#the owner of the hot tub being ‘can’t believe you made me clean that up’ BABES NOT THE LESSONS YOU SHOULD BE TAKINH FROM THIS

[robertsbarbie]

so glad i did not go to the birthday but also really fucking pissed i wasn’t there

[dynamightsfave]

Best kept secret - JJ Maybank

(not my gif! credits to owner)

JJ Maybank x kook!fem!reader

summary: reader and jj have an argument and she says she needs space, only for jj to show the world how much she means to him the next day. bonus: a hot tub moment and a little blurb of the rest of s1 because i couldn’t help myself.

warnings: there’s curse words, mention of child abuse, mention of a few illegal activities (this is obx we’re talking about)

masterlist

***

There were two things everyone knew about JJ Maybank: 1, he appeared to flirt with every girl that had a heartbeat; and 2, he hated Kooks. Now here’s one thing nobody knew: he was dating Y/n L/n, the only child of the L/ns, one of wealthiest families in the whole island that was Outer Banks. A Kook. So, as it seems, he didn’t actually flirt with every girl, everyone just thought he did. He’s loyal, he wouldn’t dare cheat on his girl.

It all started when they were around ten years old. He was on the beach, crying over how his dad had once again beat him up, when someone sat down next to him. At first, JJ had been ready to look up at that person and tell them to fuck off, but when he saw her, looking at him with that beautiful smile of hers, the only thing he could do was gawk. Y/n had been taking a walk along the beach, looking for seashells when he saw his figure shaking on the ground. She just wanted to help.

Long story short, Y/n took care of JJ’s bruises and cuts —which turned into a usual thing over the years—, and they became friends in the process. Ten year olds make friends faster than a spoiled kook spends their money.

JJ became Y/n’s best friend in a matter of days, and he couldn’t believe he had actually made friends with a Kook. But he also knew that her family wasn’t the stereotypical kook family. Nope, Y/n’s grandparents —from both her mother and her father— had worked their asses off so that her parents could have the life she has now. In other words, she came from a long line of Pogues, and her family didn’t mind at all that she hung out with the Maybank boy. They gave him a job and everything.

The L/ns were good people, and everyone loved them, which led to poor Y/n being idealized as this nice girl that was a goody two shoes. Which she wasn’t. She was nice, sure, and she liked to help; but she also liked adventure and partying and having fun —she was a teenager, after all.

JJ and N/n started dating the summer before their sophomore year, and for a whole year, nobody knew. In fact, it was still like that. Y/n was like JJ’s best kept secret. The Pogues knew he saw her, because he worked for her parents, but they’d never known he was even friends with the girl, let alone her boyfriend. He didn’t want anyone to know.

In his mind, that would ruin her reputation —Y/n rolled her eyes every time he used that excuse. But she loved JJ, so she’d wait until he was ready to tell anyone other than her parents.

 [...]

A knock on the window of her balcony made Y/n look up from her book. The outline of a person stood in the dark, and if she hadn’t memorized that figure a thousand times, she probably would’ve been scared. So she got up and opened the door, going back to her bed almost without looking back.

“I have two pages left of this chapter and I’ll be right with you, babe” she rushed, getting only the sound of the balcony closing as response.

Then, JJ fell on her bed, looking up at her ceiling. She only took one glance at him, but it was enough for her to forget her book. Her little lamp illuminated his face, and she wished she could say she had forgotten about the book because of how gorgeous he was. However, the bruises and dried blood that were on his face stood out more. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks wet and his nose red, twitching with every sniffle that came out of him. He looked up at his girlfriend slowly, and that was all she needed to hurriedly lay down next to him and pull his body into an embrace. He broke down again.

Y/n’s heart broke, and she tried not to cry, reminding herself she was supposed to be strong for him. So she just held him tighter, muttering sweet nothings to him and reminding him that he was okay, that she got him, passing her fingers through his hair.

They don’t know how long they stayed there, the boy shaking in the girl’s arms, but at some point, JJ‘s breath went back to normal, and Y/n looked down at him, pressing one more kiss to his hair. She felt him shuffle in her grip until his face laid next to her, and he kissed her.

“Thank you” he mumbled after the kiss.

“Hey, of course” she reassured him looking into his eyes “I love you”

JJ looked down, he couldn’t help but feel guilty every time she told him she loved him but he couldn’t say it back. She had told him millions of times that it didn’t matter, that she would wait until he was ready, but he could only wonder why it was so fucking difficult.

“Let’s clean you up a little, huh?” she pecked his lips one more time.

She stood up and entered her bathroom, to come out with the small box that was full of medical supplies she had bought for situations like this, that unfortunately happened more often than she liked. She sat behind him, lifting his head up and placing it on her lap.

“What happened this time?” she asked softly, brushing his hair out of his forehead and starting to clean the blood around the forming bruise.

JJ let out a huff and a hiss when the alcohol made contact with the cut.

“Please don’t be mad... I got arrested, again” he waited for her to make a comment, but nothing came, so he continued “Topper and Rafe jumped Pope when he was delivering some stuff, so he sunk Topper’s boat in return. I took the blame, ended up in jail, old man came to pick me up”

“You have to be more careful, J. I get that you were helping your friend, I am so proud of you for that, but at the rate you’re going, you’ll end up in jail or juvie for good” Y/n knew a thing or two about that, her dad was a lawyer, and her mother owned a company, so she needed to know about laws.

“But I’ll have you as my lawyer, and you’ll bail me out” he winked with a goofy smile.

“I’m serious, JJ. God, he got you good” she grimaced “You sure you don’t want to call child services?”

“N/n, I’ve told you a million times, I can handle it. You don’t have to worry” he leaned up and pecked her lips.

“You telling me not to worry isn’t gonna stop me from worrying, babe” she frowned, finishing his face “Do you have anything under that shirt?”

“A good eight pack of abs” he winked with a smirk, chuckling quietly when she rolled her eyes “Nah, he only got the face and arms this time. I’m fine, baby”

“How much is the fine? Don’t roll your eyes at me, JJ. I am gonna pay for that, no matter how much it is. If I don’t your dad will probably kick your ass again!”

“And I’ll be okay! I’m not gonna let you pay for my mistakes, Y/n”

“How much, JJ?” she greeted her teeth “C’mon, I just want to help you!”

“Why?”

“Are you seriously asking me why?” she incredulously asked back “Because I care about you, JJ! Fuck, I love you, you know that! I don’t want you going to jail or juvie or getting beaten up by your dad! So why won’t you let me help you?!”

By then, they were arguing, both standing up facing each other.

“I don’t want you paying for my mistakes” he repeated with a stern look “Plus, if you helped me, people would know about us”

“I still don’t know why that would be so bad. I don’t care of what people think of me. I never have, and I’m not gonna start now” Y/n stressed “You know, everyone in this goddamn island has secrets. And they all think they’re so well kept... Sarah Cameron’s dad is more dangerous than he appears, Sheriff Peterkins can be lured very easily, and there’s people out there that would kill to keep theirs. They all have secrets, but the only one that doesn’t make sense keeping is this one!” she motioned between the two of them “We’ve known each other since we were ten, and yet you’ve never even considered letting your friends know”

The blond didn’t answer, he just stood there staring at the floor. Y/n’s eyes were filled with tears. She just wanted to help him, was that so bad? He made it look like keeping the secret was a burden, when it was him that didn’t want it out.

“I don’t want it to be a secret anymore” she spoke after a moment.

“We’ve talked about this, N/n-”

“No. You didn’t understand what I was saying” she sniffled, packing up all the healing kit on her bed “I don’t want it to be a secret anymore. As in, you and I are not a secret anymore because there’s no more us” she told him, watching as his eyes widened in realization.

“Wha- No, c’mon baby don’t say that, you don’t mean it” he approached her, carefully taking her arm, tears welling up in his own eyes “I just- I can’t let you pay a 30K bill”

“You don’t want my help? Fine. I’m done helping you, for good” she tried to seem strong, but they could both see right through her mask “Please leave. Midsummers is tomorrow and my mother wanted me to get a good sleep”

“Don’t do this, N/n, don’t go to bed with us fighting” he pleaded. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Look, I don’t want to break up, we’re not doing that, I just need to relax. Give me a day, please.” she pleaded and got into bed, turning off the light.

Y/n closed her eyes tightly, whole body tensed to make sure she didn’t let out any sobs. She knew JJ was hesitating behind her, and she could perfectly picture him opening his mouth to try and say something, but then he just sighed and left how he had entered.

 [...]

Midsummers. A party that happened at the country club every year, exclusively for Kooks to enjoy how rich they were. Even if the L/ns were probably the chillest Kook family there was, they were also members of the club. In fact, F/n L/n was the best lawyer the place had had in a very long time.

Usually, Y/n was all up for pretending for a day that she was just as much of a rich kid as the Thornton son so that the other families could get their annual “resident good girl vitamin”, but this year, she didn’t even feel like getting out of her bed.

After JJ left, she had let all the tears and sobs out, and fallen sleep on a soaked pillow. It was safe to say she was not in the mood for anything but stay wrapped up in her covers and cry, and her mother actually considered letting her stay, but then her father came and told her she needed a distraction. Unfortunately, he was right.

So, with her mom’s help, Y/n put on her midnight blue dress and matching sandals, letting her mother put on some light make up and a small flower crown —because apparently, that was what everyone was going for that year, a flower crown.

[...]

And that’s how she ended up in the club’s terrace, a cup of some liquor in hand and staring at the waves that crashed at the shore. Y/n usually kept to herself in these kind of events, she had never really loved any of the rich kids. She couldn’t believe how they could give themselves so much importance, like they were part of the English royal family or something. They were kids, for fuck’s sake! Maybe that’s why she never had a problem when talking to JJ, and why she liked to hear about his friends so much.

N/n had envied him for having a friendship that strong with someone else. The closest she had gotten to that other than with him was the Kook princess herself, but it only lasted for a couple of weeks. That’s how long the project for French had lasted, and when it ended, neither of them had enough guts to ask if they were going to continue being friends, so their friendship was limited to being nice and saying hi each time they saw each other.

There were very few kids in that party she actually liked. 3, to be exact, and one of them was a Pogue and other identified as one. Kiara Carrera, Pope Heyward and Sarah Cameron. And while she tried to act all nice to the people she didn’t like, she didn’t realize how the two Pogues’ conversation had somehow turned into her.

“She’s probably the only one in this whole party that’s not self-absorbed or a bitch” Kiara said, looking at her and not bothering to hide it.

“First thing she did when she got here was get a burger” Pope told her “And she like, made it herself. She told me I was too busy with the orders, and asked if she could make it herself; and after she did, she paid me twenty bucks!” he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

“It’s a shame she keeps to herself. I mean, I’ve talked to her a couple of times, and she really is as nice and amazing as people say”

“Last year, I messed up an order and she literally took the blame. Said she’d been talking to me and distracting me, but she deadass just arrived”

The topic stayed on the L/n girl for a couple of more minutes, until Pope said some random fact and it changed completely. In the meantime, Y/n had realized she had forgotten to take out JJ’s ring from her middle finger, and was fiddling with it thinking about the night before. She bit her lip, choosing to down her drink and give it a rest, distract herself.

Night fell over Outer Banks, and Y/n was truly done with the party. Rafe Cameron had had the audacity to try and flirt with her, a couple of times, and because of that, now she was stuck to her mother’s side. She paid no mind to what M/n talked about with the other woman, looking around the people absentmindedly, a new glass of liquor in hand.

A mop of blond hair caught the girl’s eye. She’d recognize that head anywhere, but he had yet to realize he was being watched, too busy trying to act like he was supposed to be there. Y/n knew he wasn’t. Unfortunately for her, just as he passed by with a tray of drinks, the woman her mother was talking to stopped him.

“Bring me some more of this” she didn’t bother watching her tone or asking politely, and JJ’s jaw tensed for a second, nodding curtly.

He lifted his head to ask if the others in the small group wanted something too, and his eyes widened when they fell on her. “Goddess” was what came to mind when he saw her. He shook his head a little and gulped before asking. He’d been moping around since he left the L/n house, realizing he’d been an idiot.

“No, JJ, thank you” M/n smiled softly, letting him go.

He smiled gratefully back, eyeing Y/n once more before hurrying away. She knew that he was up to something, the poorly made flower patterned bow and the fact that he was definitely not supposed to be here, adding to the common knowledge that JJ Maybank was never up to any good, made her keep a close eye on him —and maybe she just wanted to watch him.

