#so yeah basically except for cooking and vacuuming

[tenrose]

My ability to read after work is intricately linked to my ability to perform a house chores during the week in a way I can't explain 🤷

[simpingwriter]

Cal Kestis x Kyra Yarmot

'Revenge

and

Redemption:

In the Name of Love'

pt.9

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Heyyy...hope you're not noticing my writer's block that's...making all of this come out incredibly slow...and late. No? GREAT!

Let's keep it moving then!

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 3.548 Words

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One whole month passed since the Training Hall "accident" as the Troopers now called it behind their Superior's back, remembering Trilla's stare as she already planned you two's next encounters, promising you that you won't be able to hide your true Force Strength then. It was a fire in her eyes, one you could truly admire, but in the end, it was nothing against the flames burning within you.

Today you were having your first official mission off of Nur, not just stuck as Patrol on a LAAT Patrol ship with Cal for two weeks. They also tested your abilities to fly and command a one-person ship that way, potentially for future maneuvers where you might need to fly a TIE model or similar. It was incredibly boring and unstimulating to patrol the empty – with a few massive exceptions – ocean moon and most of the time, you used that Time to talk with Cal and reconnect after your 3 months, technically 4, apart…which was just as long as you knew each other. Four Months of adventure together that connected you two more than you expected, on a special level…and four months ripped away from each other, worrying if the other was still fine, wherever they currently were in this vast ocean of stars.

Now, in the present, you're making the last checks of equipment on Nur's landing pad – one of the very few Places of the Fortress being above the Ocean – for the stay on the apparently all new Model of a Star Destroyer. Back in the past, a cold shiver of fear would've run down your spine just thinking about the possibility of encountering one of these gigantic ships of certain death while on your way to the next planet with Din, Zeta and the rest. Now it's a shiver of pure excitement, losing near to all concentration on going down the check list next to Trilla as you couldn't wait to see how big they really were on the inside.

"Did you pack the Rations planned for yourself, Yarmot?" Trilla asks professionally, almost stiffly, without looking up from her own list, and Cal was next to you, doing the same, him and BD both so engrossed in that simple task that he forgot about the rest of the world around him. He really threw himself full-frontal into a mission if need be for its success, even with something as tedious and as utterly boring as a Checklist. "Yeah, got snackbars, water purification tabs, vacuumed spices for cooking-" "Why the hell are you taking spices with you?!" she asks baffled, professionalism lost already once more – never lasting anymore as long as she wished it did – taking said foiled zipper bag from your claws to read through it, squinting at it with sheer bewitchment, like she never even heard of the Empire issuing such things for them, but clearly they did, this bag wasn't sealed by you yourself. It was a big, pressed relatively flat, bag with multiple little ones inside, basically all the spices you liked to cook with.

"In case we get stuck on a planet, we might have to hunt and cook what we find and team morale doesn't plummet as much with a good tasting slab of meat than with some bland, perhaps even boiled excuse of whatever." Basically, you wanted to make sure you and the rest didn't have to deal with the shit you once had to eat for the longest time, all on your own and not exactly able to buy anything else except a ride to the next Planet. "Who says we're going to end up stuck on that damned planet? We get on it, deal with the mission, leave." She wants to play games, sure. "Fuel Problems. Temperature Problems. Weather Pro-" You began to list off the accidents you remember from your exploration years after the Purge on your fingers until she stops you, nodding irritated, "Yeah yeah. I karking got ya. Do what you must." Which you did exactly that.

Once everyone was starting to get onto the Scythe, the transport ship to get you three to the Star Destroyer, you practically throw yourself into one of the seats, looking around the Ship in childlike awr. This was also the first time for you to see the interior of the second most feared Imperial Ship for a (former) Jedi and the people helping them. It had pretty comfy Passenger seats, that's for sure! Cal took the direct seat next to you, letting BD jump from his shoulder to yours as the Droid beeped and whistled with the same tune of interest as you gawked at some of the ship's probably most basic things. "Don't look so astonished, it's just another Ship, Dragonfly!" He laughs genuinely entertained by your open mouth and BD scanning the map in the middle before returning to the two of you. "Right BD? Nothing different from other ships?"

'Just a normal HoloMap…and there I was expecting something interesting, maybe some secret settings.' He boops, his initial enthusiasm suddenly much more muted for the ship. Didn't dim his overall mood though, he was finally able to go on a mission with his frie- family again! "Is this the same Scythe that you and Trilla used two Months ago when I, you know…had my little accident?" "I don't know actually, it might be? But I can tell you with one simple check…" He jumps up from his seat after the ship took off from the landing pad at the Fortress' entrance point, walking somewhere on it with a goal in his mind until he stops when he notices that you didn't follow him, "Aren't you two coming?" You didn't know you were supposed to actually follow him, but that he would just look at what he wanted to look at and return to you two.

But seeing it yourself sounded better, so you nodded with eagerness, BD running up ahead of you, urging you to walk faster with some chirps. "Calm down, little buddy, don't rush this old woman!" And the ginger couldn't help but snort at your obvious exaggeration, shaking his head at your nonsense, "Babe, you're how old??" Awkward silence as you promptly start squint at him with a grimace…you didn't know.

"Don't say-" "Didn't keep track of it after the Purge and lost absolute and total sense of it after Din and Zeta died, since you know…there was no one left for me to celebrate it with, so it became...obsolete. Survival was top priority, nothing else." He stared at you with his eyes wide and his mouth open, the way you said it so casually was shocking him the most though. "When were you born-" "Nobody ever told me, and before, i remembered via my age." He curses under his breath and blinks a few times at that new amount of information. "Okay, how old were you when the Purge began then?"

"13-" "You're 18. Like me." He states as quick as a bullet now, groaning at the fact that he really had to have this conversation with you. And it even worried him slightly…that year you spent alone – left to endure the sometimes harsh environments of the Planets – had taken so much from you, that you even lost the reason in remembering your very own Name day. "...Did Tegra still have time to give you his gift then?" Cal asked next, looking at a corner of the ship's interior, looking for something as he waited for your answer, somewhat dreading the answer.

"Yes but it was destroyed when they attacked our ship back then…" It was a simplenenvelope, a letter from Tegra for you to be opened on your 18th Name Day…you will never get to find out what your Master's last written words would've been...

"I'm sorry…I shouldn't have asked you something so sensitive..." Cal laments when he hears your thoughts loud and clear, eyebrows furrowed, not able to look at you until you crouch down to his current height on the ground, gently using your claws to make him look at you, even if he didn't want to after his apparent "mistake". "You really couldn't have known that, Cal…don't beat yourself up about small things like that anymore...I need to come to terms with these past events as well, it'sbeen due for too long now." And you double assured him that you definitely weren't mad at him for such things by sealing it with a kiss, gentle and loving. Just like he always had been for you, and now only for you anymore. Everyone else that he disliked got nothing similar to the Cal he once was for nearly anyone, something you fully realized in the last month.

When someone irritated Cal, he showed just how much he could fit into his new Inquisitor role. Shouting at Troopers that made serious mistakes was a daily given, and the only person that managed to cool him down from his fits were you, your presence alone slowly turning him back into the sweet ginger you knew.

That's why the other Troopers turned out to start liking you quite quickly and easily when they realized your effect on Cal, the Eleventh Brother. Were you there as well, they could be assured that Cal was staying calm even under the knowledge that something broke or didn't work out the way he ordered them to.

It was getting really bad though when you lost yourself about a Subordinate not following simple instructions, because that's when they had two options and only these two, 1. Cal tries to calm down her instead, or 2. …they both are at the Troopers' throats. Usually verbally, but sometimes physically with the Force.

"Hmm, maybe I will though, if I end up getting kissed like that more often?" Cal teases before indicating his success for finding what he was looking for with a small 'Knew it!' and pointing at a small…dent? "First of all, don't. Second of all…yeah, a dent? Ships tend to get those over the years?" You return slightly unimpressed, still smoothing over it with the soft finger padding of your claws either way, just like he did a few seconds ago. "Not just any, but I threw and kicked Trilla's helmet, that's why there is this dent. It is the same ship!" He laughs, like he just found the cure to a serious illness, but in the end it was nothing but a silly dent. You loved Cal for these reactions of his, making even something so small look interesting.

"Why did you throw and kick her helmet though?" You wonder, letting your hand glide over the – in the end still boring – terminal of the HoloMap on your way back to your initial seats, where Trilla now was as well after she probably dealt with whatever she had to deal with. You clearly didn't care for that – otherwise you would know – not having listened to her complain as she told you about said problem on the Scythe. You didn't plunge back onto Nur into your wet graves just yet, so it couldn't have been too bad.

"He threw it because he thought it looked stupid. Yeah, i mean that, still looks sane to you, your personal ginger patch of Bantha Fodder?"

A short pause later at her having apparently heard you, you break into an almost unhinged laugh, nodding quickly at that idea, "Yeah, he does. Your helmet DOES look karking ridiculous!" Once sitting again, he smirks mischievously and gives you an enthusiastic high-five for immediately jumping in on the regular bullying-on-the-job. After the training accident, Trilla was surprisingly careful to complain about you two. You wonder why...

Nah you don't, you cleaned the Training Room's AND recently the Dojo's floor aswell with her. And you're double proud of it!

Between some back and forth banter of the three of you, plus BD adding his known Information into the mix, the time of the trip onto the Star Destroyer – that would be your home for two weeks now – was feeling unexpectedly short. But Trilla did just have such a shit music taste, Cal and you HAD to debunk some of her opinions with cold hard criticism. "You can't seriously be calling whatever you two just were on, Criticism!" Trilla complains, newly energized after that very civil discussion whether the genre 'New Andromeda Funk' or the Genre 'Meteor Blast Metal' was better.

Clearly the latter, with Cal's agreement and BD trying to be the neutral source. The little Droid had quickly removed himself from said civil discussions though when the first threatened to force choke the other till they inevitably had to agree that the other genre was the better one.

Well as civil as you three absolute soup-for-brains jackasses could technically be…

"But you were any better?? You call this 'Hutts-bowel-movements' shit show, Music!" Cal retorted almost in an instant as you walked down the Scythe's ramp once it safely landed in the Docking Area of the much larger Star Destroyer, causing some of the nearby Troopers to stare at you three, but not for very long before they seemed to notice who it was. Apparently for the two, Cal and Trilla, this was as normal as it got between them, throwing verbal shit at each other and waiting to see which one stuck the best and the most nerves at once. And you loved every second of it, feeling better entertained than when you watched Din and Zeta argue in the past. But as much as you would watch and give input all day, you had one tiny problem. Literally.

"Where the hell do we gotta go for the quarters, I can't read this weird ass font! And it's so small for such a huge sign!" You knew it was supposed to be Aurebesh, you could make out some of the letters, like and 'A' over there, but man was this…ass. "Don't worry, your ginger knight to the rescue!" Said ginger proudly proclaims, your visible confusion more than enough to take his attention off of Trilla's trash taste. For now. It certainly would come up again at least next lunch at least. "Thinking about lunch, let me warn you beforehand: Not as good as on Nur. Absolutely not. The canteens on Star Destroyer Ships are horrible, even dry Rations go harder than this Womp-Rat food…" That's rough hearing such words from Cal, who eats almost like you: Absolutely karking everything if in a need. You gave your hormones the fault for that, as you're both still growing, something that lasts well into your twenties, especially Cal as a human boy. But also for you, as you're not growing like a normal human girl your age.

"I prefer eating you bu-" Not the Calories you mean, but oka- "Not near me, Kestis." Trilla immediately stops him in his tracks after Cal and her take the lead down the many corridors and elevators once more, a look of now familiar disgust on her face. "Can you two keep the nasty stuff to your weird ass telepathy instead?!" She groans out, dragging one of her hands over her face and through her dark hair out of sheer frustration for having to deal with BOTH of you now, not just Cal.

"Only if you keep your face to yourself. Also pretty nasty if you ask me."

And gone she was! Strike!

You could never have imagined to ever hear Cal be so…verbally trigger happy, before joining the Empire. Sure, he had his snide remarks back then too, but they weren't as often as these today. And it made you happy, because finally you're not the only one of you three verbally assaulting and dunking on a whole group of enemies for being too karking stupid to even hit them running around in the plain open. "Good one, Ginger Boy. But I think you broke her." Because all Trilla now did was stare at the two of you bitterly. And you immediately knew she was going to shoot back later, when she thought of a better comeback.

Until then, Cal just laughs to himself, taking your hand and pulling you further along with him, leaving her standing in the corridor. "She'll be fine, she had enough time to get used to me!"

The first week passed and the Star Destroyer was finally put of hyperspace and over the planet you would be taking your first mission as an Inquisitor. Fortunate or unfortunate, it wasn't to capture a Jedi. But apparently a Rebel camp near a town which the citizens of said nearby town complained about. "This is a planet in favor of the Empire? Some Rebels I once traveled with said that such Settlements and Systems only exist in the Empire's propaganda." And by now you're smarter than to still believe every word from these people's mouths, but it still seemed slightly surreal, despite your month of working with the Empire now.

All your life while running, you thought only the Empire was capable of Propaganda like that…yet the former Republic and their Rebels were nothing better in the end.

"They all got their wrongs…don't they." You ask Cal via your connection, who quickly looks over to you with his brows pulled up, "They sure do, but why come up with this now?". You didn't know why, it just felt so on the nose with the knowledge that there are actual people that liked and supported what the Empire did. How could the Rebels try to discredit whole systems and their own beliefs…for being made up?

"Never mind…we don't have time for it now, Cal. Let's talk about it later…" you cut him off before he can add his part of the opinion, but he nods, agreeing to pick the subject back up once finished here, seeing the Scythe you're on nearing the surface of Kuat, one of the many core worlds that supplied the Empire with their Starships, Kuat Drive Yards. And on said planet was that small town that called out the Rebel Camp to the authorities.

"Pretty bold of them, setting up camp on a planet that works so tight knit with the Empire…"

Bold or stupid, the line between the two was often as thin as a Spider's Silk. And in the Rebel's case said "Spider Silk" was nearing its threshold of endurance.

"They long lost sight of what is bold and what is stupid, believe me, Dragonfly. You're giving them too much credit…" The ginger mused before scowling at himself and the fact that you two actually fought for them not too long ago. But someday they would realize the inevitable truth, like Cal and you did as well: There isn't going to be a second Order…the Jedi are a poorly aged concept with their suffocating restrictions. "Like Blue Milk left in the sun for too long…" He adds to your thoughts, resulting with Trilla absolutely not being able to follow the loose context of everything as per usual when you two talked like that to each other.

The Ship landed on a landing spot near an Inn that, from what you were told, is supposed to give you rooms until the problem of the Camp has been solved. And they kept true to their words, the Innkeeper already coming out with welcoming arms. It's a total, mind blowing difference how Inquisitors and Troopers were treated in a Town that supported the Empire next to a Town that was either more fearing of them or secretly opposed to them. Here your dark Uniforms were seen as high ranked military status…

"Welcome, Second Sister, Eleventh Brother and Twelfth Sister! We have been expecting your arrival ever since our Town's Major has assured us that the Empire is sending us your incredibly experienced help." He knew of your specific Rank-Numbers? Did the Empire go that in depth with their reservations for your housing? "Come, come, before you can go check out the situation at hand, I must show you and your Troops your temporary rooms in my Inn!"

The slightly round, small man was clearly not afraid of the metaphorical shadow of dread hanging over the three of you, and why should he anyway? He was not an enemy of the Empire, nor was he a Jedi or generally Force-sensitive. If anything, to him Inquisitors were the higher force of the Empire's Justice System that was sent to bring back peace to the Town and with that also business to his currently quite empty Inn.

"It's a shame that it's so empty, it looks very welcoming, Sir." You compliment, breaking the silence that Cal and Trilla decided to drag on, nodding at the nice design choices of his Inn's Lobby, a bright smile appearing on his equally round face, his eyes shortly widening as you decided to speak up so suddenly. "Why thank you, Twelfth Sister! I always make sure to have a good first impression on my guests. A nice Foyer means equally nice rooms, don't you agree?" Having slept in various Planet's Hotels and Inns back with Zeta and Din still alive, you could certainly agree that they usually also had incredibly good rooms if the Lobbies also looked the part, so you nod slowly with a confident hum, "That is very true."

The two elevators to the floors got packed to the brim with the Storm Troopers, their armor clanking against each other, while you encouraged your two Companions to take the stairs with you to the first floor, which was literally just two staircases up!

For such obviously very physically fit people, they could be really karking lazy…

After the Innkeeper was done showing you your rooms, one single, one double, he took off to show around the Storm Troopers from before. But from Trilla's surprised looks the whole time, it was obvious that the Inquisitors or especially the Troopers didn't get such nice, cared for treatment all the time they needed to stay on a planet for a mission, even if on a Planet like Kuat that supports the Empire. Usually they were probably sleeping in big Ten-Men Tents, where the tools and Rations you took along yourself would've definitely made more sense now, as you doubted you three would have to hunt your own food and cook it over open fire if staying in this nice place.

"You're right, the Planets we're usually getting send to for such Missions aren't always as positive towards our Work, ending with us having to set up a Combat Camp, as the Troopers call it. And trust me, sleeping during a Storm in those is near impossible, constantly praying to the Makers under your paper-sheet thin blanket that the tarps don't get ripped apart…" Cal explained to you once he noticed your suspicion for the fact that you're treated like mediocre, but beloved, Royalty instead of like the ruthless, near bloodthirsty-by-training People others saw the Inquisitors as. And they weren't exactly wrong for that opinion either.

With a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes, Cal quite quickly managed to set a time for when everyone is ready to meet up outside the Inn, to set out for the first Recon of the surroundings of the Camp in the outskirts, pulling you eagerly towards your shared room. How come they allowed you two to share a room here, but not in the Fortress on Nur?

"Because here there is no one to complain about it, we're just three, Trilla couldn't share a double room even if she wanted to." Touché.

With the room door barely even fully closed, you hear a small huff behind you coming from Cal and turning around, it was because he threw himself, Uniform and everything else, onto the big bed in the middle of the furthest wall, still grinning with thoughts you would never be able to utter out loud if in public, spinning through his head like an old Record as he eyed you up and down. Really? Now?

"Right now, my darling Dragonfly, we have more than enough time to kill till it's time to group up again. So…come here~" He called to you with a seductive tone to his last words, patting onto the impossibly comfortable looking mattress, which looked like he was lying in literal clouds.

How could you possibly deny such an opportunity for the two of you?

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[witchyameita]

Spring Cleaning- Ameita

The warm, yellow hues peaked through the white curtains which shined on Alfred’s soft skin. Opening his blue eyes from feeling the warmth of the sun, he rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses which were placed on the nightstand. Taking a few stretches and taking time to check his phone for anything going on today. Alas, he’d have to make something fun happen. Looking to his left, he saw his brunette lover still sleeping. With a small giggle and a kiss on his forehead, the blonde crept out to get started on breakfast. This was the day Feliciano wanted to start cleaning since spring had finally begun. Alfred didn’t really mind cleaning, he just didn’t feel like doing it. The last time he properly went through things was in his Revolutionary War things in the attic, which was a while ago. So he guessed it was for the better.

‘Feli should be cooking, not me’ Alfred thought, smiling a little to himself as he finished breakfast.’

He only made a few breakfast options, since he still cooks like a college student. Today he made pancakes, chocolate chip pancakes for himself and original pancakes for Feli. Just then he heard a familiar voice yelling his name,

“Americaaaaa~!” Feliciano smiled and jumped onto Alfred, who luckily caught him in a hug.

“Italyyyyyy!!! How’d ya sleep?” The american asked, spinning Feli in circles.

“I slept okay! Though I had a weird dream!” He said after being let go, sitting at the dining room table.

“For real? Now you gotta tell me your dream!” Alfred stopped what he was doing to listen to the Italian’s story.

“So basically I was a pirate right? Then a seal came up to me and asked me if I had found the prince of the sea! Then I was like ‘no but who is that?’ The seal then starts to say-“

Listening to Feli talk so passionately about some odd dream he had made Alfred smile. He was even acting it out and doing different voices for each character. It was pretty cute, it sounds like a dream he would have too.

“Then everything blows up! Except me I become a god! Then end!” Feli smiles while Alfred has a doomed expression on his face.

“Wait what the hell?! I missed a part!!”

Alfred’s concern made Feliciano laugh and he just clinged onto the taller one. Never mind on that dream part, either Feliciano is twisted or is just very random. They both ended up laughing as Alfred passed out the food and they ate. He had also opened up the windows to clear the smoke he had caused from some bacon he decided to make.

“It feels so nice in here, this is so great for spring cleaning! But I don’t feel like it…”

Feliciano looked away and Alfred just looked at him and pouted.

“Dude this was YOUR idea! No take backs!”

“Nuh-uh! I changed my mind I wanna have a siesta!”

“What’s a siesta again?”

After a few exchanges they agreed to clean and then party. Now Alfred had found something fun to do today, with that being said they ate and began to clean. They were mainly just cleaning out clothes, utensils, and other stuff they really didn’t need.

“Hey America look at this!”

Feliciano held up a painting of Alfred under the stars that he had done a year or two ago.

“Hell yeah I remember that!! It was the first one you made for me- I think?”

Italy smiled happily and proudly. Alfred re adjusted his glasses a bit before going through a box labeled “Italy the crybaby’s stuff.”

“Eh?! Why’d you name that box like that?!”

Italy stood up over the box and started sorting through it while giving Alfred a disapproving look.

“Cause it’s funny, your reaction is priceless!” Alfred started bursting with laughter, which eventually made Italy laugh too.

“I might be a crybaby but at least I’m cute!” Feliciano giggled.

Nodding in agreement, they both went on chit chatting about nonsense as always. Alfred even started a pillow fight while looking through Feli’s old bedroom linens. He won but felt bad about how hard he accidentally hit Italy, so that ended quickly. Then Alfred moved onto vacuuming, scrubbing down the tables, basically doing a deep clean. Feli was re organizing everything, both of them were pretty lazy but liked to have cleanliness.

“A hero’s work is never done! … except now I’m tired!” Alfred fell back on the couch and sighed, grabbing a soda from the mini-fridge they had next to the couch.

Feliciano sat next to him and placed his head on Alfred’s shoulder. Which in turn Alfred leaned his head on top of Italy’s and smiled softly.

“I’m tired too, maybe I’ll take a nap right here.”

Feliciano yawned and closed his eyes, feeling the cool air coming through the windows. Slowly he fell asleep to the whistling of the wind coming through the windows. Alfred decided that he’d let Feli sleep and wait until late to have fun. He grabbed the remote to watch tv and relax for now, especially since he was goofing off. Maybe cleaning wasn’t so bad, especially when Feli was around. Looking at Feli’s sleeping face basking in the sunlight, America knew he already found his fun thing to do today.

This is my first time writing in forever but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless <3

[thegreenmetblue]

I saw this domestic question-answer thing and wanted to do it with Starker so here we go :

Disagreement :

Who is more likely to raise their voice ?

Tony. Mostly when he’s worried about Peter.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does ?

Tony.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves ?

