pulled some box of candies out of the drawer for her. “Here, your favorite nougat ones.”

“Yesterday, you stole blue irises for me. Today you brought me sweets. You're so cute, my Buggy Bear. You bring me candies, flowers, you even started bringing me candles. Thanks!” She kissed him on the cheek and took a couple of candies. “Yummy. Oh! Can I ask you a question?”

“First, Cathie-pie, it's still a terrible nickname. Second, you talked me into staying in this chair and covered me with a blanket with little ponies on it. Me.” Buggy pointed his finger at himself. “A grown man. Do I have a choice to say no?” 

“Asshole.” Catherine popped a candy into her mouth. “You know, we've been together for six months now, and I realized I don't know your middle name. Do you have a middle name? Let's say Buggy Eiichiro the Clown.” 

“Oh, I know what name I could have.” He grinned. “Buggy “The Best Sex of Catherine Mitchell's Life” the Clown.” He started giggling and winked at her. 

“I hate you. Why can't you answer like a normal person?” Catherine gently slapped him on the shoulder. “Now you're punished and I’ll ask another question. Have you ever dreamed of anything? Or maybe you have another dream now.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Everyone has dreams, Buggy.” Catherine ran her finger over his chest. “You talk not so much about your past, I'm wondering what you were like before you met me. So far I only know that you were in prison, hanging out with some kid and are worth a lot of money. But I still think you should cost more.”

“I didn't hang out with the kid! Well... I used to dream of you leaving my life, but as we can see,” Buggy smacked Catherine on the head, “that wasn't meant to happen, and now you piss me off every single day.” 

“I'm serious, clown. I told you about mine yesterday.”

“You mean that dream where you wanted to be queen of the gummy worms?” Buggy laughed. “I can't stop imagining this picture. I'm sorry, baby, it doesn't count.”

“I was five years old, you idiot. What could I have dreamed of when I was five? Okay, if you don't want to tell me, don't tell me.” Catherine gently slapped her palms on his chest.

“Fine. Seriously though. Well,” Buggy scratched his head, “I dreamed of being the king of… all circuses. But I had to give up on that dream. I had and have no right to dream about that.”

“Are you sure you're talking about the circus? You have the right to dream, my blue-haired love.” Catherine looked at Buggy, saw that he didn't want to continue this topic, took his hand and started to run her fingers over his palm. “I don't know. It seems to me that you are already the king. Tickets are selling out fast. Your fangirls are sighing for you.”

“I don't have fangirls! Stop mocking me, little shit!” 

“No, you have! I saw them. But I won't give you to them.” Catherine poked Buggy in the shoulder. “And I’m so proud of you. Can't wait to see the new show.” She exhaled and gently took the strand of his hair. “We're sitting so well, huh? Thank you for this, I know you don’t like, but I appreciate you suffering for me.” Catherine raised her head. “I love you so, so much, my Buggy Bear.” She gently pulled him by the ponytail closer and touched her lips to his. 

(doorbell rings) 

“Who is it? Are you waiting for someone?” Catherine raised an eyebrow. 

“No. Fuck them! Let's not open the door.” Buggy tried to kiss her back.

(knock on the door) 

“Wait!” Catherine gently pushed his head back. “Maybe it's Cabaji? He wanted to come in and ask about how to spend a perfect date with a girl.”

“Why can't he ask over the phone?” Buggy tried to kiss her neck. “Fuck him too.” 

“Stop! He wanted to write everything down.” Catherine tried to fight back and slapped him on the back. “I want to help him. He's your friend.” 

“He’ll do it later. We’re enjoying each other and to be honest, now I like sitting in the fucking chair.” Buggy tried to kiss her neck again. 

“Oh, for Christ's sake, Buggy!” Catherine had a hard time pulling his head off. “Don't touch me with your painted lips. You already pestered me in the bathroom this morning and I said no. What's gotten into you?”

“You were so sexy in the bathroom in your pants with pandas, I couldn't resist.” Buggy took her hand and kissed it. 

“I wasn't sexy, I was disheveled and was brushing my teeth.” Catherine grabbed his chin and pecked him on his nose. “Is there something else on your mind, clown?”

“Stop doing this, woman!” Buggy scrunched up his face and tried to move away from Catherine.

“I want and I kiss your nose!” She pecked him on his nose several times. “Love you, my old grumpy boy.” 

“I’m not ol-!” 

(doorbell rings) 

“I'll go open it.” Catherine quickly got up from Buggy's lap, ran to the door, but stopped abruptly at the exit from the bedroom and turned to Buggy. “Oh, no! What if it's not Cabaji. What if it's some man who came to take me away from you.” Catherine winked and quickly ran out into the hallway. 

“Hey!” Buggy rushed after her and caught up only at the front door. 

