#sunday scaries hitting real hard today

[sohelpmegod]

Havent slept all night, time is strange

[azhdarchidae]

Long medical vent

I'm sick with fear my love got hit in the head and the hour after was rough but they seemed fine for the first few days, then they got really scary symptoms and the second urgent care doctor sent them to the ER. Theyve been there since yesterday afternoon, they had blood taken & a scan done, we don't have results yet. Every moment i'm not with them i'm afraid of what could happen but i've been with them so much since sunday that i'm running on fumes. I'm dealing with disabling mental health issues myself. God i feel sick i feel sick i can't give up it's not an option but my stomach has been cramping and old addictions are coming back and i know this is not going to be over soon in the best case scenario even if theyre discharged today they'll need months of care that it's fallen on me to coordinate. Because i'm the person who always steps up when no one else does i was the one who took charge of group projects in school. The injury is making their suicidality worse too and that scares me so much because i cannot fucking lose them not after all this i would fall apart. We've only been dating since april we had a beautiful month and since then our lives have been chaos emergencies poor mental health & nightmare. We could barely get in any sweet normal time and now we absolutely can't. It isn't fucking fair that one brief accident one tiny hit could do all this to them. It is not fucking fair at all!!!!!! They were the person i could have all these feelings around and lean on for support theyre so emotionally intelligent they could always remind me of coping mechanisms but i can't lean on them right now they can't even walk around or have a fast conversation without getting dizzy and confused. I want to say i want to kill myself but i dont want to die they need me and i need to see them get better but when will that happen? What is even going on????? Why do they have to suffer so much???????? So i don't know what i want i need a lucky fucking break i need things to get better SOON for fucks fucking sake i cant even text them because theyre not approved to have access to their things yet. Why the fuck would you take a suicidal persons things away?? Yeah this person in the worst mental health of their life lets take away everything comforting and familiar. I brought them a radio and a book from home but i forgot to leave it with them when i left because so much had happened and i feel so guilty theyre gonna spend the morning scared and alone with their thoughts not even in a real room but on a stretcher in a hallway surrounded by lonely dying old people GOD I JUST WANT TO KILL SOMEONE WHY ARE THINGS THIS WAY WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[astridstorm]

Handing it All to God: A Sermon for the Feast of the Presentation

For an audio version of this sermon, click here.

Happy Feast of the Presentation, also known as Candlemas. I believe this is meant to be held on its fixed date of February 2 (which would have been last Thursday) rather than the Sunday following. But I don’t see any other clergy (or God forbid, bishops) out there who’d notice. 

I break the rules on most years just on this one occasion--not because it’s such an important event in the church calendar (it isn’t), but because it’s such a lovely one. And this year, for me, it’s also profound in a way I hadn’t considered before. But I’ll come to that shortly. 

The Presentation comes from Luke’s Gospel, the source of so many special events in our church year that it’s hard to imagine Christianity looking anything like it does without this Gospel. That’s not an exaggeration. And it’s particularly noticeable this time of the year. Luke is the sole source of many of our Christmas stories, like the census at Bethlehem, and the angels’ appearance to the shepherds, and the inn, and the stable, and the manger. In a couple months on March 25 we’ll observe the Annunciation of Gabriel to Mary, also only told in Luke’s account of Jesus’ life. Luke lifts our spirits in the deep of winter, and then sets us gladly on the doorstep of spring. 

Between these two, Christmas and the Annunciation, in early February, is Jesus’ Presentation at the Temple. (The name Candlemas is from the tradition of having a midwinter candlelit procession at the beginning of the service.) The story is in today’s Gospel reading, from Luke.

Joseph and Mary take their forty day-old baby to the temple in Jerusalem to be presented to the priest. Really, it was a handing over. You would give your child to the priest, and the priest would give your child back for a ransom. Because they were poor, the ransom for Joseph and Mary was two pigeons. Families who could afford it might offer a lamb. But it was, a ritual, the meaning of which was partially, but probably not fully grasped, and that’s a good thing. Rituals provide a safe way of engaging with scary and all too real possibilities: loss, death, transformation, the surrendering of the self. With rituals we can acknowledge but then keep those things at a slight remove, maybe pretend we have some control over them.

Just look at our baptism service; we had a big baptism last Sunday. How many times does it refer to death, the grave, dying with Christ, surrendering the self? And yet even as we hear all that, we smile, and coo and clap. 

It was probably like that for Mary and Joseph at the Presentation, showing up for their obligatory and even fun ritual redemption (or ransoming) of their infant. Maybe they dressed up for it, had lunch afterward. I wonder if Jesus cried, or laughed or did something cute. Again, I think of last Sunday and those three four month-old babies, all rosy cheeks and wide curious eyes. The silver baptism shell that I scoop the water out with is my trick, by the way. They see that shining and get distracted and all their trepidation vanishes--until that first splash of water hits their heads. Then I move fast! 

Of course these are different rituals, Christian baptism and the Presentation in the Temple. But they’re connected as rites of passage for our children, and by their acknowledgement of things deeper and more serious than many of us bother or desire to consider in the moment. 

Because within this lovely ritual at the Temple is a fact of life that most of us can’t begin to face head on: that God can ask for everything back at any time. Because it all belongs to God in the first place. Even our children. 

I don’t suppose it's a mystery what drew me to this story this year. Thankfully our daughter’s prognosis is good, though the path getting there will be a hard one. But those early days when we had no idea, for weeks, whether she’d live or die, it felt (I don’t know how else to put this) Biblical. 

And I remember thinking, Oh my god, this is what we say behind our neatly constructed rituals--she’s yours, he’s yours. I’m yours. Everything and everyone we hold dear, is not ours at all; it’s God’s.

Our life is a continuous handing over to God--or I should say, God handing over to us; the church helps us practice that. It’s a wonder we don’t give constant thanks for all the years when we can indulge the illusion that things are in our grasp, that the people in our lives are ours. 

Everything we have is God’s. What’s amazing is that God gives so much to us to hold as if our own. At least for this day, may we look at the people and things in our lives with wonder. May we be truly grateful. Amen.

[mieohmy]

𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝟣𝟢𝟣 | 𝖫𝖾𝖾 𝖩𝖾𝗇𝗈

PAIRING: lee jeno x reader

GENRE: angst, fluff, humor, comfort, established relationship au, college au,  this rly is just a self indulgent fic kjasdfk

WC: 2.1k

NOTES: slight argument/fighting ?? , cursing

SUMMARY: jeno wants your attention, your comforting presence, your love- he simply wants you.

for the bday boy that i treasure sm! happy birthday to puppy jeno <333

ღ

The phone next to you lies untouched, and practically has been for days- or has it been a week already? I mean, it wasn’t your fault that upcoming finals had been taking you to the depths of hell, and you had no choice but to lock yourself at home to study for a week on end. 

Which brings you to day 7? 8? of being holed up in your room all day, memorizing a bazillion tiny printed words and trying to cram as much information as possible in that overworked brain of yours. Getting about 4-5 hours of sleep a day, you couldn’t remember anymore- or even care to remember. Not to mention the added stress that came along with being any normal college student. Wasn’t life just wonderful?

You feel bad for everyone that has tried to contact you over this stressful period in your life (since you completely turned your phone off to eliminate all distractions), but the urge to stop studying completely and just check up on the real world and all its happenings grows stronger. You breathe in -out, constantly chanting ‘self-control’ over and over again in your head. Then your eyes slowly open, and you slap yourself one last time as if to say ‘get it together' before diving back into the books.

Just two more days. Two more days and you can finish and not have to stress about finals until results come out. 

At this point, you were surviving off of coffee, tea, random stolen snacks that your boyfriend would bring over from his dorm. 

Damn, when’s the last time you had a proper meal? Monday?

And then you frown. What day even is it today? You glance at your calendar and- 

Goodness grief, it’s Sunday already. 

You almost have a midlife crisis over wasting basically a week doing nothing but sitting at your desk and looking at words, but then again at this point- you’re just over it and want to be done as soon as possible. 

But soon, a weird feeling arises after you recall today’s date- like you were forgetting something. You place a hand over your forehead. Was there something important today? 

And as if the universe read your mind, the doorbell rings.

A giant wave of confusion washes over you. Was someone supposed to come over today?

-and you just completely wiped it from your mind?

You’re still running through your memories as you walk to the door. No, it's not Chae since she has finals too...

Opening it, you’re not at all expecting who was behind it. 

“Jeno-?”

He blinks back at your wide eyes, expression turning concerned, and you rub your temples in exasperation and defeat. 

“Oh, did we have a date today or something? I’m so sorry- I totally forgot.”

His eyebrows furrow. “No, I was just supposed to come over to hang out with you....”

“It’s been so long since we last talked, baby. You haven’t responded to any of my texts. What’s going on?” He promptly adds, staring intently at you. 

You let out a sigh, and jeno notices your tense shoulders and dark under-eye circles. “I thought you knew. Finals are coming up so I’ve been stuck at home cramming for about a week now actually.” 

His frown deepens. “I did know. And still, y/n..” he says in a warning tone. 

You know what his voice implies, you’ve heard it plenty of times at this point, but right now you don’t have to energy to listen to his nagging. “ I know, I know. Just- come in, I guess.....”

To be completely honest, you wanted to send jeno back home- there was still a lot more information left to cover and you obviously weren’t in your best condition, but he was the one who actually remembered your ‘date’ and drove to your place, so you would feel even worse making him go all the way back to his dorm. 

Jeno easily follows you in, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back any comments while examining your place even though barely anything has changed since he last visited- mostly because there was nothing to change when you were in your room all day. 

You walk to the kitchen, getting your boyfriend some water while yawning. Meanwhile, your mind is drifting away, thinking about what topics are left that you have to go over later. “What are we even doing today?” 

Jeno plops on your couch, arms behind his head. “I don’t know. A movie?”

You hide your grimace, immediately thinking of how much time would be wasted watching one, or possibly even more if jeno was feeling it. In the one to two hours of a movie, you could be done with chapter two and three-

“Y/n??”

Your head snaps up. “Yes?”

“Are you gonna come over here or just stand there in the kitchen all day?” he teases.

You shake your head to clear the fog and join jeno on the couch. Scrolling through the options, you automatically snuggle up next to him, eyes blearily watching the moving tv screen. 

He decides on this one animated film, and you’re too drained to pay attention so you simply nod and let the movie begin. But even though you try your best to focus on the storyline and what’s currently going on, your mind keeps wandering off to other, more boring things- your studies, obviously. 

The number of chapters you covered, the slight of chapters you have left, how long you would have to stay up to finish going through your planned amount of information  -all the stressful thoughts swirling in your head, and it only exhausts you more. 

You let out a sigh, and jeno turns to you. “Are you okay? You’ve been sighing nonstop since we started the movie.” 

You clear your throat, biting back a yawn. “Oh- yeah, sorry. I won’t do it anymore.”

Your boyfriend stiffens but doesn’t say anything, attention returning to the flashing screen in front of him. 

You did try. You really did. But your eyelids keep drifting shut and your head keeps slowly lolling forward and snapping back up -it’s not until your forehead accidentally knocks against jeno’s chest that he finally speaks up again. 

“Y/n. You need to take a break and get some sleep. Now.” His tone is sharp and commanding. 

You snap your eyes back open, vision blurry. “No- it’s fine. I’m good, let’s keep watching.” 

The immediate switch in the air is scary, jeno swiftly reaching for the remote and pausing the movie to look at you dead straight in the eyes before setting it back down with a loud, clattering noise. “You need to rest. I can tell from how tired you look, and I know you’ve been studying for so long, so why is it that hard to just relax for a little?” 

You groan, distress breaking through. “I can’t, okay? You already understand how stressful school is and how important my upcoming tests are. I know you’re just trying to be kind and thoughtful but-“ 

“But what?” He cuts you off, the frustration he’s been hiding for a while finally revealing itself. “Taking a rest from burning your brain out isn’t going to kill you, y/n.”