Peter. He’d take upon himself until he really can’t.

Who trashes the house ?

Tony. Peter’s too sweet to break anything.

Do either of them get physical ?

No, they’d never do anything to hurt the other. No matter how much they argue or how much power they have.

How often do they argue/disagree ?

Often. I’d say fourth times a week but for little things. And one big fight per two months.

Who is the first to apologize ?

Tony. He’s most likely the one who fucked things up in the first place anyway.

Sex :

Who is on top ?

Tony. He’s daddy.

Who is on the bottom ?

Peter. He’s needy baby.

Who has the strangest desires ?

BOTH. They’re both super kinky.

Any kinks ?

Daddy, praise, humiliation, public, overstimulation, edging, hair pulling, power ambivalence, orders, spanking, and the list is long...

Who’s dominant in bed ?

Tony.

Is head ever in the equation ?

Yeah ofc.

If so, who is better at performing it ?

Tony. But Peter’s getting better every day.

Ever had sex in public ?

Is that a real question ? Tony enjoys it so much. Peter too (even if he pretends he doesn’t).

Who moans the most ?

Peter. He’s a moaning slut.

Who leaves the most marks ?

Peter. Cause the marks on his body fades pretty quickly because of the healing factor but they both like to mark each other to show they own each other.

Who screams the loudest ?

Peter. He’s also a screamer. His voice gets so high.

Who is the more experienced of the two ?

Bruh Tony. He has a life of playboy behind him. Peter’s a cute not-so-much virgin

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’ ?

Both, it depends on the mood of the moment.

Rough or soft ?

Rough but sometimes it gets soft, because the love is showing too much. Lots of praises, « i love you »s, kisses and needy cuddles.

How long do they usually last ?

Peter never lasts long but he cums multiple times. Tony mostly cums one time cause he lasts way longer.

Is protection used ?

Tony tried but yeah... nop.

Does it ever get boring ?

With their kinky and loving ass ? Never.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex ?

Tricky question. Huh... Maybe on a couch while they were on a movie night with the Avengers.

Family :

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children ?

Yes, they plan to. But only once Tony retired.

If so, how many children do your muses want/have ?

At least two.

Who is the favorite parent ?

Both ?

Who is the authoritative parent ?

Tony. Peter’d be too cute to be authoritative.

Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school ?

Both of them cause their kids are gonna be super clever anyway so what’s a day off ?

Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around ?

Peter. Tony’d eat junk food but refuses his kids doing the same.

Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children ?

Both. But Tony has more time.

Who goes to parent teacher interviews ?

Tony. Peter’s still an Avengers and have less time for those.

Who changes the diapers ?

Tony. Peter senses are too dialed up for that.

Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby ?

Peter. He doesn’t want his husband to wake up.

Who spends the most time with the children ?

Tony. Peter’s still Spiderman.

Who packs their lunch boxes ?

Tony.

Who gives their children ‘the talk’ ?

Peter. He’s scared Tony would say too much.

Who cleans up after the kids ?

Peter. Tony’s as messy as the kids.

Who worries the most ?

Tony.

Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from ?

Tony again.

Affection :

Who likes to cuddle ?

Both of them. But Peter gets more needy.

Who is the little spoon ?

Peter. But he can spoon Tony when he gets nightmares

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places ?

Tony. But again, Peter always follows.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself ?

Peter. He always want to touch Tony but try not to because they’re in public. But Tony enjoys touching Peter all the time just to see him blush.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable ?

They never become uncomfortable from cuddling, what is that question even ???

Who gives the most kisses ?

Peter.

What is their favorite non-sexual activity ?

Working in the lab.

Where is their favorite place to cuddle ?

The couch.

Who is more likely to playfully grope the other ?

Tony.

How often do they get time to themselves ?

Every day but when they’re on missions.

Sleeping :

Who snores ?

Tony.

If both do, who snores the loudest ?

Just Tony snores.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately ?

Wtf ? They share.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart ?

Cozy up together.

Who talks in their sleep ?

Peter. He says Tony’s name a lot.

What do they wear to bed ?

When cold, Tony boxers and T-shirt and Peter the « trip to NY » T-shirt and « Hello Kitty » bottom. When hot, just boxers.

Are either of your muses insomniacs ?

They’re both super fucked up so yeah. A freaking lot of insomnias. But Tony has them more.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside ?

Yes.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side ?

Wrap their limbs around each other.

Who wakes up with bed hair ?

Peter. And it makes Tony’s heart melt every time.

Who wakes up first ?

Tony. He can’t sleep.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other ?

Tony.

What is their favorite sleeping position ?

Spoon ? Or Peter glued to Tony.

Who hogs the sheets ?

Peter. He’s a sleeping princess.

Do they set an alarm each night ?

No. Tony always wake up and he’s the one waking Peter up with lots of sweet words.

Can a television be found in their bedroom ?

Yup.

Who has nightmares ?

Both of them have a lot of nightmares. Mostly about losing each other or dying.

Who has ridiculous dreams ?

Definitely Peter.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed ?

Also Peter. But Tony lets him.

Who makes the bed ?

Peter.

What time is bed time ?

When they’re done in the lab. It can be really late cause they tend to forget themself in their little nerdy world.

Any routines/rituals before bed ?

Sex and then cuddles.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up ?

Peter. He’s a teen, he never has enough sleep.

Work :

Who is the busiest ?

Both of them cause you know, superhero stuff.

Who rakes in the highest income ?

Duh, Tony.

Are any of your muses unemployed ?

Nop.

Who takes the most sick days ?

Tony ? Peter can’t get sick.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work ?

Tony. He doesn’t even show up to his own meetings.

Who sucks up to their boss ?

Peter cause Tony’s the boss ???

What are their jobs ?

Both are superheroes but Tony’s SI’s boss and Peter’s an intern here for now.

Who stresses the most ?

Peter. He’s always stressed. Tony’s always calm. Except when Peter’s on a mission.

Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations ?

They love it. It’s sometimes hard but that’s their reason to live.

Are your muses financially stable ?

Tony’s a billionaire so I think yes they are.

Home :

Who does the washing ?

Tony.

Who takes out the trash ?

Peter.

Who does the ironing ?

Tony.

Who does the cooking ?

Tony again.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying ?

Both of them, they’re basically babies.

Who is messier ?

Tony. Cause he tends to forget everything.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty ?

Tony again. And Peter secretly likes that cause it makes him feel like he’s more mature than Tony.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor ?

Peter.

Who forgets to flush the toilet ?

Peter.

Who is the prankster around the house ?

Mmmh I feel like it’s Tony. Lots of sex pranks.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere ?

Peter. But it’s okay cause Tony have plenty of cars.

Who mows the lawn ?

Tony.

Who answers the telephone ?

Tony. Phone calls stress Peter.

Who does the vacuuming ?

Peter. But only when he can put music with.

Who does the groceries ?

Both.

Who takes the longest to shower ?

Peter af. He likes to sing and jerk off. But the longest showers are when both are in it cause yeah... heads and showersex.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom ?

Peter.

Miscellaneous :

Is money a problem ?

Tony’s a billionaire so no, money isn’t a problem for them.

How many cars do they own ?

Huhh.... 6 ?

Do they own their home or do they rent ?

Tony owns the Compound and they also own a house somewhere lost, next to a lake.

Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside ?

Both lol.

Do they live in the city or in the country ?

Also both.

Do they enjoy their surroundings ?

Yes. Peter more than Tony cause he’s still not used to all of this.

What’s their song ?

Can’t Help Falling In Love I guess ? Or Daddy Issues. They don’t have the same taste in music. Peter likes pop and love songs and Tony likes rock songs. But Peter secretly have a playlist for songs that remind him of Tony.

What do they do when they’re away from each other ?

They do video calls a lot cause they always miss each other.

Where did they first meet ?

In Peter’s bedroom.

How did they first meet ?

Tony recruited him in team Iron Man.

Who spends the most money when out shopping ?

Tony for sure. Peter is really not used to spend a lot of money. But Tony enjoys spending money for Peter.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets ?

Their assets won’t ever be flashed but Tony.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over ?

Tony. Cause Peter is clumsy af when he’s not Spidey.

Any mental issues ?

Oof. Okay I need a roman for that. They both have heavy PTSDs. Due to their job. Tony’s traumatized by Afghanistan, the people he lost, his parent’s death, Peter dusting, his « death ». Peter’s traumatized by Ben’s death, his first fight, his « death », Tony’s « death », his fight with Mysterio. Tony has a lot of panic attacks and Peter has anxiety. And they both have a lot of nightmares about it so a lot of insomnia too.

Who’s terrified of bugs ?

None of them.

Who kills the spiders around the house ?

Also none of them cause it offends Peter.

Their favorite place ?

Their home.

Who pays the bills ?

Tony. He likes to make Peter’s life easy. Beside Peter doesn’t know how to do that.

Do they have any fears for their future ?

They’re obviously scared the other one will die in a mission, but they try to not talk about it and enjoys their time the best way they can.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner ?

Tony. And everytime he does it, Peter melts.

Who uses up all of the hot water ?

There’s always hot water but it’d be Peter.

Who’s the tallest ?

Tony. But Peter gets taller and he’ll eventually be taller than Tony. And Tony hates that.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other ?

Peter, he does that everytime he can.

Who wanders around in their underwear ?

Peter. Cause he’s warmer because of his metabolism. That drives Tony crazy.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio ?

Peter. For sure.

What do they tease each other about ?

Tony teases Peter a lot. About everything. But mostly about his clumsiness, the way he blushes everytime Tony praises him, the way he needs almost nothing from Tony to get hard.

Peter teases Tony about his age sometimes. But only because he knows deep down their age gap turns Tony on.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times ?

Both. Tony to Peter’s sweaters and Iron Man clothes. And Peter to Tony’s old band T-shirts. (But he secretly loves them and steals them to sleep with).

Do they have mutual friends ?

The Avengers. They spent a lot of free time with them as well cause it feels like a big family.

Who crushed first ?

Peter. Ofc. He has had a crush on Iron Man since he was like 7. Tony only knew him when Peter was 14, but it took a moment for him to come with the crush thing.

Any alcohol or substance related problems ?

Tony had a lot of alcohol problems yeah but not since he’s really with Peter. One night they had a big fight about it and Peter threatened to leave if Tony didn’t stop. Tony hasn’t had a drink since then.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am ?

Peter. Since Tony doesn’t drink anymore.

Who swears the most ?

Tony.

[imaginingsoftly]

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time Pt. 10 - Morgan Rielly

Type: roommates to lovers, Y/N insert shorts

Requested: No

Warnings: arguing, minor meltdown, swearing, angst

(Y/N = Your name, time jumps marked with a line)

A/N: Fair warning, this gets angsty for a hot second. Also, there’s a little bit of Greek in here, but nothing that you’ll need to translate. It’s a couple of food things, a phrase, and some names, all of which are explained in-text. I have some Greek in my family, so thankfully I was able to draw off of personal experience for this.

Another win, another party. The boys were on a win streak, and had decided to celebrate every win like it could be their last. Kat and Andrei were drunkenly dancing on each other, and Y/N smiled at the way Andrei stared down at Kat. They really did make for a cute couple. Dougie was dancing next to them, some random brunette shimmying awkwardly in front of him. Morgan was standing at the bar joking with Tom, the bartender. Tom was probably talking about the game, she knew he watched all of them in between pouring drinks. “So is everything still good with you and Mo, Y/N?” She looked back at the boys sitting across from her, and smiled. 

“Never better. It just works, you know?” Marty and Brock rolled their eyes, and Marty reached out to punch Y/N’s shoulder. “Stop being so corny and tell us if he does anything embarrassing,” Brock yelled over the music, “You’re our inside source for all things Mo, Y/N, so talk!” Y/N laughed, and Morgan grinned as he slid in next to her, sliding a beer over to both of the boys sitting across from him. “Go away, Mo, we were interrogating Y/N.” Marty saluted Y/N with his bottle as he spoke, and she lifted hers back at him. 

Morgan slid an arm around her shoulders. “He snores,” Y/N said quickly, “and he’s a shit cook. I taught him how to flip a pancake.” Marty snorted as Morgan leaned back to look at her, betrayed, but Brock’s face made everyone laugh seconds later. “You don’t know how to flip a pancake either, Ginner, do you?” Brock’s ears turned red at her teasing, and Y/N and Marty high-fived. 

The four settled into an easy conversation, most of it surrounding the various basic living skills the boys had never bothered to learn, and somehow Y/N found herself promising to teach Ginner and Marty some of her cooking secrets. The drinks flowed as much as the conversation, and Y/N found herself leaning more and more heavily into Morgan as the night wore on. She was blessed with a naturally high alcohol tolerance, but she still didn’t drink often and the guys had a foot and hundred pounds on her. Andrei and Kat finally made their way over to everyone, and Kat pulled Y/N away for a “bathroom visit.” 

“So, Y/N spill!” Kat reapplied her lipstick in the semi-darkness of the bar’s bathroom while Y/N leaned on the edge of the sink. Actually, leaning on the sink was probably a bad idea. God knows what had been in it. “It’s been almost two months and you’ve given me nothing about your dating life.” Not that it was Y/N’s fault they hadn’t gotten together. Kat was the busy one, and Andrei took up almost all of her free time. 

Now Y/N would ever say that out loud, but still. “It’s good. I mean honestly not that much has changed, except we swap spit sometimes.” Kat snorted out a laugh and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “and other bodily fluids.” Which, really, she wasn’t wrong. About half of the apartment had been christened thanks to Morgan’s sex drive, and Y/N found herself in much better shape than she had been before they started dating. “He’s been good for me, Kat. And for my anxiety. I’ve been falling asleep a lot easier, and I haven’t felt like chest pains were killing me in almost a month.” That was probably the most remarkable part of the entire thing; the anxiety and insomnia had been a normal part of Y/N’s life since she was in college, and suddenly a stable relationship and someone to really talk to was lessening her episodes. It had happened before, in the one other real relationship she’d had, but not to this extent. 

Kat put her lipstick away, finally satisfied that it looked okay. “I’m happy for you, Y/N,” she said, touching Y/N’s hand. “He’s a good guy. You deserve someone like him.” The two smiled at each other, and Kat slung an arm over her friend’s shoulders. “Let’s go give those boys hell before they have to go back to taking life seriously, yeah?”

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

The week leading up to the playoffs was a lot. Morgan was filled with a sort of manic energy that was hard to be around sometimes, and Y/N could tell it was because of years of first-round disappointments. He was readying himself to be disappointed again. She kept him busy as much as possible, coming up with reasons to send him to the store or to clean things around the house, but even that was becoming a little tiresome. There was only so many times he could run the vacuum cleaner through the apartment before Mrs. Dagny downstairs complained. 

They were eating dinner together three days before game one when Morgan stood suddenly. “I have something for you,” he announced, and Y/N was left to sit confusedly at the eating bar. He returned from his room holding something behind his back. “So I know you know about all the traditions in hockey, down to the smallest ones, and this year you’re a piece of one that means a lot to NHL families.” Morgan pulled a jacket from behind his back, and Y/N dropped her fork in surprise. WAG jackets were a big deal, and she hadn’t planned on getting one unless Morgan or one of the girls brought it up. No one had, and she’d just brushed it off. The jacket was beautiful, black and slightly worn, like someone had roughed it up a little bit to soften the denim. The alternate logo sat front and center, the hurricane warning flags spanning most of the back. Morgan’s number spread across the shoulders, and his name sat on the popped collar. She laughed at the Red Sox logo on one shoulder, and smiled softly at the Canadian leaf sitting on the other. Their two homes, combined. The only question was how he had arranged all of this.

Y/N met Morgan’s eyes to silently ask, and he grinned. “I asked Kat to set it up for you. I figured it’d be a fun surprise.” He held it out to her. “Try it on.” She stood hurriedly, and Morgan helped her slide the jacket over her shoulders. It fit perfectly, and Y/N silently thanked Kat for accommodating the wideness of her shoulders. “Perfect,” Morgan said, spinning her around. “My number looks good on you, sweetheart.” Y/N laughed. “Thank you,” she whispered. Morgan pulled Y/N into a hug and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks for sticking with me this whole season, Red Sox. I know it must’ve been hard sometimes.” 

“Only sometimes,” she joked. They settled back into dinner, though Y/N left the jacket on. Everything felt too surreal to take it off. “So are you ready for game one? Boston was looking scary as the season ended.” It was like Morgan could never escape the Bruins; they had been the top team in the East for yet another year, and the Hurricanes were meeting them as the wildcard. Y/N could see the strain that was setting in, and the pressure Morgan was surely putting on himself. 

Morgan sighed, looking at the wall in front of him. “In a way, I’m glad it’s Boston. It might be nice to exorcise those demons, you know?” Y/N nodded. “At the same time, it’s like really? Boston again?” He rubbed his face tiredly, and Y/N reached over to grab his plate. “C’mon,” she said, “we’re going to get a couple of small bowls of ice cream and watch some baseball. I’ll even turn on the Blue Jays game for you.” Morgan nodded. Y/N headed into the kitchen to take care of their bowls, and he dragged his feet over to the couch. Y/N stopped to watch him as he walked, noticing the exhaustion behind his steps. The last couple of weeks of the season had been tough on him, and it was showing. Their win streak in early March had been the only thing keeping them in the playoffs, and they’d exited the regular season barely limping into the wildcard. Losing Tuevo at the end of that win streak had shown exactly how flawed their forwards were. If there was any consolation, Boston was the same way. 

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

To say the season ended badly would be an understatement. Game seven, and they didn’t have a chance from the start. Boston came out swinging, literally, scoring two goals and inciting a near-brawl in the first ten minutes of the game. The boys recovered, briefly, when Kase was ejected from the game for a bad hit on Sebastian, but Boston came back with a vengeance in the second. A final score of 7-3, and the boys were done and Boston was headed to Toronto. Morgan was red in the face when he came out of the locker room, having shouldered most of the blame for the way the back end played. The press was hard on him, especially since Toronto was moving on to the second round in the first year since he’d been traded, and Y/N could tell their questions had gotten to him. 

He stormed past her in the hallway, and Y/N had trouble meeting Ky’s sympathetic face with a smile and a nod. “I’ll see you soon.” She handed Emmy back to Jaccob, and took off after Morgan. “Morgan,” she called, hurrying towards the parking lot, “Mo, hang on!” He didn’t even slow down, and she was almost surprised he waited for her to climb into the passenger's seat before he sped out of the lot. His face was harder than stone, and she watched his jaw muscles ripple as he ground his teeth. Morgan was driving faster than usual, slamming on the brakes a little harder than necessary. Y/N didn’t know what to say, so she sat in silence. He was never like this. A frown sure, being a little too hard on himself definitely, but never this angry. She only spoke when they turned onto the street their apartment was on. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but I’m proud of you. It wasn’t the outcome I know you wanted, but you were good. The bounces didn’t go your way tonight.” 

Morgan choked out a laugh as he pulled into the parking space next to her Jeep. “I sucked, Y/N. Don’t try to make excuses for me. It’s never good enough.” He barely put the car in park before he was jumping out, slamming the driver’s side door in the process. Y/N jumped out as well, knowing he would leave her behind if she didn’t. Morgan wasn’t waiting for her tonight, and his height advantage was all-too evident as he took off up the stairs faster than she could keep up. She knew he was exhausted, so this was anger fueling him. 

Y/N caught up with him at the door to the apartment, where he was angrily shoving his keys into the lock. It wasn’t turning, and he punched the door in frustration. This was a side of him she didn’t even know existed. “Morgan, stop!” She shoved past him, grabbing the keys out of his hand. “I’ve got it. Just stop, please.” Y/N barely made it out of the way before Morgan was barreling inside the apartment, and she hurriedly followed behind him, stopping when they were in the living room. “Morgan.” She said his name quietly, but he paused. “I understand your anger, and I think it’s justified. Just please,” she begged, “don’t take it out on me. I love you, Mo, and I wanted to see you succeed.” A few tears she hadn’t realized were building up dropped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry that you didn’t get the series win tonight, and I’m sorry it was Boston again. I wish it had gone differently this time.” She wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand, and Morgan’s face hardened as he looked at her.

“Stop pretending to be upset!” Morgan was red in the face, and Y/N could barely recognize the person she loved behind the anger. “You don’t know how this feels, and you don’t even care about the team!” He threw his arms out wildly, and she saw Bogey run for her bedroom when Morgan’s hand came dangerously close to his perch on the couch. “You’re a Boston fan, for fucks sake! Go out and celebrate, just stop fucking pretending you give a shit about if we win or not!” Morgan’s chest was heaving with how heavily he was breathing, and Y/N was frozen from where she stood by the window. He really thought she didn’t care about him? Didn’t care if the team won or lost?

Y/N felt another tear slip down her cheek, though she wiped it away as quickly as it fell. Morgan’s face shifted slightly, like he was just realizing what he’d said. Y/N ducked her head before any more tears fell. “Y/N, I,” she shook her head, pushing past Morgan and towards the door again. “Y/N! Red Sox, come on, I didn’t mean it.” Sure he didn’t. 

“Angry words are usually pretty truthful, Morgan, so I think you did.” His face was helpless as he reached out to her, and Y/N put her hand on the doorknob. “I need to cool off for a while. I think you do too.” She left before Morgan could respond, and especially before he could convince her to come back. 

She was halfway down the stairwell before footsteps sounded above her. How in the hell could he possibly think she was happy he’d lost? She knew those boys; they mattered to her now, it wasn’t like they were some faceless team. She cared about him, for fucks sake. Morgan caught up with her as she reached the street. He breathlessly called for her to stop, and Y/N’s feet slowed for a step before she steeled herself and kept walking. “I need to cool off Morgan, I’ll be back.” His footsteps continued behind her, and his hand caught her arm under the elbow. 

“Y/N please. I shouldn’t have said that.” She finally slowed, turning to face Morgan. His eyes scanned her face desperately. “I know you care. I know you wanted us to win.” She wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, and the eyebrow she cocked told him enough. Morgan let go of her arm to rub his face, and she could see exactly how exhausted he was. “Go, Morgan,” she said a little more gently. “I’ll be back. I promise.” Y/N reached out to squeeze his arm reassuringly before beginning to walk again. Morgan paused for a second and then followed.

He walked silently alongside Y/N until they were past the apartment complex. “I just want to know that you’re okay. I know you take these walks when I’m not around, but I’d prefer you not walk the city alone this late.” Y/N could feel him staring at her as she looked forward, and it took everything she had not to meet his eyes. “I won’t talk if that’s what you want, and I’ll even walk separate from you if necessary, but I just want to make sure you stay safe.” Well damn. When he put it that way she couldn’t refuse. She nodded shortly, and Morgan let out a breath that she hadn’t noticed he was holding. 