Catherine laughed when he grabbed her hand and began to pull her towards him. “You're such a fool. Look at how you're clinging to me. My blue-haired protector.” She kissed him on the cheek and opened the door. “Mrs. Emmie? What happened?”

A short, middle-aged woman with dark hair stood on the threshold. “Hello, Mr. The Clown.” She waved her hand. 

“Buggy, actually.” He rolled his eyes. 

Mrs. Emmie blushed a little. “Sorry. Mister Buggy, Miss Catherine, I need your help. My grandson is here for his birthday party, his parents haven't arrived yet and I have to pick up his cake. Could you look after him and some of his friends while I go get the cake?”

“NO!” Buggy shouted loudly, not expecting such an intonation from himself.

“Please, Mr. The Clown!”

“It's Buggy, for god's sake!! I've been living here for two years!!”

“Sorry, Mr. The Clown! Well, I went around to all the neighbors. No one is here. Grandson's parents were stuck in traffic and would be here in about two hours. The kids' parents would be arriving, but they would also be arriving in about an hour. The table was already set, with cocktails for the kids and a bar for the adults. Please! I can pay!” Mrs. Emmie looked at Catherine with tear-stained eyes. 

“How much?” Buggy crossed his arms. 

“Excuse us for a second, Mrs. Emmie.” Catherine took his hand and led him aside. “Are you crazy asking about money, clown? She's asking for help!”

“Not help, cotton candy!” Buggy glanced at Mrs. Emmie. “She's asking to babysit. I'm not going to babysit for free.”

“Perfect!” Catherine fluttered her hands. “And if I asked you to babysit our child, would you ask me for money too?”

“Oh, no, in that case I'd charge you a different fee.” Buggy giggled idiotically. 

“You're disgusting, you know that?” Catherine gently stroked his shoulder. “I know, you don't like kids. I'm not a fan of them either. But do you really want to leave me to be eaten by a bunch of children? I will never believe in my life that you would do this. You didn't leave me in that god’s cage.” Catherine hugged him around his waist, placing her chin on his chest. “Will my Buggy the Brave Knight save me again? And don't forget there's free food and free booze there. Then we'll come home, and I promise I won't even drag you out for a walk today. We'll stay home and eat chips and hot dogs like old people.”

“Fine.” Buggy groaned. 

“You're my best!” Catherine kissed him on his cheek. “Love, love, love you!” She turned back to Mrs. Emmie, who looked at Catherine with hope in her eyes. “It's okay, we agree.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” Mrs. Emmie hugged Catherine. “You know, Mr. The Clown, even though you grumble all the time, you've become a little bit nicer since that sweet sweetie came into your house.”

“See? I’m sweet.” Catherine playfully poked Buggy in his chest. “And you're nice.” 

Buggy rolled his eyes and growled, pushing Catherine towards the exit. “This means I'm changing, and you've come to love me differently.”

Mrs. Emmie led them into the back yard, explaining the rules and restrictions. Catherine memorized them attentively, jabbing Buggy with her elbow whenever he started to grumble. They walked out into the backyard, which was covered with colorful balloons and streamers that said Happy Birthday. Large tables were filled with baked goods, sandwiches, and sweets. The yard echoed with the sounds of children's laughter and whistles.

“Oh, that table over there is definitely for me!” Buggy nodded towards a closed bar with a bunch of drinks and started to walk towards it, but Catherine grabbed him by the pants as soon as he took two steps away from her. “Baby, if you want something from me, just ask.” He chuckled.

Mrs. Emmie and Catherine looked at him at the same time, puzzled. Buggy tensed slightly, looking at Catherine's “i’ll kill you” face. 

Mrs. Emmie exhaled and shook her head. “Miles, honey!” She called out as they descended a couple of steps of the large wooden staircase below. “I’m going to get your cake. Miss Catherine and Mister Buggy are going to sit with you while I go away for a while. I’ll be back in an hour. Bye.” She grabbed the keys and quickly ran out of the house. 

Catherine took Buggy's hand and led him towards the children. “Hey, guys!” She waved to them as she walked out into the backyard.

“WOOOAAAH!!!” A small, chubby boy with big cheeks, ginger hair and big dark eyes turned to face them. “Look! Guys!!” Miles poked his friends in the shoulder. “This's a real clown!!! Strange.. he's not wearing a costume, he's wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Anyway!! RUN!!!” 

Ten kids jumped up from the grass and ran towards Buggy. 

“Hey, hey!!” Catherine stood in front of Buggy, spreading her arms. “Quiet, guys!” 

“Can you do magic?” One kid was tugging at Buggy's pants.

“Is your nose buzzing?” The other kids tried to get past Catherine.

“Woohooo!!!” One of the children squealed. “Loook, guys!! I’m flying!!” 