Your hands at your side clench and unclench, a wave of emotions overcoming you. “I know that. But I can’t afford to have a break now.” Everything suddenly feels overwhelming, and your voice comes out strained and uncontrolled. 

“I’m almost there, jeno. It’s so close, and if I stop now, I’ll feel like a failure.”

He laughs a short and echoing bark. “How do you think I feel? I was trying to brush everything aside and act like it was all fine, but it’s certainly not when you’re like this.”

You falter. 

Jeno gets up, making direct eye contact with you even though his body is trembling and his voice is shaky. 

“I spent the past week just lying in bed and worrying about you- if you were eating okay and getting enough sleep. I was constantly texting you reminders to take care of yourself, only to find out from your friend that you turned your phone completely off.  Do you know how shitty of a person I was feeling? I didn’t want to be a distraction to you because I know how much you care about your grades, but it’s killing me, y/n. I want to be there for you, but instead, I end up feeling like the worst boyfriend in the world.” 

He shudders before continuing,

“And then I come here, brushing off all my worries since I was super excited to finally be with you after so long, and then I have to see you in such a bad condition. Barely taking care of yourself, barely even surviving on your own just so you can pass your exams that I know you’ll already do well on no matter what. As your boyfriend who wants to help and be here for you, do you know how much my heart hurts?”  

He finishes, but not before wiping away the frustrated tears that appeared in his angry rant.

It takes one beat -two beats, before you immediately spring up, rushing towards jeno and throwing your arms around him. 

He accepts it, burying his face into your shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. 

The guilt courses through your body, and you understand. The consequences of your actions hit you, hard, and you know you deserve it all. Jeno just wants to know that you’re here. You’re here with him.

“I’m really sorry,” you murmur into his hair, “I’m really, really sorry, jeno.” 

You hate the fact that you can still feel the slight wetness of his tears soaking through your-technically his- shirt. You pull back, looking straight into his eyes to make sure he knows you’re being genuine.

“I promise to pay more attention to myself, and I promise I won’t ever let it happen again. I won’t shut you out anymore... and you can come over to take care of me whenever you want, okay?”

Jeno slowly nods, and you softly wipe away the corners of his red eyes of any wetness.

He pulls you closer to him again, inhaling your scent one more time, and you finally let yourself go. 

After about a minute of just enjoying each other’s warm embrace - one that you feel like you haven’t felt in so long- you allow yourself to smile and pull back just enough to place a kiss on his cheek. 

“Was my baby just lonely and missed me too much?” you sing in a soft voice. He lets out a disgruntled noise in response, shaking his head against your body. 

But you both know what the answer is.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed.” You tug his arm easily to your room, putting off your studies, at least for today.

“You’re really gonna take a break this time?” Jeno asks, eyeing you carefully. 

You grin. “Yes? Besides, I know you’re always down for cuddles.” 

You drag him to the bed, taking his arms and wrapping them around your body as exhaustion quickly fills you. 

You fight yourself to stay awake as long as you can to enjoy jeno’s presence, but he notices and hugs you even closer if possible, whispering softly, “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And before you finally drift off, you sleepily murmur, “I love you, jeno. Like, a lot.” 

Even after you fall asleep in his embrace, he stares down at you, softly kissing your forehead.

I love you too. 

bonus bc i adore jeno too much :

“Jeno- for the last time, you’re not a bad boyfriend.”

“I know.... but-“

You shut him up with a quick kiss.

“You’re the sweetest.”

Another kiss.

“Funniest.”

Peck.

“Handsomest.” 

His ever so growing smile freezes. Jeno looks at you, a surprisingly solemn look on his face. 

You raise an eyebrow, confused. 

“......even more than Nam joo hyuk?”

Ah. He had to go for the favorite actor. 

You swallow, battling an intense internal war before begrudgingly nodding. “Okayyy...fine. You are.”  

He crosses his arms. “I’m what?”

You roll your eyes, whining. “I already said it!”

Jeno shakes his head firmly. “Say the whole thing.”

You take a deep breath in, internally apologizing to your beloved actor. “......you, lee -verymuchanannoyingbaby- jeno, are more handsome than Nam joo hyuk.” Your sentence is finished swiftly in one breath, words slurring together. It actually pains you to say that. But it’s good enough for your boyfriend. 

Jeno delights in the squeal you let out when he picks you up in his arms to spin you around. 

“Fuck yeah- take that, nam joo hyuk!”

ღ

a/n: anyways im going to go hide away and cry over jeno now ^^

[stylistiquements]

Day 1 : Soap Bubbles.

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist}

𐐪𐑂 Summary : You're being introduce to the internet in a peculiar way, it's up to you to decide what you're going to do with it.

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.4k | W: written part underneath

𐐪𐑂 Warning : very few swears

Masterlist | Previous | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

The coffee that sinks inside your stomach brings out a grimace and a click of your tongue where the taste stains; too bitter, too acidic but you’ll drink it anyway and to the last drop; there is something about the idea of spending time with three best friends that is so made of spring and honey that you wish to miss none of it.

“Someone is lurking,” George contemplates out loud, and the call goes silent for a second as if to look for the intruder. And it would so easy to flinch, to hit the back pedal, because you almost feel like one being exposed front stage like that. But today- today is not that day.

It's not that you don't want to join the discussion, it's that it takes a second to warm up, to absorb the energy and become one with it.

And sometimes, all it takes is Sapnap to exclaim, “Panini head, my beloved!” for your smile synchronizes with his chuckles. Somehow, once noticed by the right person, life flows back naturally.

George and Dream greets you in trailing unison, like two kids forced to greet their unwelcomed aunt on a sunday afternoon.

“H-hey troublemakers,” you finally say. Your voice is still quiet, not reluctant, but rather uncertain. It doesn't bother anyone.

“I’m beating Dream’s ass at chess and he’s bitter,” Sap explains, and you silently nod, as if they were able to see you.

A long silence follows along, rythmed by clicks of mouses and keyboards and it falls in your ears like high droplets. It's comfortable. It's intimate, shared with friends only.

"We haven't heard from you in a while," Dream says. "I mean ... before the clout fiasco."

You wouldn't exactly call it a fiasco, even though you don't really like the idea of being perceived a little too closely from the eyes of twitter.com, but you do agree anyway, "I've been caught up on college essays lately."

"That sucks," George probably adds.

“Good thing you’re here, then,” Dream notes, simple as a breath. “This is a worry-free zone.”

It hovers for a second, carried by George’s approval hum.

You squint suspiciously, detective mode, at the profile pictures that light on and off before your eyes, “Thanks, dream.”

He scoffs a “sure” and you’re not sure why you sense a bit of irony stuck on the back of his teeth. You're so tempted to call him out, but you don't. Instead, you write a mental note of this odd moment.

“It’s because I told him about your three brothers and now he’s scared they’re gonna find him and kick his ass,” Sap explains as if he just read your mind.

Sometimes, there’s this thing in the air, though you’re miles away. Something like a connection. There’s this thing when you don’t need to talk for Sap to understand. Sharing one brain cell, you dismiss ironically. Probably coincidences and predictability, but it always sounds a little special, a little like something you’d wish to be out of this world, like morning dew and fairy circles. And it makes you feel safe, at home, just like snuggling up in the sheets during a stormy night. Your smile washes up the sleeve of your hoodie, covered palm carefully hiding your chuckles.

“Three older brothers,” George muses, and there’s no telling if it’s something meant for you to hear. “That’s kinda scary.”

“You better be scared, one of them is probably your FBI agent,” you tease mindlessly, though there's nothing scary about those three grown men.

“I’m British, Bunny,” he points out. Whether the exasperation in his tone is fake or genuine, that, you can’t tell, but you play it cool, grin carved so deep it almost hurts. Dream’s wheezes rise and fall in the background.

“Say that to his face then,” you outbid smirkingly after a second of silence, heels growing into the carpet to make your chair spin slowly left and right, so breezily.

“I’d praise you for the rest of my life if you-Oooooooh your ass is wacked. Your ass is so wacked, dude. You fucked up so bad,” Sapnap chokes out between strings of giggles.

“Oh no, my streamer is losing his game?” You theatrically pout. “My streamer Dreamwastaken, have you met him? Guess you don’t need any of my brothers to kick your ass.”

“Okay yeah- no- it’s not my fault if your- they’re distracting me, okay?” Dream defends.

Slowly, the energy lowers again and the call remembers peace as Dream admits defeat.

“I’m not playing against you anymore,” he mumbles through greeted teeth, your hoodie shelters a muffled giggle. “Let’s talk about y/n’s twitter fame instead.”

“Let’s just not-” you mutter, both because seeing Dream lose at something is a miracle that has to be witnessed once and because you’re somewhat reluctant. “Let’s just not talk about that.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea it would draw this much attention to you,” Sap admits.

“Well, you talk about her all the time it was only a matter of time before twitter finds out,” George taunts and you secretly smile, listening to the way your best friend tries to defend himself, mind flooded with the last memories you have of when you were able to see those chuckles for real.

“Yeah, Quackity already told me you guys talk behind my back,” you fakely muse. “That’s totally fine, I don’t wanna know what you guys are talking about at all.” It’s a lie, obviously, the idea creeps upon your mind with assumptions you can’t quite get a grip of nor let go.

“You and Quackity talk?’ Sapnap asks, hint of surprise, and you hum.

“Or rather, he talks to me. He keeps calling-.” Shit. The forsaken word traps itself into your mouth. It’s too silly anyway.

“Come on, just say it,” Dream pushes as if he knew too much, more than you even do, and your cheeks flush mindlessly. You don’t notice.

“Dream, quit it!” You demand.

“Quit what?”

“You talk as if you knew more than anyone did.”

“Maybe I just do,” he coos, so dream-like.

Oblivious or careless, Sapnap asks, “Is Quackity bothering you or something?”

“He-" you begin but stop to look for the right way to put it, "He triggers my flight or fight response.”

"I mean, duh," Sapnap probably rolls his eyes.

"But I like him. He's funny."

After a second of silence, George says, “Well that was unexpected.”

“Not so much, I think we’re both chaotic neutral people.”

“What is that neutral chaotic thing anyway?” Dream is confused.

Roll up your sleeve girl boss because now is your time to shine! You offer your best dream smp alignment chart to the classroom. They're speechless, but they listen carefully.

"Then you're more chaotic good than neutral. You're too sweet anyway," Sap says.

"I'd even say lawful good," George debates.

"That's because you haven't seen Bunny during her crazy cat hour."

"True," you note.

"She'll go absolutely batshit."

“What?" George burst between confusion and surprise. "We've never seen you like that."

"A lady never reveal her secrets," you retort. No one answer.

It leaves a second for your mind to enjoy peace. For your eyes to lay on c!tubbo on lawful good and think true, then on c!dream on chaotic evil and think also very true. You huff and it's like a wave; as sarcasm leaves your breath, an idea comes in.

"Sap, check your DMs," you request.

Surrounded by the evening lull, Sapnap’s laugh pops like soap bubbles, "God, you’re so stupid. Why can't you just marry me?"

“So, is it Sapnap approved?” You chuckle lightly to prevent Sapnap’s morning fresh laugh to fill your chest and leak everywhere.

“Just press ‘send tweet’ please,” he confirms with leftovers of a smile in his voice.

"George, get me out of here. They're doing it again," Dream whines.

"Doing what?" He asks, unbothered.

"Act like they're alone in the convo. Just get a room." And you don't get to stand up for yourself that you and your best friend are actually sent to another room.

"Well this one is chaotic evil confirmed," you mumble as you roll your eyes but the vibes are much peaceful, much more comfortable in here. "So ... hi."