They walked in silence through the city, and Y/N finally felt herself cool off. Morgan had a temper, she knew that, though she didn’t know it went that deeply. It didn’t excuse what he’d said, not by a long shot, but his apology was sincere. They finally reached the spot she was seeking out, a small nighttime Greek restaurant ten blocks from their building, and Y/N felt Morgan look at her questioningly as she stepped through the door. The smell of oregano and garlic hit Y/N almost as quickly as the sound of the traditional music, and she shouted out a greeting as she pulled Morgan along with her. “Ti kanete, yiayia!” The older woman behind the counter looked up as Y/N spoke, and she began to hurry out from behind the counter when she recognized her. “Ah, koúkla,” she called out excitedly, “you finally came for another visit?” Y/N melted into the older woman’s hug. Her hug was more comforting than even Morgan’s, the kind of hug only a grandmother-type could give. 

Y/N pulled back, and the older woman drew her hands back to Y/N’s shoulders. “You too skinny, koúkla, too skinny.” She let go of Y/N’s shoulders to pat her cheeks gently, and Y/N gavet the first smile she’d had since the game started. “Eat. I’ll bring keftedes and loukoumades.” Y/N nodded, and looked back at Morgan as the woman hurried away, shouting at her husband to get the food going. He was standing there slightly shell-shocked, and the last of Y/N’s immediate anger dissipated with the look on his face. She took pity on him, grabbing his hand to pull him towards a table. Morgan reacted instantly, adjusting his hand to hold hers properly. As they sat, Y/N took a moment to drink in the atmosphere.

It felt homey, and smelled familiar. She had grown up on Greek foods, her mother half Greek, and the Greek thrown between Erriéta and Matthaíos was as familiar as Saturday breakfasts at her grandparent’s house. Even the furniture was familiar, plastic on the brown booth chairs and all. Morgan was still looking around confusedly, and Y/N took pity on him. “They’re Greek. Harriet and Matthew are insomniacs, like me, so they opened this place when they immigrated here. It’s the only restaurant not attached to a bar or fast food that you can find after 1am.” She smiled over at the kitchen, where Matthaíos was throwing dough balls into the air and catching them as Erriéta scolded him. “In Greek, their names are Erriéta and Matthaíos, but they mostly go by the English translations now. It’s a little easier.” Morgan smiled gently at her, and she continued before she let him suck her back in too quickly. “I came in here one night after a particularly bad day last year. I called out a hello in Greek, though it was the wrong one.” Y/N laughed at the memory. “‘Ti kanete’ is the informal way to say hello, not what you say to strangers.” 

“Harriet kind of adopted me after that. It’s why I call her yiayia. It’s the Greek word for grandmother. She has a habit of adopting strays.” Erriéta appeared then as if she had been called, sliding large plates of keftedes and loukoumades between Y/N and Morgan. “Eat,” she said emphatically, “too skinny. You too, boy,” she directed at Morgan, “you too skinny too.” Morgan stared up at the woman mildly alarmed, and Y/N smothered a chuckle. “Thank you, yiayia,” she said sincerely. Erriéta patted her hand gently and swept off again, yelling at Matthaíos in their native language again. 

Morgan looked mildly shell-shocked, even as Y/N pulled a plate from the stack at the end of the table and piled it high with food. “The food is good,” Y/N told him. “Eat.” Morgan still looked at the food skeptically, and she rolled her eyes. “It’s turkey meatballs and doughnuts in a nutty syrup. I promise it’s all delicious.” She dug into her own plate as she spoke, shoving an entire doughnut in her mouth. It had been a while since the last time she’d eaten the loukoumades, and it took every bit of self control Y/N had not to take the entire plate just for herself. She smiled when Morgan took a bite of meatball, immediately making a face of surprise and shoving the entire thing in his mouth. “Good, yeah?” Morgan nodded emphatically, and Y/N laughed at the way his cheeks bulged. 

They ate together in semi-silence, only talking for more napkins or to argue over who would pay the bill when Erriéta brought it by. They did meet gazes every so often, and Morgan’s gentle but exhausted smile melted the last of her anger away. “I love you too.” Morgan’s words startled Y/N out of thoughts of more loukoumades, and she cocked her head in confusion. “You said it earlier,” he clarified, “and I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve to have my frustration taken out of you.” Morgan sighed, leaning back in his chair. “They wouldn’t stop asking me about Toronto. I can’t help but feel like I was the reason they kept losing all those years, and it sucks.” Oh. Oh. 

“Morgan, no. It’s not your fault. They finally went out and got those pieces you guys needed to succeed all those other years. You can’t blame yourself for the front office screwing up.” Y/N reached out and gripped one of Morgan’s hands. “A few overpaid forwards and two good defensemen aren’t going to win you a cup. If the front office had smartened up when you were there, maybe you guys would have made it further. But sweetheart, it’s not your fault.” 

Morgan nodded slowly, and Y/N could actually see him realize she was right. He squeezed her hand back, leaning forward again with a sigh. “What would I do without you?” Y/N smiled and shook her head in response. “Let’s go home.” Morgan stood as he spoke, pulling Y/N with him. Erriéta and Matthaíos came over to hug Y/N, and then Erriéta even hugged Morgan. 

“Take care of her, boy, yes?” Morgan nodded solemnly at Erriéta’s request, and Y/N hugged the older woman again. She pressed a box of what Y/N could only assume was more loukoumades into her hands, and winked. “For later. You too skinny.” Y/N laughed and nodded. 

The walk back to their apartment was much more lighthearted than when they’d left, and Morgan tucked Y/N into his side with a sigh. “Can we cuddle when we get back?” Y/N took a breath to respond, but Morgan hurriedly spoke again. “I understand if you’re still mad, but I wanted you to know that the option is there.” Y/N let out a breathy laugh, though she didn’t respond immediately. Was she still mad at him? She had been hurt at the time, and maybe still was, but honestly it didn’t seem like Morgan meant what he said. It was more like he’d wanted someone else to be as upset as he was. They both needed a hug and a good night's sleep.

“Yeah, Morgan, I think we both need that tonight.” Morgan squeezed Y/N’s shoulder as they came upon their building, and he held onto her as they climbed all seven flights of stairs. Bogey was sleeping on the couch again as they entered the apartment, and Morgan scooped him up gently. Bogey protested with a tiny meow, and Y/N pressed a kiss to the cat’s head. “He doesn’t like it when you pick him up while he's trying to sleep, you know.” 

Morgan followed Y/N into her bedroom, depositing Bogey on the gray comforter. “I just wanted to cuddle with both of you. Plus, he loves my hugs.” Y/N let out a laugh, and she was still laughing as they settled into the bed. Morgan pulled her close, sliding an arm under her head and another across her lower ribcage. “I love you, Y/N. And I am so grateful that you let me hold you every night.” Y/N settled deeper into his chest, and Morgan pressed a kiss to her neck. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[lihikainanea]

Request?/idea, since you’re in that headspace: Bill coming home from a shoot to find tiger drinking her feelings away on the couch.

Anonymous said: I'm in my feelings 'cause I'm dealing with some crap & its making me crave angst. Like Bill & Tiger having a drunken night in & lately Tiger's been feeling insecure so she goes to town on the alcohol. It loosens her up & she starts blurting out her insecurities to Bill. Like how she doesn't understand why he wants to be with her, when he could be with supermodels & how she doesn't want to hold him back. Really silly stuff that her brain thinks about sometimes *sighs*

Edit: I got carried awayyyyy.

I feel so called out right now. Listen man, I think usually tiger has her head on straight, except sometimes...maybe if he’s been away for awhile and really the only thing she’s seen of him is the airbrushed and photoshopped pap pictures and professional shots from whatever it is he’s promoting and where--maybe then sometimes it gets hard for her. Bill is just...god, he’s so beautiful you know? Inside and out, and sometimes tiger gets a little self-conscious about it. About why her. To boot, she’s met all of his ex-girlfriends--Bill has dated models, models, actresses, people who are paid large sums of money to be that beautiful on a constant basis.

It scares the hell out of her.

But I think she’s getting better at reeling it in, right. Sometimes it’s hard when he’s away and all she sees are these perfect photos of him impeccably dressed,  but then she remembers that this is the same dude whose eyes cross a second before he sneezes--every time. This is the same dude who gags when he tries to eat spinach. The same dude who whacks his big ass forehead on everything, who seemingly can’t control his limbs in all of their spectacular length. He’s impeccably dressed until she finds out that the shirt he wore cost $8,000 and that watch on his wrist is a cool $200,000 and then she bursts out laughing because Jesus Christ, his entire world is fucking ridiculous.

But maybe these things start to rear their ugly head when she’s had a lot going on. Bill’s been home and tiger’s been around but she’s also been working on a big project. And she levelled with him when she started it--told him straight up she’d be pulling long hours and really running herself a little thin, but this project had huge repercussions for her and if she knocked it out of the park, then the rewards for her and for her job would be incredible. Bill gets it, he knows what that’s like, and he’s not about to punish her if she needs to do this. So instead he just tries to maintain whatever balance he can for her--ensuring that she takes small breaks if it’s feasible, having a good breakfast waiting for her if she has to work on the weekend, making sure that the food she’s eating and snacking on is healthy and nourishing even if she has to vacuum it down in a 45 second time frame and then get back to work. And when she’s nearly in tears from exhaustion and the hustle of it all, he’s always waiting with a warm cuddle and some encouraging words to get her through.

But tiger also kind of...overdoes it. A lot. And has trouble really dealing with things. So maybe towards the end of the project, Bill comes home one night and she’s pretty tipsy on his couch--which is fine. She had a small win at work, she told him, and wanted to celebrate buuuuut whoops her hand slipped and she just kept pouring glasses. Bill doesn’t think much of it, she’s been working so hard. So he gives her a messy smooch, joins her for a drink, then hauls her into the shower with him for some play time before bed.

Tiger has a pretty hard time getting herself out of bed the next day.

And maybe that night or the next night, Bill is prepping dinner when tiger stumbles home--literally stumbles. She had happy hour drinks with a few colleagues on the project after work, but drinks turned into shots and sorry bud, she overdid it. Bill frowns a little--I mean, it’s Tuesday--but lets it go. He gets her changed into his shirt, tries to get her to eat a little something, but she basically falls asleep at the table.

And as the week goes on it kind of just gets worse. Because tiger is stressed out, she’s working herself thin, and when that happens--all kinds of crazy ideas creep into her brain. And maybe it’s triggered by one of her idiot colleagues, who said something to her over drinks. Sometimes about how handsome her date to the Christmas party was, and then another colleague pipes up that yeah that dude is famous--and then it becomes a whole thing. She’s grilled on how she met him, what he’s like, what they’re uh...doing. Like, are they together? No? Oh, that makes sense. Hey didn’t he date a lingerie model last year?

And then the pictures are pulled up. Of him and his ex-girlfriends.  Lots of them.

Maybe, to her credit, tiger didn’t realize how much it bothered her. How much she archived that in the torment section of her brain, just to be recalled endlessly for the days after. But come Friday--homegirl is basically a fucking mess. Because she’s realizing everything Bill is doing for her--cooking her good meals, offering up lots of back and tummy rubs and head scritchies, always ready with a bear hug, picking up things for around the apartment she always forgets, doing her groceries for her, running all kinds of menial errands that seem like nothing but always take her so much time on the weekend. And it’s all just been...a lot. Her colleagues’ words have been on her mind all week, the stress of the project is making her crack, and come Friday she’s just a mess. So maybe Bill insists on a quiet night in--if she wants to get drunk she can do it plunked on his lap on the couch.

And she does. But then it kind of just....explodes. And I’ll bet it happens right as Bill reaches and squeezes her tummy a bit, gives her a few pats there on her soft parts. It’s something he loves to do and something that normally gets her purring but this time it just kind of shuts her down.

“Don’t,” she snaps, and pushes his hand away. He’s a little taken aback by it because she usually loves when he does that.

“Okay,” he acquiesces, “Sorry, kid. You usually like when I do that.”

“Yeah well did your lingerie model girlfriend like it too?” she mutters under her breath.

“What?” his brow furrows in confusion.

“Your lingerie model girlfriend, Bill,” she isn’t yelling, but her tone is definitely escalating, “Remember her, buddy? In all of her perfectly proportionate glory?”

“Tiger, what are you--”

But she’s almost hysterical now, that quickly, and it’s this disastrous mix of exhaustion, stress, anxiety, self-loathing, anger--god, everything explosive about her is all coming to a head.

“Why, Bill?” she demands, “I guess that’s what everybody wants to know, right? Why me, after her? Why me, after all of them? The actress--the few actresses, actually. The model. The other model. The pro volleyball player.”

She’s staring at him accusingly, hopping up from his lap and pacing the living room. She has her drink in hand, and it’s sloshing messily over the rim of her glass. Bill wants to interrupt her, ask her what the fuck she’s going on about, but in actuality he’s kind of just...stunned into silence.

“Everybody at work is asking me how, asking me why. Why me. With someone like you. Because they didn’t have this, did they?” she lifts her shirt, pokes at the squishy part of her stomach, “They didn’t have boring 9-5 office jobs. They didn’t look like death in the mornings, or hungover, or tired or any of that. They didn’t have 17 different kinds of zit creams in their bathroom, did they? I’ll bet they certainly didn’t have pants they wore only one week a month because they bloated like a puffer fish and nothing else fit. You said it yourself about one of them--god the fuck was her name?”

She stops her rant, finishes half of her glass in one gigantic gulp. Bill’s eyes are huge, scared, and he’s motionless on the couch.

“I can’t remember her fucking name,” tiger waves passively, “But golden pussy? Does that ring a bell?”

Tiger drinks the rest of her wine in another giant gulp, and actually throws the glass against the wall. It shatters and Bill winces except now...now he’s mad. They’ve had this conversation before, and he’s not about to have it again. No fucking way. He can handle her moods, he knows he’s a lot to deal with, he gets that she can be a little on edge about it--but this? Hearing her put herself down so much, think she’s unworthy of him? That makes him angry. With her. Because how dare she.

The glass shatters, and tiger continues her tirade--but Bill stands.

“I didn’t see you for fucking months, Bill,” she says, “All because of this girl and what you called the best pussy you’ve ever had. Why don’t you find her again--her and her entire wardrobe of tiny little negligees, and go a few rounds with her instead. She’s more your type, no?”

And she’s just about to lace into him again--and it’s not HIM she’s mad at, she’s just mad at everything and all of what he embodies in her life--but she doesn’t have a chance. Because Bill is in front of her, and in a flash her back is slammed to the wall and her jaw is squeezed in his hand, his knee pinned between her legs.

“Enough,” he growls, “Enough, tiger.”

It breaks her a little bit--just a tad, but enough that he can get through. She swallows the lump in her throat, the one that was making her voice all shrill and shrieky, she sniffles and tries to keep the tears at bay.

“Look at me.”

“No,” she chokes, but he grabs her chin and roughly tilts it up, “Bill, no.”

But it’s too late, he has a hold of her and his eyes--furious and wide--are burning a hole through hers.

“I’m not doing this with you again,” he seethes, “Tiger, if I wanted her--or anyone else--I’d go out and get her.”

Tiger sniffles, chokes a little, but Bill doesn’t move.

“I want to throw you over my knee and spank your ass raw for this kid, and I would if I thought you were in the right mind,” he threatens through gritted teeth, “But you’re clearly insane. Fucking insane.”

“It’s you,” he jostles her chin a little and she whines, “Get it through your thick fucking skull kid, it’s you.”

And then he lets go--pulls away so suddenly that she crumples to the floor. He’s madder than hell--mad that she still thinks this, still thinks so little of him at the same time, mad that she’s drowning everything she’s feeling in alcohol. She knows better. On all accounts, she knows better. So he takes a step back, watches as she just gives at the knees and oozes to the floor. He takes a deep breath, runs his hand through his hair, walks a few steps to the bar cart. He pulls a glass from it, pouring out a thumb of scotch and knocking it back in one go. He takes a steadying breath in--the sound of her soft whimpers are breaking his heart, but god, she needs to learn. Needs to learn that he’s hers, in every single sense. That he couldn’t be with anyone else if he tried. That it’s her--everything, all of it, is hers. He's hers.

He exhales deeply, walks back and crouches in front of her. Then he does the only thing he can think of--he lurches forward and kisses her. Kisses the hell of out of her. Knocks her head back into the wall with the force of it as he grabs her face, settles his knees between her legs. And he doesn’t ease off when he feels her start to pull back, instead just tightening his hold on her and not letting her get away. She’s crying now, full on tears wetting his hands, and he just doesn’t give a shit. She needs to know. Needs to believe. But the more he kisses her, the more he’s kind of melting--she’s had a rough go of it, he knows that. And every time anything gets rough for her, she kind of faults to this belief that he just...doesn’t want her. That he shouldn’t want her. And he tries to understand, to meet her stress and anxiety with compassion--but sometimes, it’s a lot for him too.

He breaks apart from her finally, out of breath. His cheeks are red, his eyes on fire, and she’s just watching him carefully. He sighs, kneeling down further to kiss granny’s locket around her neck, then to lay his lips firmly on hers again.

“It’s you, tiger,” he whispers, “I don’t know what else I can do to make you believe me. But it’s you.”

She sniffles, nods a little.

“I know you’ve had a rough week. I know you’re tired, stressed, anxious,” he continues, “But god help me, I don’t ever want to hear you say any of that shit ever again. Clear?”

She nods lightly, meeting his eyes shyly.

“Swear it,” he says.

“I swear,” she mumbles.

He picks the locket up from her neck, holding it to her lips. She kisses it briefly, and he leans in to do the same after.

“Bill,” she mumbles, “I’m sor--”

He cuts her off with a gentle hand over her mouth.

“Enough for tonight, kid,” he sighs, “Just enough. Let’s go eat.”

[sparrowstrikewrites]

Flaming Oven Character Study Part 1

Naruto Uzumaki (age 9) and Iruka Umino (age 23)

The oven’s on fire because Naruto doesn’t know how to use it, so it’s basically a cupboard in his mind and Iruka never thought to check whether there was anything in the oven before preheating.

Little Naruto’s response: “I don’t think this is how oven’s work, but I don’t know enough about oven’s to argue.”

Iruka’s response: “I didn’t sign up for this. I’m not getting paid enough for this-- wait, I’m not at work, I’m not getting paid.” *Puts out fire and walks away* “Nope. Not fixing this. Throw the whole house out.”

Iruka first started to wonder when Naruto showed up for class in a rumpled shirt. It didn’t smell, but was the sort of rumpled that implies it was fished out of the laundry basket. Naruto was only 7 and kids that age like to dress themselves but lack any and all common sense, so he brushed it off.

Iruka started to get suspicious when Naruto showed up for class with a fever and a cough that shook his whole little body. The 8 year old staggered into class, dropped into his seat, laid his head down on the desk, and was out in seconds. Iruka had to shake him awake and send him to the nurse’s office propped up between Kiba and Shikamaru.

The nurse let Naruto sleep in her office until lunch time and then she sent him home with fever tablets and a cough suppressant. She told Iruka not to worry. Kids this age were basically germ factories.

Iruka started asking questions when the week before the annual physicals, he found Naruto eating raw carrots and broccoli. The kid was going to town like he was starving and the vegetables were some sort of delicacy, but his face said he was doing his best not to cry or puke.

“How’s lunch?” Iruka asked.

Naruto stared up at him with a fading black eye and sighed like he was weary of the world at only 9 years old. “Horrible, but I read you’ve got to eat vegetables to grow.”

Iruka snorted. Naruto was a good 2 inches shorter than the other boys in the class and like all kids his age, it was a sore point. 

“I don’t think cramming in vegetables before your physical is going to make much of a difference,” Iruka teased. “You really can’t cram for stuff like this.”

Naruto stared down at the half eaten head of broccoli in his hand. “Well, after last year, the nurse already told me she was going to check my shoes for padding, so this was kind of plan B.” He then took another sad bite of the broccoli. “Iruka-sensei, why are vegetables both expensive and disgusting?”

Iruka shrugged. “They’re not that expensive and I think they taste better cooked.”

“They’re more expensive than instant ramen and I guess some of them tast okay if you put them in the ramen, but the flavors don’t always go together.”

Iruka laughed. “You really need to eat something other than ramen.”

“I don’t know how to cook anything else. Except rice, but it always boils over and then I have to clean the stove and if I clean the stove, I don’t have time to do laundry,” Naruto lamented.

Iruka’s face fell and a dozen questions crowded his tongue. “Do you always cook and do the laundry?”

Naruto nodded. “There’s no laundry fairy.” He grinned up at Iruka like he’d said a great joke. “I also vacuum and dust and scrub the bathroom, but not as often as I should. There’s not enough hours in the day, you know?”

Iruka looked like he’d been slapped. “Yeah, I know.” There was a pile of laundry sitting in the corner of his little apartment that needed done. He’d eaten out for the last week, because there wasn’t time to go grocery shopping. The spider in the corner of his windowsill had been there long enough that Iruka had given it a name. But those were adult problems. 

Naruto wasn’t grinning anymore. He mirrored Iruka’s frown and tried to figure out what he’d said wrong.

“Hey, Naruto, would you like to learn to cook some more stuff?” Iruka asked.

Naruto’s grin returned.

---

Iruka arrived at Naruto’s apartment (he’d found the address in Naruto’s school records, because the kid was horrible at giving directions) a little after 5 that evening with an armload of groceries. 

The hairs on the back of Iruka’s neck prickled as he got close. He could feel Naruto’s chakra, the Fox’s chakra. 

Iruka shoved aside his unease and pasted on a smile. Naruto was not the Fox and Iruka refused to treat them as one and the same.

Naruto was watching the street and came jogging down the stairs to help carry everything up to the third floor where he lived.

Iruka surveyed the little loft while Naruto ransacked the bags of groceries. The only decorations on the walls were a small child’s drawings. The bed was made, a bit rumpled and crooked, but an obvious effort had been made. A few well-worn plush were neatly set up on the bed, because of course that would be a kid’s priority. The dirty clothes were mostly contained to a not quite overflowing laundry basket. A couple shirts that Iruka recognized as Naruto’s favorites were laid out on the floor to dry and a bucket of soapy water was sitting by the laundry basket, waiting for the next load.

It wasn’t a bad space, but it confirmed Iruka’s suspicions. There was only one person living here. There’d only been one person living here for a long time. 

Iruka closed his eyes. He’d been on his own for a long time, too. After he lost his parents, his Aunt and Uncle gave him a room in their house. They kept him fed and clothed until he made chuunin and he could support himself. They never tried to fill the void his parents’ left, but he was still grateful to them. Naruto didn’t even have that.

“I brought stuff to make a casserole. It’s really easy and I think you’ll ike it because all the vegetables are hidden under a bunch of cheese and potatoes,” Iruka said.

Naruto set down the green pepper he was suspiciously sniffing and nodded.

“First, we start preheating the oven…”

Iruka showed Naruto how to layer the food in a big glass dish. 

Naruto kneeled on a barstool to see the countertop and chattered the whole time.

Neither of them noticed anything amiss until the smoke alarm over the stove started to beep.

Iruka turned around to see black smoke billowing out of the oven door.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Naruto asked. “I’ve never used the oven.” He looked up at Iruka curiously, not yet concerned.

For 3 heartbeats, Iruka just stared. DO NOT PANIC! he ordered himself. DO NOT PANIC AND SCARE NARUTO!!!!