Thank God she kept an eye on him, because as soon as he was done giving Sarah some note, that she knew had something to do with her avoiding Topper all day long, Rafe and his goons came up to him. The Cameron boy held that stupid smile on his face, one that screamed “CAREFUL. This boy is dangerous”.

With an annoyed huff to herself, Y/n excused herself and walked to the nearest guard.

“Hey” she called, getting the man’s attention “See those boys right there? Yeah, the one dressed as a waiter is gonna run in a few seconds. I’ll give you a hundred bucks right now if you follow them and stop the pretty girls from doing something” she took the bill out of her wallet and offered it to him.

As soon as the guard took it, and after a nervous glance around with wavering smiles and shaky chuckles, JJ made a run for it. Y/n pointed at the boys running after him and ushered the guy to follow them.

Not even five minutes later, he came back with JJ in his hold, the teenager muttering all kinds of smartass comments. Y/n had to stifle a laugh, and although her mother reprimanded her softly, she could see a smile on her face too.

“What did he do this time?” the amused voice of her dad came from behind, making her let out an “eh...” accompanied by a shrug.

However, the L/n family seemed to be the only ones that found it amusing, because all around them gasps and muttering was all that could be heard.

“Whoo!” JJ suddenly exclaimed, and Y/n arched a brow in anticipation to whatever antics he was going to pull “It’s okay everybody! Do not panic, let’s leave it to the men and women in uniform, huh! Let’s hear it for them!” he continued, clapping, as the guard escorted him outside. Then he spotted Rose Cameron “Rose! You look like Lady Liberty, it’s good to see you again” the man turned him around, and he kept getting people’s food and drinks on the way.

“Let go of him!” Kiara came to the rescue, having all heads snap towards her as her parents tried to stop her, but she paid no mind “You can’t just boot him! I invited him here! I’m a member of this club!” she came up with all kinds of excuses, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile.

All of a sudden, JJ pushed the man that held him away, a rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“Ey! Mandatory Power hour at Rixon’s, Kie! Pope, that goes for you too!” the blond turned around, walking backwards “Workers of the world unite! Throw off your chains!” and then Y/n couldn’t hold it anymore, she started laughing.

JJ stopped for a second, his eyes falling on the grinning girl, looking incredible and like she was actually having fun in that place for the first time. The adrenaline kicked again. He saluted John B before turning back around again, this time pointing straight at the girl he loved.

“Hey, N/n!” he called, smiling brightly at her and ignoring the stares people were giving at him, most of hatred because “how dare this nobody troublemaker even look at their precious girl?!”. “You look absolutely stunning, but then again, you always do” his confidence grew when she bit down her lower lip and looked down to hide her smile, like she always did when he flirted with her “You didn’t want it to be a secret, right?” he arched an amused brow, with what she knew as his “challenge accepted” smirk “Everyone, I want you to know that I am helplessly in love with that girl over there! That’s right, Y/n L/n! I love you, gorgeous!” he blew a kiss her way and winked, smirk permanently placed on his lips as he urged his friends to go.

All the Kooks stared at the four carefree teens as they left the place, astounded. Y/n on the other hand, held a huge smile over her lips, and she felt invincible. M/n and F/n took their daughter’s hands, squeezing them in a happy manner. She giggled to herself a couple more times and then jumped, throwing a loud laugh to the air without caring how the others looked at her.

[...]

Later that night, Y/n parked her car right behind the Tannyhill property, where she knew Sarah would sneak out. Sure enough, she didn’t even have to wait five minutes when the girl came out.

“Need a ride?” she offered, startling Sarah.

“Shit Y/n! You almost gave me a heart attack” she placed a hand on her chest.

“Hop in, Cameron” she chuckled “You’ve got a Prince Charming to meet”

“How do you know?” she inquired, but still opened the door of the Jeep and got inside.

“I know a lot of the stuff that happens in this island. On both sides” she waved off.

“Okay, so I have a Prince Charming to meet, wat about you?” she wiggled her brows “What was that with JJ before, huh?”

“What I have is a crackhead idiot to talk to” she huffed with a smile, once again biting her lip as she thought of the events from the party.

Sarah arched a brow at her, but didn’t say anything.

[...]

Y/n spent around ten minutes leaning back against her Jeep before the Pogue van appeared van John B came out of it.

“Princess is on top of the tower, Prince Charming” she told him, and he jumped in his spot, making her chuckle “She’s waiting, dude”

“Thank you” he smiled; she nodded and ushered him out.

She approached the van, where three heads poked from the back door and the passenger seat.

“Hi, Kiara. Hey Pope” she waved with a soft smile, and they returned the gesture a little confused “JJ”

“N/n” he greeted, the confidence from before had washed off and now he wasn’t sure about he was supposed to act “What are you doing here?”

“Gave Sarah a ride so she could meet her Prince Charming” she jerked her head back “Thought it was the perfect excuse to see my crackhead idiot” she swayed back and forth on her feet with an innocent smile, as the blond had formed a perfect “o” with his mouth and a faint blush had settle on his cheeks “Rafe didn’t get you too hard, right?” she furrowed her brows this time, taking a step forwards in worry.

“U-Uh, no, I’m- Wait how do you know about that?” he stuttered, and the other two Pogues couldn’t believe what they were seeing in front of them.

JJ had never stuttered in front of a girl, never even faltered in his flirty behavior. When he had declared his love for the L/n daughter, they had thought it was a joke, but apparently it wasn’t.

“How do you think the guard knew where to look?” she arched her perfect brow at him, smirking when he gaped at her.

“I thought you were done helping me. For good. Thought you said you needed space” he muttered, looking down at his arms that were against the window.

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know” she shot back “I also didn’t know you loved me” she added after a few seconds of her biting the inside of her cheek.

“Love” he corrected “I love you, as in present, right now” he looked straight into her eyes for a second, and then hesitated “Do you- do you still love me?”

“Still?” Y/n heard Pope whisper, only to be shushed by Kiara.

She paid no mind to them, focusing on JJ in front of her, as she smiled at him and nodded bashfully.

“I told you I loved you not even 24 hours ago, feelings like that don’t just disappear, dummy. Besides, I told you we weren’t breaking up” he grinned, quickly opening the passenger door and basically launching at her.

“I love you” he muttered into her neck, placing a kiss there “I love you so fucking much”

“I love you too” she answered in pure glee “You know what else I love? How you shouted it to all those Kooks! Did you see their faces?! Oh, they were glorious!” she tilted her head backwards laughing.

“I know! You were right, we should’ve done this sooner” he told her, earning a punch.

“And you realize that now?! What the hell, dude? I’ve been telling you for ages! This is just another proof that you need to listen to me more” JJ shook his head with a smile, leaning down to capture her lips in his.

“Okay, whoa, hold on” Pope interrupted again “How long has this been going on?”

“Us knowing each other or us dating?”

“Both!” Kiara exclaimed this time, unable to contain her smile.

“We’ve been best friends since we were ten, and we started dating a little over a year ago”

“How did we not know?!”

“N/n’s been my best kept secret since I met her. Nobody knew until now, but she’s been bugging me forever”

“It’s just so stupid the way you were worried about what they’d think! Who effing cares?!” Y/n shook her head, then looked at the others with a nervous expression “Hey, so umm... This might be out of place, and you can all say no, but uh... could I join you guys in your little treasure hunt? I don’t want a part of it, I just want the adventure. I-I could give you stuff you need and don’t have, that way you won’t have to steal it, o-or give you access to places...”

The three seemed to share an unspoken conversation, like the ones she had with JJ when they spent nights in the living room with her parents. Then, all at the same time, they smiled and nodded. She jumped forward, wrapping the other two in a hug. They laughed and hugged back.

“Welcome to the Pogues” Kiara smiled “I guess the “No Pogue on Pogue macking” rule is out the window now” she chuckled, as JJ passed his arm around his girl’s waist.

“Oh, you’ve no idea” he said, pressing her against his body, laughing softly when she hit him in the chest.

“I have to warn you. We’re not the only ones after the gold”

“How do you know?”

“She just knows stuff about what happens in the Outer Banks, you learn not to question it. I don’t even know how she knows about us going after it, I didn’t tell her”

JJ was right. Y/n knew a lot of stuff about a lot of people, and you just had to learn not to question it. It was like she had eyes and ears all over the place, but at the same time, she worked alone. People in Outer Banks all had secrets, and so did Y/n L/n.

bonus: hot tub moment + end of s1

 The Pogues —plus Sarah and Y/n now— had found the gold!

They had to leave Kiara and Sarah on a boat together for a whole day so that they would make up, then sneak into the haunted house of an axe murderer, the girls almost had a chimney metal stick thingy speared through their heads, and then they got shot at —which apparently wasn’t the first time it happened, and Y/n almost killed JJ for not telling her— but they found it!

Unfortunately, everything seemed to go downhill from there. Their glory was short lived and when they went to sell the few gold gallons John had taken with him, they were set up. A shotgun pointed straight at the brunette at the wheel, and then they were all pressing themselves against the floor. JJ had not been happy with that. In fact, he’d been so furious, he’d driven them all to the guy’s house and stolen 25K from him.

“Here you go babe” he handed Y/n a stack of bills.

“J, you can’t do this” she carefully told him. She’d been with him inside the house and witnessed how he’d reacted to JB; she didn’t want to make it worse “I understand that you are mad, but stealing money from a drug dealer that pointed a gun at us is not a good idea”

The blond inhaled through his nose, his eyebrows meeting in the middle. He was sick and tired of being messed with, first by Kooks and now by the asshole that sold his dad coke. He wasn’t gonna put it back.

“We’re tired of your shit” John B told him, and from the corner of his eye he could see Y/n take a sharp breath.

“Oh, my shit?”

“Yeah, your shit”

“Your “pulling guns on people” shit” Kiara continued.

“You’re acting like a maniac!”

“Okay, hey! Let’s calm down a little, alright?” Y/n pushed herself to be in front of her boyfriend.

“I took the fall for you, Pope!” JJ ignored her “Know how much I owe because of you?”

“I was gonna pay you back!”

“I just did!” he hollered “Pay it back. Right here, right now, by myself. You know what? That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Go off by myself” he took the bag with the money and left, ignoring his girlfriend’s calls.

Y/n tried to go after him, but John B and Kiara got a hold of her and shook their heads.

[...]

“Maybe he’ll go home?” Sarah proposed.

They were all sitting on The Wreck, trying to decide what to do with the whole situation. They didn’t know what to do of JJ’s outburst, and they still hadn’t talked about how or when to take out the gold. Everything was a whole mess.

“There’s a 0% chance that JJ goes home” Pope assured.

However, the more Y/n thought about it, the more she was convinced JJ would go to his own house. She frowned at her hands, that rested in her lap, and then two more hands were placed on top of hers. She looked up to see the other two girls smiling at her, and she nodded with a smile.

“I don’t know about that, Pope. He said he just paid for restitution, and who is the person that was angriest at him for owing 30K?” she arched a brow, biting her lip. She was worried for the boy “I think he may want to prove Luke he can solve this... I’m gonna go look for him” she got up, ready to go search for her boyfriend.

“Hey, N/n” John B called “Be careful, okay?” he smiled softly at the girl.

It was incredible how easily the Pogues had let her in their group, honestly. She would’ve guessed they’d be as reluctant to her as they had been to Sarah, but there was none of that, and she was truly grateful for her new friends.

“I will”

First place she went to was JJ’s house. She approached the porch carefully, ringing the bell. A beat up and drunk Luke opened the door harshly, and looked her up and down.

“What do you want?"

”I’m looking for JJ” she told the man, and those words seemed to make him angry.

“That son of a bitch left a while ago, after he gave me this” he pointed to his nose and mouth, where dried blood stuck to it.

Without another word, Y/n backed away, basically running out of the property and getting on her bike. If Maybank father looked like that, who knew how Maybank son had. Now she really was scared and worried.

“Mom! Dad!” she burst inside her house, shouting for her parents “Lauren, Lauren hey!” M/n’s business partner and best friend came in her view from the kitchen, sipping on a coffee “Has JJ been here? Have you seen him today?”

“No sweetie, I haven’t. Is everything okay? Are you alright?” the woman had seen the teenager grow up, she was part of the family.

“I just, I need to find him” tears had started falling down her cheeks, and her breathing was getting heavier.

“Wait, honey, you need to sit down” Lauren got a chair and made Y/n sit down “Breathe, Y/n. What happened?”

“JJ, he- he and his friends had a fight, and he stormed out. I-I went over to his house looking for him, and his father opened up. He was bleeding, said JJ did that to him. If he has a busted lip, JJ is probably worse, and I need to know he’s okay” Y/n completely broke down in her aunt’s arms.