"Hi," he chuckles in return.

Maybe that's for the best; a moment that needs to stay a little timeless, secretive and special. It hasn't happened in so long, you don't even remember the last time it did.

"I'm glad you're here. I miss you, you know?" He says, and it's hard to not feel so bittersweet about it. It's hard when longing involves a craved touch, a real smile and an eye contact. Your shoulder sinks in the chair a little harder.

"I miss you too. I'll be here soon," you promise. And soon couldn't come any sooner.

But the conversation, soft and free, will wash up any worries, as always, and you'll end up talking about everything and nothing, about streams and planned videos and college and god knows what. As long as it makes the two of you happy and smiling. Just like the old days, you'll both think and it's fair to say until the evening turns into night and night turns into fatigue.

"Are you sure you're okay about that clout?" He asks once again. "I know you don't like being exposed like that."

"Yeah, yeah don't worry too much about it. I'll try to make good use of it."

"I'm sure you will," he murmurs, but oh boy did he not know what was about to come until you two meet.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa ; @gaysludge

A/N : so first of all it has come to my attention that 129 days from now on is actually my birthday so that's a weird coincidence lol. Hi how are you guys?? welcome to the first part I hope you liked it. I'm fairly new to the mcyt community and that's the first time I write for them, so bear with me. Feedbacks are always appreciated. Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

[fallingforyou123]

Cupcakes and Therapy-Meeting

A/N: I'm so sorry this is late, I had it queued up for the wrong day, but it's finally here. This is just the first part, I plan on continuing this with little blurbs after. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.15k

Warnings: Some language, a panic attack and talks of panic attacks, falcon and the winter soldier spoilers

He woke up in a cold sweat, the last of his nightmare still fresh on his mind. For the third time that night he’d been jolted awake, the idea of sleep slowly slipping away. The sun was just starting to rise, a few rays slipping through the cracks in the blinds. He hadn’t slept through the night since his time in Wakanda. After Steve left him and the fighting stopped, there was nothing keeping his mind occupied anymore.

Slowly, he rose from his makeshift bed on the floor, every inch of his body aching from lack of sleep. He made his way over to the window, looking out at the street below. A new hobby he’d found was people watching, as creepy as it is for an ex-assassin to do, but it calmed him. It brought him back to reality when he felt like he was slipping into a dark place.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s stood there until Alpine starts rubbing up against his leg, meowing loudly. Alpine never fails to remind him just how utterly starving he is after sleeping for 22 hours a day. Bucky makes his way to the kitchen to fill his bowl, making note of all the things he’s running out of, a trip to the market after therapy becoming his plans for the day.

He throws a jacket on over his t-shirt and slips on a pair of gloves before leaving the apartment and making his way to the small coffee shop just around the corner. His routine had started consisting of coming here at ungodly hours of the morning for breakfast before making his way to his weekly therapy sessions.

He walked in and sat at his usual table, the barista on shift coming over with his usual coffee and muffin. Bucky hands her a crumpled 5 with a small smile, before grabbing a newspaper. He doesn’t really read it, he’s not one for politics before noon, but he does it to keep him occupied. It also helps to make it not look like he’s scoping the place out when he sits there for hours a day.

He sits there sipping his coffee and nibbling on his muffin, still too shaken from his nightmare to stomach much. He looks up from the newspaper every now and then to watch the people around him. Sunday mornings make the cafe crowded, couples and groups of friends line the one wall, families taking up space at the tables, and a few solos floating through.

There’s a feeling in his chest that hits him hard as he watches a mom trying to wrangle her daughter as the dad laughs. It hits again as he sees a woman curled into the side of the man beside her, giggling at something he’s whispering in her ear. His eyes shift from person to person, the ache growing strong as his breathing becomes difficult. He stands up abruptly, his knee hitting the table causing his coffee to spill, the few people around him shooting him strange looks. He rushes for the door, barely having time to apologize for bumping into someone.

The heat hits him hard when he steps outside, the feeling of being suffocated only worsening. He can’t think straight, the lack of air in his lungs making him dizzy. He turns into an alleyway, leans against the wall and tries to ground himself. A woman spots him as she walks by, coming over to check on him. She rests her hands on his arms, shaking him gently to get him to focus on her.

“Sir, sir you’ve got to breathe. In, out. Easy, easy. There you go.”

Her voice is smooth, almost melodic, and it does the trick to help calm him. Bucky attempts to follow her breathing, gasps of air slowly turning into steady breaths.

He manages to say a small “Thanks,” between breaths. The girl smiles and lingers a little longer to make sure he’s okay before heading on her way. Bucky’s stuck momentarily, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Suddenly much more tired and willing to go back to bed, he wishes he could head back home and hide for the rest of the day, but he doesn’t want to deal with what’ll happen if he doesn’t show up to therapy.

***

He keeps zoning out as his therapist talks, his mind wandering to what had happened that morning. He was no stranger to panic attacks, but they usually came after a nightmare, not sitting in a coffee shop. And the woman, no ones ever been that quick to help him, not when he looks the way he does. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, her face stuck in his mind.

“James, at least pretend to pay attention.” His therapist's voice knocked him out of his thoughts.

“I’m listening.”

“No you’re not, you’ve got that look on your face that means you’re thinking about your nightmare while telling me you’re not having any.” Her voice is calm, but he knows she’s getting annoyed with him.

“I can assure you, I’m not thinking about a nightmare. I, uh, had a panic attack this morning.” He looks away from her, the confession more than he’s ever shared.

“James, that’s normal. PTSD has a lot of symptoms.”

“No, no this was different. This wasn’t because of a memory or a nightmare. I was sitting drinking coffee, just looking around, and it hit me. I had to leave, spent a while trying to calm myself in an alley. And this woman, she came over and tried to help me. I mean, it worked, but I just, I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, you’ve got to stop downplaying these things.” She’s really starting to get annoyed now, her voice now having a slight edge to it.

Bucky can’t quite figure out what pisses him off more, knowing she’s right, or how she doesn’t sugar coat things.

“Tell me exactly how it started, what were you doing?”

He groans, not feeling up for a heart to heart at the moment.

“Listen, I told you. I was drinking coffee and looking around. People watching, I guess. Keeps me occupied.”

“Ah,” she sighs. “I think what’s happening is your minds telling you that you’re lonely. Seeing all those people being happy together, it’s something you haven’t had in a while. You need people, James.”

He doesn’t want to hear it and she knows it. It’s all he’s been told for months now. But he’s fine, really. He has weekly lunches with Yori, and Alpine is plenty of company when he’s at home.

“Listen doc, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. After everything that’s happened to you, being alone is the quietest, most personal hell. And, James, it is very hard to escape it.”

***

The market was crowded today. The mid-summer heat enticing people to spend their days in the sun. Bucky made his way through the rows of stands, stopping to grab various items he thought his fridge was lacking. This had become a weekend routine for him, spending Sunday afternoons trying to create some sort of normality in his life.

He gets distracted momentarily by the sound of a high pitched laugh, forgetting about the bag of fruit being handed to him. It’s then that he spots you, the same girl who helped him in the alley. You’ve traded your hoodie for a tank top and you’ve got a little yellow apron covering you now. There’s a basket of pastries in your hand and you’re laughing with a group of people.

That small ache in his chest makes an appearance again, thoughts racing through his mind. Bucky doesn’t believe in fate, he’s far too old and seen too many things to think it’s real. But in this moment as he watches you, the girl who took time to care for him in a dark alleyway, looking like the world belonged to her, he can’t help thinking that maybe it does exist.

He doesn't know what comes over him, but before he knows it, he’s shoving everything into his bags and heading towards the shop. He doesn’t know what he’ll say, blinded by the need to just be near her. Before he can reach you, you’ve already headed back into the building and stationed yourself behind the counter.

He walks in and is hit with the smell of fresh pastries and he’s brought back to spending weekend mornings baking with his mom and sister. You’re just finishing up with the group, turning your attention to Bucky, “Hi! Welcome to Honey, what can I get for ya?”

Bucky blinks a few times, suddenly losing every ounce of confidence he’d had. “Do you need a few more minutes? Or would you like a suggestion?”

He takes a second to compose himself before replying, “Yeah, um. A suggestion, please?”

He doesn’t understand where his shyness has come from, but you seem to find it endearing. You motion to the display case and start rambling on about each treat, “The orange zest cookies seem to be a fan favourite, personally I like the neapolitan ones the best. We’ve also got every flavour of scone you could imagine if you’re feeling more classy. And oh, this one's new, bourbon pecan nut bars, a little midday pick me up. We’ve also got some fresh sandwiches if you’re looking for lunch. Or if you’re still not sure I can do a sampler box?”

“Yea, I’ll just get one of those, and maybe a sandwich too?”

“Sure thing!”

Bucky watches you fill up a little basket for him, noticing how you add multiples of your favourites. When you head into the back for a moment, he starts figuring out how to bring up this morning without being creepy. He doesn’t want to sound like he stalked you, that would really mess up his shot with you. You finish it up with a fresh sandwich from the back and hand him a neatly wrapped basket. “Alright, is that everything?”

Bucky realizes that this is his last moment to say anything, “Yes, and no. I don’t know if you remember, but I’m the guy who you stopped to help in the alley this morning. I didn’t stalk you or anything, I swear, I was just shopping in the market when I saw you and I thought I’d come over and say thank you.” By this point he’s wishing the ground would open up and swallow him, his face turning extremely red.

“I thought it was you. Don’t worry, I’m not freaked out. It’s no big deal, I’m glad you’re okay. I know how scary panic attacks can be when you’re alone, I’ve had far too many.” You offer him some sympathy, knowing how awful these things can be.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Thank you again for the help. I’m Bucky by the way.” He reaches his hand out towards you, and when you take you swear you feel something, “Y/N, nice to meet you.” You reply with a smile.

The both of you stand there for a moment, lost in each other, only shaken out of it by the ringing of the door as someone enters. “I should go, I’m still on the clock.” You reluctantly let go of his hand.

“Can I get your number before I leave?” The question takes you by surprise, but you’re quick to put your number in his phone, and he makes a promise to call you later that night.

***

When you arrive home that evening you’ve completely forgotten about the promised phone call, too eager to make dinner and then climb into bed. You’re in the middle of cooking when your phone goes off with an unknown number on the screen. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Bucky.”

That voice fills your ears and your heart stops for a moment. He sounds tired, the raspiness sending a warm shiver throughout your body.

“Hey, yea, how are you?”

The both of you fall into comfortable small talk. He asks you about work and you tell him about all of your favourite moments from the day. You ask him about the pastries you sent him home with and he confesses that his favorite were the oatmeal lemon cookies, they remind him of the ones his mom used to make.

You end up still on the phone with him by the time you’re curled up in bed, barely able to keep your eyes open. “You should go to bed doll, I can hear how tired you are.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Bucky laughs, a small little chuckle, and all you want is to be able to hear that sound forever. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow after I’ve closed up the bakery and I’ll teach you to make something?”

“I’d like that. I’ll see you tomorrow doll.”

“See you tomorrow Bucky.”