“Laundry water,” Iruka stammered at last. His voice was surprisingly level. 

Naruto cocked his head to the side and frowned.

“Take the clothes out of the washing bucket and bring me the water,” Iruka repeated. His voice was just a little higher pitched than normal and his hands twitched at his sides, unsure what exactly to do.

Naruto jumped off the stool and did as he was told.

Iruka grabbed the oven mits off the counter, turned off the oven, and, when Naruto reappeared with a bucket of soapy water, Iruka yanked the oven door open and chucked the whole bucket inside.

The mess inside steamed, sputtered, and smelled awful-- like burning plastic and garbage.

Iruka gagged and turned to Naruto. “What was in there?”

Naruto ran a hand through his hair and winced at the smouldering mess. “I don’t know. Junk I don’t use and the garbage can. I keep it there so I don’t have to look at it all the time.”

Iruka refilled the bucket from the sink and dumped it in the oven again. The fire was good and out, but the whole apartment skunk horribly and the kitchen area was covered in a fine layer of soot. 

“Let’s go to Ichiraku. I’m buying.”

Naruto whooped and bolted for the door to put on his shoes.

Iruka just stared at the ruined oven and shook his head. This is like the adult version of microwaving the instant noodles without water, only worse. The place would need scrubbed and aired out. Naruto would need a new stove and some place to stay for a few days.

“Before we go, why don’t you throw some clothes in a bag. You should probably not sleep here until I can get this cleaned up,” Iruka told Naruto. 

“Can I stay with you, Iruka-sensei?”

“Yup. And we’ll try cooking lessons again tomorrow.”

Naruto laughed and beamed. “I’ve never had a sleepover before. If I knew all it took was a flaming oven, I would have set that thing on fire a long time ago!”

Iruka laughed too then. It was either laugh or cry and he didn’t want to cry in front of Naruto.

A one night sleepover became a week. Bit by bit, Naruto’s things materialized in Iruka’s apartment. Iruka taught Naruto how to make katsudon, casserole, and ramen from scratch that they both agreed wasn’t quite as good as Ichiraku Ramen.

No one questioned the change when Naruto came to school everyday in clean clothes with a balanced lunch. Or when he suddenly was completing his homework and no longer napping during the day.

Iruka still had a pack of dust bunnies under his bed and Kuro-chan was paying rent in dead flies from the windowsill, but the laundry in the corner didn’t pile up anymore. Laundry was Naruto’s favorite chore, especially since Iruka’s apartment building had an electric washer and dryer in the basement.

Iruka did his grading from the kitchen table now. Naruto sat across from him and did his homework after dinner. 

At 10, Iruka steered the kid to the little office turned bedroom. The bed was sloppily made, but a handful of well loved plush were carefully arranged by the pillow and Naruto thought it was the best bedroom in the world.

---

Dear Esteemed Hokage-sama,

I am writing to you in regards to Uzumaki Naruto’s living situation. His apartment is currently uninhabitable. There was a small kitchen fire (absolutely not Naruto’s fault), but it was sufficient to fill the small apartment with smoke. I take full responsibility for the situation and have taken Naruto back to my apartment. He will stay there as long as need be. It could easily be a couple months at least. The oven will need replaced and the smoke probably sunk into the drywall, so all of that will need to be ripped out and replaced. I did some research, and with the age of the building, there could be asbestos in the walls, so the demolition isn’t something that can just be done willy-nilly…

Hiruzen set the letter down, it rambled on for another page and a half, and picked up a pen.

Iruka,

If you are comfortable with the arrangement, I agree it’s best that Naruto stay with you indefinitely. Please endeavour to avoid any further incidents. Children are impressionable and have enough of an affinity for fire as it.

-Hiruzen Sarutobi

[cynicaldesire]

I’m not living up to their expectations, but I’m far exceeding mine. And that’s good enough for me.

Went to Ube for the Thanksgiving dinner one of the shopowners have every year. He runs a sushi place, but for one day in November, he invites all the foreigners to enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner since they can’t on their own. No families or ovens or turkeys available at a basic Japanese grocery.

So we go there and I’m nervous, but not as nervous as I would have been 6 months ago, which I didn’t realize until after we were on our way back home. We encountered a random English speaking woman on the train headed that direction, a woman who loved Toronto, who was divorced, who studied psychology and wanted to go back to Toronto. She was nice, added us on Line and then we had to change trains so we lost track of each other. So it was kinda good practice?

Then we took a nap on the next train. But we made it to the Thanksgiving venue and started chatting with people.

And this is where it starts going downhill. For me.

Most of the foreigners in Japan require a Visa, which means you have a job. I don’t, and before I came here, I didn’t. So most introductions consist of your name and occupation. I do my best to stay quiet because I’m so fucking terrible at conversation that I just avoid it altogether and look at my husband. He can field these things way better, having a higher CHA stat and doing it for work. But he still looks to me to answer or I want to clarify important things, or they want me to answer directly.

So my occupation is normally “Wife of Drew” now. Which then gets either surprise from people that know him, or a funny look and further questions of “What did you used to do?” or “What will you do when you go home”. Neither of which I have an answer for. I am a housewife. I enjoy housewifing. I enjoy not having much to do except vacuum, cook, clean, and love my husband. (Mostly because I’ve been stuck in a toxic hellhole, but it’s hard to convey that in a brief, shouted conversation at a busy party.)

At least one guy had the wherewithall to ask if I had hobbies. I enjoy writing, I might want to do that professionally, then he snarked over the fact that I’m American because he doesn’t know the distance between Georgia and Texas just like I don’t know the distance between Melbourne and Sydney. (You’re right, I don’t, but it’s not super necessary to point that out.) (He also joked, when I did the Look At My Watch Thing when I said we’d been together for 10 years that I had a very good watch.) He got called away for cooking duties and everybody else that showed up, because I’m not used to social interaction, got mostly dumb but hopefully friendly looks from me because I don’t know how to start or continue conversations. Probably because my family just keeps fucking talking so I just let them go unless I have something to say.

One girl sat down to chat with us and her boyfriend was at another table speaking in Japanese with the Japanese people. But he was doing it to the exclusion of other foreigners, so to me he was just being a pretentious douchebag. They had showed up to greet us and he had gotten distracted and wandered away in the middle of me speaking. So that didn’t help. She asked us when we realized we wanted to be together and get married and we didn’t have a good answer because... we haven’t really lived together? We got married so that we could continue living together. So this is the longest. But I figured she was asking so she could have a better idea of how much she loved her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend eventually showed up to chat and my husband did the basic questions of name, occupation, how long have you and her been together. But this guy said something odd: he wanted to go back to the states, probably move to New Hampshire with a bunch of other people in a collective, and study the science of aesthetic? I tried to clarify what he meant, and I think his desire is to find empirical date to research and define a Universal Aesthetic to Make The World A More Beautiful Place. He framed it initially as a desire to force companies like Google to reveal their studies about what users prefer to see on their websites and shit, which I thought was interesting, but I wasn’t interested in finding out about from him. Like, noble cause to force companies to make their marketing research public knowledge for other people to utilize in their own businesses, that’d be rad. But my husband was like Nah, I wanna know what that means for when you get home.

So over the next several minutes, Twiggy Hobo Beard tried to explain shit to my husband who was very much not asking him to explain himself so my husband had to keep fighting him about shit and then eventually realized he had been talked away from the original question of “What does that mean? How does that employ you and make you money?” His girlfriend showed up and we had a very small bond over the fact that they were fighting about art and we only really took 1 art class each and didn’t care this much.

It wasn’t until Twiggy Hobo Beard said his favorite piece of art is duChamp’s Fountain. My husband said he knew what it was and later I found that he didn’t remember it, but I did. For those that don’t know, duChamp’s Fountain is a urinal that has the letters R. MUTT on the edge. We then discover that Twiggy Hobo Beard used to be a Modern Artist that has been displayed in galleries. Which is news to us because he was introduced as a guy that fixed old arcade machines, sound systems, and other electrical shit. Which I am totally down for because my Dad does that.

Come to find out it was all a ruse for this Dada-douchebag.

So they argue back and forth and I’m getting frustrated because it’s fucking stupid and also I don’t care but mostly he’s a pretentious ARTIST. So eventually my husband gives up and the dust settles and he heads to the bathroom. So Twiggy Hobo Beard is left with me. And I stare at him, having no desire to enjoy this man’s company. I’m still trying to accept that my husband just argued hard with this hippy ARTIST who is also a Full Capitalist and blah blah. So he keeps looking at me, expecting me to have some conversation and eventually asks if I play WoW.

No, my family did so I stayed in it longer than it deserved but I don’t play it anymore.  (I had used it as a way to explain something THB was saying earlier, see.)

Eventually he asks what I do/want to do. As I don’t know and I am a terrible liar, but I also wanted to posture that I had done programming, I said that I went to school for code, didn’t like it, and wanted to become a writer instead. But I have no idea if I can do that either.

And he starts asking if I want to just be a housewife forever, if I wanna have kids.

Yeah, I want kids, but it all depends on how my uterus feels that day. Hahaha, I have a disease and it’s uncomfortable to think about.

I don’t remember how this came up, but I said something about how I hate all this rhetoric about hating men, his girlfriend - previously distracted trying to let the shopowner let her make persimmon crumble - turns around and he gleefully says I was telling him about how all men are evil. Which.... I was saying how I hate that rhetoric because all my best friends have been guys and I haven’t been able to make friends with woman. She laughs and says “So you’re a feminist!” And I wanted to kill them.

I have been watching videos on Youtube about capitalism and why it sucks and so I used the verbiage they used of calling the wealthy Reptiles, which prompted them to ask if I watch Alex Jones. It took me a second to register who the fuck that was and then they all started joking about TURNIN’ THE FROGS GAY.

Eventually they got bored with me and my housewife contentment and wandered off. I have spent the rest of the day joyfully hating these people.

They were followed by a couple of nice people that showed up tardy and missed all the not-great food - mostly because nothing I eat will ever be as good as my family’s, so I’m super biased - and they got distracted by not being friends with us. But we entertained them pretty well. My husband’s replacement is French-Canadian and a little weird, but he seems a cool guy, if a little odd.

And on the way home, I realized... while mostly everyone had been casting glances or aspersions on my current lifestyle, I didn’t feel as inadequate or shitty as they wanted me to feel. I’m a housewife, yes, but I’m dieting, I’m exercising, I’m working on my social anxiety. I’m leaving the house, able to climb the damn hills, and when I encounter an issue with the cashiers, I don’t freak out for hours on end. I go through a cycle of I FUCKED UP but it all worked out okay until I stop thinking about it. It hasn’t crippled me. Hell, I went to this party, engaged in conversation that maybe I didn’t do correctly, but I didn’t roll absolute 1s.

So maybe I’m not living up to their expectations, but I’m far exceeding mine. And that’s good enough for me.

[pixiealtaira]

Dragged Kicking and Screaming  ( 12/ 22)

Title: Dragged Kicking and Screaming  

Or How Burt Hummel Mashed the Hummels and Hudsons Into One Functioning Family.

Characters(s): Kurt, Burt, Carole, Finn, with short appearances by the New Directions guys and various ops who mostly take up space. Rating: PG13     Summary: Somehow the Hummel household and the Hudson household had to come together…

Chapter Nine Chapter Ten

Chapter eleven

12.

“Good. Good. We are making great progress! Let’s see…we’ve covered allowances, groceries, school lunches, hmm…clothes!” Burt checked off his list as he went done it.  “I think we will go with Kurt’s clothing budget. Finn might like this.  I will buy 100 dollars’ worth of pants every other month. That might be one pair of pants or it might be several pairs of pants. If you wear it over your legs it is pants. On months I am not covering pants I will buy 100 dollars’ worth of tops.  It could be one top…shirt, sweater, sweatshirt, hoody…or it could be multiple tops. Undershirts are tops.  Long johns and thermals generally are considered pants, if bought in sets. I do not buy Halloween costumes anymore, save up for what you want or make it yourself. I will buy one ‘Christmas’ outfit in November…that is nice pants, button-up shirt, and a nice sweater of MY choice that are fit to wear to fancy dinners or parties that might come with the holiday season. I cover one swimsuit a year, one jacket a year, one winter coat under 250 every other year unless you outgrow yours, one pair of nice shoes…those could be nice boots, and one pair of gym type shoes, of a reasonable price. I don’t buy really expensive gym shoes. If you think you need those, you buy them yourself.  I do not completely cover uniforms.  I will pay for them, but you will work half of the cost off.  I buy 12 pairs of socks at the beginning of school and for Christmas and we check to see if any are needed for summer, if some are I also buy a pack of socks for summer.  I buy 8 to 10 pairs of underwear at the beginning of school and 4 to 5 pairs, depending on what comes in a pack, at Christmas and at the start of summer. You want more clothing, you pay for it yourself.  IF you don’t use all your clothing money for a month, you can talk me into adding the extra to your post high school account, but only that account. The household will cover half that for me. Carole, if you want to buy clothing from the family account that is the set up for you as well. This will cover plenty of clothing. In fact it can cover way more clothing than anyone really needs.”

“What about work clothes?” Carole asked.

Burt thought for a few moments.  “I buy Kurt’s and mine through the shop.  Doesn’t your job provide a clothing stipend?”

“Well, yeah, but…” Carole said.

“You bring me a list of what extra you need that isn’t covered by what your job gives you for it and we can work something out.”

“I just don’t see how that is fair…”

“Carole, you add just 50 percent of your income to the family account, after taxes and everything.  You have 50 percent to spend on whatever you would like.  As a household we cover kids clothing because one of the things parents do is provide clothing for their kids. The household provides some clothing for us.  You have money to provide beyond that for yourself.”

“I still think it is unfair.” Carole said.

“And I could go back to the lawyer and bank officials who helped set up this family account and have the official documents drop what I put in the family account to only 50 percent as well and make it more fair.” Burt said.  “They said to just come in and change that if I ever decided to since that was our legal agreement and I’m just putting in 70 percent to make family living easier.”

Kurt was taking notes.

“But how does Kurt get all his clothing?”  Finn yelled, slamming his fists on the table.

“I work, Finn.  I have a job.” Kurt answered.  “Actually, more than one.”

“A job?” Finn responded incredulously.

“Yeah, a job. It pays me and I use that money to buy myself stuff.  I also plan and shop sensibly and save and shop around. I often can buy six or seven shirts with the hundred bucks my dad gives me for shirts, one wonderfully awesome month I bought seven pairs of pants with Dad. It was glorious. The money Dad gives for clothing is not a small amount, and definitely not if you are wise.”

“Moving on, we come back to that topic though, so think through if there is really more you want to say. And the topic of jobs will be coming up!” Burt said before anyone could speak more on jobs. “Money wise we still need to cover outings and other items. We covered father and son outings, once a month for each of you boys…under 100 for Finn except twice a year. No spending limit on Kurt for this next year at least, except Kurt…be reasonable.  No big trips.  A father son outing may not be a trip to New York or Disneyland or anything like that.”

“Chicago?”  Kurt asked.

“Maybe, we’d have to see why.”

“One of the big races?” Kurt asked.

“In Ohio?  Yes.  I’ll have to think about others.”

Kurt nodded.

“I am willing to fund two large family outings…family vacations.  One if out of state. None if the whole family isn’t included.  We can discuss smaller family outings.  I might be willing to do several of those, it will be a ‘we will see’ deal.  It will greatly depend on the circumstances of life when the ideas are brought up.”

“What kind of circumstances?” Finn asked.

“If you had good grades, if you were behaving decently, if you hadn’t broken rules for a while, if you had kept up with your chores, those types of circumstances. Family Vacations are a treat, not a necessity.”

Finn tossed his head back and groaned.

“Ok.  Other money items. If you break something around the house, you replace it.  If I have to pay for it, you will work off the cost. I don’t cover your cell phone payments. If you want me to cover your cell phone payment, your cell phone will be a one of those inexpensive little phones you buy and then buy cards to put minutes on it or we will do a monitored family plan.  Do not rent movies on the TV.  If you do you will pay for them.  You may ask and IF I agree I will do the renting of it.  Do not add channels, do not order pay-per-view games. DO NOT ADD to the TV BILL.  If you do, you will be paying the whole of the next month’s TV bill yourself.”

“But..” Finn started.

“No. If you seriously want to watch a game we don’t get, you come and ask.  IF you haven’t asked for a while, I might think about it and say yes. IF you make a habit of asking, I will even get rid of the sports channels I have added.”

Finn nodded.

“We cover all school class fees under 30 bucks, over 30 you cover half your fee.  So, we cover your class fees if you have them for all classes except…what class was that Kurt?”

“Photography had a 35 dollar fee and a 20 dollar rental if you didn’t have your own digital camera. All the other classes are under 30. Oh, except driver’s ed.”

“We will be discussing driver’s ed. in a little bit.” Burt said. “The family account will pay your basic student fee. You pay your sports fees.  I’ll cover your yearbook if you haven’t purchased it already.  The family account covers field trips and bus fees for those.  You pay your own parking fee. Next year for senior year we will cover your senior portraits, cap and gown, 100 graduation announcements, and 75 bucks worth of other graduation stuff. You cover the rest.  You cover dances. The family account covers school pictures, including the spring ones, but only the 30 buck and under packages.  Oh, and the family account will cover 100 dollars of hobby purchases every three months, although I can be talked into upping that amount around Christmas if you sell me a good enough reason and around county fair time if you sell me a good enough reason.  Anything else?  No? If someone thinks about something we can talk about it then.”

“I think we ought to do something the Hudson way.” Carole stated.

“Chores were next on my list,” Burt said.  “Did you want to do chores the Hudson way?”

“Yes!” shouted Finn.

“Not really.” Said Carole. “I’ve been trying to get Finn to do chores for years.”

Burt smiled.  “I do need suggestions on how to split them up and if we want to rotate chores or stick with chores that are just ours.”

“Rotate.” Kurt said.

“Have chores that are just ours,” said Finn. “I will have ‘take out the garbage’ and I’ll only have to do the kitchen when it is full.  That is it.”

“Yeah, no.” Burt said.

“What do you mean, we?” Carole said.

“I mean we.  I realized that I have to do more daily chores around the place or I’ll be screwed when Kurt goes off to college. ALL of us will be getting some chores.”

“But Burt, we work.” Carole said.

“So does Kurt.”

“But…”

“Carole, who did chores at the Hudsons?” Burt asked.

“I did.”

“And you did so while working.”

“Yes.”

“So you can do so here. I am serious about this.  When Kurt was off at Dalton, no one did anything until it was shameful around here.  I was used to it being done. I don’t know what you two’s excuse was. That won’t happen again.  We all get chores.  So Kurt start making some lists.”

Kurt pulled a sheet out of his notebook he was writing in and started a list.

“I figure who ever cooks wipes down the stove and counters when done cooking.  Pots and pans go in with the dishes. Someone needs to set and clear and wash the table.  Someone needs to sweep and vacuum the living areas.  We need the main floor bathroom kept clean, trash picked up, things dusted. Trash taken out and sidewalks kept clear.  Bedrooms and bathrooms kept clean.”

“Hmm….”Kurt said. “When are you checking chores are done, Dad?”

“I always checked at about 10pm before.”

Kurt nodded.

“Should we go back to baskets on the stairwells?”

Burt thought for a moment and nodded.

“Ok.  How does this sound?  One chore list would be pick-up the living room and TV room down stairs and vacuum. The next would be pick-up and vacuum the dining room and set and clear the table.  The third would be keep the bathroom down here tidy and fresh and take out the trash throughout the house except the bedrooms, we take out our own bedroom trash…including taking the bin to the road on pick-up days, this person could also shovel the sidewalk on snowy days or water in summer.  The final list is washing the dishes and put them away and sweep and pick-up the kitchen.  Everyone keeps their bedroom and the other bathrooms clean and if we can’t manage to do that without one person taking the brunt, Finn and I can switch off bathroom days and you and Carole can switch off bathroom days. Everyone makes their own breakfast or you could pay 50 cents if someone wakes up and makes a full breakfast for everyone. You wash your own breakfast and lunch dishes. We can look at other chores like weeding and such come summer to see if they can become weekend chores and maybe have a different pay for those less heavy weekend chores that I’d been doing daily but didn’t necessarily need done daily.”

Finn looked at Kurt. “Like, that doesn’t seem to have too much on any one list.”

“It doesn’t.  IF you keep things picked-up to start with and do things daily it’s not that hard to keep things up.  We’ll go back to baskets, too.  We’ll get laundry baskets and I’ll put our names on them and when you are cleaning your area and you come across someone’s stuff, you put it in the basket.  Then when you go to your room, you pick-up your basket and take it with you, put your stuff away, and then bring back your basket so it can be filled again.”

“You said laundry baskets. What about laundry?”  Finn asked.

“We do our own.” Kurt said firmly.  “I will NOT do your laundry; in fact I prefer only ever seeing MY unmentionables, thank you very much. I do my laundry on Saturdays.  Dad does his on Tuesdays when he had his off hours.  You can pick any other day.  I will teach you how to do this.  This is an important life skill, Finn.  Do you want to go around with pink underwear for half your first year of college because you never learned how to do laundry?”

“Pink underwear?” Finn asked.

“Yes.  Read any blog out there about guys’ first year living without their mom…PINK UNDERWEAR.  Imagine trying to get somewhere with your girlfriend and having to explain that.” Kurt said.

“Is Friday nights good? Like late, so I won’t be having to get home too early? Or would that like be too little time?” Finn asked in a fearful voice.

Kurt looked disdainfully at Finn’s clothing.  “I think we can get your wash done in one evening.  Friday night sounds great.  I’ll buy you a clothing hamper…all your own…for the room.  No charge for teaching you to do laundry or the hamper.”

Burt smiled and Carole looked shocked.

“I’ll take Thursdays,” Carole said quietly.

Kurt smiled and made note in his notebook.  “Did we decide to rotate chores?” Kurt asked.

“I think we will rotate, how does for a whole week sound?”  Burt asked.

Carole nodded and Finn agreed.  “I think I can do most of those without it being too hard.”

Kurt smiled condescendingly at Finn.  “I’m glad.”

“Wait, like…do we have a dishwasher here?”  Finn asked.

Kurt rolled his eyes and wrote more down.  

“Yes, Finn,” Burt said. “We have a dishwasher and I will teach you how to run it.”

[braindamageforbeginners]

Cycle 6 Day 6

Sometimes, what makes brain neurological problems so hard to describe is that you don’t really have a “normal” frame of reference (again, I’ve spent my entire adult life with neurological disease or damage), and, if you don’t notice a neurocognitive defect, there’s no way you’re going to fix it. In that way, Temodar - dreadful as it is - is sort of comforting, in a weird kind of way. Yeah, I spend the first five-ish days in an odd sort of clumsy, mental fog, but at least I’m aware of it. Or I’m aware that I’m much, much faster and smarter when not on Temodar (Temodar also, rather ironically, causes headaches*), which is close enough to count, as far as I’m concerned. And, even though I’m a little sluggish today, I’ve been able to do most of my stated itinerary.