Lauren hugged her tightly, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her. They stayed like that for a little, until the teenager girl relaxed and got her breathing back to normal. She sniffled a little, meeting her aunt’s soft gaze and she nodded to let her know she was okay. Then her phone rung.

“Hello?” she answered, voice still a little shaky.

“N/n! We found him” Kiara didn’t sound very happy “He’s drunk at John B’s, and he’s wasted all the money”

“Hey! Don’t put it like that! I invested it!” JJ’s words were slurred and sounded distant.

“I’ll be there in ten” Y/n told her friend, and hung up “That asshole was getting drunk while I was over here worried about him!” she stormed out of her house, getting her car’s keys on the way out.

[...]

When Y/n got to John B’s, she jumped out of her Jeep, slamming the door behind her and followed the fairy lights —that she was positive were her boyfriend’s doing— to the part of the Chateau where you could see the water.

“Stop being emotional!” she heard JJ exclaim.

“What’s going on?” she asked, seeing Kie and Pope’s distraught faces.

The blonde boy in the Jacuzzi let his head fall and muttered a “shit”. Even drunk he knew that he was about to hear it from his girlfriend. Kie and Pope had barely taken their eyes off of him to look at the newly arrived girl. Pope motioned for her to go over to them. So she did, and he heard her gasp when she saw his front.

“Don’t say anything, please” JJ tried to keep his voice steady, but it cracked “I know what you’re gonna say, and-”

Y/n shook her head and hurried over to him, getting in the water without caring about her shoes or clothes. She just needed to hold him, and when she put her arms around him, he hunched over, pulling her closer and finally reaching breaking point.

“I can’t handle him anymore... I was going to kill him” he cried into her shoulder “I just wanted to do the right thing”

“I know, baby” she assured him, feeling another two pairs of arms wrap around the two of them “It’s gonna be okay, I promise”

Like she had done with her aunt before, they all stayed there for a while. When JJ calmed down, and Y/n was sure she wouldn’t start crying again when seeing his front, they all pulled away, and she led him to the guest room. She made him lay down and wait for her as she took the med kit from the bathroom. It wasn’t the box she had in hers that was specifically made to treat him, but she’d make it work.

After that, she threw herself next to him, and pulled the covers over the both of them. JJ shifted until he was able to rest his head on the crook of her neck, passing his arms around her frame and pulling himself closer to her as she tangled their legs together and put her hand in his hair, massaging his head and tracing patterns on his arm with her other hand.

“I still don’t wanna call child services” he muttered after a few moments “I don’t want him going to jail”

“I know” Y/n said, her voice as low as his “But I’m not letting you go into that house alone ever again. From now on you either sleep at mine, or here”

“You’re giving me a free card to sleep with you every day?” a small smirk made its way into his features “What would your parents think?” Y/n scoffed.

“Okay, first of all, there’s plenty of guest rooms I can leave you in. But you already had that free card. You’ve had it since we were ten. And you know that my parents don’t actually care if you stay, they’re even more relaxed when you do. They care about you, J”

“I know... Your parents are the best” he nuzzled his face in her neck, leaving a kiss. Y/n sighed and smiled when she felt his nose nudging her “Hey babe?” she hummed “I love you. A lot. Thank you for not leaving me”

“I love you a lot too. Don’t you ever thank anyone for something you deserve. You deserve the world; you hear me?” she propped herself up a little, taking his face in her hands and looking straight into his blue eyes.

She kissed him softly to convince him that he in fact deserved so much more than what life had given him. After she pulled away, she pecked his lips again and looked into his eyes again. He smiled and nodded, and Y/n rested her back once again, feeling JJ go back to his previous position too, and they drifted to sleep.

[...]

Things only seemed to get worse and worse for the group of teenagers. Their biggest problem was Ward Cameron, Sarah’s dad. Y/n knew he was dangerous; she didn’t know it was this bad. The guy was a power hungry, manipulative psycho.

He had killed Big John, then tried to kill John B, taken all the gold and tried to kidnap his daughter and take her to the Bahamas, only to end up not leaving Kildare County because his son fucked up big time. Rafe Cameron had shot and killed Sheriff Peterkin, and the two had blamed it on John B.

So now the teenager had a bounty on his head and was running around the Outer Banks.

“You think they’ll get out in time?” Y/n chewed on her lip as she watched The Phantom get into the water.

JJ had had to go back into his house to get the keys, and as promised, Y/n hadn’t let him go in alone. She’d stood in the corner of the living room as a drunk Luke Maybank hugged his son and raved about school.

Y/n stood on the ground as Pope and JJ lowered the boat into the water. She had a scratch on her cheek from the fight with Rafe and Barry they just had, and her arm already had a bruise that looked like a hand, along with more scratches on her elbows. Next to her, Kiara also had a hand bruise, only hers was placed on her neck, from Rafe’s attempt on choking her before Pope had showed up and hit him with a metal pole.

“JJ says the boat runs like none other, so they should be good. They just have to get here” as if on cue, a car sounded from the road.

“Baby girl, Kie, get over here. That’s a police car, in the boat” instead of listening, the girls squinted their eyes at the driver’s seat “Girls! C’mon!”

“Is that...”

The car came to a stop, and surprisingly, John Booker Routledge came out of it.

“Nice ride, right?” he exclaimed with a teasing smile “Shoupe lend it to me” he laughed, going to hug Kiara.

“I’ll believe that for now” she answered.

“Where’s Sarah?” the boy of the day asked once he was on the boat “She said we’d meet here”

“She uh- we haven’t seen her, John B” Y/n softly laid the news to him “You have to leave without her. Quick, the police are gonna be here any minute”

“She’s right, JB” Pope told him, but he was no longer listening.

JJ explained to him what he had to do once he got out, but John B could only focus on the empty road, hoping his girlfriend would suddenly appear running from the corner. But she didn’t. Still, he had to go. He turned to look at his friends one last time.

“Hey, I-I-I’m sorry” he breathed “For, you know, dragging all of you down with the gold hunt and basically throwing us off a cliff”

“John B yo- we were bound to fall off a cliff at some point” JJ smiles, pulling the other three closer “I’m glad we did it our way. Pogue Style” the Pogues chuckled, and Pope nudged Y/n.

“You’re a Pogue too now, N/n”

“That’s right! For life” John B nodded “I love you guys”

“We love you too. Now leave!”

“We’ll see you in two months down in Mexico”

The Phantom left the docks, and the four friends watched it disappear. Y/n left for the car, wanting to call her parents with JJ on her tow. F/n and M/n had called her earlier, and she could only rush her words, telling them that she and JJ were okay and that they needed to help John B, because he was innocent, then hung up. Her boyfriend wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, propping his chin on her shoulder and placing a kiss on her cheek. He nudged her softly and gestured forward. Kiara and Pope were kissing. N/n smiled and bit her lip, happy for the two.

But, sirens were heard from the end of the driveway, and soon police cars were piled up in front of them. JJ’s grip on Y/n’s tightened, and he pushed her behind him, maintaining his hand on her. Shoupe climbed out of the front car, and sighed at the group, gun up.

“Where’s John B?” he interrogated, as if he genuinely believed they’d tell him. When he didn’t get the answer he wanted, he moved forward and told them to put their hands up “JJ Maybank, I see you’re living up to the name”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/n immediately snapped, narrowing her eyes at the officer.

“Y/N L/n? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m hanging out with my boyfriend and my friends” she told him without hesitating “Don’t look at me like I’ve gone to the dark side, Shoupe. You don’t know me; you just see what you want to. Like everyone else” she scoffed “You gonna cuff me too or what?”

“Careful with how you treat her, asshole” JJ growled at the guy that cuffed her.

They were taken to a carp near the bay, just as the storm broke into Outer Banks and told to wait. They were all a wreck of nerves, Y/n could hardly sit still, and was trying to stay calm so that her gradually angrier boyfriend next to her wouldn’t try anything or pull something stupidly reckless. Her leg bounced up and down on her spot, until a hand landed on her thigh. JJ squeezed her thigh, and gave her a try of a reassuring smile, but she knew that he too was scared for their friends.

At some point of the night, the lights started functioning again, and suddenly everyone outside the carp started shouting. The Pogues all tensed and jumped up from their seats, trying to look outside and get a glance at what was happening.

“They’ll get out in time” Pope affirmed curtly.

“Yeah, The Phantom is the best there is. She’ll get them out safe” JJ went along. Kiara and Y/n nodded nervously, hoping that if they all just agreed on that, Sarah and John B would really be safe.

But their prayers weren’t answered.

“What do you mean you lost them?!” Pope shouted, bringing Y/n back to the real world.

Next thing she noticed was JJ jumping away from her loose grip and lunging at Shoupe. She should’ve gone after him, tried to stop her, but she couldn’t register how to move. Sarah and John B were lost at sea... they had driven them into the storm. Around her, Y/n could hear Kiara’s sobs and JJ’s angry shouts, along with Pope’s also angry voice trying to get answers. Then, she felt the tears falling down her own cheeks, and she forced herself to move forwards.

“Let go of him” she muttered at the officers “Please, he won’t try anything”

“You heard her. Let me go” he yanked his arms away from them and wrapped them around her frame.

They didn’t last long, they immediately broke down, only letting go to join Pope and Kiara in a group hug.

“Kiara!”

“Pope!”

Their parents had arrived. Kiara and Pope broke away from the embrace, falling into their parents’ arms and sobbing harder. Still joined, JJ and Y/n hugged each other tighter. Y/n looked up at him, and placed her hands on his face, bringing him down to a salty, quivering kiss.

“Y/n, JJ!” the L/ns entered the carp, barreling into the two teenagers.

“Mom, they’re lost” the girl cried into her mother’s arms, shaking her head as M/n and F/n did their best to calm her and JJ down.

The night ended with those two falling asleep in her bed. Dried tears in both their faces and arms tightly holding each other, even in their sleep. They didn’t know what would happen next with their summer, they had no idea what happened with Sarah and John B, but they surely hoped for the best.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx

[mourntheantagonist]

hc that Billy comes to love bath bombs after Starcourt. He starts keeping some at Steve's house and some at home. He finds they help a lot when he's having a really hard time either with physical pain from his injuries or just when he's struggling mentally.

don’t mind me absolutely going off below. idk how this turned into a full fledged one shot but I hope you enjoy it anon because your mind is so amazing.

———

I can imagine billy at home for one of the first few nights and he decides to take a bath because he still can’t really stand up too well on his own. when he walks in there’s a little bag on the counter that has his name written on it. Inside is this yellow sphere wrapped in plastic. he reads the label and follows the instructions and is stunned when the water starts to turn yellow and the scent of lemon fills the bathroom.

the scent is very calming, and considering he’s been on edge ever since he stepped back through the doors of his home, it’s a welcome feeling. when he gets in the water he’s surprised to notice the change of viscosity in the water. It’s slightly slimy but it feels really relaxing.

when he gets out of the tub after soaking for a while he feels for the first time since everything happened to be cleansed of the mindflayer. not entirely. but lingering hints to the scent of lemon make him feel clean and light and just a little less like a monster. no monster smells this good.

later that day max asked if he liked the bath bomb. for a split second he’s stuck on the word bomb until he figures out what she’s talking about.

“yeah. smelled good. thanks.” he’s still struggling to open up but he’s getting better about letting down his defenses, at least to max. part of letting down his defenses caused him to only be able to speak in one to two word sentences.

max understands though. and she appreciates not having to constantly walk on eggshells around him anymore. or at least not in the same way. instead being more concerned for scaring him rather than the other way around.

a couple days later he finds a box filled with twelve additional scents and colors and effects on his bed. he smiles. max.

she continues to restock for him as he cycles through each kind. his favorites are vanilla and lavendar and also the lemon. something about it makes his thoughts slow and his aches numb and he’s almost addicted to the feeling.

although it doesn’t last long because one day neil calls him out on it. asks him why he ‘smells like a faggot’. billy is initially able to say he used one of max’s soaps because he ran out, but that won’t fly for long. he eventually stops using them and lets the little collection he’s gathered sit under the sink in the bathroom to collect dust.

then he starts spending more time with steve. just needing to get out of his own house and out of his own bed for just a couple hours of the day he goes over to steve’s when he’s not at work. steve is constantly telling billy he enjoys his company but billy continues to apologize for burdening him. he’s not used to people just caring, and it’s especially foreign coming from steve for several reasons. one being that less than a year prior he nearly put him in the hospital. the second being that steve was a man, and there has never been a man in his life to actually care about him in that way. worried for his safety and well being. so billy tried to pull away, because he wasn’t going to allow him to let someone in just to be turned away at the door a second later.

but steve gets absolutely sick of it. sick of billy pulling away and believing he’s undeserving so steve practically forced him to believe it by kissing him the very next time he walks through the door. a very risky act on his part but he’s grown to trust billy over time that he’s not as worried as he could be for the outcome. he’s relieved when billy kisses him back, dropping a duffle bag to the floor that went completely unnoticed by steve as he was too locked in on billy’s lips. too locked in to notice the black eye that he only spotted when they pulled apart. too enthralled with the fact that he was kissing billy to taste the blood in his mouth. he’d ran away this time. he packed a bag and left and hoped steve would take him in. being met with a kiss right off the bat was the best thing that could have happened when steve opened that door. like the huge favor he was about to ask for almost became a small request because steve was inviting him into more than just his home. the kiss was an invitation into his life, and invitation for his care and love and all the mushy gushy stuff.