Catherine turned around to see Buggy picking the child up by the scruff of the neck and glaring at him. “Buggy! Put the kid down on the ground right now!” She hissed quietly through her teeth.

“He was tugging at my pants!” Buggy turned the child over in his hands. “I don't like it.” 

“I don't care, put him down!”

Buggy rolled his eyes and set the child down. 

“Alright, kiddos, everyone to the table.” Catherine nudged a few kids in the back. “Who wants cake?”

“Who needs cake when there's a clown here!!” Miles squeaked. 

Several children tried to attack Buggy again, but Catherine grabbed him by the shirt. “Na-ah! No attacks on the clown until everyone's had their cake.” She bent down, placing her hands on her knees, and looked at the children. “So. Who wants cake now?” 

“WE WANT CAKE!! WE WANT CAKE!!!” All the children, joyfully throwing up their hands, ran squealing to the table in all directions.

Catherine laughed and followed after them, making sure all the kids were seated. She turned away for just a second to pour everyone some juice when she heard a child squealing and an adult cursing. 

“I can't sit still!!!” Miles' voice came from behind Catherine. “He's so cool!!!” Catherine turned to see several kids attacking Buggy, who tried to fight off a crowd of screaming children and cursing. 

“What the fuck?” Buggy tried to throw the child who had jumped on his back.

“You're sooo funny!! Your nose looks soo real!” The kid started laughing and was about to grab Buggy's nose. 

“Hey, get off him!” Catherine rushed to pull the kids off the suffering clown's body. “You okay?” She quickly examined Buggy's face and hands.

“Fuck, no! Catherine, let's go home. They're crazy!! Let them look after themselves!” Buggy tried to take the squealing kid off yourself. 

“We can't. We promised to help. Look, they like you.” Catherine giggled as she lifted another child off Buggy. “Okay, Miles! Get off my boyfriend's back!” 

“Is he your boyfriend? Wooooaaaah!! You're so lucky!!” Miles looked at Catherine with admiration. “You probably can watch tricks all the time. Is he showing you tricks?”

“Oh, yeah, believe, dude, I show her tricks.” Buggy giggled with a proud expression on his face. “You know, adult ones.” 

“What? What do adult tricks mean?” Miles looked from Catherine to Buggy, waiting for an answer.

Buggy crossed his arms. “That means I can…” 

“Shush!!” Catherine hissed and whispered under her breath. “Shut up and wipe that smug grin off your face,” Catherine took a small step toward Buggy. “Are you crazy, saying that in front of the kid?”

“What's wrong? He's…” Buggy looked at Miles, who was fiddling with his hand. “How old are you, bro?”

“I'm six!” Miles said proudly, with a slight lisp.

“See, Cathie-pie, he's six.” 

“I don’t care. I'm not gonna ruin a little kid's life with your stories.” Catherine nudged Miles toward the table. 

“Look, they are sitting, eating cake and don't bother anyone. Let's go home.” Buggy took Catherine's hand and dragged her to the door. “Nothing will happen to them.”

“I can't leave 10 children unattended, Buggy.” She pulled her hand away and glanced towards the children.

“Come on, cotton candy! Their parents are coming in... How long have we been here?” Buggy looked at his watch. “Ten minutes? Fuck!”

“Stop grumbling, clown! Oh, my God! See? One of the kids is eating dirt!” Catherine waved her hands and ran to another chubby kid with dark hair and big brown eyes. “Hey, you! The boy! Stop doing that!” She barely lifted him off the ground. “What's your name, baby?”

“I'm Howl!” The boy, covered in mud, answered with a proud look.

“And I'm Catherine.” She knelt down and started wiping the kid's hands. “Stop eating dirt, Howl.”

“This will make me cool!” Howl shoveled another handful of dirt down his throat. 

“Cool guys don't eat that. They eat hot dogs. Do you want to be a cool boy and eat hot dogs, Howl?” Catherine stroked the boy's hair.

“Nope!” Howl grabbed the dirt in his hand and put it in his mouth.

“Dear lord!!” Catherine rolled her eyes. “Oh! I know! See that man over there?” Catherine nodded gently toward Buggy. “See? He’s strong and cool. And you know why? He likes hot dogs! Now do you want to be cool like him?” She saw Howl glance at the clown, then look at Catherine and nod. “Do you want me to get you a hot dog?”

Howl scowled. “Now I want to believe you. And as I started believing you, I want a hot dog!!” He jumped towards the table.

“Thank God!” Catherine stood up from her knees and saw Buggy walking towards her, sipping his beer. “Are you kidding me? While I'm trying to seat the kids, you’re enjoying a beer?” Catherine grabbed her head. “These kids are like ten of you, Buggy. They also sit quietly at first and then bam! They start whining and doing strange things.”