[f1]

Vettel tells media to give Mick Schumacher a break after latest crash | RaceFans Round-up

In the round-up: Sebastian Vettel thinks Mick Schumacher is getting too much criticism from journalists. In brief Vettel defends Schumacher after Monaco crash Following Mick Schumacher’s heavy Monaco Grand Prix crash, Vettel urged members of the media not to give him a hard time. “It’s so easy to get it wrong so quickly,” said the four-times world champion. “I don’t know exactly what happened to him I haven’t seen it. But the main thing is he’s okay.” Along with Williams driver Nicholas Latifi, Schumacher is one of two drivers to have started every race this year without scoring a point. Team mate Kevin Magnussen, who retired from Sunday’s race with an MGU-K failure, lies tenth in the standings on 15 points. Vettel said it’s clear Schumacher can raise his game. “I think there’s no doubt he’s capable of doing a lot more than what he’s showing at the minute,” he said. “But I think you guys need to give him a bit of a break.” Save at chicane was “pretty scary” – Zhou Zhou Guanyu described the moment he almost lost control of his Alfa Romeo at the chicane as “pretty scary”. He was trying to overtake Yuki Tsunoda at the time. “It wasn’t too cool in the cockpit, it was pretty scary in the moment,” he said afterwards. “It will be nice to have a look at the replay.” “It was tough out there,” said Zhou, who finished the race 16th. “Obviously it was very damp on the inside and there’s not much slipstream you can get. So that was probably the closest lap I’ve been to Yuki so I really had to dive up the inside at the last minute. “Unfortunately he tried to cover a little bit and at the moment I tried to avoid that I hit the wet patch. I was just about to keep the car on track there. “The rules [say] say you have to left the past before [turn] 12 and then I had no real exit and Latifi got me. But I don’t think that really matters. At least I tried to bring a position.” Alpine expected tough weekend in Monaco Alpine CEO Laurent Rossi said the team’s tough weekend in Monaco came as no surprise. Fernando Alonso, who finished seventh, brought the team’s only points of the day. “As a team, we were expecting it to be a challenging weekend at a circuit with so many slow-speed corners, which does not tend to suit our car,” said Rossi. He said the team found useful set-up tweaks for its A522 in Monaco. “We’ve had to dig deep all weekend to make improvements between Friday and Saturday, which not only helped us this weekend, but also bodes well for the future where we can take forward this knowledge in adapting our car to all types of tracks.” Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free Happy birthday! Happy birthday to The Dutch Bear and Duncf1! On this day in motorsport Ayrton Senna unexpectedly extended his run of Monaco Grand Prix wins today in 1992 30 years ago today Ayrton Senna won the Monaco Grand Prix after a late puncture dramatically scuppered Nigel Mansell via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net

[ltstarbuck18]

I’ve been feeling sad since Sunday. It’s because of The Rookie, but not because of #chenford. I rewatched it, and that poor mom, the one who took the baby and was just so lost in a sea of sadness hit me like a million bricks at once. When she turns to Nolan and says “My baby died,” I lost it on the repeat viewing. Entire body shaking sobbing. I realized I got triggered, because when you see the pain on that mom’s face as she says her baby died, I realized I’d been there. Now before I go on, let me say this- I had two pregnancies, and both of my babies survived. But their lives did not begin smoothly at all.

My first, born Julia and now Jake, was born at 29 weeks, weighing 2 pounds 14 ounces. They spent 49 days in the neonatal intensive care. To go through an emergency csection due to preeclampsia and know that your baby is very early, and watch them struggle as they continue to grow outside your body because your body failed them- it’s a lot. We made it through though and Jake proved everyone wrong. They taught themself to read at age 2.5 years and are wise beyond their years. Jake is now in middle school and growing too fast!

We met with doctors to talk about having one mor baby. We wanted a big family and doctors said we were good to go have another one. Here’s the thing- there’s no real way to predict you will have preeclampsia again so I don’t think at the time doctors thought I would have it again. We were optimistic.

We found out we were pregnant with our son and my elation quickly turned to fear. Call it a mother’s intuition. We had a lot of complications. This time six years ago, we had a complication and it was believed for a very long few minutes that I lost our son, though he came onscreen via ultrasound shortly after, waving his arms and legs around as if to say, I’m here! I was diagnosed with preeclampsia at 24 weeks pregnant and hospitalized. 3 weeks later, Will would come into the world at 27 weeks weighing 1lb 15 oz, silent and blue. He spent 110 days in the NICU where we watched multiple times as he stared death in the face. We had a night in particular where He was not doing well at all and I felt like I was burning alive inside. Somehow, though, he made it. He came home on oxygen, which three months later was discontinued and he is now a wild 6 year old.

Everything we went through with both kiddos? It can be summed up in that moment on the show when that mom says “my baby died”. We came so close. I would wake up every morning when Will was a baby and worry about SIDS first thing in the morning for months. It was a scary time. It was hard for me to put him down somewhere where I wasn’t. I baby wore him for almost four years because I was so afraid and because his immune system was risky due to chronic lung disease caused by all his intubations in the nicu. We had people we know lose their nicu baby while our son turned the corner. The survivors guilt was hard. The guilt at not being able to carry my children to term was hard. There are days it still threatens to drag me down to the deepest depths of the ocean. Unless you have been through it, you don’t know how it feels...

The thing that struck me the most in this episode of The Rookie (“Amber”) was the way Nolan looked that mom in the eye and said “I know. I’m so sorry,” with so much empathy and compassion. It was an extremely well done episode in my honest opinion.

This is also why I write a lot of baby fic, particularly with Chenford. Because I lost the ability to have a normal birth, to have my big family, and to really enjoy pregnancy. I’m living vicariously through them. Anyway, just some of my thoughts today as I try to sit with these feelings and then let them sail.

[recentanimenews]

Legendary Manga Creator Fujiko A. Fujio Passes Away at 88

The NHK is reporting today that award-winning manga creator Fujiko A. Fujio, who is best known for creating The Laughing Salaryman, Ninja Hattori-kun and Obake Q-Tarou, passed away on the morning of April 7 in his home in Kawasaki City at the age of 88 years old.

  Fujiko A. Fujio, whose real name is Motoo Abiko, was part of the manga duo Fujiko Fujio, who created Doraemon, one of the biggest icons of Japan today, and worked closely with Osamu Tezuka in the 1960s and 1970s.

    Motoo Abiko in 2008 (Image via Mainichi)

  Abiko was born in Himi City in western Toyama Prefecture on March 10, 1934. In elementary school, Abiko met his creative partner, the late Hiroshi Fujimoto (known as Fujiko F. Fujio later in life), after moving into his class and discovering Fujimoto drawing in his notebook. The pair bonded over their passion for drawing and their love of Osamu Tezuka, who influenced greatly in their early days, eventually becoming a mentor to the pair. 

  They moved to Tokyo in 1954 to pursue becoming professional manga artists after having a few serializations in local periodicals. As Fujiko Fujio, they moved into the Tokiwa-so apartment complex after Tezuka offered them his old room. 

  During this time, Abiko was working on many serializations as well as as an assistant for Osamu Tezuka’s works. After being overwhelmed by the workload, the pair went pack to Toyama for New Year’s in 1955 and missed all of their deadlines. Not giving up their dream, they continued working hard as well as branching out into filmmaking, a passion for Abiko who loved films over manga.

  The pair got their first major serialized work published in 1959 in the then-brand-new Weekly Shonen Sunday magazine with Umi no Ouji. This began Fujiko Fujio’s long-running relationship with Shogakukan where the pair eventually published most of their work, including the original The Laughing Salesman, Doraemon and more.

  After seeing success in Shogakukan’s magazines, they opened a studio in 1963 under the name Studio Zero where they collaborated with anime producer Shinichi Suzuki, Cyborg 007 and Kamen Rider creator Shotaro Ishinomori, fellow manga creator Jiro Tsunoda, Osomatsu-kun creator Fujio Akatsuka, and many more talents. The studio helped animate Tezuka’s work, including Astro Boy, as well as produced hit manga such as Obake Q-Tarou.

  During Studio Zero’s heyday, they produced the first adaptation of Osomatsu-kun, both the live-action and some animated parts of Ninja Hattori-kun, and worked on the original Doraemon and Moomin anime series. 

  Fujimoto (left), Abiko (right), Doraemon (middle) (via middle-edge.jp)

  While Doraemon is now known as Fujiko F. Fujio’s work, the pair worked together on the series in the early days with Fujimoto in the lead role. During this time in the late 1960s, Fujimoto was working more on children’s stories, while Abiko wanted to make more mature manga, which is when The Laughing Salesman was first created. Shogakukan passed on Salesman as they thought it was too scary for children, with Abiko instead taking it to Jitsugyo no Nihon Sha’s Manga Sunday magazine.

  The Fujiko Fujio pair spilt in 1987 after more than two decades of success after it was found that Fujimoto has liver cancer and heart disease in 1986. Both of them continued to admire each other, with Abiko stating in 2005 at a party for the Disappearance Diary autobiographical manga by Hideo Azuma that “though I have received many manga awards under the name Fujiko Fujio, they were all actually Fujimoto’s works. I haven’t received any personally.” 

  Even after Fujimoto’s death in 1996, Abiko said that Fujimoto and Tezuka were his greatest influences and that without Fujimoto, Abiko wouldn’t have become a manga creator.

  In 2008, Abiko was made an Honorary Citizen of his hometown of Himi City for his contribution to the revitalization of the city, as well as receiving the Order of the Rising Sun 4th Class, Gold Rays with Rosette from the Japanese emperor.

    「忍者ハットリくん」などで知られる漫画家の藤子不二雄Ａさんが死去しました。写真は2020年12月撮影。（航）#藤子不二雄a pic.twitter.com/eH3zD05DKr

— 朝日新聞 映像報道部 (@asahi_photo) April 7, 2022

    Abiko was known for leading a healthy lifestyle and never getting sick. This was until 2013 when he was diagnosed with colon cancer – which Abiko claimed was the first time he had ever gotten sick. In March 2015 while golfing, Abiko fainted and was found to have suffered from heart failure. Abiko continued golfing after his hospitalization.

  Abiko was found passed away in his home at 8:40 am on April 7, 2022. The police are currently investigating the details of his death.

  Source: NHK

  ---- 

Daryl Harding is a Japan Correspondent for Crunchyroll News. He also runs a YouTube channel about Japan stuff called TheDoctorDazza, tweets at @DoctorDazza, and posts photos of his travels on Instagram.

By: Daryl Harding

[life-with-my-three]

Geez! What a few days!

We ended up going home Friday evening from hospital with Hatt. Things completely nose dived.

It ended up being the second night of only an hour of broken sleep. She coughed until she vomited, over and over again. Truthfully? We probably should have taken her back to the hospital earlier through the night, but we were so determined to stay out.

I made the call she needed to go back around 5pm. Less than 12 hours after discharge. We of course had to go back through the emergency department.

She was taken straight through to a resus bay. The doctor was a complete idiot, and refused to step on any colleagues toes so left her struggling to breathe (saying she had no work of breathing; the videos I have are astounding how hard she was working) until paeds came and took over.

Once we got up to paeds her sats were sitting around 82% so she went onto low flow o2. Within a short time she was still struggling, so they switched her to high flow o2.

The next few days were SCARY! I’ve seen her sick SO many times, but this was surreal.

She slept for three days straight, only waking when someone touched her and then she’d go extremely violent. She’d hit, kick, head butt, and scream. Even me. She couldn’t be touched. She struggled to breathe. She would then throw herself around the cot, smashing her head intentionally into the cot bars over and over again.

In the end we had no real choice but to give her a mild sedative. So Sunday she had that on board also. She was like this exhausted zombie.

She spiked a fever at one point, so she’s on antibiotic cover just in case there’s a secondary bacterial infection in the background. Which we’ve been told she’s at very high risk of happening. They think the fever was more so her bronchioles collapsing.

Finally yesterday morning (Monday) she turned a corner. We managed to get her off the high flow, she wasn’t quite managing that but only went back to a little of low flow o2. We took that off also in the early hours of this morning.

We restarted her jejunal feeds yesterday, and even though not on a full dose, it’s triggered diarrhoea. So needing to take that slowly.