“I need a place to stay.”

steve, obviously and literally, welcomes billy into his home with open arms. immediately taking him to the bathroom to fix up the damage his father inflicted. steve kneeling before him while he sits on the toilet seat in complete silence. acting as if they didn’t have each other’s tongues down their throat just moments ago. both of them deciding it wasn’t the best time to talk about it. billy looked absolutely exhausted and worn and desperately needed sleep, and a nice bath (I know I just veered way off course but back to the regularly scheduled programming).

it was actually steve’s suggestion. noting the aches in his legs and back would probably be happy to be submerged under hot water. steve runs him the bath and goes to grab billy’s duffle upon request. steve gives him a soft kiss to the top of his head, before he leaves telling him they can talk about everything in the morning, and for him to just relax and take his time.

billy rummages for the small box he remembered to pack that’s filled with all the fun scents that max had been gifting him, after having to switch to using unscented alternatives which were nice but didn’t give him that same feeling.

he quickly picks out the cotton candy scented one that he’s been dying to try out. because what does cotton candy even smell like? he drops the bath bomb into the water and watches as it sizzles and quickly turns the water pink. oh if neil were there to see his sun soaking in a tub filled with pink water smelling like a fucking candy shop owner he’d do more damage than what had been inflicted earlier that night.

despite the developing bruises all over his body and the sting as the contents of the bath bomb filled his open wounds, he hadn’t felt this good in months. physically he felt like shit. but he was mentally and emotionally euphoric. running off the high from just minutes ago having steve harrington’s lips on his. the boy he believed to have been so far out of reach and was happy enough to just appreciate from afar. it felt unreal and like it was a dream. all that combined with the surprisingly intoxicatingly amazing aroma filling his senses and the feeling of rejoice as he finally took the steps to leave the clutches of his abuser and was so much more than successful. it was sheer bliss accompanied by aches and pains from past and present inflictions that didn’t seem so bad anymore.

steve and billy sleep in the same bed that night. they don’t cuddle or even so much as let limb touch limb, still unsure of the boundaries. but even with the distance between them steve can smell the unfamiliar candy like scent and takes it all in.

when they wake up in the morning they talk everything over during breakfast. billy tells him how his father just came home and started pounding into him completely unprompted. shouting slurs at him. the smell of whiskey potent on his breath. billy truly knew then that it was no longer about what he did or did not do. he’d feel his wrath regardless. and steve had scolded him about self preservation before and finally decided to take his advice.

then they adress the even larger elephant in the room, their kiss. it’s not that they were avoiding the topic per se, but they were definitely afraid to abandon this good feeling by talking about it. but they bite the bullet anyway, and they don’t regret that they do. despite how uncomfortable it is for billy to talk open about his feelings, especially these kinds of feelings, he feels something inside him release at the confession. like everything he was holding inside of him is free to the open air and steve takes hold of it and cherishes it.

their little unspoken thing that has been developing over the course of a few months finally being spoken. finally giving a name to the meaning to it all. of their late at night trips to the quarry. sharing a joint as they stare at the water below as it reflects the night sky. of their movie marathons on steve’s living room couch. giving meaning to each individual brush of the knee under the shared blanket. of stolen glances and words said under their breath. of thoughts of the other invading their dreams at night. a name to it all.

it’s a strange adjustment. to go from two guys secretly pining over each other from afar to instantaneously dating and living together. sharing a bed together, sharing meals together. things they were so used to doing alone now having a guest. it was nice and strange at the same time but they both welcomed it. waking up under the warmth of another human being. getting to see each other at their worst, when they were riddled with bed head and morning breath, and loving each other all the same.

what they did in bed wasn’t fucking. screwing. banging. it was much more. it was unfair to use those words that once described their previous encounters to describe what they did with each other. it was much different. putting their partners pleasure above their own. yearning for each other’s lips upon their own above anything else. as cheesy and corny as it is it was, they made love.

things moved awfully quickly. the two of them knowing they were in love with each other from the very start, however never saying the words out loud. they didn’t go through the normal stages of a relationship. they skipped a lot of steps and that led to some bad days. sometimes they spent too much time together, and billy’s on true safe haven came in spherical shaped and wrapped in noisy plastic, rather than a can of beer or a pack of marlboro’s.

that’s where he goes when things get shaky between the two. when he feels his fists clenching against his will and the veins on his forehead make their presence known. he escapes a potentially bad situation and lets his anger rise out of him with the steam of the hot water, and dissipate into nothingness. cleansing himself of the hurt. scars hidden under opaque colorful water.

the problem is steve doesn’t like when billy leaves him alone without word. he understands he needs his space, but he wishes he’d only talk to him about it before walking off.

on one day, when billy left mid conversation, steve follows. he honestly doesn’t know what he thought billy did in the bathroom for hours, and he’s not sure why he’s surprised to find his boyfriend laid out in a bath full of deep blue water with his eyes closed just relaxing. noticing the rise and fall of his chest as he takes in deep calming breaths. noticing the beach like scent that floods the room.

“can I join you?” steve finally asks. very intrigued in what all of this is.

billy thought he’d be more upset about steve bathing in. about him completely disregarding his need for space, but he wasn’t. perhaps space wasn’t really the thing he needed. he gestures to the other end of the tub, signaling the affirmative.

steve strips and slowly lowers himself into the tub. he’s facing billy who has since gone back and shut his eyes, head pointed to the ceiling. the water is very hot but feels really good on his skin. he has his legs pulled up to his chest as to not disturb billy. he just watches him as he relaxes completely. a state he rarely, if ever, has seen him in.

after several minutes billy opens his eyes and pulls steve over towards him so now they are both facing the same direction and steve is sitting in between billy’s legs. he has his arms wrapped around him and kisses his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for just walking out.”

“it’s okay. I get it.” steve responds, bringing his own hand to lay on top of both of billy’s that grip his stomach. “wanna tell me how you made the water turn blue?”

“magic.”

steve laughs and leans into billy, closing his eyes like he had and completely understanding almost instantly. it’s like he goes somewhere else. somewhere warm that smells of the ocean. somewhere nice and serene. he could easily fall asleep right there in billy’s arms. allowing himself to prune up under the water.

it’s something they continue together. when they both feel like they’ve had enough of each other for the day, instead of going off on their own, they strip down and enjoy a moment together in the tub. closing their eyes and imagining far away places while wrapped up in each other. a reminder that they’re both still there for each other. alone but together. dealing with their issues as a unit. feeling clean and smelling good afterwards.

steve comes home one day lugging in multiple bags worth of bath bombs along with other fun stuff like bath salts and bubble bars. their bathroom cupboards are better stocked than their kitchen. they both admit it might be just a little excessive.

but it doesn’t matter. because it’s perfect for them. any fight, any argument, any disagreement. all it takes is a brightly colored bath bomb and all that tension disaplears under the sizzle. it’s strange knowing they have max to thank for all of it.

[contemplativepancakes]

a rapscallious rash

2.5k of geralt being disgruntled about a mysterious rash. good thing jaskier can help. read on ao3 here:

When Geralt starts getting uncomfortable from his position on top of Roach, he assumes it’s the rain. It’s been raining for five damn days straight, but Geralt had to leave the inn he was staying at, not being able to stand the smell of fear and disgust from the patrons and owners any longer, and the woods have been too sparse to seek shelter in them. 

He shifts on the saddle, and his pants seem to impossibly get even more soaked. The rain is starting to seep into his saddle, having worn down the water proofing so much, and Geralt���s armor is completely ruined. 

It’s soaked through, but at least he hasn’t been doing so bad on coin lately. He should be able to afford replacing it. He even had enough to stop at a brothel about a week ago. The woman hadn’t even smelled like a hint of dread. Geralt hates when that happens. He’s not going to force someone to fuck him if they don’t want to, because he gets it, he sees a monster every time he looks into a mirror, but he doesn’t like wasting his coin. She was a spectacular fuck, actually. Had barely blinked at Geralt’s cock, and he knows he’s...bigger than most other men. 

Geralt had tipped her extra. 

Roach nickers unhappily, and Geralt pats her neck. He really does need to get somewhere dry, for her sake if nothing else. And for his crotch, which is starting to protest the unrelenting damp, too. 

By the time Geralt finds an inn, he looks so much like a drowned rat that he doesn’t protest when the innkeeper won’t give him a room, just says he can sleep in the stables if he wants. Geralt’s so pleased to just be out of the rain, he even thanks the man. The man looks taken aback at that, and Geralt supposes he is. He’s not exactly sure what tales of witchers they peddle around the continent, but it doesn’t seem like many of them paint him and his brothers in a positive light. 

In the mercifully dry stable, Geralt changes into some clothes that were furled into a ball at the bottom of his saddle bags and are merely damp instead of drenched. He takes a moment to look in dismay at the reddened skin around his crotch. It’s hot to the touch, and it itches. Geralt has never gotten saddle sores before, but he’s not sure what else it could be. 

Geralt loiters in the area for a few days, taking care of a nest of nekkers before he moves on. He had hoped when he didn’t seem to be in a permanent state of damp anymore, the rash would go away, but if anything, it’s only gotten worse. 

Geralt keeps travelling, keeping an eye on… down there, but it’s spread to the soft flesh of his inner thighs. Geralt’s going to have to see a mage. He’d almost rather continue to ache, but there’s no telling how long this is going to last, and he can hear Vesemir in his ear lecturing him about the value of humility.

Geralt suffers four more days in the saddle, wincing at every chafe and wondering what exactly had made him think it would be such a good idea for all his clothes to be leather, before he finds a sorceress. He explains his problem in halting words.

“You have a rash?” the sorceress confirms incredulously. “You did say you’re a witcher, right?”

Geralt nods glumly.

She stifles a laugh. “This doesn’t sound like my kind of problem, honey.”

Geralt scowls and insists, “This doesn’t happen to witchers, so it must be magic.”

“What does your medallion have to say about that?”

Geralt looks down at his chest in surprise, wondering how she knows it vibrates in the presence of magic. “Must be a malfunction,” he growls.

The woman lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Try the healer,” she suggests before slamming the door shut in Geralt’s face.

Geralt sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. Witchers generally don’t see healers, and certainly not for anything short of life threatening. They die with a sword in their hand, or they heal by themselves, simple as that. Vesemir has sure as hell never mentioned anything like this.

Geralt asks, yes, he asks, he certainly does not demand, directions to the healer from the next person he passes. The man looks vaguely terrified as he points a shaky hand. Geralt stalks off the way the man directed, to a house at the end of the road that gives off a medicinal smell, so Geralt knows he’s in the right place.

He knocks on the door and shifts from foot to foot until finally a man wearing a lavender robe opens the door. Geralt clears his throat uncomfortably, and the man looks down at himself before tying the robe shut. “Oops,” he says cheerily. “I believe that means we’re already on a first name basis, excellent. I’m Jaskier.”

He thrusts a hand out to Geralt, and Geralt takes it warily, introducing himself. Most people don’t even like their fingers brushing his as they exchange coin, so this is...new.

It’s strange, to be certain, but not unwelcome. His hands are soft and underneath his fingernails are clean, in direct contrast to Geralt himself.

“Come in, come in!” Jaskier beckons him across the threshold, and Geralt steps through the door, looking around curiously. Herbs hang drying from the rafters, framed by an assortment of colorful jars, filled with some things Geralt knows from his elixir crafting, and others that he doesn’t recognize at all.

Jaskier takes a seat on a wooden chair and gestures for Geralt to sit down, as well. “What seems to be the problem?”

Geralt’s cheeks warm. “I’m, um.” He squirms in his chair, and Jaskier nods.

“I’m going to have to see it,” he says, looking meaningfully at Geralt’s crotch.