“But see? You're doing great. Maybe I should go home and support you from the couch?” Buggy shrugged and put the empty bottle on the nearest table.

“Oh, go wherever you want, Buggy.” Catherine waved at him. “I was hoping for once in my life you'd help me.”

“Sorry, Cathie-pie. I’d love to make things right but it’s time to exit stage left. Bye!” 

“How-- How can you do this to me?” Catherine's eyes widened and she yelled after Buggy, who was walking away. “What? You didn't leave me in the desert, so now you're taking revenge, huh?” She watched how he waved to her. “Go f-- screw you, clown!!!”

“Excuse me, Miss Catherine!” Someone poked Catherine in the arm with his finger several times. “You're swearing!” Miles’ voice came from behind Catherine. 

“And what?” She narrowed her eyes and looked at him. 

“When my parents argue and use bad words, they put a dollar in the jar.” He pulled out a jar of money and shook it in front of Catherine's face. “Dollar, please.”

“What? I won't pay you!” Catherine squealed, her eyes wide.

“Then I'll tell my parents that you were swearing. Guys! Repeat after me! Screw you! Screw you!!” Miles and Howl began to jump around Catherine excitedly, repeating the phrase after her. Miles stopped and glanced at Catherine. “See, lady? You’ll have problems. Dollar.” 

“Do you think you can scare me, little bastard? I jumped off a cliff and live with the clown!” Catherine shifted her gaze to the table and crossed her arms. “Let's do it like this! You sit down at the table, I'll let you have a baby cocktail and I'll tell you a funny story, what do you think the idea is?”

“I don't want the story! Let's do it this way. I'll keep quiet, and you call the clown. I want the clown! Where'd he go?” Miles started to fume. 

“He better packs his bags right now to flee to another country away from my wrath.” Catherine muttered under her breath. “What should I do with you?” She scratched her head. “Oh! If you guys don't want a story, let's hit the piñata. There's probably candy in there. Do you guys like candy? You're kids! You should love them!” Catherine looked at them pleadingly in her eyes. 

“WE WANT THE CLOWN!!!” All the kids stamped their feet. 

“Mother fuc–!” Catherine suddenly covered her mouth with her hand.

“Dollar, please!” Miles picked up the can again.

“Screw you!” Catherine heard the phone ringing. 

“Guuuuys!” Miles raised his hand. “Go!” He waved his hand, giving the command. “Mother fuc-! Mother fuc-!” The kids started kicking their feet and merrily repeating after Catherine. 

“Screw you all!!” Catherine heard the phone ringing. “Shit! Everybody stay here!” Catherine pulled her cell phone out of her pants pocket. “Mrs. Emmie? What? Are you going to be late? And kids’ parents? Also? Yeah, sure, I'll keep an eye on them. Goodbye.” Catherine put her phone in her pocket. “Yeah, she's got traffic. I bet they're all sitting at the bar drinking aperol right now. Oh my god, the kids!” She watched them all scatter again. “Everybody should freeze now!!!” She barked loudly and abruptly covered her mouth with her hand again. “For god's sake, let's beat the piñata now, eat fries, and then you eat cake, and I'll show you tricks.”

“Hooray!!!!!” All children tore out of their seats and ran toward the big pig-shaped piñata. 

They joyfully started pounding the toy until candy sprinkled out of it.

“MY SWEETS! MY SWEETS!!!!” The kids piled on top of each other and started raking up the candy. 

“Stop!! What's wrong with you? Stop climbing on each other.” Catherine grabbed her head. “This is some kind of madhouse.” She muttered to herself and looked at her watch. “I've made it through almost an hour. There's still an hour left.”

“Miss Catherine, I didn't climb on anyone and behaved well. Can I have cake now?” A thin voice of a girl was heard. “I'm Hilda.” 

“Oh, of course, dear Hilda.” Catherine stroked the girl's head and clapped her hands. “Everyone to the table! Let's have cake and fries!!”

“You promised us magic tricks, Miss Catherine!” Miles mumbled, eating candies and approaching the table. 

“Yes, magic tricks! Let me juggle.” Catherine picked up three tangerines and tried to throw them up in the air to catch them, but they all fell to the ground. “Okay! That was a practice run. Let's try again!” She tossed the tangerines again, but they also fell to the ground.

“You're a bad juggler! Why are you ruining my party?” Miles began to sob. 

“Oh, well, I'm sorry I'm such a fucking clumsy person, okay? I can't juggle!” Catherine angrily threw the balls on the ground.

Miles started whining and all the children began to repeat after him. 

“Oh, stop crying! Bunch of..” Catherine rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault that your paren-”

“I’ll tell my mom that you spoiled my party, and you swore!” Miles wiped his nose. “I want to see you juggling!! YOU CANNOT JU-UGGLE!!”