Doctors this morning described her breathing today as still being mild-moderate. They’ve also told us we can go home this evening if we are comfortable and are happy to trust our judgment. Last thing we need is another viral infection from hanging around here. We’re going to reassess later this afternoon and make a call then. Harriet still isn’t great, you can hear her breathing from a long way off, but most of what’s being done here can be done at home.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

all was golden when the day met the night

chapter 3/5

read on ao3

start from the beginning

“...and then we saw the lions, but they were sleeping so they weren’t very scary. And the otters were so cute, and they came right up to the glass when they were swimming underwater!”

Eddie smiles as Chris recounts their day at the zoo to his parents over FaceTime. The monthly calls had been their idea, a way for them to stay up to date on Chris’s life in between holidays and summer visits. It was also their way of having a scheduled time to nitpick Eddie’s life from 800 miles away.

He loves his parents, he does. He just loves them more when they aren’t speaking.

“Your face looks a little red, sweetheart, were you wearing sunscreen today?” his mother asks, face getting too close to the camera as she inspects her grandson.

“Yeah, Dad put some on me when we got there.”

“Did he put on any more during the day?” Her eyes shifted to Eddie, perched next to Chris on the couch. “You know you need to reapply every two—”

“Yes, Mom, I did. And it’s getting late so we should really get going, say goodbye buddy—”

“Wait! I didn’t show them my snakes!” Chris rifles through his backpack underneath the coffee table, yanking out a folder and flipping through it until he finds the drawings he and Buck worked on. He holds them up triumphantly, angling them so his grandparents could see. “Buck helped me with them!”

“And Buck is…”

“Dad, you know who Buck is. My friend that owns the tattoo shop?” He tries not to ignore how calling Buck his “friend” feels like a disservice to all that he really is, how it tastes like sand in his mouth.

“He’s an awesome artist,” Chris pipes in. “He has huge books in the shop of all the stuff he can do, and sometimes he lets me watch when he’s working!”

His parents blanche at that, and Eddie is really not prepared to have this argument right now. He and Chris had a great day together, a rare day when he wasn’t in the shop for any reason, leaving it in Hen’s more than capable hands. They had a lot of fun at the zoo, were getting ready for a Marvel double feature in their living room, and Eddie was in an honest-to-god good mood, for once not plagued by lingering stress or ambiguous sadness. He’s not about to let any outside judgements ruin that.

“I think it’s time to go. Chris, can you say goodnight and go get your pajamas on?” Chris waves as he grabs his crutches and heads to his room. Eddie turns back to say a quick goodbye, but his dad clears his throat before he can speak.

“You leave your son alone in a tattoo parlor?”

“He’s not alone, Dad, he’s with Buck and all the other adults that work there. Plus it’s only in a pinch.”

“Eddie, do you really think those are the kind of people you should be leaving Christopher with?” his mother asks, a look of contempt masked by concern on her face.

Eddie takes a slow breath in and out through his nose. No use in giving them more ammo by getting angry. “Just because you don’t like their business doesn’t mean they’re bad people.”

“We just want to make sure Christopher is—”

“He’s fine. He’s happy when he’s learning to draw with Buck. I’m not going to take that away from him just because you don’t like it. Now we have to go, we’ll talk to you later.” He hits the red end button before they can protest any further. He tips his head back to rest on the couch and scrubs a hand over his face, his good mood now tinged with prickly frustration.

He thinks his parents mean well, but they’ve always been forceful when it comes to Chris, especially after Shannon left. It’s like they knew, somehow, how lost Eddie was on his own, how scared he was that every little thing he did was setting Chris up for failure, and took every opportunity to fix something he was doing or tell him he was wrong. That he didn’t actually know what Chris needed since he had been gone for so long. 

Eventually, Eddie started believing them.

But when Mrs. Negrelli gave him the money to start his own shop, he didn’t just see it as a fresh start for himself, but for Chris too. Eddie would be able to take them anywhere, away from the looming disappointment of his parents, and give himself the opportunity to figure out how to best be the dad that Chris needed. And if the past year is any indication, he knows he made the right choice, a credit he isn’t usually able to give himself. He’s not perfect, still second guesses himself constantly, but Chris gets invited to birthday parties and sleepovers and gets As on his report card, so something must be working.

Chris comes back from his room, Spider-Man pajamas on, handing Eddie the remote to queue up the first movie. He’s happily chattering about all the cool things Spider-Man’s costume does in the movie, and as he settles into Eddies’s side, head resting on his chest, Eddie feels the prickliness subside, replaced by the contentment he only ever feels around his son.

They’re good here. Chris is happy here. That’s all that matters to Eddie.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sundays are Eddie’s favorite days in the shop — traffic is usually slow, so he has time to plan out orders for the rest of the week and make sure their inventory is in check. It’s a little monotonous, but it eats up about four hours of time and gives him a break from any real thinking, so he feels almost relaxed by the time he’s done stocking cases. He has the added bonus of Chris and Buck’s conversation in the back room as background noise, interspersed with the occasional yell and slap of the table and Buck teaches him a new card game. The melody of Chris’s laugh and the harmony of their voices soothes him even more than usual, quiets some of the lingering annoyance from his call with his parents.

As he heads into the back room to grab the last boxes of peonies, Chris beckons him over to the table where he and Buck have been stationed since breakfast. It’s become a bit of a tradition: Buck brings muffins or bagels from Bobby and Athena’s bakery on Sundays and hangs out until the afternoons when his earliest appointments are scheduled (I refuse to tattoo anyone while they’re hungover from Saturday, Eddie. It’s not good for them and the extra complaining is certainly not good for me.). 

Maybe that’s another reason Sundays are his favorite days. Add that to the list of secret feelings involving Buck that are following him to the grave.

“Dad! Look, I colored Buck’s skull purple!” Chris says as Eddie comes behind his chair, bracketing him in with his arms on the table. Chris giggles as Eddie kisses the top of his head, leaning over him for a closer look. Buck’s latest tattoo is indeed a bright shade of purple, the roses surrounding it colored in blue.

“I told him I like cooler colors and he ran with it,” Buck says. Eddie’s eyes shift to Buck’s face, and he feels his heart stutter when he sees the soft, fond smile directed at Chris. It stutters again when Buck’s eyes meet his, that familiar warmth settling over him as Buck’s smile gets bigger, and he feels good enough, relaxed enough, that it actually soaks into his skin. Buck’s gaze flits down to Eddie’s arm where it’s still bracketing Chris, a crease appearing right between his eyebrows. The urge to lean over and kiss it away is unbelievably sudden and strong, and Eddie silently congratulates himself for keeping it together.

“Your ink looks a little faded there, Eds. I can fix it up for you, if you want.”

Eddie looks at the script on his arm, twisting it back and forth to see the whole thing. Buck’s right, the ink does look duller. Makes sense for a tattoo he got on his 18th birthday that he definitely didn’t take care of properly. 

Fortalecer la mente y superar el cuerpo. Strengthen the mind and overcome the body. When he was young and invincible, that seemed like all he needed. A clear head, clear purpose, clear desires, and he’d be able to do anything he wanted. If he followed the rules and did everything right, he’d get a happy ending.

But, once again, it hadn’t been enough. And now, looking at that tattoo just reminds him of the ways he’s failed. How he hasn’t been able to make his mind into anything resembling strong, how there are days when he’s so weak even basic functions take too much effort. How a happy ending is feels so far away he can’t remember what one even looks like.

He shrugs, hand rubbing the tattoo unconsciously. “Maybe, I kinda just want to let this one fade out though. Maybe get a different one somewhere else.”

“Well, my offer of a free tattoo still stands, just name the day.” Buck says. 

Chris gasps and twists around in his seat, eyes bright with excitement. “Can I help you pick it out? Can I draw it? I’m good at lots of stuff now, and Buck can help!”

And he’s not sure what it is — the smile on Chris’s face at the idea, Buck’s matching one, the lingering frustration with his parents transforming into rebellion (something he hasn’t felt since he last got a tattoo), or a combination of the three. But before he can think too hard about it, he hears himself saying:

“You know what? Why not. I’ll get another tattoo, and you guys can design it.”

They cheer and high five each other, Chris hugging Eddie tight around the middle.

“But,” Eddie says, “I do want final approval. And no cartoon characters.”

“I promise, Dad, it’ll be the best tattoo ever!” Chris grabs his nearby notebook and starts doodling, chattering happily about what he thinks will look good. Buck catches his eye again and winks, and Eddie’s returning smile is the easiest it’s ever been.