Geralt does not squeak. He is a fully grown man, for gods’ sake, and it’s not like no one has seen it before. Maybe not anyone who’s staring at him as intently as Jaskier is, though. Geralt’s fingers find the laces on his pants and untie them. He growls in frustration when he can’t get the knot undone with his fingers that have suddenly turned into clumsy sausages, and then there’s warm hands over his.

Geralt looks up to see Jaskier has gotten up from his chair while Geralt was struggling with the ties. He swallows hard. “Allow me,” Jaskier says, and his nimble fingers undo the knots easily.

Geralt desperately tries not to think about those fingers in other contexts.

Jaskier tugs Geralt’s breeches down, along with his small clothes, and makes a humming sound as he squints at Geralt’s cock.

Geralt tries not to take offense.

Jaskier trails the tip of his finger over the shaft. “Seems a bit inflamed,” he murmurs, as Geralt wills his cock not to twitch.

Geralt clears his throat. “Yes, I—think it is.”

Jaskier draws back and hums thoughtfully, looking at Geralt carefully. “Interesting. Did you upset any mages recently?”

Geralt huffs. “Not that I know of.”

“Well, I’m going to need a sample.”

Geralt swallows past the lump in his throat. “Of blood?” he asks hesitantly.

“That, too. I’ll leave you alone for a bit; call me back when you’re done.”

Jaskier exits the room with a swish of his robe, leaving Geralt confused and vaguely turned on. He looks at the cup Jaskier had plunked down beside him as he lets a hand drift down to his cock. He takes himself in hand, but now that Jaskier is gone, his arousal has dissipated, and the dry touch is more uncomfortable than anything else.

Geralt licks his hand and tries again, but his cock still refuses to even get a little hard. Geralt bites his lip. Now is really not the most convenient time for his performance difficulties to arise, not that any time is good. It’s just especially unwelcome when he can hear Jaskier puttering around outside the room, tapping his foot as he waits.

Geralt tries in vain for a few more minutes, but he only succeeds in making the skin around his groin even more irritated than it already was. “Jaskier?” he calls.

Quiet footsteps pad to the door, and then the knob turns and Jaskier reappears, looking at Geralt with an expectant eyebrow raised. “I’ll have to do some examinations...” he says, before he looks at the empty cup and trails off.

“I can’t,” Geralt says gruffly.

“Oh. Oh. You know, I’ve heard witchers sometimes have difficulties with blood flow.” He taps a finger on his chin. “This is all fascinating; I’m so pleased you’re here.”

Geralt grunts. “I’m happy this situation is working out for someone.”

Jaskier seems to realize how his statement sounded. “Not that I’m glad that you’ve found yourself in this predicament, of course. You witchers are just so tight lipped about your physiology, and it’s…” his words die again as he registers the bemused look on Geralt’s face. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

Geralt waits for a minute, wondering if he should put his dick away. Before he can decide, Jaskier is back and handing him a foul smelling potion. Geralt wrinkles his nose.

“Drink,” Jaskier urges him.

“What is it?”

“It’ll help you get an erection,” he says matter of factly, and the redness that has been tinging Geralt’s cheeks spreads to his ears.

“Oh.”

Geralt takes the elixir and swirls it, squinting down at the chunky parts that he can’t quite identify. It’s not the most advisable thing for a witcher to take an elixir from someone they don’t know, but there’s also no one else Geralt can go to about this. He can already feel the mortification of having to explain this situation to Vesemir, and honestly, death might be preferable, so he tips his head back and drinks the concoction.

Geralt is on his guard for any unexpected effects, but he doesn’t detect any. Doesn’t detect anything at all, actually. “It’s not working,” Geralt grumbles.

“Well, you still have to get aroused, it doesn’t just make you hard instantly,” Jaskier says in amusement, but then his voice gets huskier and it’s right in Geralt’s ear. “I can help, if you’d like.”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry as he nods. Jaskier dips his fingers into a tub of something beside him before he strokes his slick hand up and down Geralt’s shaft, thumbing at the ridges of a prominent vein.

Geralt clenches his jaw and stifles a groan. He darts a glance at Jaskier, only to find him staring right back. Geralt tilts back his head and closes his eyes, not letting himself think about anything other than Jaskier’s warm hand on his cock.

Geralt’s breathing starts to get labored a few minutes later, and Jaskier speeds his movements, twisting his hand and increasing the friction deliciously. Geralt sucks in a stuttering breath as he comes, and when he opens his eyes, Jaskier has caught it neatly in the cup. Jaskier tucks Geralt back into his pants and deftly laces them up. He stands up and wipes his hand off on his robe, looking unruffled. Geralt is sure he can’t relate, that he looks quite in a state of disarray right now.

Jaskier sets the cup on a table, and Geralt tries not to look at it as Jaskier produces a syringe. “I’ll need some blood, as well,” he says.

Geralt sighs and stretches out his arm. Jaskier pours something that smells sharply of citrus onto a rag before wiping at a small square area on Geralt’s bicep. Geralt barely feels the needle poke into his arm, and he stays relaxed as Jaskier draws the blood.

When Jaskier straightens back up, he turns around to get a bandage, but he stares as the prick on Geralt’s skin disappears. He mumbles something intelligible to himself, looking starstruck, and Geralt would roll his eyes if he wasn’t feeling so sated.

Impossibly, he thinks he’s grown fond of this silly healer.

Jaskier gathers his samples and beckons for Geralt to follow him. Geralt stands up on slightly shaky legs and trails Jaskier out of the room. Jaskier leads him deeper into the house, until they get to a room that makes Geralt falter right outside the doorway, his nose wrinkling in disgust. It smells like decay.

Jaskier turns back to look at him when he realizes Geralt hasn’t followed him over the threshold. Confusion flashes across his face for a second, before understanding dawns, and he looks at Geralt again like he’s the most interesting specimen he’s ever seen.

“It doesn’t exactly smell good to me, so I imagine it’s not very pleasant for you, either. Witchers have enhanced senses, right?”

“That’s right,” Geralt allows as he takes a hesitant step into the room and looks around.

It’s uncomfortably warm, and there’s orbs glowing different colors scattered across the room, strung above tables of laid out bowls where the stench is emanating from. Jaskier pulls out a chair and sits at a desk where there’s what looks like a small telescope.

Jaskier procures a small crystal plate from a drawer that he sets up on a stand underneath a soft white light before spreading a tiny dab of Geralt’s spend on it and adding a drop of water. He brings the tube up to his eye and fiddles with the knobs, making intrigued little hums.

When he’s finally looked his fill, he turns his gaze to Geralt. Geralt feels sympathy for the moths on the displays on the walls; he feels just as pinned. “You’re infected,” Jaskier announces.

Geralt furrows his brow. “Witchers are immune,” he protests.

“That’s what I thought, too.” Jaskier frowns. “I’ll have to do some thinking on that. But there’s definitely something in your semen that’s not sperm. I’ll have to do some tests to determine exactly what it is, and then I can start thinking about a cure.”

He starts to usher Geralt out of the room, back to the front door, chattering aimlessly all the while.

“Odds are it’s going to clear up by itself before I have a cure, but do stop by again if it hasn’t gone away in a month.”

Geralt gapes, his jaw flapping. He can’t imagine being in this discomfort for another month.

Jaskier pats his shoulder. “There, there. It’s not like I didn’t give you a hand.”

The bastard winks at him.

Geralt flushes red, and turns to go with a grunt. The day has already started to take on a hazy quality, and Geralt thinks he’ll be remembering this for a while, even if it’s not exactly what he had expected when the sorceress had directed him here.

He pulls the door open, only to see—Lambert?

“What are you doing here?”

Lambert grumbles and shoots Geralt a scowl. “Fuck off.”

[artificialqueens]

Coming Home (Biadore) - doctor bitchcraftt

Home at last after five months on the road. Roy finds himself with a small truckload of Amazon purchases and a mermaid asleep on his bed.

Fluff, sweetness, and a little bit of serious conversation.

Based on Instagram, it looks like Roy might be seeing someone, although given how private he is with his personal life it’s not 100% sure. If so, I’m with Danny on this one in terms of just wanting to be sure he doesn’t get hurt.

So happy that folks are enjoying what Miss Alyssa and I are up to as well!  I can’t believe she talked me into collaborating on smut.  Actually, I can, but still… Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

See you soon!

Home, where r u?

The texts showed delivered but unread, out of the ordinary for someone who at times seemed to be physically connected to his phone.  The first was sent at LAX as soon as he had his luggage, the second moments ago as the Uber pulled up to the curb.  Staring at it didn’t make the message change though, and he sighed before pocketing the phone and pulling out his keys.

Roy dragged himself over the threshold, heaving one and then two suitcases in before shutting the door.  He paused for a few seconds, leaning on them heavily, before straightening and turning to move further into the house.

“Well fuck.”

True to his word, Jamie had gone ahead and picked up all of his held mail.  His progress was blocked by the assortment of boxes, bags, and padded envelopes piled over the couch and coffee table, not to mention the small drift of legal sized envelopes and magazines spilling across them all.  When he’d been ordering things from Amazon over the last five months away from home, it hadn’t seemed like this much…

Laughing quietly, he picked his way over a stack of boxes and continued down the hall, stopping to flick the light on in his sewing room.  From the doorway, everything was just as he left it, dust covers on the sewing machine and serger and bolts of fabric in the corner.  Being on the road and spreading Bianca’s hate was something he wouldn’t trade for the world, but he sorely missed creating.

Roy headed back into the kitchen in search of water and maybe a glass of wine.  A couple of minutes later, he settled down with both, tossing his hat onto the table and resting his elbows on it.  He frowned as the hat made an odd scraping noise - the snapback was plastic, and that sounded like metal moving on wood.  Curiosity piqued, he set down the wine and lifted the hat to peer underneath.

The culprit turned out to be a long safety pin, one he couldn’t remember leaving on the table.  His were gold-tipped and shorter, and he picked it up to study further.  A silver crescent moon dangled off one end, a sense of familiarity tickling Roy’s exhausted brain.  Where had he seen that before?

He stared at the object for another thirty seconds before realization hit.  When it did, he felt his cheeks ache from the force of the smile stretching his lips.  Folding the earring into his palm, he pushed up from the table and headed down the hall again, wine forgotten.

Roy paused outside his bedroom door, listening intently for signs of movement.  Under the hum of the air conditioning, he could just make out an intermittent buzz.  Grinning even wider, he opened the door and stepped inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the low light.

The flickering light from the candles he left around the tub bathed the room in shadows.  Next to the chair, a pair of worn leather boat shoes laid at right angles as if their owner had kicked them off and simply let them fall.  His extra charger cable draped across from the nightstand to the bed, connected to a phone clutched in a tattooed hand.

Curled up on top of the duvet with fingers tucked under his cheek, Danny snored quietly.

“There you are.”

No response.  He tried again a little louder.

“Pussyface?”

The snoring continued, and he shook his head in fond exasperation.  Moving to the dresser, he pulled out a pair of boxers and a clean T-shirt, tossing them on the bathroom counter.  He brushed his teeth and dropped his dirty clothes into the hamper without any attempt at being quiet, but still no movement from Danny.  Shrugging, he stepped into the shower, humming Loco’s song from Jamie.  The hot water relaxed muscles tense from travel, and he found himself blinking heavily as he dried off and dressed.

He blew out the candles, turning the nightstand light on low.  Danny’s phone screen came to life as he prised it from his unconscious grip, his own texts popping up in notifications.  He wasn’t intending to be nosy (he had Danny’s unlock code anyway), but couldn’t help noticing the calendar appointment simply titled “Willow home”.  Warmth bloomed in his chest, and he set the phone on the nightstand quietly.

Years of experience told him that dead weight mermaid wasn’t easy to move, which meant Danny would have to be woken up.  Roy sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his shoulder gently.

“Pussyface, you’re on my side.”

Danny scrunched up his nose and buried his face further in the pillow.

“Wake up and move over.”

An annoyed grumble.

Roy nudged him in the ribs, picking up the keys and wallet that had spilled out of Danny’s pockets and setting them next to his phone.

“C’mon queen, I wanna go to bed.”

Danny’s eyelids fluttered, and he swatted clumsily at the fingers brushing his hair back but still didn’t move otherwise.

Time for the big guns.  Calling up Bianca’s voice, Roy leaned over and spoke right into his ear.

“Adore, I want my corset back.”

That got a response.  Danny’s eyes flew open and he sat up so fast that Roy barely avoided being head butted.

“Not funny-”

He had just enough time to register sleepy outrage turning into delight before Danny’s arms wound around his neck, pulling him flat in a tight hug.