“Because she doesn't know how to do it. Right, Miss Catherine?” 

“THE CLOWN!!!” Miles, Howl and other seven kids, except for Hilda, jumped to their feet.

Catherine turned to where the children were pointing and saw Buggy gesturing to them to calm down. Catherine tried to hold back a smile, but she wasn't very good at it. “You're back!”

“Yes, and I hate myself for that.” Buggy shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I always knew you were a good person.” Catherine started stroking his hand. 

“And for that, I hate you.” He shifted his gaze to the kids. “So. What's going on here?” 

“They're crazy, Buggy. And that kid Miles. He’s a little evil. He tried to swindle money out of me. It feels like the only calm person here is that plump blonde girl named Hilda, and only because she eats all the time.” Catherine buried her head in Buggy's shoulder. “I wanna go home. But we need to entertain them somehow, because they'll continue squealing and destroying everything when they finish the cake, because they saw you. Buggy, please! Help me!” Catherine was practically breaking down into tears.

“How about I show them a couple of chop chop tricks?” Buggy placed his hand on her back. “They're kids, right? They love it when clowns do funny things. And by the way, not only kids love that.” He giggled again in a stupid way. 

“Shut up, you pervert.” Catherine raised her eyes. “And no chop chop in front of these kids, please. I don't know who they are, or who their parents are. What if they come after you later? I don't want you to get hurt.” 

Buggy snapped his fingers. “Are there any ribbons or scarves around here?”

“I saw some. Wait.” Catherine quickly ran to the table and came running back. “Here.” She held out several colorful chiffon scarves to him. 

“Okay, kiddos. Who wants tricks?” Buggy tucked the handkerchiefs under his sleeve and headed toward the kids. 

“WE WANT TRICKS!!!!” All ten little bodies stared at Buggy in admiration. 

Questions were constantly heard from around the table. “Is your hair real? Or is it a wig?”, “And where did you buy such a natural nose? Does it honk?”. The children shouted their names randomly, trying to get Buggy's attention.

“Either you calm down now or no tricks!” Catherine barked, glared angrily at the children and plopped down on the chair. “I can't!” She drank the juice from the nearest glass in one gulp.

“Hey, Miles!” Buggy said quietly, adjusting his sleeves. “I heard it's your birthday.”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Miles started stamping his feet on the spot. “My birthday, my party!” 

“And I also heard you were picking on that beautiful girl.” Buggy pointed at Catherine and clicked his tongue. “Not cool, bro.”

“Tattletale!!” Miles whispered to Catherine and showed his tongue. “I didn't mean to, Mister the Clown.” He pouted. “Sorry, miss.”

“I guess she's not mad at you anymore.” Buggy winked at Catherine. “And I also…. What's that?” He pointed somewhere behind the kids. 

Everyone at the table, including Catherine, looked around. 

“Where? I can't see anything!” She tried to figure out where he was pointing. 

“TA-DA!” Buggy's voice was heard. 

Catherine and all the kids turned around and saw him start to take out handkerchiefs from his sleeves. The children froze for a second and then suddenly burst into laughter, squeals and applause.

“Best trick ever!” Catherine started clapping. “You're the best clown I've ever seen in my life!”

Buggy began juggling tangerines, but he was also not very good at it. Then he started showing card tricks, he was a little better at this. The children squealed, shouted and stamped their feet at his every mistake, thinking it was part of the act. 

“Now I'm going to ask my lovely assistant to help me.” Buggy held out his hand to Catherine. 

“Who? Me?” She leaned closer to him. “Will you pick one of the children?”

“Nope.” Buggy winked at her. “Will my cotton candy help me?”

Catherine blushed, giggled and squealed quietly at the same time, and extended her hand to Buggy.

“Mister the Clown, can you make us a balloon dog? I'm Arthur, by the way.” A skinny, fair-haired boy covered in cake asked from the end of the table.

“Hello, Arthur!” Catherine said and bowed slightly. “Of course he will make an inflatable dog. Give us one minute!” She ran away for a second, picked up a sausage-shaped balloon and ran back. “Please, Mr. the Clown.” Catherine bowed like a true circus assistant, handing the balloon to Buggy.

“Cotton candy, I have no fucking idea how these dogs are made!” Buggy whispered quietly. 

“Think of something. I don't think they care what the outcome is. I think they just like you.” Catherine glanced out of the corner of her eye at the excited children.

Buggy groaned and tried to bend one part of the balloon to make a tail, the other part of the balloon to make a head. He twisted something resembling a twisted sausage in his hands for a long time.

“Something like that.” He showed this balloon misunderstanding to the children.

18 eyes looked at Catherine and Buggy, with the exception of Hilda, only blinking back.

“What's going on? Why are they silent?!” Catherine looked from the children to Buggy and took a step back just in case.