I’ll admit that my long-term survival odds might be lousy, but, at the moment, they’re looking somewhat better than Dad’s. He and Step-Mom are venturing out in a few weeks to attempt to visit my brother on Rattlesnake Ridge. As a sort-of outdoorsy person (I’m starting to realize that’s largely based on a curve, and, until recently, compared to the average urbanite, I was Tim Cahill), you can imagine the myriad ways I’m starting to wonder how things could go wrong. Obviously, there are loads and loads of horrendous ways people can die out in the woods - I believe the Brothers Grimm wrote a rather fanciful version of that; but, even just covering varying points of “And then s/he died of exposure because of poor planning” would be an entire blog unto itself (not that I’m passing judgment, since, as I can prove, the most careful planning and preparation can be immediately wiped out by a stroke of nasty luck), and I’m sure that Dad and StepMom will prepare appropriately. However, it’s one thing to say that, and another to actually believe it. Still, I’m watching Dad play with his new backpacking gear in a scene where everyone’s roles would’ve been reversed 15 years ago (again, I’m thinking that the Eastern view of time as cyclical is more accurate than most Westerners would admit). There is, however, one modern snag to change it all. Dad’s using Youtube and/or Internet instructional videos to help. Which aren’t too bad, except that there are related videos/infomercials, which brings up an intriguing philosophical concept, as it pertains to salesmanship. Please describe your favorite bag - be it duffel, backpack, purse, whatever - without describing what’s inside of it. And realize that a bag is, essentially, a sort of miniature vacuum trapped in cloth (I know, I just increased the cool-factor of all of those). Now, let’s top that idea by having you describe your favorite bag, but, because it’s on film, there’s no point in physical desciptions. That’s pretty much the audio on Youtube how-to’s for Osprey packs - “Then look this strap with this one.” However, StepMom did get some anti-Grizzly spray - which is mace on steroids (it’s the same active ingredient - capsaicin - but in higher concentration than you’re used to, unless you’re familiar with Bhut  jolokia), which I find endlessly entertaining, for a variety of reasons. First of all, I’m aware that capsaicin is a powerful deterrent (there are a few Thai restaurants I will never venture into again), but there is that basic aspect of physics, that a massive, fast-moving critter will have enough momentum to make it to you before you even have time to get to your bear mace, even if you know which compartment of your backpack it’s in. This thing also comes in a nigh-impregnable plastic case (that’s what it’s sold in, it’s not like this comes in a cool, separate container), which can’t be removed because Dad’s traveling by plane, and they have rules about anti-bear measures. Speaking of rules, there is a warning on the bear spray saying that it’s a crime not to use it for its advertised, intended purpose, which brings up an even more disturbing question: Apart from spraying humans (which is bad, but if the NRA defends “Stand Your Ground” laws, it seems like an act of cowardice to turn down a case involving non-lethal self-defense), is there some sort of use for bear spray I’m unaware of? A cooking recipe, perhaps? One wonders. And one worries, but not a whole lot, since, again, statistically, you’re almost certainly more likely to be killed while putting on your pants than of seeing a Grizzly bear (and even a pocketknife seems like overkill on black bears, which are extremely skittish). *Is there a single damned treatment for brain cancer THAT DOES NOT CAUSE HEADACHES?! I’m a little touchy about that after spending the first few days worrying before Google cleared it up.

[zenithgurugirl]

Truth pt. 2

My mother since birth has sabotaged my life existence. Anything inspirational as kid that I have done, she did not support. As a child you have the tendency to impress your parent by joining spelling bee's, sports, art stuff, etc... You become social and make friends and become a part of your friends circle (clicks, subculture, etc...).

Okay, so the first thing I do as a child (because I did not go to preschool and probably should have to learn social friendly skills) I tried to play house with the other children. This did not work out well. The kids had the mommy and the daddy thing already picked out and they already picked out their kids (in Kindergarten we had this huge area with sections of play houses set up, it was awesome! Little fridges, ovens, bunk beds, table and chairs, all sorts of plastic foods and plates. It was loads of fun for most little kids okay.)

I was scouted out as a maid. We had picked babysitters and even played out granny and grampy but No... I was maid. I cleaned up the kitchens and made the beds. I cooked and vacuumed, swept and mopped. I did not have a place to go so I switched out into different play house families. I was honed out to be alone. The little girls had "mommy" meetings and the "dads" went to work. I went from play house to play house cleaning shit up.

At home I had a very large play house of my own as a little girl with a big doll house to match. Not from my mother but from one of the guys she dated. He was really amazing for building those two things for me. I was grateful that this guy (out of many many men she dated) even noticed my lonely existence. From age newborn to 5 I had no sibling to play with and no friends. My mother usually put me in the middle of the living room with toys and did her thing (what ever her thing was idk to this day.... I was too busy being imaginative in my own world in my head.) This wonderful man graced her life and felt sympathy for me. So I would come home and hang out the rest of the day in my very own neat organized play house.

Put this to real life perspective in a humorous way....

I might have been the fucking maid at school and neglected as a kid at home BUT I HAD A BAD ASS PLACE ALL MY OWN haha! Make me a maid - I got me a pad all my own, I did not have to share it with anyone! Take that Kindergarten!

I had an imaginary friend named Johnny. He was older than me and smelled like the river that ran behind our rented house. Yes he was wet, all the time, but never dripped water anywhere except outside near the bridge. Don't ask....

Anyway. During the time of the maid play crap at school; I did artwork. I would color on the huge pads of paper. I took advantage of the little book shelf littered with books and read every one of them. I'd get real bored and I screwed up by doing all the packets that were labelled with my name near the teachers desk. Oh she didn't like that because I went ahead and did all the work available for Kindergarten. It had my name on it and I was bored.... what did she expect?

Which reminds me; I was really good at reading and writing before the age of 3. I didn't talk until I was in Kindergarten - by choice. I didn't want to talk. I learned how to talk at age 1 and stopped at age 2 because I was traumatized by my cousins. So, I stopped talking and took up reading and writing. I was able to write paragraphs at age 4 and reading college books. No joke! Its not a bragging thing here. It was survival. I was alone, bored, and neglected by a parent.

In first grade I wrote a book for show and tell. It was called "Monsters". The rest of my Kindergarten year was artwork and going with the 5th graders to a reading circle while the other students did their packets LMAO! 5th graders were confused by my presence at first but then soon realized I was smart and began picking on me. So, in first grade I wrote my first story. MONSTERS. I even illustrated it with monsters. Okay, this didn't end well with the teacher all horrified about my well being and talking to my mom who beat the shit out of me when I got home. In first grade I ended up in the 7th graders reading circle as my 1st grade class mates did their reading circle. I was being influenced by the older kids who were picking on me.

I'm a parent today. I embrace and encourage my daughters decisions and goals. I even help her by purchasing whatever it is that she enjoys. She liked making music so I bought all sorts of crap so she can proceed with that. She likes painting and drawing so I bought art stuff of all kinds. Anything to reach whatever goal or dream she has; I support, encourage, and do with her.

Unlike my mother who beat the crap out of me for writing a book and freaking out the class. Funny thing is, she watched me write it and illustrate it at the dining room table. She kept calling me strange and weird but let me do it. Then beat the shit out of me ???? Thanks for the great support! What she should have done is redirect me, talk to me, and help me with it so it wouldn't be so shocking at Show and Tell. Thanks mom for your abuse, it was the best!

I kept writing. Any attention is great at this age, even if it was abusive attention. I wanted to become a writer. This was now my dream, my goal, my ultimate place in life. I would write books. I would read dictionaries and encyclopedias and all the research books that I can cram inside my big imaginative mind and make stories.

I was and still am continually sick (Marfan Syndrome). My mom did move around a lot. She had many boyfriends. Most of them never liked me because I was "weird". She invented a scenario of me that I was slow and retarded. This probably saved me from molestation since most of the assholes she dated were drug users and criminals and abusive and creepy. She claims today that she never did drugs but I'm well passed the age of naïve - if your friends and boyfriends are using YOU ARE TOO using with them. I was too involved with my lined paper and pencils and books to pay any attention to her bullshit life. I had bad grades except for my reading and English classes.

When we moved back to her childhood town; my play house was destroyed and my doll house ended up with my Aunt who hated little girls. I stopped school all together pretty much. I did good in 3rd grade but had 4th grade twice because the teacher of 4th grade could not stand that I was able to read and understand what her huge grading book was all about. Not sure if anyone out there knows what I am talking about - those huge grade books with all the answers and how to teach a class certain subjects in the book .... well, I read the whole thing and knew that she was doing it all wrong. WOW I got held back a year for being too smart for my own good. She told my mother that I was immature and needed more socially exceptional things in order to pass her stupid class.

She got a new teachers book the next year and locked it in her desk. She also had me sit in the far back so that I couldn't read the big teachers book while she instructed students. Oh lets not forget that she also took me out of college level reading and comprehension studies to Kindergarten reading and writing. Bitch. Like that was going to stop me from pursuing my dreams. I quite school. Basically slacked off anything she had to teach. 5th grade came and that teacher adored me. He let me read and write anything I wanted. The kids (my younger peers from my flunked grade) were jealous and tried everything to ruin my life. I hated them and they naturally hated me. I was in the library most the time during my second year of 4th grade and 5th grade. Read every book on the shelf and learned how to work the computer.

Fights every day after school during the second time around in 4th grade and 5th. I learned how to kick ass and give black eyes. I was bullied most my life so I learned how to fight back. I was even slapped around by a teacher! So, yep I think that kids should be able to fist fight. I think adults today should just go out and fight it out with boxing gloves. It does help. All this anti-bully crap has these kids today stupid soft to even the slightest gesture. OH HE TOUCHED ME! Yeah, he did touch you. At least he didn't fucking smack you around and call you curse words. Be thankful you little wimp!

My mother got married when I was in 5th grade to some wealthy asshole. He treated her like shit and me too. I was not allowed to have any books in my room and I couldn't have any paper or pens or pencils in there either. I had a television, black and white. No radios no desk no nothing. I had to get rid of my dolls. Basically; grow the fuck up. He molested me from day one until I was twenty.

Oh I tried leaving the home. A thousands times did I try to flee. I ran away all over the place. Now, normally a young teenager runs away to a friends house or to a boyfriend. I had neither. Sometimes one would run off to a relative. Yeah, I done fucked myself there too. My family hated me. Thanks to my mother, my grandma and grandpa - my aunts and uncles - my cousins - they believed whatever my mom had to say about me and most the time it was not good. She told them things like - I was a pathological liar, a thief, mentally retarded and rebellious, etc.... whatever she deemed good for her to keep me home. Crazy bitch.

I learned to be social all right. First place to run off to was San Francisco. I slept in the bus depot. I learned how to pan handle. I made friends with homeless and hung out with them learning life skills. You'd be surprised what life skills you learn from the homeless. Much respect for them out there! Sure I got sexually harassed maybe even sexually assaulted and raped. Shit happens and I learned from it. I learned to wear secure clothing and don't fucking flirt. Don't talk to everyone and keep to yourself. Discernment and gut feelings - yep I learned this. I learned to be alert and when it was okay to relax. I learned the value of life. I saw shit that would make one of these spoiled SJW people scream SATAN IS HERE lol! I see this bullshit today and just shake my head in shame about our society.

GROW UP AMERICA

My mom she would have people find me and drag my ass home. I wasn't doing drugs, I wasn't hoeing around and hooking it, I wasn't being a bad citizen in society. I'd always land a job and a place to stay out there. I gave good advice and was actually influencing good things to those around me. I was kind and caring and anyone who was helping me - in return - I helped them. But she would drag my ass back to her home with that molester. I signed up for modelling and that was short lived. I signed up for fashion design at an art school, paid my tuition and got dragged back home and had to drop out. She wanted me with her. Any boyfriend I had ended up sleeping with her or she'd tell them I'm retarded and they'd dump me immediately.

I ran so far away as to end up in New York. I ran off to Canada. I ran off to Mexico. No money. No car. Just a thumb for a ride and a backpack. She would find me and get someone to drag my ass back here to this county. I bought my first home in Oregon. Had to sell it after a year because she threatened me with her suicide attempt. Family blamed me for it and I wasn't even here!!!!! How can a person blame another if the other was not even around her depression. I never talked to her for a year. So she goes depressed to the point of suicide because I didn't talk to her and was living my 23 year old life out with a full time job, a newly bought house (not a rental), a car that was paid off and raising a kitten.

I was forced home by family members and threatened. I came back because my half brothers packed up my house with a moving van and had their wives beat the crap out of me. I wasn't going to come back. I had sell my house, my car, lost my job (worked in a craft store), and lost most of my belongings thanks to half brothers and their evil wives.

I rebelled as much as possible and became the monster they thought me to be OH YEAH! Started drinking, smoking weed, pill popping, partying, stole my moms car, and ran up the cell phone bill and any other bill she had to pay. Then I stole her money and spent it too! By this time I was 25/26 years old. I did try to run off a few other times but my half brothers would travel across the states and bring me right back to mother. She was divorced when I was 20 years old. My half brothers thought of me as a shit ass retarded girl. My mom began gender shaming me. I did end up gay for a while because she wanted a boy not a girl.

I'm super straight as they call it today. The gay thing was a phase. I can't keep a boyfriend ever or get married. My mom will scare them out of my life even today she does that shit. Oh and she moved in with me after I bought a trailer in the trailer park. The family tells me "She will be homeless if you kick her out so think about that when you decide to be nasty with her again. You will be blamed for her homelessness if you kick her out of your home!" OUCH!!!!!

Do I hate my mom? Yes.

I have many reasons to hate her. I learned to distance myself from any love and can walk away cold and shallow from any relationship. I have no heart for actual love now. Thanks to her I have learned this. Never get attached to anyone or anything. I can walk away from this life and not feel a thing for it. To me, it was a waste of time and energy. My existence is a total waste and time of energy.

Happy Mothers Day......

Actually; I love my daughter and her boyfriend. I have a motherly (my own kind of mommy) to her best friend and her boyfriend. They are my true family. If something happened to them I would be weeping and feeling pain over it. I had a half sister who was my best friend in my 20's who ended up as a best friend and I love her too. She passed away 3 years ago and I still cry over the loss of her. So not all is waste of time and energy. I did learn how to correctly love my little family despite what my mother has done to me. I still hate her. I live with her or rather she lives with me. Her sick joke is to tell people "My daughter and I are married" ..... No. Just no.

Someday I am going to publish my novels. Every one of them. I'm going to move away and have several places that only my little family knows about (my daughter, her best friend, and their boyfriends - because they seen first hand how my mother is) and I will build my mother a home of her own - a gift from me. But my homes are not anywhere near her home and no one can drag my ass to her house because after all - I gave her my life - 40+ years of it.

I just feel wasted away though. I missed out on all sorts of stuff that I am seeing with my daughter. I didn't want to live here in a trailer park. But when you have a mother or parent that leeches off you spiritually, mentally, and physically - your time and effort mean nothing. I had money but it was spent on her bullshit. Right now today she complains that she has no money blah blah - yet 6k sits in her bank account while I pay 300 dollars on bills and 850 dollars on rent with a 600 dollar paycheck. I'm in debt. She doesn't help and if I ask for her help she usually says "I don't have money to help you".

Typical.

I don't ask by the way. I know what comes out of her mouth with the HELP ME question. 6k in her bank though. She can pay bills for the next 3 months at least. Give me a breather. Or let me move in an ex boyfriend who wants to help me and is pissed off at her for digging me into further debt. She likes me suffering and struggling. If I am happy she gets all sorts of angry. No joke! She's 74 years old and still gets up in my mug if I even act on being happy.

So yep. I have vented it all out.

My plan; to own multiple escape area places and never tell her where I went. When she dies to collect the house I had built for her and leave joyfully and to never visit her graveside EVER!!!!!!!!

Happy Mothers Day!

[perspectiveartist]

Okay so I was actually in a pretty sour mood yesterday evening because of the absolute shit mess my housemates had made of the living room. Like, dishes left to get shit stuck on them and get nasty, SO MUCH GARBAGE, just...awful. Clothes thrown around everywhere. And after talking to James I decided I’d talk to them about it on their next day off (which I didn’t realize was today oops) and ended up spending an hour and a half cleaning the living room. I filled 3 trash bags with garbage (one bag was only half full, the other half being shit from my own room that had piled up like water bottles). I tossed any clothes back on their bed or floor. And then at 3 AM, absolutely winded and amazed/frustrated at how much shit I had found under the couch and coffee table and buried under other things, I wrote them a two page note basically kickstarting the convo I needed to have with them about cleaning.

I said that I was perfectly happy to help day to day with little things, especially since they’re not at the house much unless they have the day off, and that I understand that sometimes things get backed up but that things were getting to the point where I could hardly get myself to eat in the kitchen because of how many disgusting dishes were left around, how dirty the counters were, etc. And how sitting in the living room was even hard because I can smell the dog shit in the library, even after it’s been cleaned. The floor in there just reeks, it needs washed so badly. Or at the VERY least treated with an enzyme cleaner and vacuumed. The whole house needs vacuumed, walking around the living room in white socks made them slightly brown in a matter of hours. And I made sure to emphasize that ya know, I’m not trying to be all uppity or anything but that if I’m going to make any recovery with my eating issues, I have to feel secure eating and cooking in my environment and as things are, I do not. And since I want to make this work and be able to keep my independence and privacy that I have here and NOT move back with Mom, I need them to work with me on it.

So anyway, the first half of today I was super anxious wondering if I’d upset them or hurt their feelings or anything. Anne in particular tends to turn herself into a martyr, whether she’ll acknowledge it or not. So I just kinda kept to myself except to get my Target packages most of the day. But when I was walking the dogs Brent came home (he had to go to Michigan to get some paperwork shit done) and we said good morning to each other and I kinda scurried back to my room with my packages. But then he came to my room and said “Hey, I’m gonna head out later, is there anything you want or need? Cuz you cleaned the living room, so you fucking deserve something.” Which made me feel really relieved cuz at least I knew HE was okay with everything. Spoiler alert: I ended up falling asleep before he left again so he was gone when I woke up xD

So he ended up grocery shopping later than planned anyway and invited me to come along since Anne was going to talk to a friend’s house for a bit and I turned him down and explained that since I hadn’t eaten enough today I didn’t trust my blood sugar to be kind to me for a lot of walking around. And he was like “I figured I’d offer.” “And I appreciate it :D” So he told me to text him with anything I thought of that I wanted, which unfortunately they were out of some of my snack things I love because Walmart’s just like that sometimes. But he came home with a bag of chips for me and two bags of freeze-dried apple slices which he knows I love (and I’d actually considered asking him for a red delicious apple anyway?? so it was pretty cool). AND he got me a new laundry hamper that’s an actual hamper, with a lid and wheels and everything, which will make laundry a lot easier for me since I won’t have to haul my basket around so much. It also means for now, I can retire my black hamper that’s one of those pop-up things that I got for college like...8 years ago. The bottom of it got torn up from me accidentally dragging it on concrete cuz when that thing’s full it’s heavy xD So I can just fold that thing back down and tuck it away somewhere for now, maybe give it to James so I can use it when I’m at the apartment instead of tossing my clothes on the floor.

So yeah, like...even though I didn’t do much today I feel pretty good about things. I still don’t know how Anne’s feeling but she did say she’s gonna clean the kitchen tonight which is nice. In the end, how she feels about it is on her, I guess?? It’s not like it’s a terrible request to ask them not to strip in the living room anymore and to throw away their garbage when they’re done with it. I’m trying to be better about that myself because I especially tend to litter my desk with bottles and cans. I’m not the tidiest person and I’m not asking things to be spic and span, but I do need to feel comfortable eating off their plates and using their utensils and shit to be able to eat like I should. If we all work to make improvements, it’ll be better for everyone. It might even help my sinuses, which have been assholes for the past couple months, probably not helped by dust and dog shit lol.

SO YEAH long post but it makes me feel important when Brent thinks of things I’d like and stuff like that when they go shopping, or inviting me to go along with him places. Sometimes I don’t feel up to it, but it’s always appreciated. It makes me feel more like I am part of a household and not just a moocher or something. For any issues I may have with Brent politically, he’s at least decent to me which is a massive relief over time because when I first moved here I thought we’d butt heads constantly.

[creativitytoexplore]

Not Another Fish Planet by Margret A. Treiber https://ift.tt/2Ynxw92 15-year-old Zunzheim has been rescued from a death camp by a spaceship from the future, with a skeleton crew that's barely holding it together; by Margret A. Treiber.