“Willow!  You’re home!”

Roy laughed at the strength of his stranglehold, giving back as good as he got even from the awkward twisted sprawl.

“Lemme up pussyface,” he eventually spoke with his nose squished into Danny’s shoulder, “I can’t breathe.”

As soon as he released him, Danny scooted over to the other side of the bed, unzipping his sweatshirt and tossing it carelessly onto the floor.  His jeans followed in short order, and he wriggled under the covers.

“Cuddle?”

The indulgent smile felt permanently etched onto his face, but Roy didn’t care.  Chuckling, he climbed into bed and held out his arms, waiting for Danny to make himself comfortable.

“I wanted to stay awake till you were back,” Danny yawned, “but your rich lady mattress is too comfortable.”

“Gotta spend the money I’m making somewhere.”

“What about that guy?” Danny’s voice sounded smug and a little suspicious.

“Ummm.”

Roy felt his cheeks heat.

“Uhh huh.  You barely told us anything in chat, what’s the tea?  Court tried Insta stalking, but she couldn’t find out anything.”

“Well…I.  Yeah.”

Danny pushed himself up with a hand on Roy’s chest, expression falling into something serious for once.

“Willow.  You don’t have to, if you don’t wanna.  Just, like be careful okay?  I’ll stab a bitch if you get hurt.”

Roy swallowed and tried to put his thoughts in order, appreciating the sincerity but too tired to go into any depth.

“Isn’t that my line?”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

They fell into silence, faces inches apart.  Danny’s eyes gleamed gold, mouth soft with worry.  He studied Roy’s face, nodding to himself in some sort of satisfaction before laying his head back on Roy’s shoulder.

“Can tell me more over brunch?”

“Yeah.  I’m not trying to not tell you guys-“

“We know,” Danny poked him in the side, “and I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too.”

“Goodnight Willow.”

Roy reached over to turn off the light, kissing Danny’s temple.

“Night pussyface.”

[ichigopanhpff]

BNHA One-Shot: Cloud

A soft and floofy one this time. It’s an idea I’ve had floating in my head for a bit.

Summary: Class 1-A’s R.A., Takahiro Ren, has found a lost dog roaming U.A.’s campus. She enlists the help of the first years in finding its owner(s).

--

Walking back to the dorms one rainy day, Ren noticed something moving underneath a tree from her peripheral. Was it an intruder? Cautiously approaching the area to get a better look, her eyes went wide.

It was a shivering puppy. Judging by its wet, matted fur, it looked to be a miniature poodle mix.

“Hey there pup. You lost out here?”

The girl squatted down and reached her hand out, trying to get the dog to catch her scent. The dog noticing her gesture, gingerly hobbled over and gave Ren a smell, followed with a small lick of her fingertips. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” she uttered out. “You hurt your leg.”

Grabbing the thin sweater she stuffed inside her bag, Ren laid it on the wet grass for the dog to get on it so she could take it back to the dorms for treatment. The pup was first startled by the fabric and limped backwards, only to fall on its bottom; it eventually summoned up its courage to sniff the fabric and laid on top. Holding her hand back out again, the dog nuzzled against the back of it while she wrapped them up for warmth.

“Let’s get out outta here, okay?”

1-A’s R.A. gingerly opened the door to the dorms while trying to keep the dog warm.

“Hey!” she shouted by the entrance. “Little help here!”

One by one, the class gathered and wondered what the commotion was. The first to react were the girls.

“Is that--?!” Hagakure squealed before yelling, “A PUPPY?!” “I found this poor thing on my way back. It hurt its back leg.” “We should get the dog warmed and cleaned up first. Then set up a triage area to treat the leg,” Yao-Momo suggested.

Ren nodded and handed the puppy over to Uraraka for safekeeping before removing the wet garments on her person.

“But man, how would someone even leave a puppy out here?” Kirishima thought aloud. “That’s just cruel.”

“Let’s not worry about that now. The puppy’s well-being takes priority.” “Koda, come give us a hand!” Ashino yelled from the kitchen area.

The tall, muscular boy made his way over beside Ren. Uraraka was soothing the animal with gentle pets all the while Yao-Momo was adjusting the water temperature to not shock the dog.

“Ren-senpai, is there anything we can do?” Midoriya asked. “Grab some towels, blankets and a space heater if any of you have one,” she instructed. “And a first aid kit!”

“We’re on it!” the boys exclaimed and scattered throughout the dorm, grabbing what they can get their hands on.

Once the water was to their liking, Ren scooped a bit from the makeshift tub into her hands and gently poured it on the shivering dog’s back for it to acclimate to the warmth.

“Puppy, what’s your name? How did you get here?” Koda’s soft voice asked, to which the animal responded with small whimpers. “He said his name is Cloud and he ran off from his human by accident after getting scared by a thing with two wheels passing by.”

“His human’s name is Yuuji” “Does Yuuji have a last name?” Uraraka asked. “What’s a last name? Yuuji is Yuuji,” Koda answered for Cloud. “That’s kind of vague...” Jiro responded with a tone of concern. “What should we do?” “We can always ask the teachers for help tomorrow,” Asui suggested.

Ren lathered up some body wash as a makeshift shampoo and gently rubbed it onto Cloud, to which he let out a soft grunt.

“Ah, sorry! Am I hurting you?” the girl panicked. “No, he says it feels good,” Koda answered with a chuckle. “And your hands are very gentle.” “Ren-senpai, do you have a dog at home?” Yao-Momo asked, amazed at her technique. “We did.” Her voice was distant and melancholy. “Her name was Skye and she was a Schnauzer mix. We rescued her from a shelter back when I was still in California. She passed away two years ago from cancer.”

With Cloud all lathered up, Ren gently repeated the process of scooping up the water onto his body to rinse, to which the dog told Koda to just spray him quick because he was getting cold. Moments later, the boys returned with the requested items.

“None of us have a space heater, unfortunately,” Iida lamented. “I believe it was against dormitory rules to bring one.”

“I can always warm him up with this,” Todoroki suggested and conjured up a small flame in his palm. “A blanket would catch on fire though,” Kaminari pointed out. “Which is why I brought this.”

With Cloud fully rinsed off, Midoriya handed Ren a towel to wrap him around in. On the far end, Kaminari held his hair dryer in his hand and plugged it into his mouth. Setting it to the lowest possible speed, she handed the dog over to him for drying.

“Man, Kami-kun’s quirk’s really useful huh,” she marveled and crossed her arm. “We often use him to charge our phones too,” Sero joked. “Guys, I’m serious ‘bout that!” he muffle shouted from the corner of his mouth. “Stop usin’ me to charge your phones and use a damn outlet!” “But you’re right there,” Kirishima jokingly chided. “And we’re helping you control your quirk like this.”

The human charger grumbled under his breath while he continued to dry the dog. After all is said and done, Yao-Momo set up a triage area on the table in the common room. Kaminari handed Cloud over onto her gently; the dog couldn’t help but panic a little with little barks and panting heavily.

“He says he’s scared and wants the girl with the wavy yellow hair with him,” Koda translated. “Wait, who has yellow hair here that’s a girl?” Midoriya wondered and looked around. “The one who washed me,” the burly boy translated again. “I think he means Ren-senpai. Dogs can’t see colors like we do, so her hair would translate as yellow in his mind,” he explained.

With an understanding ‘oh’ from everyone, she made her way to Cloud and eased him with soft pets on his head.

“Hey, you’re okay. We’re just gonna take a look at your hind leg,” she soothed. “It won’t take long. You’re safe here.”

Yao-Momo was extra gentle with Cloud’s right hind leg when examining it and confirmed it was sprained with a small cut. She created a few splints and opened up the first aid kit for some wrap bandages. Asking Uraraka for assistance, she handed the antibiotic cream over to put on the leg before dressing it with the splints.

“That should do it,” she huffed out. 

With Cloud’s injury treated, he looked around and sniffed the air. Someone was cooking something. Within moments, the scent caught everyone’s noses and directed their attention to the kitchen, where a familiar boy with spiky ash blond hair was making something. It was hamburg steak. The puppy suddenly started barking excitedly.

“Cloud’s saying he’s hungry,” Koda translated. “Hey, Bakugou!” Kirishima shouted. “Give us some of that in a smaller bowl!” “Why the hell should I share my food?!” he shouted his response. “Because we have a starving dog,” Ren pointed out and held it up for him to see its sparkly eyes and tongue sticking out in excitement. “Then the shitty starving dog should get his own food.” “Bakugou! Just give us a small part of the hamburg!” Sero protested. “Are you an idiot?! I give him this, the dog’s gonna shit all over the place from the grease,” Bakugou argued back. “Who’s gonna clean that up then, huh?” “Guys, I’ll be right back,” Ren immediately said, suddenly having an idea. She handed Cloud over to the nearest person and teleported away.

The class stood there dumbfounded as Todoroki was left holding a panting dog, not knowing what was going on either. Ten minutes later, the pink haired girl reemerged and made a bee-line for the kitchen, panting.

“Bakugou, you’re helping,” she quickly blurted out and washed the pan he used. “Why the fuck am I--” “Because you’re the one with the fastest knife skills,” she interrupted and filled a smaller pot with water. “So quit complaining and help me dice these up.”

She threw a small bag of carrots at the Bakugou and turned her focus back to the pot, where the dumped a small bag of brown rice into the water. Getting the gist of what Ren was doing, he gritted his teeth and begrudgingly made his way to the island where the cutting board was. By now, the rest of the class made their way to the kitchen.

“What are you doing, Ren-senpai?” Sato asked. “Since we don’t have kibble available for Cloud...” She turned to the class with a determined smirk. “We’re making him a meal instead.” “But how did you even get the ingredients?” Hagakure asked. “I have a good relationship with Lunch-Rush. He’s like me: neither one of us like seeing food go to waste,” she explained. “So I asked him for whatever he had on hand a dog can eat.” “Oh, like a healthy alternative for dogs,” Yao-Momo pointed out. “I heard that’s become quite a trend for pet owners.”

“Bakkun, are the carrots ready?” “Shut up! Don’t call me ‘Bakkun’! I’ll freakin’ kill you!” he shouted while handing over a bowl of the finely diced root vegetable. The rest of his friends, however, were in stitches at his newly given nickname.

“Ba-Ba-... Bakkun,” Kirishima wheezed out and vibrated in laughter, tears coming out of his eyes. “Man, this is gold.” “Shaddap, shitty hair! I’ll cut your head off!” Bakugou threatened with the chef knife in hand. “Bakkun, can you cook the minced meat on super low heat, please? And no oil,” Ren asked from the stove.

By now, half the class is unable to control their laughter and let it all out.

“Don’t order me around!” he shouted back and made his way to her left. “Less talking, more cooking. We have a hungry pup on our hands,” she disregarded while draining the cooked rice with carrots and tempering it a little with cold water before plating it.

“Outta the way,” the boy said, holding the hot skillet. He poured the small amount of ground meat over the rice for Ren.

“Thank you, chef Bakkun,” she teasingly cooed out, with him scowling in response. She mixed the contents together with a spoon and taste tested it before dishing it out onto a smaller plate for Cloud she set on the floor for him.

“Eat up, little guy.”

Todoroki set him down gently and made his way to the plate. Giving it a cautionary sniff, Cloud gave it a small nibble before taking bigger bites.

“Oh, it’s eating! It’s eating!” Ashino cried with joy. “How did you even come up with a recipe so fast, senpai?” Uraraka asked. “It was my dog’s favorite dish. And she was a picky eater.”

With the food finished, Ren zipped up the leftovers for tomorrow. For the rest of the evening, everyone hung out in the common area playing with Cloud until he got tired out. Everyone in the class gushed at how adorable he looked curled up into a ball of floof and took loads of photos on their phones for safekeeping.

“Koda, can you watch Cloud in your room tonight? Your room’s the most accommodating.”

The boy nodded with a smile.

“And thanks for your help today. You did good.”

The silent muscular boy immediately blushed and fidgeted around at the compliment.

--

Everyone woke up next morning in the Alliance Heights Dorm 1-A to greet the excited four-legged fluff over breakfast. Ren had contacted Aizawa about the situation and asked the teachers to help look for his owner. As everyone got ready to head out for class, a looming figure entered.

“Snipe-sensei?” Ren greeted. “What are you doing here.” “I heard you guys found a dog yesterday and took care of it...” “Wait, the dog is yours?!”

It’s hard to believe a strong, intimidating hero like Snipe would have a dog that’s the opposite of his image. What an unexpected side to show, everyone thought.