He grabs the boxes he came back for and goes to the front, still smiling as he hears Buck and Chris very seriously discuss the details of what Eddie should get. He’s not nervous, really, but he does say a silent prayer to whoever is listening that they don’t pick something too big or too bold. He loves them both, but not that much.

~~~~~~~~~~

They take about a week to design it and are so secretive they might as well be planning a jewel heist. It seems like every time Eddie walks into a room, they’re there with their heads pressed together, whispering over sheets of paper and pens. When Eddie tries to sneak a peek, they quickly hide everything away so he can’t see. Buck throws his whole body on the table at one point just to cover up the sketches.

Again, he’s not nervous. But the anticipation does start to get to him.

Finally, after a busy Saturday full of wedding deliveries, they announce that the design is complete, and Eddie is scheduled at Armageddon the following Friday evening. Chris already has a sleepover with Denny that night and won’t be able to come, but he makes Eddie double pinky promise to send pictures to Hen as soon as it’s done. 

It’s Friday now, and Eddie is all set up at Buck’s station in the back of the shop, waiting to see the final product of Buck and Chris’s hard work. He is a little nervous now, but he mostly blames that on Buck, who keeps looking over the sketchpad, pen in hand like he wants to make last minute changes, or like something isn’t quite right.

“Just show me, Buck,” Eddie says after a few minutes of watching Buck bite his lip in worry. Whatever the design is, he’s sure he’ll love it, if for no other reason than because of the two people who made it.

“Okay, okay. You can be honest if you don’t like it, but I think you’re gonna like it.”

He flips the paper over, turning it towards Eddie. It’s a crescent of flowers, an unfinished wreath, featuring moonflowers, Eddie’s favorite, with their starburst centers spiraling open, and ox-eye daisies, which he knows Chris loves. Sprigs of lavender and thyme fill in the gaps, and there’s a small bee floating around the center. It’s beautiful and a little chaotic, but it’s perfect. Reminders of his son and peace and courage that he’ll be able to carry with him always, that he’ll be able to look at when he forgets that he is capable of bravery or deserving of peace. He stares at the sketch, taking in every detail, for who knows how long. Buck clears his throat to get his attention.

“Chris thought the daisies and moonflowers would look good together, and they’re both white so no need for color. I thought the herbs would be nicer than just plain leaves. And he wanted it in a ‘C’ shape, you know, for Christopher.”

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. “And the bee?”

“Chris thought that would be cute, too, but you can nix that if you want.” There’s a faint blush dusting Buck’s cheeks as his eyes track down to the bee in question. “So, what do you think? Any major changes? You can tell me if you hate it, I won’t tell Chris.”

He looks up and Buck’s eyes are excited and worried all at once. Eddie would do anything to take the worry away, but at least this time it’s an easy fix.

“I don’t hate it, it’s perfect,” he says, handing the sketch back to Buck and settling back in the chair. “Let’s do this.”

Buck smiles brightly as he grabs an antiseptic wipe, holding Eddie’s right arm steady as he wipes down the area just below his elbow crease where the tattoo will go. Eddie knew he wanted it there as soon as he’d agreed to get one — he’d be able to see it easily when he needed to, and he liked that it matched the placement of his current one, would almost be replacing it if the words ever fully faded away. Once it’s cleaned, Buck puts a temporary transfer of the design there to trace over, starts up the tattoo machine, and loads the ink. The low buzzing of the machine mixes with the music playing and soft conversation coming from other clients in the shop, washing over Eddie like white noise.

Buck takes his arm again, machine in hand, and locks his eyes on Eddie. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“You can yell if it hurts too bad, just try not to pass out.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, says “It’ll be—” before cutting off with an involuntary hiss as the needle touches his skin. Buck snorts, and Eddie does his best to glare but feels it fall short.

He hadn’t worried about the pain — he vaguely remembered the sensation of being stabbed over and over again and didn’t remember it hurting that bad. He had also been shot before, so he figured he’d be able to handle it.

What he hadn’t taken into account was that for the next two hours or so, he and Buck would be very close together, close enough that Eddie can feel Buck’s breath on his arm as he traces over the outline, feels his strong hand on his wrist as he keeps Eddie from twitching. He had never been this close to Buck, had never allowed himself to be, and now that he is, he’s not sure how to act. He tries to look anywhere else, takes in the art on the wall, watches the other clients with Maddie and Chimney. He tries to make a to-do list for the weekend in his head, go over the things Chris will need for school next week, mentally figure out the designs for next week’s orders.

It’s all in vain, though, because no matter what, his eyes always drift back to Buck. From here, he can take in everything, and for once, he lets himself, because who knows when he’ll have this opportunity again. 

Buck’s brow is furrowed in concentration, blue eyes dark as they focus. He can almost count every eyelash, and his birthmark stands out even more than usual, almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. Eddie itches to reach out and touch it, feel how soft he imagines Buck’s skin to be under his fingertips. His cheekbones and jawline are sharp and beautiful, and Eddie wonders again how anyone could resist them. How someone could look at this man, have even one conversation with him, and decide they didn’t want more. He’s biting his lip as he finishes the first moonflower, and it turns and even darker pink as he releases it. Eddie gets a little lost imagining how those lips would feel on his, how gentle and warm and good. He imagines feeling them on his shoulder as they wake up on a Saturday morning, sees them laughing as they both make breakfast, trading kisses as they go. He wants to taste them, feel them moving down his neck, down his chest, wrapping around his—

He inhales quickly and shakes his head, because this is not the time nor the place to go down that particular road. Thankfully, Buck’s still in his own little world, eyes never leaving Eddie’s arm. He must mistake Eddie’s movement for discomfort, because he moves his free hand down from his wrist until they’re holding hands, Buck’s thumb moving slowly back and forth in comfort.

“You can squeeze if it hurts too bad,” he mutters, still not looking up. Thank god too, because Eddie can feel his face go bright red and his heart start working overtime.

The first pass takes about an hour, and they take a break so Eddie can stretch his legs and Buck can get more ink. There’s still some detailing left to do, but Eddie already can’t stop staring at the tattoo. It looks even better than the sketch, and having a tribute to his son literally branded on his skin fills a fiercely paternal part of him like nothing else ever has. There’s also a smug part that’s still 17 years old and can’t wait to see the looks on his parents’ faces when they have their next video call.

Buck finishes getting set up again and Eddie settles back in the chair. It’s quieter now — they’re the only two on the floor, Maddie and Chimney having finished up and moved to the back room, and the music playing over the speakers is something slower, stripped down, seems to filter into the room and soften all the hard edges of the world. Buck catches his eye from where he’s sitting, asking silent permission to start. Eddie nods, and he feels his heart swell when Buck automatically grabs his hand again. 

He’s got maybe 45 more minutes in this proximity to Buck, and he takes full advantage: notes the way his curls are starting to fall loose after a long day, tries to catalogue each shift of his face, every twitch of concentration, the shadow of his stubble growing in. Getting to study him like this — memorize the details of the beautiful face that houses an even more beautiful soul — makes all the feelings Eddie’s been trying to fight for months now bubble to the surface, fizzing inside of him like pop bubbles. 

But there’s a chill that settles in as well, because despite his heart desperately pulling him towards this man, he reminds himself once again that he can’t have this. He can’t let himself have this, can’t do that to Buck. He’s supposed to be forgetting about his feelings, releasing them so they can both be happy — Buck with someone who deserves him and Eddie...alone. With Chris, but still. Alone. And now he has to wrestle with that while a slide show of Buck’s every facial feature plays through his head on a likely infinite loop.

He can’t forget as easily as he thought. If he’s honest, there’s a small, hopeful part of himself that doesn’t want to forget, that never wanted to forget, and it’s getting louder and harder to ignore with each passing minute.

“Done!” Buck says as he turns off the machine and wipes away the last of the excess ink. Eddie looks at the finished product, a soft smile settling on his lips. He looks up and sees Buck watching him, looking hopeful. “What do you think?”

Eddie’s finger hovers over a daisy reverently. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers, smile spreading as he meets Buck’s eye again. “Thank you, Buck.”

Buck returns the smile, squeezing Eddie’s hand where they’re still clasped together, neither of them moving to let go. They’re still in each other’s bubble, close enough that Eddie can still count Buck’s eyelashes, and he watches Buck watch him for a moment. His eyes roam his face like he too is cataloging Eddie from here, and that hopeful voice is convincing him that from where they’re sitting, it’d be so easy to lean in and confirm exactly what Buck tastes like, how his lips would feel under his own. Just six inches away from allowing himself to be happy, because he can’t imagine being anything else with Buck.

His phone goes off from his pocket, immediately bursting the bubble, both of them flinching as the loud trill fills the shop. They both know it’s Chris, but he still looks at Buck apologetically, like it’s his fault for shattering whatever atmosphere they’d just been living in. Buck just waves toward the phone, squeezing his hand one more time before letting go to clean up his station. He talks to Chris for a bit, showing him the tattoo from every angle, and Chris talks to Buck as well, gushing about what a great job Buck did. Buck blushes at the praise, and that tug of want pulls at Eddie again.

They hang up and Eddie gathers his things while listening to Buck’s strict aftercare instructions, both heading to the front door so Buck can lock up. 

“Are you sure I can’t pay you?” Eddie asks.

“I told you it was on the house and I meant that. Plus it’s nice to work on someone I actually care about.”

Eddie feels his face get warm, hopes the neon lights in the window are bright enough to cover it up. It gets warmer as they continue looking at each other, neither willing to break their little bubble again. He thinks he sees Buck move more toward him, like he wants to get closer, but he stops himself before following through, leaning back on his heels instead, looking sheepish.

“Goodnight, Eddie. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eddie waves as he leaves, stepping into the cool night to walk back to the apartment. He keeps glancing down at his arm on the walk and while he’s getting ready for bed, thinking of the care Chris and Buck both put into creating it. That small voice in his head keeps nagging him, saying Buck wouldn’t do something like this, something this personal, for just anyone. He complains about his clients enough for Eddie to know that’s true.

Maybe the voice is on to something. As he falls asleep, Eddie lets himself think that maybe, maybe, on top of everything, on top of two years of friendship and flowers and looks that make Eddie’s insides flutter, maybe these feelings he’s been trying to ignore aren’t as one sided as he thought.

Maybe he has a chance.

[datingintampafails]

Chapter 25: Jake* Part 3

A Weird Weekend

He is still at his parents’ and is sufficiently drunk, sends me these:

Hindsight 20/20, I see that him saying not to take meeting his mom and step-dad serious didn’t so much mean “it’s not a big deal to them they're chill,” and probably more of a, “I don’t want you thinking this is a monumental step towards a full-fledged relationship.” But back to the story, he sends me a location pin and I head over that way with an overnight bag. At his mom’s place, he stays in a camper that is in their huge backyard, which he calls his “apartment.” This way I knew we would have our own space. At this point, I will be getting there almost at one in the morning, so I don’t really know what to expect.

When I turn onto his mom’s street, I call him as instructed. He comes out of a house and directs me to park by a fence, where I can see their boat over the fence. I’m not sure why he made this out to be so difficult but it’s fine. He walks me into the home and towards the backyard, where they have a beautiful setup. It is a fairy-light decorated area, with a pool, hot tub, patio set, multiple TVs, and a bar. Immediately I am thinking, I could definitely want to hang out here with him in the future. His step-dad has already gone to bed, but his mom did wait for me. Because it is still COVID times, I wave rather than a handshake and say it’s really great to meet her. His mom is truly very gorgeous. She’s wearing glasses but otherwise looks like Connie Britton from American Horror Story, 9-1-1, Nashville, etc. I’m not going to list her whole IMDB for you, you have Google. 

After meeting me she says she’s going to bed. His two dogs are running around and being silly. We sit for maybe a couple of minutes before he says he wants to go to sleep too. We walk over to his camper with our phone flashlights on, as I am warned there may be some poop piles in our paths. In the camper are a bunk bed set, a large king-sized bed, a small kitchenette, and a small bathroom. I’m advised that only #1s are allowed in the bathroom there, and otherwise, I would need to go inside. With that in mind, I say I’m going to use the camper bathroom real quick. The sink isn’t working, but I brought hand sanitizer so I just used that to clean my hands afterward.

His one dog is content being alone on the bunk bed, but the younger one must be sleeping with us in the bed. My experience with intoxicated Jake*, very text thus far, is that he is sweet and in touch with his feelings. Today I see a different side of him that honestly, I am not thrilled about. 

We are in bed together and he initiates sex, but with the tight corners, it is more tantric than climactic. He again jokes about “good girl” and at one point has his hands on my neck, which I tell him I really don’t like. When we aren’t intertwined, I try to tell him more about my previous abusive relationship, to explain why I don’t like choking in bed. He stops me and says “I don’t want to hear this. It’ll just make me really mad. I’ll want to kill the guy. I’m serious. Like I would drive up to Ohio and kick his ass.” These comments are both kind of sweet that he cares, but also a little scary. On and off with sexual activity, he does upset me once again when he seems disgruntled with my lack of being able to go real hard while I’m on top, “come on…” That irritates me to the point that I more or less give up and turn away from him, laying on my side. I’m for whatever reason sensitive and tear up a little. 