“I don't know.” Buggy nudged Catherine behind him. “I don't like this. I don't like it even more that they're looking at us the way you look at me just before you start squealing and jumping on me.” He nudged her back another step.

At that very moment the children burst into squeals and jumped up from their seats, running towards Catherine and Buggy. 

“Get back! Get back!” Buggy shouted at Catherine and took two big steps back.

“Hello, kids!” Mrs. Emmie's voice was heard and the children immediately ran to her. Several parents also came into the yard. 

“Am I alive? Or were we trampled?!!!” Catherine was ready to cry with delight, hugging Buggy. “Are you ok–?” 

“Miss Catherine! Mister Buggy! Hello! We are Miles' parents. Auggie and Trevor.” A short, stocky man with dark hair and grey-blue eyes, a tall, thin middle-aged woman with blue-black hair and blue eyes came closer to Catherine and Buggy. “Emmie said you helped us out. I hope the kids didn't torture you too much. Our son can be naughty sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Are you fucking kidding me?” Buggy barked. “Your kid–!”

Catherine kicked him in the leg. “It's okay, Miss Auggie. Miles's cute.” She giggled slightly. 

“Let me thank you with a cocktail!” Auggie invited Buggy and Catherine to the bar, where she poured them each a Long Island. They were talking when Miles approached his parents and tugged at his mother's dress. 

“Mom, where's my scooter? Daddy promised me a scooter!” He looked around. 

“Honey, you don't need a scooter yet, we bought you a kick scooter.” Auggie patted Miles on the head. 

“But I wanted a real scooter!” Miles stamped his foot. 

“Hah, you don't always get what you want, kid. I dreamed of being queen of the worms, but you see, my dreams were never meant to come true.” Catherine took a swig of her drink.

“Screw you!” Miles stamped his foot and stuck out his tongue to Catherine. 

“Miles! What kind of words were you saying?!” The boy's mom's eyes widened. 

“She said that bad word!” Miles pointed at Catherine. 

“What?!" Auggie looked at Catherine blinking. “Are you out of your mind?”

“It's time to go home, cotton candy!” Buggy threw Catherine over his shoulder and was about to run towards the door. 

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Catherine grabbed four bottles of different alcohol and managed to grab a tray of snacks. “We dese-e-eerve it!!” She screamed as Buggy raced towards the apartment with her.

Buggy reached the apartment in seconds and closed the door. 

“Lock it all up! Lock it all up!” Catherine laughed, putting the bottles on the table. “God, I hope they don't get too mad at us.”

“Fuck them!” Buggy leaned his back against the door and looked at the large bottles of alcohol. “How did you even grab all that?”

Catherine shrugged, came closer and hugged him around the waist. “You hear that?” She chuckled. “Silence!” Catherine raised her head and looked at Buggy's tired and at the same shocked face. “Thank you! I couldn't have done it without you. You see, we have proven once again that we are a strong crew.” She kissed him on his nose. “And my silly clown..”

“I’m listening, my Cathie-pie.” 

“Don't get me wrong, I love you.” Catherine started stroking his head. “But from today on, I won't let you touch me without… well.. you know. I'll tell you more, you'll put on every single.. well, you know.. in the box on your little Buggy.” 

“Hey! He's not little!” Buggy kissed the top of Catherine’s head. “But for the first time in my life, I’m not gonna argue with you, cotton candy.”

[vprosper]

Still no account, but another snippet of this big ass fanfic below!

A bit more details this time;

it's going to be a slow burn (enjoy the over 80 pages folks...)

in the story/snippet , you just learned to read (why hello harsh childhood)

This part comes after 'Size doesn't matter'

-----

Bodyguard

The following days, you found yourself traveling with Clive to Northreach. Each on a chocobo, you made quick work on arriving at the Veil. You were fine with staying there, but Clive had assured you it was too noisy over there. So instead, you stayed at an inn just outside the city. “A room for me and my bodyguard.” You said to the innkeep. You found it hilarious that you pretended to be a wealthy merchant that needed Clive as a bodyguard. He still had his Branded tattoo, as Clive insisted the other cursebreakers where to go first with the procedure. You were actually on a trip to buy more supplies for it. But anyone would've been fine, so you were not sure why he asked you to come with him.

“The Branded can stay in the stables with the others.” The innkeep replied, assuming you wouldn't want him close during the night.

“On the contrary.” You replied with a fancy accent. You even bought some fake jewelry for the occasion. “He can sleep on the floor in my room. He's my bodyguard after all.” You didn't even spare him a glance, and you easily convinced the innkeep to allow the bearer to join you in your suite.

“As you wish ma’am.” He replied, handing you your keys.

“Quite convincing.” Clive spoke up the moment you locked the suite door behind you.