"I still don't understand how you became captain." "Acting Captain," Day corrected. "Acting Captain." Zunzheim rolled his eyes. "Because after the accident I was the only one qualified. I tried to turn it down. When all the dust settled, it was me, a nurse practitioner, three marines and half of the maintenance department left onboard. Maintenance didn't want marines in charge, so it's me. Boucher was the ranking marine, so she is the first officer." "Maintenance would rather have a suicidal, misanthropic captain, than a marine?" "Maintenance is suspicious of authority figures," Day answered. "They have their own informal command structure. I don't pretend to understand it. After you're loose for a while, you'll see how they get. Things are a little different here." "I've noticed." Zunzheim shook his head. "Every day I'm here, I find out something new and weird. What kind of ship is this, anyway?" "The kind that saved you from the death camps," Day replied. "Can't be that bad." "Except I'm millions of miles away from my home and family. I still barely know anything about computers or space travel. I was just an apprentice automotive mechanic. And now you have me running engineering." "It beats dying. And you know much more than you did when you got here," Day said. "You have the basics. Nothing's blown up yet. You'll figure the rest out." "How?" Zunzheim asked. "The same way you got the rest of it. Keep reading. The ship has a huge technical library. Now go. Your insecurity is messing with my head. Go report that the captain is still alive." Zunzheim made a noise that sounded like a grunt and a whimper mated. He left Day alone in the Electronic Modular Enclosure. Day locked the door behind him. Zunzheim made his way back to the med lab. Lieutenant Lee and Doctor Wirth were engaged in their daily medical "catch-up" discussions, where Lee explained modern medical concepts to Wirth. "Captain's in EME 1," Zunzheim announced. "She's still alive." "How is she?" Lee asked. "I think she is crazy," Zunzheim replied. "She told me about her problem." "You mean about preferring machines to people, or about her bad childhood?" "Both," Zunzheim answered. "Yeah, she's complex," Lee said. "Was she dressed?" "Yes." "Good." "Is that normally a problem?" Zunzheim asked. "Her being dressed." "She's been known to neglect her personal hygiene when she is communing with the ship's systems. This means the computers and the Captain are functioning normally." "Communing with the ship's systems?" "Yup," Lee responded. "How are you adjusting?" "A lot better than the Captain," Zunzheim answered. "Exactly," Lee said. "That's why you sent me there? To use the Captain as some kind of measuring stick?" "It worked." Lee smiled. "We needed to check on her, and you needed a morale boost. See, you'll be okay. You're young, you'll adjust. How are the dreams?" "Better," Zunzheim responded. "No, not better. They're just as bad, only they happen less often." "Good." Doctor Wirth looked up from his tablet. "That's progress. Remember, we were very fortunate." "Yeah, but what about the others? They didn't get whisked away in a future ship. You think that once you remove my tattoo and give me a space job, I'd just forget? I remember them all, dying next to me." Wirth turned to Lee. "He still has survivor's guilt." Lee shrugged. "That's normal." "Stop that," Zunzheim said. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here." "We're doctors," Wirth replied. "We're here to care for you." "You don't have to make me feel like a thing." "He feels objectified," Wirth said to Lee. "He needs to spend more time with people closer to his age," Lee responded. "That's enough," Zunzheim yelled. He stormed out of the med lab, stumbling when he stepped down on his smaller leg. "Kids," Wirth muttered. He picked up his tablet and continued reading. Zunzheim went back to the engine room and started an auto-diagnostic scan on all the systems. While it was running, he decided to study more engine theory. He connected to the ship's library, only to have his connection drop moments later. He tried again and it failed. "Scheisse!" Zunzheim cursed. He pushed the intercom to maintenance. "Could you please send one of the Joneses to engineering?" "The Joneses are occupied," Bob Fussell replied. "There are only Fussells and Greens here now." "Well, my library connection keeps stopping." "I can have a Jones over there in two hours." "Fine." Zunzheim got up and went to the mess hall. Zunzheim arrived to find the place relatively empty. He stepped up to the counter next to Ensign Johnson. Johnson hung onto the counter like he would fall off the ship if he let go. He was wearing his EVA suit and carrying a sack. "Are you alright?" Zunzheim asked. "I'm alright as a man can be riding in a metal box, in the vacuum of space. You know, any tiny piece of debris could hit the hull, and we are all goners." "You overreact." Chef Nakamora looked up from his cooking surface. "Nobody dies in this celestial home." "Goners," Johnson repeated. "It seems safe to me," Zunzheim shrugged. "Don't let them fool you," Johnson stated. "It's a death trap." Zunzheim watched as Nakamora prepared the meal. He was impressed by his focus and commitment to the task. "He doesn't even try to disguise it anymore," Johnson complained. "It's bad enough we could die any second in this tin box, we should at least get something edible." "It's food," Zunzheim replied. "Yeah," Johnson said. "But man can't live on fish alone." "It's not the camp," Zunzheim reminded himself. "Not the camp." Johnson patted Zunzheim on the back. "It's okay Zunny, it's okay." "Chicken," Zunzheim said, as he rubbed his stomach. "I really miss chicken." "I would kill for a ham sandwich," Johnson replied. "Or a steak dinner, but mostly ham. My mother made the best honey ham." "Your mother isn't here and I cook what I get," Chef Nakamora stated, from behind the counter. "Find me ham, you get ham." He cleaned his knives and put them away. "Your lunch," he said. "No shellfish for Zunny." He served the pair a beautifully prepared array of sushi. The plates were colorful and elegant. Johnson looked at the plate and his face dropped. "I just can't take it. If I see any more seaweed, I'll just die." He sat at a nearby table and started forcing down the food. Zunzheim sat across from him. "You love this stuff," Johnson said to Nakamora. "You Japanese eat this crap every day. This doesn't even faze you." "Your comments expose your small mind and limited understanding of my rich culture," Nakamora replied. "No doubt, you have heard of Kobe beef or Shogayaki." The door opened and a tall, uniformed woman walked in. Master Sergeant Boucher glanced at the group of men at the counter and shook her head. "Are we having the sushi argument again?" All three men nodded. "Give it a rest," she said. "We have work to do. We found another potential on the scanners." "Does it look promising?" Zunzheim jumped out of his chair, dropping his chopsticks. Boucher shrugged. "Don't know yet, Zunny. We're still two days out of full scanner range". Johnson jumped to his feet and both men started for the door. Boucher held up an arm, stopping the pair before they got too far. "Deep breath, don't psych yourself up for a letdown." "But there's a chance," Johnson said. "There's always a chance, Johnny," Boucher replied. "However, we need to remain calm." "Okay, Bouchy," Johnson replied. Boucher sneered at him. Johnson returned the look and continued. "Not every planet in the in the galaxy can be a fish planet. We exist. And you once picked up signals from other races. So maybe, just maybe, we will find a burger out here in this fishy space hell." "Maybe Earth is the only place in the universe with cows and pigs," Nakamora suggested. "Don't ever say that!" Johnson pleaded. "Don't even think it." The intercom buzzed to life. "This is Acting Captain Day. We've arrived at the next candidate. We are investigating the details, but as you know, we are working on limited sensor functionality. So we will have to send a party to investigate. Volunteers can meet me in EME 2." "Crap," Boucher muttered. "Not EME 2." "Why is EME 2 bad?" Zunzheim asked. "EME 2 smells like feet," Johnson answered. "Kind of like your EVA suit," Boucher said. Johnson sneered at Boucher. "Don't give me the stink-eye, sailor," Boucher said. "Wash your butt." Boucher, Johnson, and Zunzheim made their way to EME 2. One of the Joneses was waiting at the door. He was the tall, wiry one with red hair. "You volunteering?" he asked. "Yeah," Zunzheim answered. "Ever ride in a shuttle before?" "No," Zunzheim replied. "Why don't we just use the teleporters?" "Only one teleporter works," Jones replied. "And they are only certified for cargo transport." Boucher smacked Jones in the arm. "I was teleported up," Zunzheim said. "It was an extreme measure," Johnson said. "You were about to die anyway." "Nice, Nakamora, too?" "Yeah, and Wirth, and me. They wanted to get more, but they only had six orbits and one working teleporter. They lost a couple. They said it was ugly." "Johnson, enough," Boucher was clearly displeased. "He's fifteen." "Well, I'm eighteen, and you told me." "You were already a soldier; he's just a boy." "It's okay," Zunzheim said. "I would have found out anyway. Thanks for telling me the truth, Johnny." The door to EME 2 opened. Boucher coughed and waved her hand in front of her nose. "Maybe an air freshener, when you are expecting company?" "Bad for the machines," Captain Day replied. She was in her underwear, hanging from a harness, midway between the floor and ceiling. She was entangled in a web of cables, plugging them into various ports. "We have four volunteers. Me, Johnson, a Jones, and Zunzheim" "Zunny," Day said. "You think you're ready for a field trip?" "A what?" Zunzheim asked. "Do you think you are ready to go see a new planet?" "Uh, yes." "Great, okay off with you four. I order you all not to die." "Die?" Zunzheim asked. "Yeah, don't do it," Captain Day said. "Have fun!" Johnson guided Zunzheim out the door behind the others. "Don't freak out," Johnson said. "We'll get you in an EVA suit and you'll be fine." "Have you done this before?" Zunzheim asked. "A couple of times," Johnson answered. "The doc made me do it the first time, to get over my constant fear of sudden decompression. It's incredible, like being in a really well-built plane. And maybe I'll get a chance to put my feet on solid ground again." Johnson led Zunzheim to the mudroom, to suit up. "Why aren't the others wearing one?" Zunzheim inquired. "Because," Johnson answered. "We'll be on the shuttle. Technically, we would only need the suit if we step outside of it into a hostile environment." "Then why are you and I wearing one?" "I wear it because I seem to be the only one here that realizes the cold grip of space is bearing down on us. You are because it will make you feel safer. All first-timers wear the suit. I sneak one on board, myself, just in case." "Oh," Zunzheim said. "That makes sense." After Zunzheim was suited up, the pair boarded the shuttle with Jones and Boucher. Boucher was seated at the pilot's seat and Jones was seated in the back. Johnson took the co-pilot seat. They all strapped in and began launch procedures. Zunzheim turned to the Jones. "Have you done this before?" Jones nodded. "Yeah, all the Joneses have. All the Fussells have, too. And three of the Greens have. Two of them are too scared. They finally started catching you up, huh?" "Yeah," Zunzheim said. "I was recovering in the med lab for months." "Sorry," Jones said. "You got trapped in the most historically ugly screw over of all time." "It was bad," Zunzheim said. "But Wirth seemed to be okay." "From what I heard, Wirth wasn't in as long as you were. They just grabbed him when we got him. You got the bad deal, my friend. That's why the Captain ordered a smooth transition for you." "The Captain is crazy." "Nah," Jones stretched. "The Captain is just really sensitive. It's good for us. She won't let us get hurt." "When I talk to her, I feel like she is hiding things from me." "I'm sure she is," Jones replied. "She's spoon feeding you the future, you know what I mean?" "I think so," Zunzheim said. "I would rather just know everything now. So why are all the maintenance crew named Jones, Fussell, and Green?" "Tell you what, after this, come visit us in the slag. We'll fill you in." "Okay," Zunzheim agreed. The shuttle bay doors opened, and the shuttle launched. Zunzheim crooked his neck to see the view out of his visor and the shuttle's window. "Wow," he muttered. "It's so real." "You forget we're in space, living in the ship," Jones said. "It's beautiful." "Yes," Jones replied. "It is." The shuttle looped around the ship, making a check for any obvious damage to the hull. Once they were satisfied the ship was in one piece they followed the course to the target planet. As they approached, they could see thick cloud cover surrounding the planet. Boucher frowned. "Not looking positive," Johnson stated. The ship descended into the atmosphere. Zunzheim unhooked his safety equipment and stood up. He stepped up in between Boucher and Johnson. Clouds flowed over the ship, in a white stream. The windows were opaque from moisture. Then suddenly, the sky cleared and the universe became a vast watery expanse. "Wow," was all that Zunzheim could say. "Damn," Johnson buried his head in his hands. "I told you not to raise your hopes," Boucher said. "Okay, I'll call it in." Boucher flipped the comm on. "Scout to Peabody." "Acting Captain here." "Captain, this is Boucher," she paused and took a breath. "We are fish positive." "Damn," Captain Day sighed. "Survey for supplies." "Yes, sir." Boucher brought the ship up to a higher orbit. Johnson activated the sensors and launched a full planetary scan. "Cards?" he asked. "Rummy?" Boucher asked. "Poker," Johnson countered. "Okay," Jones agreed. "Anyone want a swig?" "What?" Boucher snapped. "I did not hear that, and that will never be repeated while on duty. Do you understand sailor?" "Yes, sir," Jones replied. He sunk into his seat and moped. "We're on a mission," Boucher stated. "Just because it's routine, doesn't mean this is a party. I know we're all under stress, but we need to remain professional." "It's going to be like this forever," Johnson whined. "Fish every place we go." "Okay, please explain all of this," Zunzheim said. "What exactly is the mission, and what does that have to do with eating fish all of the time?" Boucher sighed. "Who wants to start?" "I will," Johnson said. "Zunny and I are on the same page. Zunny, what do you know?" "I know the spaceship is from the future and it came back in time," Zunzheim answered. "I know the Captain had me isolated to recover from malnutrition and stress until two weeks ago, and she has been training me to work on the engines. I know everyone is afraid to tell me anything." "Okay," Johnson said. "A few hundred years in the future from 1942, the world finally developed the technology to build a spaceship to travel to distant worlds. For years, they collected data on planets that were sure to have living beings on them. They built the Peabody to travel to one of those worlds as the first interstellar voyage. It is the strongest, lightest, most advanced ship humanity built in their time. It runs on a prototype plasma engine, lined with dark hydrogen." Johnson shrugged. "I don't know what it means either, but they are very keen on it." "I think the dark hydrogen helps contain the plasma," Zunzheim said. "Plasma is hard to contain. I've been reading about it so I can run the engines. I don't understand how it works, yet." "That's some difficult stuff," Johnson replied. "It is," Zunzheim answered. "But I have no choice, do I?" "Guess you don't. Okay, besides that, does the rest make sense, so far?" "Yes," Zunzheim nodded. "Good," Johnson continued. "So when they planned the trip, they realized that it would take decades to get there. So the plan was to send the ship back in time eighty years, so when it arrived, it would be like it just left Earth. The crew was going to hibernate in shifts, so they would have four-hundred people aboard, but only twenty-five awake at a time. The ship was designed to run with a very small crew. There would be sixteen crews, each serving five years awake." "Where were they keeping all those people?" Zunzheim asked. "The ship isn't that big." "They were going to stay in the slag," Jones answered. "We were there setting up the sleeping cans when everything happened. You can stuff a lot of sleepers in a small space. They don't take up much room." "So what happened?" "From what we were able to determine," Boucher replied. "There was a crossed optical docking cable, and it started the time engines prematurely. Captain Day, who was not captain at the time, was onboard installing the computer systems. Half of the maintenance crew was setting up the hibernation bay. Lee was on board setting up the med lab. There were three marines, including me, providing security. Without warning, we were thrown back to your time, with our minimal crew." "How did you survive that?" Zunzheim asked. "Weren't you terrified?" "Of course we were terrified," Jones said. "We all cross-trained, but we don't have any of the science crew here. We had no idea how huge parts of this ship functions. And when we got to your time, we didn't know what to do first. The ship was preset to do six orbits before slingshotting out to our destination. None of us had a clue what would happen if we bypassed the proc, so we went with the preprogramming. Captain Day came up with the idea of using the transporter to grab as many people we could." "How did you know who to grab?" Zunzheim inquired. Boucher shrugged. "We guessed. We hoped we would get people with useful skills. Fortunately, the war made it easy to pull people who were about to die. We pulled you and the doc from the ovens. We pulled Nakamora from a kamikaze flight. Johnson was shot and dying in a foxhole. We tried to get two more, but they died in transport. We were lucky. We got a doctor, a mechanic, a chef and a farmer." "I didn't know you were a farmer," Zunzheim said. "Yes," Johnson replied. "I run the hydroponics lab. So whenever we get some seeds, I can grow us something other than seaweed. If we don't get crushed by the vacuum of space before then." Boucher rolled her eyes. "Why no seeds?" Zunzheim asked. "They weren't loaded onto the ship yet," Boucher explained. "In fact, we would have starved if we had taken our original route. But we were lucky again. Since we went to the wrong spot in time, we lost our fix in space. So once the ship cleared the solar system, the nav system errored out and we had to find a new destination. In order to find food, Captain Day was able to change the parameters of the sensor search to find plant life. We found a living planet, very nearby Earth. But it was aquatic and non-sentient. So we loaded up supplies and continued on. We found five more planets with life since then. They all were fish worlds. This one makes the seventh. There, now you are caught up." "Why not time travel back?" Zunzheim asked. "Because none of us on board know how time travel really works," Jones answered. "We all have standing orders to study the procs whenever we can. We do, but no one has gotten a handle on it yet. We'll keep on trying." Zunzheim didn't say anything at first. He just stared at the three faces around him. "You okay, Zunny? Jones asked. "Yes," Zunzheim answered. "This is better than a death camp. But not by much." Johnson laughed. Zunzheim followed. Johnson pulled out a deck of cards. "Poker!" "I never played," Zunzheim said. Jones grinned. "How much money do you have?"

After several hours, the crew completed the survey. Aside from two new sea plant species, there was nothing unusual. The Peabody pulled closer and fished the waters using the teleporter. Once food and water stores were filled to capacity, it was time to determine the next destination. The crew gathered in the mess hall. Captain Day arrived, in uniform. "We need to decide our next course." The back wall of the mess lit up into a giant star map. Several planets of interest were circled, highlighted and labeled. "These planets all fit the criteria. They all have the ideal chemistry for life. We need to decide which one to go to next." "How do we decide?" Zunzheim asked. "Let's flip a coin," one of the Fussells said. "No," Nakamora said. "Let's go to the closest one." "Okay," Captain Day said. "All in favor of flipping a coin, raise your hand." All the Fussells and two Greens raised their hands. "Everyone in favor of going to the nearest one, raise your hands." Everyone else raised their hands. "Okay, the closest one it is. Set a course." Captain Day ordered. "That's it?" Zunzheim asked. "No scientific analysis? Just choose one at random? "We used to select them carefully," Day replied. "But after the fourth one, we stopped bothering." "That seems irresponsible," Zunzheim said. "This is an important decision." "Do you think you could do any better?" Day asked. "I would at least try. Leaving it to chance is madness." "Well, you pick the next one then," Captain Day said. "This one is close, so you only have four months to decide. I'll be in EME 1." "Zunny picks the next planet!" Johnson announced. The room burst into cheers. The redheaded Jones mussed Zunzheim's hair. "Come on," Redhead Jones said. "Come on down to the slag." "Why do you call it the slag?" Zunzheim asked. "Because it's where the trash is dumped." Jones led Zunzheim through the Peabody, down to the underbelly of the ship. "It's bigger than I expected," Zunzheim said. "It was built to hold four-hundred people," Jones replied. "Now it holds us fifteen, and a really big party." Zunzheim looked around; the place was filled with varying recreational apparatus. This included everything from exercise equipment to stills. It was packed with activity, like an adult playground. Zunzheim was impressed with how much life just fifteen people could bring to a place. "Want a drink?" Jones asked. "Sure," Zunzheim said. "But how?" Jones handed Zunzheim a bottle. Zunzheim took a sip and nearly vomited. "Seagrass booze," Jones said. "We call it seashine. Tastes like ass, but does the job." "This is awful," Zunzheim said, and then took another swig. "Like my grandfather's slivovitz." "Yes, it is," Jones agreed. He took the bottle from Zunzheim and drank. "Come on, I'll show you the shrine, and tell you about the Joneses, Fussells, and Greens." Jones led Zunzheim to a quiet corner of the bay. A shelf held three pictures, illuminated by artificial candles. "These are Jones, Fussell, and Green," Jones motioned to the three pictures, Zunzheim noticed that all three were women. "They died sealing the rest of us in when the ship went off. When we realized the ship was about to launch, they went EVA and closed the door from the outside. They were killed in the wake of the launch. Nobody asked them to do it. They just acted. And now, we all live." "So you all named yourselves after them?" "Yes," Jones said. "They deserved no less. But there was more. We knew that we were too shorthanded to handle our jobs in ideal conditions, never mind extreme ones. We realized we could handle it, if we could work in conjunction with each other, seamlessly. We needed to be synchronized. So we split ourselves into three groups. Computer systems, the Joneses. Life support and sanitation, the Fussells. Miscellaneous systems, the Greens. Then each group implanted neurological connectors between each other, so we could coordinate over the entire ship. So if we need to time things across different ends of the ship simultaneously, we can." "So you are linked to all the Joneses? All the time?" Zunzheim asked. "We do have a little privacy time, where we can disconnect. But even then, we can signal through to each other in an emergency. So we are never completely disconnected. For the most part, we are always linked." "That's crazy," Zunzheim said. What if you don't like someone you are linked to?" "You learn to like them, real quick." "I have another question," Zunzheim said. "It may seem dumb." "There are no stupid questions." "Alright," Zunzheim replied. "Why is the ship run by women?" Jones grinned. "Why not?" "Well, men were in charge where I am from." "That was okay with you?" Jones asked. "The men who decided to torture you, and treat you worse than an animal. That was okay?" "No, it was... I never thought about it. We were used to it; it was the way it always was." Jones shrugged. "Things changed. Now whoever is the best at the job is in charge. And on this ship, the best people to be in command are women." "It's strange," Zunzheim said. "That's all." "No stranger than only men being in charge," Jones replied. "Besides, the doctor is a man." "But Lee still outranks him." "Oh yeah, guess it's because she's been in the service longer. It's fair. And Jones, Fussell, and Green proved that we can count on them to save us. They can make the hard decisions." "I thought the hard decisions were about sacrificing others," Zunzheim said. "How can you ask others to sacrifice something you're not willing to sacrifice yourself?" "Um." "Just think about it," Jones said. "Here, drink more of this." Jones handed Zunzheim the bottle. Zunzheim took the bottle and another swig. "Now that they let you out of the med lab, you should come down here more often. If you want, we could set up a bunk for you." "Let me think about it," Zunzheim gulped another mouthful of seashine. "Captain's got me in quarters near her. I think she's watching me, because of the nightmares." "Nightmares?" Jones asked. "I dream about it," Zunzheim answered. "It was worse before, almost every night. Now, it's only once in a while. I can wake myself up from it now." "What exactly do you dream about?" "Nothing specific. It's mostly flashes of people and places, the things that terrified me the most. Sometimes I dream about my family, being separated. I dream about my broken leg and the pain of hard labor. I feel the hunger and isolation. It's strange, the isolation was almost the worst of it." "Even more reason to stay with us, Zunny." Jones smacked Zunzheim on the back. "Come to the engine room later and fix my terminal later? "You got it!" Jones gave Zunzheim a thumbs up. Zunzheim went back to his quarters to sleep off the seashine before going back to work. When Zunzheim arrived at the engine room, Jones was already working on his computer systems. "Hey, Zunny!" Jones said. "Almost got this fixed." "What was it?" "Your firmware needed an upgrade," Jones explained. "Whatever that means." "It means you have another thing on your list to study." "I'll die of old age before I learn everything." "Nah," Jones replied. "You'll just be really old." "You have a lot of faith in me." "How far have you gotten?" "I completed my twentieth and twenty-first-century world history review. I'm up to the nineteen-seventies in my science and technology studies. When that's done, I hit the next century." "Ah, firmware is coming soon," Jones explained. "You're getting there." "I think my head is going to break, stuffing all this information into it." "Eh, keep at it, you'll be fine. Come down to the slag and get polluted later. It'll help." "Polluted?" Zunzheim asked. Jones made a motion like he was drinking from a bottle. "Ah, sauced." Jones grinned. "Exactly." "My grandfather said drinking is no escape for life." "Didn't you say your grandfather made that silver bits?" "Slivovitz," Zunzheim corrected Jones. "And that was for holidays when the family got together." "We're family now, and we're getting together." "You always a have a reason for everything." "I'm a thinking man," Jones pointed at his head. "Full of reason." "How do you do it?" Zunzheim asked. "What, think?" "No, stay so chipper," Zunzheim said. "You're also stuck far from your family." "I was already at peace with that," Jones explained. "When I signed up, I knew I would probably never see anyone I knew on Earth again. They told us it would be a one-way trip. The accident didn't change that. It only made things cozier." "How could you do that? How could you leave everything so easily?" "It wasn't easy. I thought about it hard. But it was an adventure I couldn't pass on. I was lucky just to be selected for the program." "How many people applied?" Zunzheim asked. "Hundreds of thousands," Jones answered. "And that was the people who met the prerequisites. Every person in maintenance has at least a master's degree in engineering. Then, once we were picked as candidates, we had to make it through the military training." "So this is a military vessel?" "Yes and no," Jones replied. "We have military training and structure, but we represent all of planet Earth and belong to no country's military. It was done that way to maintain order. The real military people like Boucher are on loan to the mission on special assignment. They are supposed to be the best of the best." "And here I am, no credentials, no skills, not even in top physical shape." "Are you kidding?" Jones asked. "You are the toughest one out of all of us. And you have the potential to be whatever you want to be. You survived the unsurvivable, to go to the stars. That is pretty amazing. You deserve to be here. Never doubt that. The universe put you here for a reason." "Yes, God did put me here for a reason. And according to the Captain, it is to study engines." Jones laughed. "Acting Captain." Zunzheim grinned and nodded. "Acting Captain."