We talk about other stuff and it makes me feel better. All along, his dog is still in bed with us, just curled up and sleeping, he is closer to me than Jake*. Finally, we decide to actually attempt falling asleep. At around 4 in the morning, maybe an hour or so after we decided to go to bed, the dog that was in the bed is doing laps: jumping off the bed, running across the camper, jumping back on the bed, rinse and repeat. Obviously, this activity stirs me. We yell at him more or less to go to bed. Maybe five minutes later, I hear a noise, half-awake, after a few seconds of comprehending the noise, I realize what is going on.

“JAKE* YOUR DOG IS PISSING. YOUR DOG IS PISSING RIGHT NOW!” The dog is next to me standing on the bed, peeing. I scare the dog and the dog jumps off the bed. Jake* now is also yelling at the dog. I grab my phone and turn on the flashlight in the dark camper to see what the damage is. There is pee everywhere. I mean everywhere. Thankfully, I have none on me, but the rest of the bed that was more or less in front of me is soaked, the floor all the way up to the stairs by the door is covered in liquid. My shoes that were by the door have pee on them. My underpants and shorts I had at the foot of the bed have pee on them. The other bunk bed, which apparently the dog had jumped onto while running away, also had piss all over it. Ironically, the only area that didn’t have pee on it was the bathroom. 

Jake* makes both of the dogs leave the camper, I grab some paper towels and start trying to get the floor cleaned at least. He is telling me I don’t have to clean and I insist. He grabs the comforter and mattress topper and is making a pile, cursing continuously. At this point, we are just so tired and are speechless otherwise. I complain about pee being on my stuff and ask for a trash bag for me to put my pee covered clothes in, which he hands me. I stand by the door, just staring at Jake*, while he is cussing still and repeating “I’m gonna kill that fucking dog.” At this point, due to the dog running all over the place, there isn’t anywhere for us both to sleep.

“Jake*, you can do whatever you want, but I am going home. You can come with me, let’s just go to sleep and I’ll bring you back in the morning.” He thinks it over and says finally “fuck it yeah let’s go. He can sleep outside I don’t give a fuck.” The other dog, he brings inside, the bad one is still somewhere in the fenced yard. So now slightly after four in the morning, we get in my car and I drive back to my place, about 30 minutes away, so we can finally sleep. 

I am quiet the whole way, he keeps on and off cursing and repeating that he’s going to kill his dog. This dog was supposedly his baby, his favorite. I ask him if it’s okay for my dog to sleep with us, reminding him that she is a good girl and wouldn’t do any shenanigans. He is not against all dogs at the moment and agrees she’s a good dog. When we finally get back to my place, I ask that we both at least wash our feet before going to my bed. We wash our feet and I say I’m going to more or less fully shower since I was right by the dog when it started peeing and I feel dirty. He goes to bed without me, and when I walk in it’s him and my dog. He isn’t asleep yet so we cuddle, drifting away to sleep in each others’ arms. I have never slept so well with another man, but then again, we also are absolutely exhausted at this point.

In the morning we wake up, have morning sex three times, I only remember this because I text him about it, and more or less lay in bed until 10. Jake* had texted his mom about what had happened, and she says in the morning that she will take care of it and is amazed at the damage done. He and I decide to go get breakfast. We go to McDonald’s thinking that they still have breakfast, but by the time we get there it’s only lunch. Defeated, I just ask for french fries. We eat back at my place, and his mom comes and picks him up around 11 or so.

We are sitting on the couch together as he is getting up to leave, and we sit together on a manually reclining part of the couch. He goes to close the legs back down, and my ankle apparently is in the way. It gets caught and scrapes the back of my ankle, along my Achilles. I scream out, and he apologizes. I know it was an accident so I just hobble over to my fridge and grab an ice pack for myself. This mistake now has literally left me a literal scar on my ankle, so I will never forget him in a way. 

My new car is ready, so I pick it up later that day while he is hanging out with family friends. He sends me lots of pictures of himself. One with an older woman I mistake for his mom, because I have terrible facial recognition, and one of him smoking a cigar. My best friend hits me up and so we decide to hit the town in my new whip, going to Armature works. We discuss food and how Armature Works is too expensive, his words not mine, and gives me alternatives, theoretically:

I didn't hear from him for a couple hours, so I text him again later that night. I’m having issues with charging my car, a hybrid, so I’m picking his brain to figure out solutions. He offers to mess with it when he comes over the next day. At this point I have more or less three home projects for him to help me with, none of which ever get done.

Now it is Sunday! Time for him to cook for me. I mention that at this point we have a yellow heart on snapchat, indicating we are each other’s #1 best friend. I then further explain the emojis of Snapchat.

He mentions again his parents are asking about me. He’s also expressed that he has since forgiven his dog and is back to loving him. Jake* is out on the boat, I am jealous, and gives me step by step progress of him leaving, docking the boat, driving back home, taking a shower, etc. 

He responds with a “maybe.” Which is a lie, because he is considering his options of going back to school or joining the army,  the latter which I am not thrilled about, because already I care about him deeply and don’t want him to die or be hurt.

He arrives and I get out all of the ingredients needed for our sloppy joes. He is cooking when my mom calls. After discussing what he needs to discuss, she says she wants to talk to him. I put her on speakerphone and he is very kind. She asks him a question that is along the lines of, “Are you sassy?” And he says “Yeah but your daughter is pretty sassy too, but I like it.” He throws his “ma’am”s and makes up for a previous time when she got a less than great exposure to him. I had forgotten when in the timeline this story was, but now I am realizing it happened before this.

~~FLASHBACK STORY!~~ 

Earlier in the week, one night after work I went to Jake*’s to spend time together. I stuck around for a while then he was saying he wanted pizza and dinner. I needed to make a meal box kit so in the end, we decided that I would go back home, he would go pick up his order from Domino’s, then he would come to my place for us to hang out. He didn’t tell me necessarily when he was on his way from Domino’s I just knew to expect him eventually. My mom calls me and we are chatting for a while. I have my Airpods in. I hear a knock at the door while I’m on the phone and know it is him. I answer the door, “hey!” And what he says, normally  100% I would love and think was totally funny, which granted I still loved and thought it was funny. After my greeting he says “Yeah, uh, I have a delivery for you….. Except it’s not pizza, it’s actually my dick.” I stare at him, half smiling, half mouth agape as I utter, “I’m on the phone with my mom.” He mouths, “oh shit,” and I through laughter ask my mom if she heard him, she did not, but I’m still just laughing and laughing and finally just feel like explaining it to my mom so she doesn’t think I’m crazy. I told her that he had a pizza, and essentially said that the pizza had sausage… except he didn’t say sausage. She kind of chuckles but is like “oh, okay.” At that point I say I have to go and hang up. Jake* is confused like, “why in the world did you tell her,” and my only defense was that it was really funny.

After that, I was cooking, but he actually took over the cooking because I was “relying too much on the recipe” and more or less he thought he could do better. I was all for it, and just stood in the kitchen while he finished cooking my food for me. It was pretty good with the slight improvements he made to the technique, better than it would have been I’m sure. A lady could get used to this…. He apologized briefly for taking over the cooking, but believe me when I say, I was not insulted in the least.

~~Exit Flashback~~

The sloppy joes he makes this night are amazing, we each have two each. And we spend the rest of the night canoodling. Again he leaves, because of his headaches. At this point it is a chronic thing and I feel bad for him, he just always seems miserable when they come on. Continuously, he is having doctors appointments, trying to suss out everything between the infection and the headaches.

[dunderklumpen]

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau interview: Lannister’s greatest battle yet — defending the Amazon

The Game of Thrones star is now a UNDP goodwill ambassador on climate change. It’s hard to care about dragons when the rainforest is burning, he says

Was Nikolaj Coster-Waldau — best known as the “Kingslayer”, Jaime Lannister, the sexy, incest-loving baddie (turned goodie, turned . . . it’s complicated) from Game of Thrones — devastated when the hit television show ended this year?

The Danish actor shrugs. “No, I was fine.” After eight series, though, many of the cast were apparently inconsolable. “Yes, I heard that, but I wasn’t. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, I really enjoyed it, but at the end of the day it was just a television show. I would work on it for a maximum of 30 days a year, then I would do other stuff that I would spend more time on. Of course it was a bit sad, when you’ve spent 10 years with a group of people, to know you won’t be seeing them regularly any more, but the job was over. It had run its course — you couldn’t really squeeze any more out of it.”

When he was cast in Game of Thrones a decade ago, Coster-Waldau, long a jobbing actor on both sides of the Atlantic, had no clue that the production he had signed up to would become a cultural phenomenon.

“Actually, when the show started there was a lot of stigma. When I told people I’d got this job with HBO, they were like, ‘Oh my God, it’s going to be amazing — is it about gangsters?’ And when I said, ‘No, actually it’s a fantasy with dragons’, they were like, ‘Oh well then, good luck.’ A lot of people had to be almost forced into watching it before they realised the supernatural stuff is really not what it’s about.”

If Coster-Waldau sounds dismissive about his part in TV history, it’s because, post-Thrones, he has been busy. As well as finishing a couple of Danish films, the 49-year-old is making a documentary about the nerdy world of “comic cons” — comic-book conventions. He keeps in touch with a handful of Thrones pals, especially Gwendoline Christie, who played his non-sororal love interest, Brienne of Tarth.

He has also become a goodwill ambassador on climate change — and on gender equality — for the UN Development Programme. Why do actors seem compelled to bang on about climate change, even when the public makes it clear they don’t enjoy receiving lectures from luvvies whose job consists of jetting around the world to prance around on sets with carbon footprints greater than most of us will produce in a lifetime?

“I acknowledge 100% that actors talking about climate change annoys people. It is ridiculous. I understand why people say, ‘Why should I listen to him? — he’s a f****** actor’,” he says.

“They’re right. You shouldn’t listen to me. It’s what I’m saying: don’t listen to me, but do listen to the experts, the scientists, the people who actually have their feet on the ground and know what they’re talking about.”

Coster-Waldau, 6ft 2in, understands the public are more likely to pay attention to him than to a group of scientists. Dressed in sensible Scandi weatherproof gear, he is determined to talk about his recent visit to the Amazon rainforests of Peru, which have been devastated by fires set by farmers and loggers.

“There’s a huge spotlight on Game of Thrones and I’m happy to use that, because I believe climate change is a global problem and we all have responsibility for each other,” he says. “The UN is a very flawed organisation, but I still think it’s the way forward.”

There is a pleasing Nordic frankness to Coster-Waldau’s refusal to provide simplistic or patronising narratives about the cause of the fires and how they can be prevented. “Fires are very scary and very visually stunning, and there’s no question the deforestation of the Amazon is a huge problem. But when you’re actually there, you realise that everything is complex.”

The actor has long been an activist. When he was a child, his mother “dragged” him on anti-nuclear marches (his late father was an alcoholic).

“In my teens I was very involved in the anti-apartheid thing and we did a lot of ridiculous stuff. There was one night called Close the Doors of Power, when my friend and I went round at night putting sealant into all the locks of every bank and every insurance company. If I saw it today I’d be like, ‘You kids are so stupid. One guy will have the job of cleaning this all up, and nothing’s going to change.’ But at the time it was very fulfilling.”

Coster-Waldau is mindful of what happened when another do-gooding star meddled in complex local issues. “When I was a kid in Denmark, there was the big campaign by Brigitte Bardot and Greenpeace to end seal-clubbing. I remember those posters of her with the cute baby seals. We were like, ‘How can anyone kill them?’ Well, that campaign succeeded, but it also pretty much destroyed the livelihoods of the Inuits in Greenland, so Greenpeace is hated in Greenland. They destroyed a community. That’s what can happen when f****** actors tell us what to do.”

Coster-Waldau is big on Greenland, where on a previous UN trip he witnessed the rapidly melting ice caps. His actress wife, Nukaka, is a former Miss Greenland. She has never seen an episode of Game of Thrones. “She promised me she was going to sit down with my mum [to watch it], but it’s a long series. It requires some dedication.” So his mum hasn’t seen it either? “No, it’s not her thing,” he giggles. “Nor have quite a few of my family. Actually, it’s quite nice when there’s so much craziness surrounding it.”

At least his 19-year-old daughter has watched it. “My 16-year-old has started, but she finds it weird to see me as someone else. I mean, in the first episode I’m having sex.” And not just with any woman — with Jaime’s sister. “Yeah, exactly,” Coster-Waldau sighs. And Jaime then pushes a 10-year-old boy who catches them in flagrante out of a window. “Actually, for some reason people find that bit OK. It’s always the sex that gets people going. But without those scenes, we wouldn’t have had a show.”

No matter how deep into the rainforest he travelled, Coster-Waldau was recognised. The indigenous people had watched the series on the internet — which is also where they had educated themselves about climate change.