“Don't worry, I'll sleep on the floor.” You said, feeling sorry for the treatment he'd gotten the past days. Like your father treated you, Clive was still being treated every day. You didn't need an explanation on why the world had to change. Another valid reason to stay and help out in the Hideaway.

“No it's okay. You should sleep on the fancy bed. I already have one at the Hideaway.” Clive replied, trying to convince you. You wouldn't call that bed of his fancy.

“You know, I've read about this trope.” You said, sitting on the bed. Clive looked at you after he put his sword against the wall. “Yeah that's right, I've moved on from the children's books.” You were proud of that.

“I'm not sure where you're going with this. You booked the room.” Clive replied.

“You asked me along though. This bed is big enough for the both of us, and you with that tattoo would never get your own room.” You observed him, looking straight at his blue eyes.

“...” His eyes widened, as it dawned on him what you were getting at. When he was little, Jill was more into romantic fantasies than he was. She would often tell him how the two love interests got together. “I can assure you that I did not ask you along to end up in bed with you.” Clive defended. He had to admit that he might've entertained the thought the first day when you cooked that stew, but it had been years since then and valued your friendship more than anything. “Okay. In any case, you sleep on the right.” You say rather commanding, as to not show you were nervous. You trusted Clive with your life, but had never slept in the same room as a man. Clive just nodded, taking off his cape.

“The shops have closed by now, so let's take it easy and have a good night's rest before doing what we came here to do.” He said seriously, gladly changing the subject

Odd. I already thought we were leaving late. Is he trying to take it easier for once? 

“Alright.” You said, taking off your boots. 

I can do that. I'll just act like normal and we'll be on our way tomorrow.

You undressed, leaving on your shirt and smalls. You took your book from your bag and settled under the blankets. Clive undressed as well, leaving on his pants. “You don't need to keep that on because of me, that's probably uncomfortable.” You said, looking at his back. It surprised you how you were so casual on this. It was just Clive after all.

We're both adults here. This is no different than sleeping outside with Dio and Trevor.

“It's fine.” Clive just said. Maybe you made him uncomfortable, you realized. You shrugged, and got back to your book. It was a fantasy story about magical rings. “You got quite into reading.” Clive commented after he got under the covers, seeing you furrow your brows and staring intently at the pages.

“I promised Harpocrates I'd practice every day. This book however, has such long descriptions. Really easy to fall asleep to though.” You replied, flipping the page. Clive silently admired the effort you put in. He tried waiting until you put your book away, but his eyes got so heavy that he failed to stay awake.

...

If you still wanted a good night's rest, now was the time to put your book away. Clive was already fast asleep. He looked very peaceful. His chest went up and down in a steady rhythm. You could see several scars on his upper chest and shoulders alone. With a wry smile you observed him a little while longer. With his hair out of the way, you saw his full face for the first time. The stubble framed his face, the scar on his cheek, and there were no wrinkles or frowns on his forehead at the moment. You sighed, putting away your book and turning off the light.

Clive nudged you awake the next day. He was already dressed, which surprised you. “Oh, thanks for waking me.” You said, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Clive just smiled as he turned his back to you as he waited for you to get dressed. As you put on your pants, Clive spoke up.

“We have some time after this, if you want to go somewhere?” You just finished putting your shirt in your pants.

“Huh? No that's fine, I know you're busy.” You replied, finding the question odd. You couldn't see Clive rolling his eyes.

“Listen.” He turned around. “Jill told me about your last bearer rescue. How you-”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” You deflected. It was a bit early to talk about your shortcomings.

“I'm sorry, it happened because of me.” He looked at you, and you met his gaze.

“What are you talking about? We failed to bring back a single soul, and you're worried that some bastard spit in my face?”

“Y/N…” You mentally slapped yourself. 

What is it with me and spitting people? Can I get a grip please?

And then you realized why he asked you along. To get out of it for a bit. Do something different. Take a bit more time. He felt guilty. “A talk would have sufficed, Clive. No need to go through all this trouble.” This suite suddenly felt ridiculous. Clive acting like your bodyguard felt ridiculous.

“I wanted to. I'm putting everyone in a tough spot, and you don't want me to at least try to bring some distraction when I think it's going too far? I saw how Jill looked. How you seclude yourself even more.” It was a desperate plea, and you felt your stomach churn.

“You should've asked Jill to come along, not me. She's better at these kinds of things.” Jill had a more sophisticated aura about her, and was better at shopping for fair deals than you were. You sighed, letting yourself fall back on the bed.

“Jill is accompanying Tarja. And it's about you right now.” Clive calmly said, as he moved over and laid next to you. You both stared at the ceiling. “I need you to buy me some medicine.” He chuckled at the notion. “These people won't talk to me, until this brand is off my face.” You turned your head towards Clive. He looked back. A moment of silence before you relented.