The following weeks were routine. The crew continued to tighten up the ship's systems, and automate what they could. Zunzheim spent his recreational time down in the slag with maintenance. "How are you feeling?" Day asked Zunzheim. "I think I am going to be ill," he responded. "Why is that?" Day appeared concerned. "Because Bouchy is right, this EME smells like feet. How do you stand it?" Day shrugged. "I'm used to it." She grinned. "I hear you're learning to have fun again." "Jones is a good friend," Zunzheim said. "He is so alive." "Yes," Day agreed. "Maintenance as a whole has a light about them. They're the glue that binds this crew. I told you it would make sense after some time." "How are you feeling?" Zunzheim asked. "Me? I'm doing well, considering. The crew is stable, so I'm fine." "Good," Zunzheim nodded. "You should remember that they all value you." Day raised an eyebrow. "Really?" "Yes, everyone on the ship respects you. They all appreciate that you do your best in a tough situation." "You seem to have found your voice." "I'm still getting used to things, but I'm starting to feel like I belong." "Good," Day replied. "Maybe we'll both get through this." "Only if you do something about the air in here." "Get out." Day pointed at the door. Zunzheim grinned as he exited. The door locked behind him. "She's in EME foot stench," Zunzheim announced as he entered the med lab. "But she seems almost happy." "Good," Lee smiled. "The supplements are working." "What are you giving her?" "A vitamin cocktail. But it's been helping her with the stress." "Just vitamins?" "Yes," Wirth replied. "It is amazing what good nutrition can accomplish. You've been doing extremely well." "Fish must agree with me," Zunzheim said. "Apparently so," Wirth agreed. "You're not hitting the seashine too hard, are you?" "No," Zunzheim answered. "It's pretty disgusting going down. And the day after is even worse. But it was worth trying." Lee laughed. "The first few batches of that stuff sent most of maintenance here. I'm afraid to go near it." "It's safe," Zunzheim explained. "Except the flavor, and maybe the strength. A little goes a long way. As long as you know when to stop, you're okay." Lee shook her head. "Spoken like a true teenager." "He seems a lot better," Wirth observed. "Yes," Lee agreed. "Reckless and full of energy." She addressed Zunzheim again. "Thank you for checking on the Captain." "Acting Captain." Zunzheim corrected Lee. "Go, before we examine you." Wirth picked up his tablet. Zunzheim headed for the mess. He found himself standing next to Johnson at the counter. Johnson's EVA suit looked like it was recently cleaned. "Deja vu," Johnson said. "We always end up here at the same time, even when we're on different schedules." "Our stomachs are best friends," Zunzheim replied. "They're definitely in sync." Johnson's legs wobbled and he grabbed the counter. "I don't understand," Zunzheim said. "You have no problem on the shuttle, but on this giant, solid, ship, you cling on for dear life." "This is a big box in a vacuum," Johnson answered. "The shuttle feels more like an airplane. It feels safer." "Don't talk to me about airplanes and safety," Nakamora said. Zunzheim laughed. "I think you chose the wrong plane, my friend." Nakamora shook his head. "Let's see what's for lunch," Johnson said. "Ham sandwich? Chicken soup? "No wait, let's see. It's sushi! What a huge surprise! Raw fish in this death bucket. So much fun." "You can all bite me," Nakamora barked. He handed the pair each a plate that showed incredible artistry. "I'm getting tired of fish," Zunzheim stated. "But you do make it look beautiful. You are an artist." Nakamora bowed to Zunzheim. "Finally someone understands. In my last life, my family status precluded me from following my dream of becoming a culinary master. In this heavenly life, I finally can follow my dream. Even if I only have one ingredient, I can make it shine." "Is that why you agreed to do it?" Johnson asked. "Because you couldn't follow your dreams." Nakamora nodded. "Sometimes the only honorable way to live is to die. But my sacrifice was rewarded." "You do know you are not dead," Johnson stated. "This isn't some afterlife." "How can you be sure?" Nakamora asked. "You should thank the Gods for bringing you to this paradise. You should prove yourselves worthy of the gift." "We're not dead," Johnson restated. "This is not heaven." "Say what you want," Nakamora replied. "This is a new life. A life where I can strive for perfection. It is heaven." Johnson looked down at his plate and back at Nakamora. "I hate sushi, but I agree you make it perfect." Nakamora bowed to Johnson. "Thank you." Boucher arrived. "What? No sushi argument?" "Not today," Johnson replied. "Maybe we broke the hex," Boucher said. "We're still a few days out," Zunzheim said. "I've been watching our course." "Glad someone is," Johnson said. "It's part of my job," Zunzheim said. "I have to make sure that the navigation computers are calibrated with the engines. If not, we never get anywhere." "What happens if you find out we're off?" Johnson asked. "I work with the Joneses to fix it." "He's got to keep up with the Joneses," Johnson said. Zunzheim and Johnson laughed, nobody else did. "I don't get it," Boucher said. "You know," Johnson said. "Keeping up with the Joneses." "No," Boucher shook her head. "Seriously, Bouchy?" Johnson asked. "Seriously, Johnny," Boucher replied. "Well, that's a joke that didn't survive history," Johnson shook his head. "Guess not," Boucher said. "See you cleaned your suit. You don't stink for a change." "I didn't stink before," Johnson replied. "I do bathe." "You have to disrobe to bathe," Boucher turned to Zunzheim. "You know he sleeps in that thing." "So what?" Johnson replied. "You wear pajamas." "Yeah, pajamas, not an EVA suit." "Same difference," Johnson stated. "No, it's not." Boucher disagreed. "So Zunny, how's it going picking the next planet?" "Eh," Zunzheim replied. "They are all nearly identical. And they all seem to be just like the others we already looked at. I don't know if my choice will make a difference." "Doesn't matter," Boucher said. "Just make a choice. People won't hold anything against you either way." "But I want my choice to mean something. Not be just some random selection. With my luck, I'll pick the one place that has nothing edible on it." "We have enough stores to last us eighteen months," Boucher replied. "Even if there's nothing there, it doesn't matter." "Yeah," Johnson added. "You may get mocked a little, but nothing a little seashine couldn't take care of." Boucher laughed. "The last thing anyone needs to do is get polluted with that crap. Do yourself a favor, and stay away from it." "That's it!" Zunzheim jumped up out of his seat. "I know what to look for." Zunzheim ran down to the engine room. When he arrived, he called maintenance. "Maintenance, Fussell here." "Hey, this is Zunny, could you send Redhead Jones down to the engine room?" "Depends," Fussell replied. "Business or slacking off?" "Business," Zunzheim answered. "But tell him slacking off, so he comes down." "Got it," Fussell replied. "Give me ten." "Thank you," Zunzheim said. Sure enough, Jones arrived at the engine room ten minutes later. "Are we working, slacking, pretending to work, or pretending to slack?" Jones asked. "You are showing me how to set up a sensor scan." "Why?" "Because I want to change the parameters for the next planet we go to." "Again, I ask why?" "Because I have an idea," Zunzheim answered. "Will you help me?" "Of course," Jones replied. "Let me show you how to adjust the scanners."

"Fish planet number eight," Boucher slumped into a seat at a table in the mess. "This is getting tiring." A Jones and a Fussell followed behind looking dejected, frowning with their heads slumped. "That's okay," Redhead Jones said. "Zunny has a plan!" "Do you?" Boucher asked. "He's going to pick the next planet, and it will have non-fish food." "Jones," Boucher said. "You know better than to start raising people's hopes. It's a bad idea." "True, but Zunny is very excited about this," Jones replied. Nobody noticed that the Captain arrived until she spoke. "Jones, calm down. Everyone calm down. No moping, no hope-mongering, just calm down and use your facts." "Okay," Zunzheim said. "Bring up the map." A map lit up the wall. It showed the next handful of life-supporting planets. "Which one and why?" Captain Day asked. "None of these," Zunzheim replied. "Bring up the other map," he instructed the computer. A different map of the regions appeared. These included the ones in the previous map, but also contained several other worlds that were somewhat less pristine. "What's with those death traps?" Johnson asked. "They're still inhabitable," Zunzheim stated. "They're just not clean. Our parameters were too strict. When the Captain set them, they were set for the safest places that would have food." "Why would we go to any of those?" Boucher asked. "We're looking for safe planets with life for a reason." "These are safe-ish," Zunzheim said. "They should have life, and best of all, they may have livestock." "You're making assumptions." Captain Day asked. "How can you make that leap in logic?" "Because they have methane," Zunzheim answered. "Elevated methane levels can be a byproduct of keeping large quantities of livestock, and crops like rice. I learned that in my history studies. It happened on Earth for a while." "Even so," Day replied. "Let's not get excited. We can check one of them out. We have enough fish to last us a while. But let's not get our hopes up. Okay, which one?" "Well, the closest one has extremely high levels of methane, and could actually be dangerous. The furthest one has moderate levels but is out of the way. The one here," Zunzheim pointed at the map to the planet in the middle. "It has moderate levels of methane, and it's close to the other clean planets, just in case we find nothing there. So, I think that's the winner." "Okay," Day nodded. "Set the course." The mess burst into applause. "Calm down," Captain Day ordered. "I just told you. We have months until we arrive. Everyone just relax." The room quieted down. "I'll be in EME 2 if anyone needs me." The Captain left, shaking her head. There was a buzz of excitement in the room. It would still be months until the ship reached the planet, but the sense of anticipation permeated every crew member's thoughts. It took some time for the mess to empty out. It seemed like everyone was making an excuse not to disperse, grabbing an extra class of kelp juice, or asking just one more question to a colleague. Eventually, Boucher had to intervene. "Don't you all have work to do?" she shouted. The mess fell silent. The crew shuffled out, scurrying back to their individual corners of the ship, to do whatever it was they normally did. Zunzheim followed behind, off to mind the engines. Boucher grabbed him by the arm. "Wait right there, Zunny." "Yes, sir?" "Nice job." Zunzheim grinned. "Thank you. But shouldn't we wait to see what we find before you congratulate me?" "No," Boucher replied. "You tried something, something different. You thought outside the box. That is a rare and coveted skill. You should be pleased with yourself. But don't let it go to your head." "Yes, sir," Zunzheim replied. "Now get back to work," Boucher pointed out the door. Zunzheim nodded and sprinted out the door. Jones was in the engine room, running some tests, when Jones meandered in. "How's it going Zunny?" "Okay," Zunzheim replied. "How are you Jonesie?" Jones grinned. "No, that's brown-haired Jones. I'm just Jones." Zunzheim grinned. "Thought I would try it out." "No problem." Jones sat in the chair next to Zunzheim's. "How's the land of engines?" "Not bad," Zunzheim replied. "Everything is running optimally. I've been cramming in everything I can find on managing the propulsion systems. I have procedures now." "Yeah?" Jones asked. "How's it work?" "I have a daily, weekly and monthly checklist of things to do. I also have the systems set to alert me if anything falls even the slightest bit out of tolerances. So no surprises." "That's outstanding," Jones nodded. "You became an expert." "No, not even close," Zunzheim replied. "There are major gaps in my knowledge. I don't know any theory or design. Just how to keep things running. It'll take years before I am an expert." "Still, it's better than anyone could have expected. You should be pleased with yourself." "I'm more relieved than anything. I thought I was going to break the engines." "The Captain wouldn't have given you the task if you couldn't handle it." "She's not a mind reader, or a deity," Zunzheim stated. "She's fallible and could have been wrong." "She's never been wrong," Jones said. "That's yet to be seen." Jones smirked. "Oh, you mean about the fish worlds. You're pretty smug about that." "I still could be wrong." "Yes," Jones replied. "But you don't think you are." "I don't." "Okay, so the Captain could have been wrong about that. What does that mean to you?" "Nothing," Zunzheim said. "Except, I was right and she was wrong." "Maybe you should make a wager with her." "Would she be interested in something so petty?" "Go ask her." "She is in EME foot stench. I don't know." "Just go. Have a little fun with her. She can take it." "She already hates most people. Why would I want to make her add me to the list?" Jones started laughing. "Scaredy cat." "Meow," Zunzheim replied.

Lunch was a treat. Nakamora found a way to make fish burgers that almost passed as meat. Johnson was thrilled. "Even without a bun, it's okay!" Johnson ate his fish burger enthusiastically and even had seconds. Zunzheim sat across from Johnson and joined him in the meal. "This isn't bad," he agreed. "If only I could get some kind of grain, I could make some bread." "Even rice?" Zunzheim asked. "Even potatoes." "Beans?" "Yes, beans, too." Zunzheim grinned. "That would be so great." "I know!" Johnson went and got thirds. Nakamora was thrilled. "I know the trick, make it ugly and greasy and you like it. Make it artistic and subtle and you hate it. Barbarians." Zunzheim laughed. "Us barbarians thank you." "You are welcome," Nakamora replied. "So what is this I hear about a challenge?" Acting Captain Day stepped into the mess with purpose. "Oh no." Zunzheim buried his head in his hands. "Oh, yes," Captain Day replied. She sat in the seat next to Zunzheim. "Jones opened his big mouth." "He did." "I told him I didn't want to challenge you." "Ah, but you did. You just didn't man up to it and tell me to my face. So how much do you want to bet?" "I have nothing," Zunzheim stated. "Nothing to bet." "How about this? If I win you spend two weeks in EME 2, during your off time, learning the ship's computer systems." "You've put a lot of thought into this." "I have." "And what if I win?" Zunzheim asked. "What do you want?" "To help Johnson plant his crops in the greenhouse." "Nice choice." Captain Day nodded. "You got a bet." She held out her hand, and Zunzheim shook it. Captain Day stood up. "Well, now that that's settled, you can find me in EME 1." "Thank you, sir," Zunzheim said. "You're welcome, Ensign." She zipped out of the mess. "Wait," Zunzheim turned to Johnson. "I have a rank?" "Guess you do now," Johnson replied. "I was field promoted a month after I got here. Surprised she waited that long for you." Zunzheim shrugged. "I had a lot to learn." "Apparently you learned it. You better win that bet though. EME 2 for two weeks." Johnson grimaced. "That's rough." "Maybe after a few hours, I'll get used to it." "There is no getting used to it," Johnson replied. "Enjoy your olfactory senses for the next nine weeks. Because you may not have them after that." "Damn."

Zunzheim lay on the bed in his quarters. It was late, he should have been asleep, but he wasn't. It didn't help that his comm kept going off. "Yes," Zunzheim responded. "You sleeping?" Jones' voice sounded through the comm. "Not now." "Sorry," Jones said. "I couldn't sleep. Wanna come down to the slag and play some bumper squash?" "No, I need to get some rest." "Can you sleep?" "No," Zunzheim admitted. "It doesn't help that you and Johnson keep calling me." "Can you blame us? We'll be there any second." "Yeah, but calling me won't make it go any quicker." "Okay, I'll leave you alone. But if you don't fall asleep in the next hour, call me." "Alright. Go to sleep." Zunzheim closed his eyes again. He just started to drift off asleep when the comm went off again. "What?" he yelled into the comm. "Ensign?" Boucher replied through the speaker. "Oh, sorry, Sir. The calls have been coming in non-stop." "I understand," Boucher said. "I wanted to advise you that you need to select the other two crew members who will be exploring the planet." "Oh, so it's you me and whoever I pick?" "No," Boucher replied. "It's you, the Captain and whoever you pick. She wants to be there for your bet." Zunzheim moaned. "You made your bed," Boucher said. "Yeah," Zunzheim replied. "I forgot that Jones has a huge mouth. Will you come, too?" "Thanks for the invitation, but one of us has to stay on the ship. You'll have to pick someone else." "Yes, Sir." "Get some rest," Boucher advised. "You're going to need your strength." Zunzheim tried again. It took some time, but he finally got comfortable enough to fall asleep. The comms burst to life. Captain Day spoke. "Ensign Zunzheim and party please report to the shuttle bay." "Ugh," Zunzheim sat up. First, he called Jones. "You coming?" he asked. "Yup," Jones replied. "Meet you there." Next, Zunzheim called Johnson. "Johnson, want to go?" "Yes!" "See you there." The four met in the shuttle bay. Since none were first-timers, they walked straight to the shuttle. Johnson was in his EVA suit as usual. The anticipation was palpable. Nobody spoke a word. Captain Day took the pilot's seat and Johnson took the seat next to her. Zunzheim and Jones sat in the seats in the back. "You okay?" Day asked Johnson. "You're shaking." "I'm very excited," Johnson said. "Real food." "Calm down," she said. "What's in the bag?" "Oh, something for Zunny," Johnson answered. "Depending on how it goes." "I don't want to know." The shuttle approached the planet. It was a beautiful world of blue and green, there were obvious signs of land. Two moons orbited the globe. They gently hovered, quietly watching the expanse beneath. "I thought you said there were high methane levels here," Jones said. Zunzheim got up and checked the sensor readings. "There is, look." He pointed at the readout. Jones came over and looked at over Zunzheim's shoulder. "Look at that. No kidding." The closer the shuttle got to the planet, signs of civilization became apparent. Satellites surrounded the world, and artificial structures were visible on the surface to the naked eye. "There are people here," Johnson said. "People, with food." "Don't get too excited, Johnson," Captain Day said. "We don't even know if they are friendly." "Shouldn't we say 'hello' or something?" Zunzheim asked. "Good thinking, Ensign." Captain Day initiated a communications sweep. The computers found several frequencies in use from the planet below. "Let's be friendly, and tell them why we are here." Day started the linguistics systems, to analyze the planets predominant dialects and send an appropriate greeting. "What should we say?" "Oh, oh," Jones jumped up. "We come in peace, please bring us some beer." "Anything intelligible?" Day asked. "How about the peace part, and a message saying that we are lost travelers looking to replenish our food stores," Zunzheim suggested. "If they look peaceful, offer a technology swap." "I see no evidence of weapons proliferation," Captain Day said. "So if everyone agrees, we'll send the message. Any objections?" Nobody replied. "I will send the message then." Captain Day programmed the linguistics systems to convey the message in the inhabitant's native languages. "It's going to take some time, so everyone hang loose." "Can we scan the planet while we're waiting?" Zunzheim asked. "No," Day explained. "I dedicated the non-essential computers to the linguistic systems. We can only wait." "Poker?" Johnson asked. "Nap." Jones yawned and closed his eyes. "I'll monitor the computer," Captain Day replied. "There's nothing going on yet, so you three rest." Zunzheim and Johnson played Gin for an hour before Zunzheim took Jones' cue and took a nap. Johnson played solitaire for another thirty minutes before dozing off himself. A loud shrill emanated from the computer speakers. Zunzheim almost fell out of his seat. Johnson screamed. Jones slept through the noise. "Jones!" Captain Day yelled. Jones slowly opened his eyes and stretched. "Yes, sir." Captain Day shook her head. "You should get a medal for slacking." "You're the one to issue it, Sir," Jones grinned. "I suppose I am," she replied. "We have a response to our greetings. Are you all ready?" All three men scrambled to their feet. "Play it," Johnson said. "Play it!" "Deep breath," Day replied. "Everyone calm." She looked around at the crewmen. None appeared any calmer. "Okay, here we go." Captain Day started the playback and leaned back in her chair. An alien voice spoke. It sounded different from a human voice, but familiar enough to not be disconcerting. It seemed to be male, by human standards. It was gravelly and low. "This is Muk Sandine, of the People, from the planet Soil. We received your message and welcome you to our world. We would be happy to participate in a cultural and scientific exchange with you. We have plenty of resources; we would be glad to share them with you. Please send us a list of the foodstuffs you lack, and we will gather them." Johnson was visibly shaking again. "Ham sandwich, tell him we want ham." "Johnson," Captain Day said. "Relax. Here. 'Thank you very much for your kind offer. Our crew would be thrilled if you could provide us some grains, vegetables and animal proteins.' How's that?" "Perfect," Jones replied. "Yes," Zunzheim agreed. Johnson just nodded. Captain Day sent the message, and the four waited in anticipation. After some time a new message was received. Day played it without any hesitation. It was Muk again. "We have four varieties of grains and vegetables stored in our seed libraries that you are welcome to. It is not much, but we lost all but these during our environmental crisis, several centuries ago. We now rely on our oceans to provide us our fill of its fruits. You are welcome to the seeds and all the aquatic riches we have." Captain Day sighed. Jones laughed. Johnson whimpered, reached into his bag, and pulled out a gas mask. He handed it to Zunzheim, who shook his head. "Two weeks," he sobbed. The message continued. "We've developed a kind of aquatic swine you may enjoy. It satisfies our craving for something other than seafood without depleting our resources. We'll provide you a tank and full instructions." Zunzheim handed the mask back to Johnson. "Looks like you're having ham for dinner tonight." "It's really fish," Johnson pointed out. "You can eat it, Zunny." "Oh yeah." Zunzheim grinned. "Looks like we're having ham for dinner tonight!" "Nice job, Zunzheim," Captain Day said. "Nice job."

"How's the hydroponics lab?" Jones asked. "Excellent, we'll be able to grow everything we need." Johnson's nose was buried in a tab detailing approaches to cultivating food in tight spaces. "It's too bad they didn't know anything about space or time travel," Jones said. Zunzheim shrugged. "Maybe Beti can help us figure it out." "Who would have thought," Johnson said. "An astrophysicist, cat-person." "She's really nice," Jones said. "So is Jole. He's barely left the slag since he got here." "He's an anthropologist." Boucher sat at the table with the others. "He's studying you primitives. Aren't you eating, Zunny?" "Yeah," Zunzheim said. "I was waiting for the crowd of piranhas to finish swarming. Be right back." Zunzheim stepped up the counter where Nakamora was preparing lunch. "What would you like?" Nakamora asked. "Split pea and ham soup, ham sandwich or ham cutlet." "Actually," Zunzheim leaned in and dropped his voice. "You think you could make me some sushi?"

[lollytea]

I have a three hour class coming up, so naturally, I need to give you something that will take you three hours to write to make it fair. Gimme all of them for either Satin Diamond or Jazzle, your choice.

Idk enough about Puzzle to do ALL of these about Jazzle so I went with the sparkles.

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other?

Now I’ve said that Guy is a HUUUUUGE impulse buyer who would probably throw money at whatever remotely reminded him of Satin. But I also imagine Satin as the type to spend MORE on stuff for Guy.

Just because while he’ll buy anything that holds his attention long enough, she’s more focused on the quality. If it’s expensive, its good. All shit that goes on her boy gotta be designer and she is hellbent on dressin him pretty.

So Satin. Its Satin.

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap?

Guy. Whenever he has a tight schedule, he’s either working or napping cuz damn son hes exhausted. But the thing is, that leaves him with very little time to spend with Satin. So sleeping in her lap is the best he can get.

Meanwhile, my girl has a way better sleep endurance than he does. She can pull off an all-nighter and still seem perfectly composed the next day. Satin’s fuckin incredible.

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes?

who tf u think

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway?

Guy is often begging Satin to get some sleep. But listen, if she’s in the zone, you cant stop her. Yes, Guy, she’s aware its 2am.

5: Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies?

Neither Satin or Chenille have much experience in cooking. They were pretty spoiled and never had to lift a finger in any kind of housework during their childhood and teenage life. Both of them have had to learn since they moved out but they gotta stick to the basic stuff.