“In my own ignorance, I assumed they wouldn’t have much knowledge about it, which is really embarrassing because of course they did. They have a very clear understanding that what is happening to the Amazon is not great. This is their home, which they love and have real interest in seeing preserved, but it’s a question of people doing things to survive. You can’t say to them, ‘Why don’t you go and do something else?’ They have got to feed their families. There are no other jobs — it’s an impossible choice.”

Does Coster-Waldau, who was rumoured to be earning more than $1m (£760,000) an episode for the final series of Game of Thrones, plant trees to offset his hefty carbon footprint, like his fellow eco-warrior Emma Thompson?

“Yeah, when I buy a flight I do that thing of paying extra [to offset]. I just got an electric car. But listen: I don’t have a leg to stand on. I have two homes, one in Denmark and one in Los Angeles, which is absolutely horrific. But we also have to live in this world. I just don’t believe that anyone can magically transport themselves back to living how it was 100 years ago. We need to move away from that guilt thing.” Is he attacked for hypocrisy? He snorts. “I don’t read the comments.”

It is important to be optimistic, he adds. “If we can come up with so many amazing inventions, surely we can find solutions to this. I hate to believe we are so stupid we are just going to destroy ourselves.” This may all sound a bit woolly, but — as Coster-Waldau has made abundantly clear — he’s only a f****** actor.

By Julia Llewellyn Smith December 22 2019, 12:01am, The Sunday Times

[onewfantaesy]

Did taemins cousins ever go too far, out of jealousy of how the king seemingly favored Taemin?

They never really do anything extreme. They think he’s annoying, sure, but they still love him. Realize that he’s a lot younger compared to them. But they’re teenagers and they do pick on him a bit. Because that’s what bratty older family members do.

It’s a lot of little things that build into an overall resentment. They make little jabs about how he’ll never be king. About how it’s so out of the norm for him to be going to a real school, even if it is the most prestigious and snooty school in the entire country. Even just about how he’s shorter than they are, even though he’s over five years younger than both of them and still growing.

“Well he doesn’t love you as much as he loves us,” his oldest cousin tells him one day when he’s nine. “He’s our father. You’re just a nephew.”

And it makes Taemin sad. Simply sad. And that’s the start of real resentment. He can’t stand being around his cousins. He still loves them and he respects the fact that they’re higher ranked than him, but he doesn’t like them.

When he was really little, they once pushed him and it made him fall and roll down a hill. It wasn’t a huge hill by any means, but it was big and steep for a four year old. It was scary. And the same fear and drop in his stomach he felt when he rolled down that hill is the same feeling he gets when they tell him to his face that his uncle will never love him as much as he loves them.

When he’s eleven and the entire family came to his school soccer game, they take his shoes from him after the game and play keep away. When he finally gets them back after ten minutes, he throws them to hit his oldest cousin in the shins and then stomps away.

“Taemin!” His mother scolds him. “That’s not nice, you go apologize.”

“No, they were being mean to me!”

“We were only playing,” his oldest cousin snaps at him. “God, you’re such a baby.”

“You’re a baby!”

“Both of you stop,” his uncle says. “Now let’s all go back home and have dinner.”

“I don’t wanna eat with them,” Taemin whined to his mother. “I wanna go home.”

“We can go home,” she says softly.

His girl cousin “accidentally” hits him in the head with a soccer ball as they’re walking back to the cars, and it makes Taemin turns around and shout at her and throw it back to hit her arm as hard as he can.

“You did it on purpose!”

“You’re such a psycho!” she shouts back.

“Enough!” The king scolds them. “All of you need to calm down. This is completely unacceptable behavior!”

He ends up practically picking Taemin up under the arms and almost drags him over to the car Taemin and his mother will be going home in. He talks with him quietly, looks at his head where the ball hit him, and pouts at him when Taemin whines that it really hurt.

“I think you’ll be okay,” he assures him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come have dinner with us? There’s gonna be chocolate cake, just for you.”

“I don’t want it,” Taemin mumbles.

“Okay,” the king sighs. “Well, you played very well today. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you for coming to watch.”

“You know I love coming to your games. We’ll see you on Sunday. Be good until then, okay?”

“I’m always good.”

“I know you are.”

His uncle smiles at him, says goodbye to his mother and gives her a hug, and then goes back to his own wife and children.

[elliemarchetti]

The Scam (part 2)

Part 1

Other Red Queen fics:

A Wonderful Mistake (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

Red Queen Soulmate AU (Mare) part 2 (Diana and Shade) part 3 (Diana) part 4 (Shade)

A Rebel’s Song (part 2)

A Different POV

Words: 1603

The clothes Gisa had made for her were the most comfortable and elegant she had ever worn. She had shown the sketches to Cal before sewing them but she had demanded that Mare didn’t see them until they were finished and a week later there they were here, a white long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black trousers, both embroidered with a simple purple and silver design that recalled her “noble origins in House Titanos”, as her sister said with a proud smile. It must have been her idea, exactly like that of not laying even a vague hint of red in anything since it would have done nothing but accentuate the redness that would have leaked from the make-up. Cal, on the other hand, had personally taken care of getting her a pair of black patent leather boots that reached her knees, reminding her that for Silvers the appearance is everything and seeing her in that kind of clothing would surely have helped his father associate her with Ethan and Nora. Finally they had taken care of her hair: they had cut at least four fingers of split ends and her mother had dyed them with a shiny, homogeneous color that had made her feel immediately more rich without taking away what actually distinguished her for what she was. Thus, in that flurry of preparations, the predetermined day arrived and a guard picked her up, just as agreed with Cal, hoping not to arouse too many suspicions in the Stilts.

"I don't want anyone to target your family during this transitional period.” Cal had told her and it was obvious that he was really worried that someone might have noticed his continuous visits, even though they were always in the middle of the night.

"The Silvers worry me more than the Reds. What will you tell the agent who will escort me to the palace?" she asked him during his last visit but he had reassured her that he would take care of that too and he had succeeded admirably since Lucas Samos had filled the silence with the adequate number of words, making her feel less uncomfortable, without however asking any question. Once inside the palace, Cal greeted her but despite the fact that the agent had been dismissed, they didn’t speak, followed everywhere by the insistent electronic gaze of the cameras, which ceased only once they had passed a huge door that hid a room at least ten times larger than Mare’s house, stilts included. On the opposite side from her the king stared at her with flaming eyes, sitting on a chair that vaguely resembled a fire. Behind him, a window illuminated by sunlight blackened instantly, though Mare couldn’t see the shadow who had done it. If things had gone wrong, that would’ve been the last time she would’ve seen the sunlight, even if the queen, sitting to the left of the king, wrapped in a dress that seemed made of gold, could easily have replaced it. Her son, the king's second, sat beside his father, looking bored. As Cal had taught her, even though she would’ve preferred not to, she made the most graceful reverence that the terror that paralyzed her allowed her to show off and met the king's eyes again.

“Mareena Titanos, daughter of Ethan Titanos and his wife Nora nee Nolle, born November 17, 302 of the New Era, raised by a couple of Reds, Daniel and Ruth Barrow. Your foster father served in the Iron Legion and he lost a lung and a leg to save you.” recited the king, exposing what should’ve been her life. Cal squeezed her hand and that slight movement caught her attention, reminding her of what they had agreed she would say.

“Exactly, Your Highness.” she answered, hoping her voice wasn’t too shaky. The king remained still, silent and unperturbed, though the fire didn’t cease to burn in his eyes. "I was raised in the mud" she went on, hoping not to make false steps "but I realize the immense honor that I was reserved to attract your son’s attention and to find myself here in your presence.”

"Very well, then." the king said with a devilish smile, the teeth of the same dazzling white as his wife's. Cal hadn't thought of making her teeth whiten, could they understand that she wasn't one of them from such a detail? “Let’s eat.”

For the duration of the banquet, Mare tried to look without seeing and hearing without listening, but it was a real suffering. Even the food, as abundant as she had never seen it, tasted of nothing. She should’ve stuffed herself and enjoyed what was the best lunch of her life but she couldn't, just as she couldn't answer Cal when he whispered, in a calm and composed tone, while he poured her some wine, that she was going well. At the moment she hated him and she wasn’t sure if she could stand that farce again, the only thing that kept her from giving up on the spot the idea that, if she resisted long enough, she could, with a small sacrifice, save her family and Kilorn and give them a comfortable life like she never could but she always wished.

"I'm sorry for today." Cal said once that torture was over and they finally left the building. "I figured it would be like this but I think next time they will be less hard."

"Sure" she replied sarcastically.

"I'm serious!" he exclaimed, leaning toward her. "I think they just wanted to intimidate you!"

All that joy was a farce as at a short distance there was a group of sentries, led by Lucas, that followed them almost mingling with the crowd. There the crown prince was certainly not in danger, but one could never know with the Scarlet Guard always lurking. The thought almost tore her a smile: if all went according to plan, they were going to welcome under their own roof a person who had come in contact with one of them and whose brother was probably, but Mare didn't really want to know, in fear to expose him around the queen and her brother, an active member.

"And they did it very well!" she exclaimed, pretending only in part. Those two were really scary, and the silent shadow that was Cal's brother had done nothing but make her further uncomfortable. However, things went better the next time. Mare still lived with her family in the Stilts but Cal was taking care of all the paperwork to name on her the Titanos heritage, which had been acquired by the Nolle by marriage, when the letter arrived. It was a breakfast, an informal thing, according to the letter, but as soon as Cal found out about it, he became more anxious compared to the first time.

"What can be so terrible about a breakfast?" asked Mare, perplexed.

"It's a breakfast in the women's room and that means I can't be present." he explained, and slowly the terror began to penetrate her bones. She wasn't ready to spend time alone with the queen, she had only seen her twice and she knew absolutely nothing about her, having focused her attention solely on the king.

"First of all I will make sure that you follow intensive etiquette lessons, Elara cannot stand rough people. Have you seen how silent and stiff Maven is in her presence?"

Mare nodded. How could she forget? When Cal had told her she had struggled to believe he could be her age.

"Elara constantly reproaches him but I think she's so hard because he's her son. Anyway, I don't want her to speak ill of you with my father, so lessons are fundamental. When did you say this breakfast is?”

“Sunday.” she answered, startled by Cal's reaction. They didn’t really have to marry so why did he worry so much about Elara? Did she have all this power over her husband? Cal had never told anything about it…

“Obviously on Sunday! Do you know what happens on Sunday at the palace?” he asked her, making her feel like a real idiot for not knowing the answer. “Gala lunch! And all the families that could make the daughter compete in the Queenstrial will participate, so I guess they will present you on that occasion, or maybe they will let you do it to decide whether to make you join the Queenstrial is a better idea than to allow us to get engaged directly.”

“I don't think you should worry so much, after all it’s been less than three weeks since we first met and I saw them for like, six hours? Probably they just want to study me better, after all, they had a lifetime to study the other competitors and most of them, as you said, were born with the sole purpose of marry you. I don't think they will jeopardize the loyalty of some of the High Houses for what could be just a flirt.”

Cal stopped and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time: “You already start thinking like them.”

"You said yourself that I'm good at understanding people." she teased him but that comment hit her deeper than she would’ve liked.

"This, however, will not let you escape from etiquette lessons.” he replied and Mare, huffing, threw him a soft flat cushion that didn't even have a draft, unlike the old ones. Finally, though slowly, she began to see those comforts that that scam promised to give her but wasn't the price she was paying too high?

[thepipsqueakery]

How excited are you for The Pipsqueakery to have a real rescue center? Excited enough to wiggle your little feeties while you eat a pumpkin seed like baby Steve? I know I am definitely excited enough to wiggle my feet and super extra excited about how the fundraising is going! As of today we have raised $16,914.73 total and we are less than $400 away from breaking the $10,000 mark on our Facebook fundraiser at http://bit.ly/PipCenter! I'll let you in on a little secret now. I'm super excited to be hitting the $10,000 mark on Facebook soon because fundraising is super scary and sometimes stressful. So, to keep myself motivated I set smaller secret goals. One of mine was to have that Facebook fundraiser over that mark by tomorrow night. I have another secret goal for Sunday too, but I'm not going to tell you all because I prefer to avoid high pressure fundraising. Meeting my secret goal on Facebook will give me that extra bit of motivation I need to push through some of the hard days at The Pipsqueakery. Thank you so much for helping me keep going! You all are amazing. So, if you even have $2 to spare please consider donating at GoFundMe at Gofundme.com/pipsqueakrescuecenter or on Facebook at http://bit.ly/PipCenter. Plus  there's paypal.me/thepipsqueakery, Venmo to @ThePipsqueakery, and CashApp $ThePipsqueakery if you prefer! #hamster #feeties #feet #paws #weeklyfluff #love #rescue #sanctuary https://www.instagram.com/p/B3cN5HTnXJK/?igshid=1vsxlayc7cz25