“Okay fine. We're doing this because you need the stuff for your operation, not because of me needing a distraction or whatever.”

“Good enough for me.” Clive said, as your gazes were still on each other. For a moment you thought something was going to happen. Then there was a knock on the door. “Breakfast ma'am, served in your room, just like you asked.”

[postsfromtheportalfuture]

anonymous Question for wallamcranesarchnemesis: I saw your response to the post by nukeitall about whether there'd be a second exodus and your reply was so great and insightful! I saw you tagged it saying we should wonder about the cultural shift instead. Could you explain what you mean by that or what kind of cultural shift you're expecting? I can see there might be some improvements in some areas of research now that off-worlder's are listening to people from Earth some more, and I'm hoping there will be less cruel jokes and stigma (and a move away from all the awful stuff HE allowed!) but I wondered if there's more to it than that?

wallamcranesarchnemesis:

Okay, this is going to be a bit of an infodump, and I'm sorry if it gets a bit confusing but I'll try my best to explain.

Long story short: Earth's culture is going to shift to align more with Alpha sector's culture.

Short story long:

The older a society tends to be, the longer the "adolescent" stage tends to be. For now, let's put aside Earth - Alpha sector has the oldest society among humans, and in their culture, 25 is the age of full legal majority, as opposed to the age of 18 on Earth. Marriage doesn't usually happen until about 30 in Alpha Sector - this is because the sector as a whole tends to be very wealthy, which means that parents can afford to support their children for a longer period of time, allowing them to focus on their studies and setting up their careers in order to get a proper start in life before having to stand on their own two feet.

On the other end of the spectrum is Epsilon sector, where people tend to get married right out of high school (or sometimes before they even graduate) - this is because their worlds are still in the rapid building phase and aren't very wealthy. Their populations are still very low, and so young people are encouraged to have children very young in order to increase the birth rate and help expand their society.

Now, what does this have to do with the culture on Earth?

It's because Earth culture is extremely different to the rest of humanity.

In the other sectors, children are by and large raised by their parents - socially, it's their parents' jobs to teach them right from wrong, and teach them the social expectations of their planet and sector.

Earth is different because the majority of our population doesn't have our parents around to raise us. We have proparents, but they're only around for 2 hours a week, which means that while they're able to be there for the big things, the ones that we learn the most from actually tend to be the older children in our Homes/Next Steps. The principals of our Homes and Next Steps are too busy to give us individual attention, our teachers are too busy teaching us to teach us about social mores. We are quite literally a society of children raising other children.

And then, we're thrust out into the world at 17 (if we're going by personal birthdays and not Earth's official method of counting age) and we're expected to be fully independent. This is why our culture tends to align more with some of the newer sectors rather than Alpha Sector - because we don't have that extended age of adolescence.

Okay, so what does this have to do with your question?

At the current moment, the majority of adult Earth citizens are those with Immune Syndrome - because the norm-born children of handicapped parents as well as the norm-born siblings of handicapped children whose parents came to Earth with them will almost all move to other sectors once they've grown up. As a result, Earth's culture is currently holding steady, because like I said earlier, most of Earth's population was raised in Homes and Next Steps.

As more and more parents come to Earth with their handicapped children in the future, more and more handicapped kids are going to be raised by parents who will pass on their own morals and values from Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and Epsilon sectors.

So for the first few decades, Earth culture is going to be fluctuating wildly, and some new social norms are going to be born as the cultures of five different sectors find a way to coexist with each other - it will actually be rather similar to what happens on frontier planets, which have open colonization from all sectors.

Then, as the other immune syndrome compatible planets start opening for colony ten and then open colonization, the parents and handicapped children from other sectors will start slowly being funneled to those planets, and the majority of new people moving to Earth will tend to be parents from Alpha sector.

So as more and more Earth children are raised by Alphan parents, our culture will naturally shift to align more with Alpha sector.

We will start to notice a longer and longer age of adolescence on Earth. It will start first with just the children who are raised by their parents.

But, as more parents come to Earth with their babies, it means there will be less children in Nurseries, Homes, and Next Steps. This means a less overwhelmed system, and more adults to tend to individual children and babies! So eventually, children who are raised as wards of Hospital Earth will also enjoy a longer age of adolescence. The first thing to change will probably be Earth's official method of counting age, and children will have one extra year in Next Step. Then eventually, as more resources are freed up, it might mean that wards of Hospital Earth will continue to have support even after they've started University. It won't be from their Next Steps, but perhaps other social support structures.

All this is going to happen rather quickly in the grand scheme of things, but it'll be more of a slower change on a personal level. It will take place over the course of several decades, and you and I probably won't live to see the end stage, but all in all, it's a good change for the people of Earth, and the future of handicapped babies.