“Well...” He bashfully rubbed the back of his head. “I’m dog-sitting for my sister this week and Cloud somehow managed to escape the faculty room.”

“But the dog said his human’s name is Yuuji,” Ren questioned. “Ah, that’s my nephew. I even have a picture of him.”

Snipe reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to show her the photo. The boy looked about 7 years old, smiling widely with Cloud on his lap. 

“That’s Cloud, alright. Guys, time to give him back.”

Majority of the class groaned and whined, having grown attached to the fur ball. Several pleas of having Snipe bring him back to play came about, with him responding with a maybe. Before the teacher took Cloud away, Ren gave him one more pat on the head.

“You be good, okay? No more running away.”

Cloud happily yipped and gave her a lick on the cheek before leaving with Snipe. The dorms of 1-A was quiet and dog-less once again.

“We should get a dog for our dorms to take care of!” Ashino suddenly suggested. “And Koda can help us translate!”

“Oh it’ll be so much fun!” Uraraka agreed.

While everyone got excited over the idea, Bakugou’s booming voice shouted, “WHAT THE FUCK! THIS FUCKING DOG LEFT A GIANT SHIT AT MY DOOR!”

So... maybe no dog then.

[celticheartedfangirl]

Five Days in Hell . . . a Rumbelle Christmas in July fic for Spottytonguedog!

Hey @spottytonguedog, guess who your Santa was this year?

Hope you enjoy this!  It’s in five chapters and I’ll be linking each chapter as I post them.  

Five Days in Hell

Prompt:  Surprise rainstorm, lost dog, argument 

Summary:  Divorced (but still very much in love) couple Drummond and Belle Gold each return on what they think will be a private week at their former honeymoon cabin.  

DAY ONE

Belle entered the cabin carrying several grocery bags, and the Uber driver that gave her a ride carried the rest of Belle's luggage in. "You sure you'll be okay by yourself up here?" the young girl asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I've – I've been here before. Wasn't expecting my car to break down on me this weekend, but – well that kind of figures with my luck. Thanks for the ride."

"Hey, it's extra money, not a problem. So I'll be here on Friday at three to pick you up then. If you need anything in between that time, give me a call, I don't live far from here."

"Thanks – Ruby, right?"

"Yup, that's me. You have fun doing – whatever it is you're doing."

"Well – it wasn't exactly what I was hoping I'd be doing this week, but – I kind of needed this. I'll see you Friday then." Belle moved to the kitchen area and started putting her groceries away after Ruby left. She presumed that he would have canceled the reservation for this week, so Belle was surprised when she called the cabin's owner, only to find out that the reservation was still set. Well – he was paying for it after all. Far be it from her to turn down a free week's getaway. It was the least she deserved, she told herself.

Once the groceries were put away, Belle picked up her luggage and moved it to the bedroom. She sighed and looked around, a wave of melancholy washing over. It hadn't changed one bit. This room – this bedroom – they barely left it that week five years prior. It was their honeymoon, after all, you could hardly blame them. When they checked out, they made a reservation for the same week, five years later, to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary.

A lot can change in five years.

She probably shouldn't have come up here, she thought, second guessing her decision. But so many memories were in this place. So many GOOD memories. For the past year, Belle wrestled with what happened a year prior. How could he just let her go like that? She thought that perhaps coming here would, at the very least, give her some closure to that chapter in her life.

Not in the mood to unpack, Belle decided that what she needed was a nice, relaxing bath. She kicked off her shoes, left her luggage by the bed and made her way to the bathroom. That hadn't changed either. Inside it was a very large hot tub – almost a miniature pool, actually. They spent quite a bit of time in there as well. Belle turned on the tub's motors, stripped off her clothes, and stepped inside.

Yes, a nice relaxing bath was exactly what she needed. Afterward, she planned to settle in for the rest of the evening with a glass of wine and one of the books she brought with her. About twenty minutes into her bath, Belle heard a noise. It sounded as if someone had entered the cabin. Belle sat quietly in the tub as she heard noises coming from the other room. She trembled nervously, not knowing what to do. Her phone was in the bedroom. All she had to do was get to it and call the police before whoever was there came into the room. She stepped out of the tub, and before she could even reach for a towel she heard footsteps coming closer. A figure stepped into the room and Belle let out a loud scream.

"Well – what have we here?" he said in a soft, Scottish brogue. Belle stared at him, her eyes widened, still naked.

"Rum? What are you doing here?"

"I have the same question for you, dear."

"Get out of here, I don't have any clothes on!"

"Like I haven't seen it before." Belle reached for a towel and covered herself.

"Why are you here, Rum?"

"Well, it was paid for – you know I don't like to waste my money. Apparently neither do you."

"I thought you just forgot to cancel it."

"I don't forget anything. You should know that. So – again – why are you here?"

"I got an email reminder about the reservation a couple months ago and figured you forgot to cancel, so I thought I'd use it," Belle said as she made her way back into the bedroom. Drummond Gold, her ex-husband, followed her. Belle picked up her clothes from the floor and looked up at him. "Could I have some privacy, please?"

"Be my guest," he replied, and limped out of the room.

Six and a half years prior, Drummond Gold was in a terrible accident that caused a great deal of damage to his right leg, his ankle in particular. During his recovery, he hired a home care worker to live with him. Since he wasn't able to get up the stairs at that time, the person he hired would have the upstairs to themselves for the most part. In exchange for room and board and a very generous stipend, his new employee would cook and clean as well as care for his health and physical therapy needs. The last thing on his mind when he was interviewing for this position was falling in love with the help.

Belle French was a home healthcare provider who was trying to earn enough money to return to college for a degree in library science. She seemed eager and personable enough when Gold interviewed her while he was still recovering in the hospital. After her first week on the job, he also discovered that she was smart, stubborn, headstrong, and a match for him on an intellectual level that he had never before encountered. The entire time she was working for him, he was falling in love with her. He had no delusion that she felt the same. How could she? Still, he wanted to show his gratitude in some way for all she had done for him. He knew he could be difficult at times, and he was certain that there were days that she just wanted to walk out the door and never come back. She never did. He prepared a lovely dinner for her, and as they sat on the sofa afterward sharing a bottle of wine – she kissed him. He kissed her back. He couldn't believe this beautiful woman wanted him, but she did.

They married not long after, figuring there was no sense in dragging out a long engagement. They knew each other well enough at that point, and had spent far too much time quietly dancing around their own feelings. They were in love and they wanted to be together – nothing else mattered.

Unfortunately, Gold's business dealings were not always legal. It was the one thing about him that Belle had a difficult time with. Wanting to please his new bride, he promised her that he would be a legitimate businessman from that point onward.

Belle entered the kitchen after getting dressed, her hair damp and a bit curly in the back, her feet barefoot. Gold was unpacking several items into the cabinets.

"What are you doing?" Belle asked.

"Taking out my things for the week, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"You're staying?"

"I did pay for it."

"Well, I – I was staying here this week."

"Well, then – I supposed this is what you would call a stalemate. Don't worry, I won't bother you."

"You really think I'm going to stay here? You think I'm going to spend five days in hell with you?"

"Five days in hell? Really, Belle? You seemed to enjoy my company very much at one point."

"That was a long time ago."

"It wasn't that long, my dear."

"You – YOU'RE the one that left! Don't you dare put this on me!"

"I'm not. You're right. I'm a beast. Always have been." Gold moved toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To get the rest of my things." Belle followed him out the door.

"So you're actually staying then? I honestly can't believe you."

"And right there – is the problem."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Belle asked.

"Exactly what it means." Gold pushed past her, dragging his suitcase behind on his left side as he leaned heavily on his cane. Belle stormed back into the cabin, slamming the door as she entered. Making her way to the bedroom, she heard a loud noise, followed by Gold's voice cursing in a Scottish brogue.

"What happened?" Belle asked as she rushed into the room.

"You left your shoes lying in the middle of the room, that's what happened," Gold grumbled. He was lying on the floor, wincing in pain, having tripped, his suitcase on the ground next to him. Belle immediately moved to his side and reached for his ankle. Gold let out a loud, pained scream as she touched it.

"I'm sorry. Let me look at it, let me help you."

"You aren't my caretaker any longer, Belle."

"Well right now I'm all you've got, let me see it." Belle carefully removed his shoe and sock and pulled up his pantleg, and Gold whimpered, trying his best to mask his pain.

"How bad is it?"

"It's a little swollen. Can you move it?"

"I don't know."

"Well, try. It's probably just a sprain, try and move it." Gold did as she asked, and was able to move his ankle, though not without being in pain. "Well, that's a good sign, you wouldn't be able to move it if it were broken. Come on – let's get you on the bed." Belle put her arm around him and helped him stand, then helped him lie back on the bed. "I'll get you some ice." Belle left the room, then came back with an ice pack and some pillows from the living room. She propped up Gold's ankle and wrapped it in the ice pack.

"Thank you," Gold whispered.

"I – I'm sorry about the shoes." Belle picked up her shoes and put them in the closet, then began to unpack her suitcase into the closet as well.

"So you're staying then?" Gold asked.

"Well, I can hardly leave you like this."

"As I said Belle – you're not my caretaker any longer."

"Well someone needs to be. I don't see anyone else here, do you?"

"How did you get here anyhow? Where is your car?"

"Took an Uber. Had to have some repairs on my car. You want me to unpack your bags?"

"You don't have to do that."

"No, but I know how particular you are about having your clothes perfectly folded so I might as well, it'll be one less thing you'll complain about."

"So far the only one complaining here is you. And I wouldn't have anything to complain about if you had put your damn shoes away." Belle ignored him as she finished putting away her things, not speaking another word until she finished.

"You know what? Fine. Your clothes can wrinkle and you can just sit here, I don't even know why I even bothered to be nice." Gold sighed as Belle stomped out of the room. This was not how he had planned for things to go. Not at all.

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

[josephkitchen0]

How to Spin Wool Using a Commercial Mill

Learning how to spin wool using a commercial mill is an option. When we first began raising fiber and wool animals, I had grand dreams of producing yarn myself.  I saw a full sheep to yarn vision. I thought it would happen right on our farmstead. After lovingly shearing the animals ourselves, the fleeces would be sorted and skirted. Bagging each individual fleece separately, in order to name the yarn produced after the sheep that produced it. Then, each bagged fleece would be stored in chronological order to be spun or sold to another crafts-person. But wait! How did all those fleeces get piled in bags and boxes? How did it all become so disorganized? That really can’t be the baby fleece from the now three-year-old wether, can it?

I can tell you how it happened. We run a farm. The farm has lots of different animals and also gardens to tend to. There are approximately 10 to 12 hours of good daylight to work with. The weather gets brutally hot way too soon. Sorting and skirting wool is not fun during high humidity days! So the wool is bagged and placed in the shed, with other bags of wool, waiting for those all too seldom perfect days. The days where you only want to be outside. Perfect weather with low humidity, perfect temperature and not too many bugs. Yes. That is why the fleeces pile up. So I had to let go of one dream in order to fulfill another. The end result is the same. We have our farm blend yarns and roving available for sale. I can use our own yarn to make gloves, scarves and gifts for friends, or to stock our shop. And I no longer have fleece in bags and boxes taking over the shed.

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How to Spin Wool with a Fiber Mill

In the past years, I have tried out six different fiber-processing mills. It is important to know what you are looking for in terms of a final product. Figure out if your product (the raw fleece) matches the abilities of the fiber mill. Talk to the owner and get to know his or her style of production. Even though a machine will be processing the fiber, the mill operator has a technique that is unique. Everyone has their own style and preferences. Finding one that works well with your product makes the entire process more enjoyable.

Photo courtesy of The Mill at Meadowlands Our farm blend yarn 2016

Sorting and Skirting

The first step in using a fiber mill to process your yarn is to sort and skirt the fleece. Sorting separates the dark fleece from the natural. It is often done during the shearing. The shearing will remove the fleece and push it aside. We gather it into bags or piles depending on how it will be sent to the mill. For a true farm blend natural, I only want the “white” fleece. I will separate the dark out at this point for a dark blend of fiber.

Skirting removes any soiled, poopy, matted or gross parts of the fleece. The fiber mill does NOT want this. Learning this is the first step in how to spin wool using a fiber mill. First, it’s gross. Second, it can really damage the equipment. Remove the britch area from between the legs and around the rear end. Often the legs are messy and sparse, so I don’t keep much from the legs either. Wool-yielding animals tend to collect debris in their fleece.