Bless her, Satin’s heart was definitely in the right place. But what she tried to cook was gourmet which she sure as hell was not ready for yet.

Guy’s childhood ran more on a chore wheel kinda thing. He and his siblings had to take turns cooking dinner each week so like he’s a lot more acquainted with it. But is he proud of Satin’s obvious efforts, that’s his girl! You did amazing for your first try!

Tbh he probably tries to eat some of it just to be like “Nonono its fine, we can totally eat this for di-” *Chokes and has to spit it out* “Yeah ok imma make some cookies. You did a good job tho I love you”

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”?

At a petstore, Guy points at two lizards lying on top of eachother “That one’s me and that one’s you.”

“There’s a fine selection of squeaky toys over here and I'm going to pick one just to whack you with.”

7: Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes?

I mean Guy wears the clothes Satin MAKES so

I'm sure he’s tried on her actual clothes a couple times tho

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?”

Satin: “Okay okay, so it was a good day. A really good day. A productive day. Bought the groceries for dinner tonight, made the phone calls, picked up the dry-cleaning, went to the post office, got the car fixed, vacuumed the living room-”

Guy: “Aww baby, that’s great. Hey, where’s Jade?”

Satin: “Where’s who now?”

Guy: “Our 2 year old son? You-you picked him up from day-care, right?”

*Sounds of Satin grabbing her keys and tripping out the front door*

Guy: “.....was that a yes orrrr?”

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions?

Guy cant read maps so he drives. Also if they have a kid (or theyre babysitting the other kids) Satin’s better at telling them to behave so its better if she’s not behind the wheel.

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws?

Guy poses, Satin draws. Its like part of their whole model/designer dynamic. Duh

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips?

Guy backflips, Satin has chips

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking?

After the first article of clothing is removed, Satin is forced to confiscate Guy’s glass.

“Sweetheart, listen. We cant afford to do this again. We cant go back to jail.”

13: Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

They both do ofc

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own?

Satin did when she was really little but Guy hadn't the foggiest clue why she kept doing in. He just piped up with “That's not your last name, it’s mine, silly!” Then proceeded to tell her what her last name was in case she forgot.

She did start calling herself Satin Diamond a few years before they got married. Like it wasn't his real last name so it didn’t matter much. Plus it sounded classy as hell. You wouldn't wanna fuck with a lady called Satin Diamond.

15: Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside?

Neither of them are huge fans of spiders but as Guy always had to suck it up and take spiders out for his little sister’s sake, he’s a lot more equipped to dealing with it.

16: Which one gives the other their jacket?

Satin often doesn't wear jackets so if she cold, Guy’s on that shit in an instant

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling?

They both got a pretty good relationship with eachothers siblings. Guy’s brothers are all lovable nerds in their heart so they adopt Satin immediately

Meanwhile Chenille is like a sister to Guy so like she knows he’ll cherish Satin with all his heart but like. Like a sister. Tell me Chenille hasn't blown her top several time cuz her annoying little brother/her sister’s boyfriend is being a shit again

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other?

Guy probably. Their relationship kinda develops from friends to occasional flirting to more recurring flirting to constant flirting and like Guy is almost CERTAIN they’re on the same page. Orrrrr flirty might just be a budding aspect of Satin’s personality because hey, it does suit her very well.

Eventually he just gets confused and impatient and blurts out like “HEY ARE WE DOING WHAT WE’RE THINK WE’RE DOING CUZ I LIKE YOU A LOT AND-”

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting?

Pretty good, considering they weren’t really ready to be parents. The whole nine months was like last minute cramming for a test. They read so many baby books my fuckin god.

But no Satin’s a natural mom. Not as high energy as Poppy and a lot more subdued but still very caring and considerate. She’s calm and logical when helping her kid deal with problems and makes sure he always feel comfortable when talking to her. Jade is REALLY close with his momma.

Also if he gets caught sneaking out at night, he’s shish kabob. But he respects and understands that. His mom is the best person in the world. He just wouldn't dare fuck with her

Guy is also a very devoted father and tends to act as the sillier parent. His relationship with kid can be best described as “Lovingly argumentative.” But no matter, how much he makes fun of his Dad, Jade is probably his biggest fan. He knows the man’s complete filmography by heart and aspires to be an actor too. (Jade cant act for shit but ssssh he’ll change his career choice when he’s older)

But yeah, Guy spent years as his acting coach and tried so hard too because he personally believed his boy could do anything. Turns out he couldn't but ehhh, its the thought that counts. Guy loves Jade to bits and vice versa.

20: Which one types with perfect grammar and which one types using numbers as letters?

Neither of them use perfect grammar but Satin is most definitely the number thing. Guy is not.

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them?

I dunno if either of them are the type to get bullied. At least in the case of Satin, she just doesn't take crap. But I guess in the case of Guy, who’s just so unashamedly himself, he might piss off a few other kids with that toxic masculinity mind-set. It probably doesn't happen often but if it ever did, Satin would bite their heads off. She aint here for this bullshit.

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun?

Guy: *puns*

Satin: “You’re doing amazing sweetie” (I imagine death so much, it feels like a memory.)

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy?

Hear me out. Guy is the impulse buyer, which is why it shocks everyone when Satin is the one to buy the puppy. She was going through an emotional week ok?? Leave her alone

Guy actually has to be the voice of reason here because babe do we have time for a dog idk if we can do this

They end up keeping it and tbh they are TOTALLY the type of people to call themselves the dog’s mommy and daddy. They’re those people fite me

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired?

Satin doesn't get tired easily but she wears pinchy shoes a lot so Guy gives piggybacks when she needs it

25: Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering?

I need to tattoo “Guy is Satin’s biggest fan” to my gotdamn forehead

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder?

Satin. Guy hates candid photos so fuckin much so like nobody has any pictures of him laughing or sleeping or just walking around with no makeup on.

Except for Satin. Satin has like a billion. Guy just doesn't know about them cuz she knows he’d make her delete them.

27: Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked?

I mean Satin DID give Guy a makeover when he asked. You don't think the legendary Guy Diamond look was a one man job, do you? Nah, the twins helped create the icon.

Hell, his first experience with makeup was Satin hiding him the girls bathroom stall when they were like 12 and covering up the acne on his chin after she caught him getting upset over it.

28: Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of?

Look if Satin ever gets a snake, Guy aint gonna be pleased

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains?

Okay but listen to me. Guy makes a big deal every time his hair gets wet. He hates rain. He hates it so fuckin much.

One time when they were teenagers, they agreed to meet at the other end of town to see a movie. Ofc theres a downpour and Guy’s standing with his umbrella at the bustop, waiting for Satin’s bus to show up. But once she steps out, she looks frazzled af, clearly having not expected the rain.

So its been a long day and Satin is pacing back and forth, unintentionally splashing puddled as she rambles about an unfair detention she received, about Chenille stealing her hairdryer, about her homework not making any sense.

The rain suddenly stops pelting her head and a shadow falls over her frame. She turns around to find him with his arm outstretched and his umbrella looming over her.

Guy blinks, confused as she stares at him in shock, his hair a soaking mess. “What?

And Satin is just internally “Imma marry him. I stg imma marry this loser.”

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures?

Wherever there’s city lights and rooftop penthouses. Theatres, restaurants and glitzy ballrooms. They live for the night glow. Tbh take them to Paris. Let them dance under the Eiffel Tower at midnight. Tell me that isn't the pinnacle of romanticism.

Also Satin takes the pictures. She’s the better photographer between them. Guy gets too eager and so many of his pics are fuzzy

[of-another-broken-heart]

That was so fucking awful... 

And I get to do it every week for the rest of forever. Great. 

My Nana is diabetic and has heart disease. There might be some other conditions she’s got that I have not been made privy to - but those two, I know for sure. She is on a full page of medication. This is not an exaggeration. She has a complete lined paper filled, top to bottom, with her daily medication regimen. 

It would be a lot even for a fully able-bodied, neurotypical, mentally healthy person to manage. My Nana is not able-bodied, nor is her mental health or memory as great as it used to be. She used to be able to manage, though. Before her memory started getting a big sloppy. 

Now Pop-Pop is trying to shoulder all responsibility, while also blaming Nana for the medications she’s on, and being impossibly stubborn about any suggestions on how to better help or manage the situation. 

My one aunt is the only one who actually understands the full scope of what each medication does, what dosage Nana is supposed to take, and how often. There are a few (like Nana’s insulin) that are supposed to have fluctuating dosages based on Nana’s current blood sugar... except, Nana doesn’t always test her blood sugar. She just goes ahead and takes some mid-point standard insulin dosage, I guess. And she’s not supposed to do that. But she’s also lucky to remember to take it - and take it only once - with each meal. 

Basically they’re both struggling to be independent despite really, really needing better communication and teamwork. Nana feels, very understandably, trapped and stripped of a lot of her own value. Even when she was in better shape, she was somewhat house-bound. She never had a license, definitely can’t ride a bike any more, and couldn’t go very far on foot. Now, she’s not mobile. She’s on oxygen, with a literal plastic leash tethering her to the house. She can’t even manage most household chores any more, because the heat or moisture will mess with her breathing - and that’s assuming she could move or stand long enough to do it in the first place. 

So Pop-Pop is shouldering it all - which is honestly mostly reasonable. Nana took care of it all for over fifty fucking years by herself, PLUS raising four kids and running daycare from home while he was still working. They’re retired now, so it’s not like there’s some nine-to-five or house full of kids otherwise demanding his time on top of normal household routine chores. BUT he’s being such a whiny little shit about it - complaining about ~having~ to make the bed, ~having~ to do the laundry, ~having~ to vacuum, ~having~ to... cook! COOK!

Like... if you were single, you’re telling me you wouldn’t be doing any of that shit? You’d leave your bed a mess? You’d never wash your own damn clothes? You’d leave your floors full of tracked-in dirt, mud, hair, and whatever else?? You’d... never fucking feed yourself?? PLEASE!  

The toxicity of 50′s straight marriage is definitely a big factor in the unhappiness - and mutual emotional abuse, honestly - in their marriage. I can chalk up around 99.9999999% of Pop-Pop’s indignation to the manufactured narrative that “the wife does this shit, the husband sits on his ass at home!” You can’t tell them that, of course. Even Nana will agree when Pop-Pop says, “Yeah, well, things were different back then!!” Yes, Pop-Pop, I know... segregation was still a thing. I’m well aware of how “different” things were. 

All of that is a mess in its own right, right? Yeah. But is that all I get to deal with? LMAO OF COURSE NOT. 

So, when I locked in that I’d be going over every Friday, we decided on what was going to be for dinner and a few tasks we’d be tackling. Or, that I’d be tacking to the best of my ability while trying to keep them both from doing it themselves. Lil sis originally was going to tag along, and mom joked about showing up for dinner (Pop-Pop said he was going to set a big pot roast up with a bunch of veggies). So there was some vague “maybe two more people will join us for dinner” anxiety that Pop-Pop was struggling with. And me, too, honestly. 

So today, before I even managed to get out of bed, lil sis sent me a message (as I more or less expected) around 1 PM, saying she had homework to do instead of being able to tag along. Sure, okay. I didn’t fully believe that was the reason, but I wasn’t gonna stress myself over it. (She later hit mom up for money to go to the movies with her friends, so... yeah) 

I asked my bro if he wanted to come along, because he’d felt bad about missing Pop-Pop’s birthday visit for a friend thing that ended up falling through. But he was resting from a headache and decline. Alright. Fine. Not a big deal. 

I ended up getting there a bit late because 1: I slept like trash and didn’t get up in time to fully prepare myself, and 2: I blew six bucks at McD’s to get coffee and a quick lunch because... (see point 1 again). 

As soon as I walked in, Nana was busy making an apple pie. Which she wasn’t supposed to make. Despite professing it was a treat for Pop-Pop, it doesn’t fool anyone that she’s just as invested in having pie for herself. And it’s not like it was a from-scratch pie that she could control the syrups or sugars in - she used canned pie filling. 

She’s diabetic. She literally shouldn’t be having that crap because it can kill her. 

But, circling back to her struggle to feel purpose, and her desire to make her husband happy (and also feel happy, herself) she likes baking. She likes baked treats. “I’m gonna die anyway, at least let me have good food!” she’s said on more than one occasion. 

And I get it. The compromise ends up being small servings accompanied by some extra insulin. 

But that doesn’t work any more, either, because her memory is slipping. She used to self-manage the insulin amounts. Now, she sometimes forgets, or takes the wrong dose. And because she’s used to being - and still trying to be - somewhat self-sufficient, she doesn’t communicate if/when she’s having trouble remembering things, or when she does remember and takes a dose. 

THEN, because she’s on SO FUCKING MANY MEDICATIONS, the times she DOES communicate that she’s taken her medications... often causes Pop-Pop to fly off the handle, because he automatically jumps to the conclusion that she’s taken the wrong things at the wrong times and/or has screwed up her dosages. 

They don’t quite shout at each other regularly - but sometimes they do. And what they’ve gotten in the habit of lately, is calling each other “stupid” or “idiot.” Or calling themselves (mostly Nana, in this case) those things. Because she knows her memory is slipping, and she hates it and can’t do anything about it, and feels awful and like even more of a burden because of it. 

Right before I was fixing to set the table for dinner, they were spatting over the pie. Nana said something about “I tried to surprise you with a nice pie, and you don’t even appreciate that,” and Pop-Pop mis-heard “pie” as “party” and immediately jumped to the conclusion that “19 to 20 people” were going to be showing up. He huffed and puffed, and I thought he went to the bathroom - but it turned out he just fucking left. Left the house completely. Drove away. 

I had been setting the table, so Nana and I waited after I got everything out. Nana gave a shout to ask if he was okay, and got no answer, so I investigated. The bathroom was open, but the bedroom door seemed to be mostly closed. I let Nana know and suggested he might be getting changed? So we waited a bit more. And waited. Nana wondered if he’d gone to bed instead. I went to knock on the door and find out. No answer from the knock. The lights were out, so it was possible that he was in bed. But nope. The room was empty. Walking back to the dining table, I looked out front and finally realized Pop-Pop’s car was missing. 

So just Nana and I had dinner together. It was delicious, but hard to really enjoy, given the circumstances. Pop-Pop called in the middle of it, to check if Nana had taken her mealtime meds, to remind her that “You realize you chased me away, right?” and “Tell Kristin I’m not mad at her.” He said he’d be home around ten or something. 

I wanted to cry. 

Actually, that’s putting it lightly. I’d already been there for three hours and I was screaming on the inside. Desperate to leave, but unable to abandon them after I promised to help, and especially unwilling to leave Nana alone, when she’s stuck there by herself so much already. 

He came back around 8, when Nana and I were just about done with the evening’s dishes. He repeated that he wasn’t angry with me, then said some more nasty shit to Nana. At that point she took herself to bed - the only escape she really has, to be honest - and I stayed a small while longer with Pop-Pop so he could have some vent/social time, too. 

Mostly it was all the shit I already knew - just phrased differently. Nana’s medications were overwhelming to manage - but he phrased it like it was her fault for needing it all, her fault for getting old with him. Everything was ~his~ responsibility - except it’s not, it just seems that way because he’s too stubborn to accept any significant help, and too scared that he’ll be left in the dark about important things if/when he IS the only one around to help. 

I get it. 

I have no idea what will actually help them, because I sure the fuck don’t have the ability to implement the only real solutions I can come up with myself. And so much of the stress and drama and strife is basic fucking communication that they’re both screwing up on. 

I don’t know how I’m not bawling my ass off from the anxiety this whole deal caused me, personally. Probably full of too much anger to let it out. Too guilty to let it be about me for even a second. 

I’ll break down later, probably. 

And do it all again next week. 

[evergrace]

Hi! I'm the person asking about Purdue (I'm back) and I was wondering if you live in an apartment? Or if you knew if there were any near Purdue/what they're like??

hello again anon!! so last year i lived in a dorm and this year i’m living in an apartment!! lemme get into some of the details about both. i must preface with saying that i think it’s probably more in your favor to live in a dorm first year, since a lot of the apartments are booked the year previous by upperclassman (i signed my lease last october – my first semester), but sometimes you can find one far off campus (then you will need a car). SO LONG STORY SHORT, i recommend dorm first year, but apartment after that. unless you ABSOLUTELY KNOW that you’re going to go to purdue, do NOT look for an apartment; they are expensive and most leases get signed the year previous, so you’d have to start looking right now if you were to start in fall 2018.

this response is very long, so everything is under the cut to prevent cluttering people’s dashes.

dorm

features, provided appliances, services, etc.

some of the dorms have air conditioning; mine did not, however it did not bother me at all!! you can have some appliances in the dorms, but none are provided for you except for in the kitchen in the basement.

you are allowed to bring the basics: refrigerator + microwave. you cannot bring a toaster, rice cooker, crockpot, or anything else basically. a large fridge and a stove/oven are provided in most basements of the res halls. so are cabinets to store dishes + cookware, but i do not suggest leaving anything down there for public use.

in EVERY hall but Hawkins you are required to have a meal plan. meal plans are honestly a life-saver no matter how little or how much you eat. it’s always nice to be able to stop on campus and not have to cook for yourself or constantly buy meals. not saying cooking isn’t fun (i prefer it, but i have a billion food allergies), but sometimes it’s just convenient to have pre-made meals for you.

laundry!!!! there is laundry!! in!! the!! basement!! take advantage of it. i will probably end up doing laundry in my boyfriend’s dorm this year instead of going to the laundromat.

cleaning supplies are also provided either at the main hall desk or in a closet on your floor! this is useful as you do not need to buy/bring a vacuum, broom, etc.

cost

living in a dorm can cost anywhere from $5,000 to $15,000 depending on where you live and what meal plan you get. personally, i had the boilerflex unlimited 500 (tbh i didn’t use all the meals or dining dollars lmao). anyWAYS it is infinitely cheaper than living off-campus imo (unless you’re on the higher side but even then i think a dorm is more worth it).

dining dollars enable you to be able to buy food/drinks/groceries on campus with money that is pre-paid as part of your meal plan. this only exists for the boilerflex unlimited 500 and boilerflex unlimited 250, but it is well worth it imo. i used my dining dollars to get groceries at the small store on campus.

social aspect

sO i lived on a floor where there was a thing called a “learning community.” these are groups of students that share classes and have meetings and whatnot and get to know each other (basically). click on the link for more detailed information. there are LOADS of learning communities around campus in the dorms and they’re actually a great way to get to know people :)

also being in a dorm, you can get to know the people on your floor through floor events, similar classes, etc. also odds are you’ll have a roommate (or two) and you’ll be able to get to know them! my freshman roommate and i weren’t amazing friends, but we did talk and do homework together and such. it’s just kind of like a built-in friend if ya need one, and it can teach you a lot about yourself to live with someone else!

location

being on campus is honestly the best thing ever; if i had had a person i’d wanted to room with for another year, i probably would have stayed on campus.

alSO being on campus is super convenient for work + school purposes – being close to classes is super convenient, and being close to work is also super convenient! i lived in the middle of campus, only 5-10 minutes from class in terms of walking distance. i lived right across from the gym (where i worked). now i’m living up on the north end by the physics building, but it’s gonna take me WAY longer to get to classes + to my research. it’s now about a 25 minute walk to my research building as opposed to a previous 10 minutes.

living on campus, you’ll probably also just be able to walk everywhere unless you wanna get off campus. refer to the location category under the apartment tab for more, but i’ll probably have to take the bus to some classes and to the store and stuff.

further expenses

i had very few personal expenses. as i said previously, i used my dining dollars + meal plan to the best of my ability (to buy my groceries, eat my meals, etc. without buying a ton of food + spending loads of money). that being said, i think the only thing i spent money on was laundry, which was relatively cheap.

(besides of course buying stationery and shampoo and whatnot but that’s all my decision ya know – personal i guess??)

apartment \ i will talk about my apartment which may or may not be different from others just fyi

features, provided appliances, services, etc.

some apartments have air conditioning; mine does not haha but again, it does not bother me at all, and it makes it slightly cheaper!! in my apartment (and in most, if not all) some appliances are provided already such as the full-size refrigerator, stove/oven, microwave, and dishwasher. i personally am bringing a crockpot, rice cooker, and toaster.

you will not have a meal plan and will have to cook for yourself, but if you like cooking, then you’ll be fine. you’ll also have to buy groceries to do this – an extra expense.

there is no washer or dryer in most apartments and if there are, they are likely more expensive in terms of rent; i do not have one, so you must either go to a laundromat, pay for laundry services in west lala, or handwash/use the dorms. thankfully i have a way in to the laundry via my boyfriend (it’s relatively cheap on campus).

cost

my rent is roughly the cost of living in the dorm i did last year BUT i don’t have a meal plan, so the rent is actually more than the board w/o the meal plan. does that make sense? like the board for my boyfriend’s room w/o a meal plan is like $5k, but my rent is a total of around $10k… so yeah. anyways, you also have to pay for internet, heat, electricity, water, etc. so those are some extra expenses. for me, heat, elec, and water are all a static fee every month, but internet and laundry do cost extra money.

extra expenses that you probably don’t think about: cleaning supplies, groceries, gas, cookware, furniture, heat, water, electricity, internet, etc.

i looked at about 15 different apartments; the one i’m living in is the cheapest one i could find. i found anywhere from $700 - $3400 per MONTH in terms of rent.

social aspect

i mean, you’re living in a building where you don’t really know anyone unless you chose to live near someone in that building that you’ve known for a while. for me, i’m living two floors below a couple friends of mine and my boyfriend’s. but other than that, i know no one else in the building and honestly no one else in any other buildings around me. i don’t know a lot of people at purdue, but sometimes living in an apartment can cause you to isolate yourself since you’re not in the heat of campus anymore.

but you can have parties + functions + dinner get-togethers at your place, which are always fun. i personally like having other couples that we are friends with over to have dinner + drinks. but like i said, harder to develop relationships since you’re not on campus – this probably requires previous friendships.

location

you’re off campus. walking to classes will take longer, getting to the grocery store will require the bus; i’ll probably even take the bus to some classes that are far away.

tbh it’s kind of inconvenient to live in an apartment far away; having a car is not in my interests, but it would be useful. i am probably going to use a car service such as blueindy or zipcar to get around when i can’t take the bus.

again, you’ll have more unforeseen expenses that require more money than you may have planned/allotted.

further expenses

cleaning supplies, groceries, gas for your car if you have one, laundry if you go to the laundromat, furniture, appliances, cookware, etc. – basically things that you’ll need for an apartment + other things you’ll need for cleaning, food, etc.

internet, water, heat, electricity – some places have a flat/static rate but you will never be provided with internet.

netflix, hulu, amazon prime, other services for shipment/tv.

personal expenses: clothes, stationery, books, coffee at starbucks, etc. – things that you want. these come last now that you have other needs to pay for that are not provided for you as they are on campus.

if you have further questions about any of the above, please do not hesitate to ask. for personal questions such as the cost of my rent, more specific details of my apartment, total costs, how long my lease is, more specific location, etc. please come off of anon and i am more than willing to talk.