Mohair fleece shown with debris being skirted

The rest of the fleece will need to be skirted for food, random pieces of manure, vegetable debris from leaves and plants, thorns, stickers and more. The best way to skirt the fleece is to lay it out flat on a large table top or frame. The frame allows short pieces of fleece called second cuts to drop through to the ground. The second cuts are too short to be spun on a machine. No matter whether you are shearing from suffolk sheep or spinning wool by hand, second cuts are not helpful. Try using the short second cuts for felting projects instead.

Some people raising fiber animals choose to use lightweight coats on their animals. The coats are made of a breathable fabric to help keep the animal from overheating. In addition, the coats have the intended purpose of keeping the fleece cleaner and free from debris.

Should You Wash the Fleece?

Should you wash the fleece before sending it for processing? This varies from mill to mill. Most mills take an incoming weight on the fleece for an initial estimate. This estimate will change after washing, as the dirt and grease is washed out. On the other hand, you may not want to gunk up your washer or have a suitable outside space to wash a fleece. I prefer to let the mill scour my fleeces. The fiber comes out snowy white and clean. To me this is worth a bit more. Talk to the mill operator about washing the fleeces. I have usually chosen to go with the mill’s recommendation when discussing how to spin wool using a commercial mill.

If you are processing the fleece yourself, washing often occurs before learning how to spin wool. Each type of fiber reacts differently to being washed. For example, fine mohair tends to felt easily if the least bit of agitation occurs during washing. You must take care to only squeeze the water out gently and not twist or ring the fiber. Wool is a little bit more forgiving but still needs to avoid any agitation during washing. If you have a top load washing machine you can wash the fleece in the tub with the top open to keep the cycle from switching into the agitation or washing mode.  Let the fleece sit in the tub in the hot water and cleaning detergent. Use a soap specifically made for cleaning wool fiber. You can let the machine spin out the excess water between rinses but take care to not let the water rush into the washer tub while the fleece is in the tub. Set the fleece in a separate wash basin, refill with hot water and push the fleece back into the tub. Repeat until the fleece is clean. Spread the fleece out to dry.

Spinning in the Grease

Spinning in the grease is a term referring to spinning directly from the raw fleece. Many hand spinners prefer this method. When learning how to spin wool, spinning in the grease may be something you want to try.

What Questions Should you ask the Fiber Mill Owner?

The best way to interview a mill operator is to take your fleece to the mill on an appointment. Sit down and discuss your vision for your fleeces. Then, listen. The best way to learn more about your fleece is to listen to a knowledgeable mill owner explain the good points and the not so good points of your fleece. Is there a lot of wool break or other damage? How well is it skirted? The mill I am working with now, took the time to discuss what products I could hope for if the processing was done there. Some of our staple lengths were too short to be spun commercially. I was offered the option of making it into pin drafted roving that could be sold to hand spinners. Hand spinning can make beautiful yarn from a shorter staple length. I was also shown some products that were similar to what I could expect. The mill owner understood my concerns and answered my questions honestly. Sometimes the answer to what we want from a mill is, no. I learned valuable information from my sit down intake interview. The time was well spent. Learning how to spin wool and work with a fiber processing mill is worth the investment of an extra hour or two.

Photo courtesy of The Mill at Meadowlands

If you don’t live near the mill you want to work with, you should still be able to accomplish much of this by phone. Sending samples of your fleece and then discussing the possibilities may work well for you. In many cases when our yarn was processed out of state, I sent the fiber to the mill and then the owner called me to discuss what they could do for me, along with an estimated job cost. There is no harm in asking for samples of their work or references from past customers.

How to spin wool using a fiber mill requires some understanding of fiber qualities, yarn characteristics, and yarn weights. The terms Fine, DK, Sport, Sock, Bulky and Lace are some of the terms you will hear discussed. These yarn terms refer to the weight of the yarn and somewhat describe the thickness of the strand.

Learning how to spin wool and processing wool into yarn, either by hand or by commercial mill, is a journey. The amount of information that needs to be considered can be daunting. I believe it is better to have some beautiful yarn from our wool-bearing animals than to have a shed full of bags waiting to be processed here on the farm. I hope you will find the perfect place in the range of learning how to spin, that works for you and your farm.

Are you learning how to spin wool? Do you process your wool yourself or use a mill? Let us know in the comments below.

How to Spin Wool Using a Commercial Mill was originally posted by All About Chickens

[epchapman89]

The Tale Of The Mindful Manager

It starts slowly, these things, first with strict limits—I’ll only check it when I open my laptop, I’ll only look once an hour—until there you are, in your perfectly appointed city apartment, with a closet full of inoffensively expensive casual wear, and like 25 pairs of shoes, but you haven’t left in days—It has been two days now—because the thought of looking away from that screen is just…well it’s just hard. Being in the position of authority, everybody thinks they want it, you know, they think that’s how you mark success in this life, but it’s hard, believe me. A mindful manager has to watch over his shop, his keep, his flock, and they know it’s going on, they know to expect my calls and texts and for the cameras to zoom their little whirrrrr along the tracking mount as they move to drop off a cappuccino, or clean up after the kiddies, or get the mop and bucket out of the store closet which, it bears repeating, I’ve told them twenty flippin’ times—Twenty flippin’ times Josh—to make sure that you’re bleaching (two capfuls should do it) the bucket and mop and letting it sit in cold water at least twice a week, because I’m keeping track. I haven’t actually been into the shop in a few weeks, oh cockadoodie, what has it been, a week a month a year have I ever actually been into the shop? Of course I have, I am the owner and mindful manager of this establishment and I last visited the shop on the evening of October 15th, to install the latest QUAD VISION ALERT CAMERA system upgrade, because I was an early backer on Kickstarter, and they were really, really overdue for an upgrade, the lag in the last version made it basically unusable after 36 hours of consecutive view time, tops, and it’s normal, after all, to want to keep an eye on your shop, expected, really, part of the job description, dang it all to heck, and part of what it means to be an owner and a mindful manager.

“You have to log a certain amount of hours to qualify for the OctoView Media Interface, and sir, you have passed the threshold.” The news came by phone, which crashed my dang app, which meant I lost three whole transactions across the bar—cappuccino, hot chocolate, chai latte—three whole transactions without my watchful eye to make sure my staff starts every order with a smile, none of this surly freaking attitude crap you get at other cafes sometimes, and then you input the order into the digital register (which tracks back all transactions to my control center), then you make a little smalltalk with the guest, how’s your day, any plans for later? Then hand back any change, or twist the little terminal thingy around and let them decide if they want to tip you or not, and let them know we’ll call out their drinks when it’s ready. When the shop’s closed and the action slows down I isolate the audio of every name called out, and store these in daily select files for future reference.

The OctoView Media Interface allowed me eight screens, which was pretty good, but the company’s Augmented Viewer interface really represents a step forward in small business monitoring technology. The shop opens, I wake up, cram on the Viewer, and in pixel-perfect 360 degrees across 32 discretely placed cameras I’m given complete control over every aspect of my cafe. I can see all the tiny flaws, the golldang bathrooms need cleaning again, and you need to bus the dishes. You need to run the bus tub. I’m calling you now—David, you need to run the bus tub. I can track every last rag and cruller. I’m there, and when I do have to set it down (I sleep with it on most nights) I can enjoy a near-stereoscopic viewing experience from the updated tracking app on my phone, which is pretty good but not as good as using the Viewer.

Monitoring your staff is important. Watching over employees makes the difference between a sloppy boss-pal and a mindful manager. If you don’t let your charges know who is in charge, if there’s no clear division between staff and ownership, if people don’t know their roles, don’t listen to authority, don’t understand that you are the owner of this establishment, the mindful manager, and not some charitable good-time giving groovy son of a gun running a chill place to kick it, they will run roughshod over you, make a monkey out of you, steal from you, rob you blind, eat all the pastries, give out free coffee to their idiot friends, and generally try and destroy you. The only way to meet this offensive is head-on, with a gosh darn clenched fist if need be, and constant monitoring, because that’s the way the world works, that’s capitalism, that’s how it is, I didn’t make the rules, I just know this world will drive you crazy if you let it. I haven’t slept in a week but I have to stay in control of this cafe and so I’m going to call again. I’m calling again.

David—you have to run the bus tub. My new interface, it’s a contact lens and cochlea implant actually with full digital read-out across the user-best 8 panel interface, controlled by voice, and so I could see it when David entered the walk in and I could hear it when the lock went click and I could even see inside the cooler because I did opt for cameras there, I did select the full coverage even though I know that’s an additional $49.95 for install and another $10 per month, but I watched him for hours as the screaming turned into crying, and crying turned into begging, and then he went silent and cold at around 4am, and two hours later Kevin found him with his heart stopped, because I can watch it again and again but I can’t be there all the time to help and of course I still have the file, of course, I keep all of it for reference, it’s about mindful management, I’m a mindful manager, I couldn’t delete it if I wanted to, but I won’t, because being a good manager is hard, it’s something most people will never understand, the burden, the burden, the burden, because sometimes good management is about letting your employees make their own mistakes.

Jordan Michelman is a co-founder and editor at Sprudge Media Network. Read more Jordan Michelman on Sprudge. 

The post The Tale Of The Mindful Manager appeared first on Sprudge.

seen 1st on http://sprudge.com

[itsworn]

Jalopy Spirit Lives in this Well-Preserved and Tastefully Hot-Rodded 1933 Ford Phaeton

Alternative.

Before the hot rod moniker had even been coined, jalopies were almost exclusively built based on lightweight and somewhat aerodynamic roadsters. Coupes, sedans, and a handful of pickups eventually joined the ranks, but some models never gained much interest from hot rodders—four-door models in particular, like the phaeton.

Up until the 1920s, this body style—derived from 19th-century horse-drawn carriages—could be found all over the big cities. Phaetons fell from favor during the following decade, as technology allowed for the mass production of closed cars and convertible bodies with glass windows all around. Suddenly, phaetons looked so yesterday.

This lack of interest from automobile buyers was reflected in the sales of Ford products. In 1932, FoMoCo assembled 5,251 phaetons worldwide, compared to a total production of 322,962 vehicles, which equates to less than 2 percent. The situation proved even dimmer in 1933, as Dearborn and its affiliate factories released only 2,206 Deluxe phaetons and 609 Standard phaetons.

The car featured on these pages happens to be one of the latter. Yeah, you can say it’s a super-rare beast. Compared to its Deluxe counterpart, the Standard had no cowl lights, no ashtray in the dash, a plainer interior, as well as painted (rather than chromed) windshield posts. Very few of these stark models have survived, as they have not been considered as valuable as roadsters or coupes of the same era.

This survivor belongs to Cam Grant, a well-known figure of the Canadian hot rod scene. He lives within miles of the U.S. border in Surrey, British Columbia, in a house flanked by a couple of large garages filled with tons of desirable parts he has gathered over the last few decades. For Cam, hopping up cars began in 1958 when he was 13, with a ’30 Ford roadster (purchased for $75) that was first motivated by a ’48 Mercury flathead. It evolved over the years, receiving a ’55 Buick nailhead V8 on a frame kicked front and aft that received a channeled body.

Other vintage Fords followed, in the shape of a ’28 phaeton, a ’34 Victoria, and several ’32 roadsters. In fact, he scored two of the latter—genuine barn finds—a few years ago. He kept one of them and sold the second to his good friend Dave York, a car we wrote about in “Against All Odds” (Sept. 2017). Cam’s current fleet also includes a mildly altered ’39 Ford Cabriolet, a real-deal Deuce three-window coupe, a heavily modified ’55 Rambler Cross Country wagon, and a customized ’34 Ford roadster with an interesting story (see sidebar).

The ’33 phaeton’s tale goes something like this: A person lost to history hot rodded the vehicle in the late 1940s, before storing it in the Tacoma, Washington, area in 1952, along with a pair of Deuces, a roadster, and a five-window. The phaeton “was brought out of hibernation in 2004 and sold by the owner’s widow to a man in Spokane, Washington,” Cam recounts. “It then went to San Francisco to a friend, who made it roadworthy. He kept it for a couple of years, and I was then lucky enough to become its next caretaker.”

Just before storing the phaeton more than six decades ago, it appears that the owner was getting ready to paint the body, as evidenced by the original black paint being sanded in spots to feather out chips. The doors were primed, but the project stalled for some reason. So when Cam took possession of the car, he discovered a terrific time capsule, featuring a 100 percent rust-free shell and floor, with no repairs ever performed! The doors closed perfectly with no sag, an amazing feat considering phaetons were prone to body flex. Even the fenders remain original and in great shape, with some paint left (though not much). To make sure the bodywork would continue aging gracefully, Cam applied primer over several bare-metal areas, though he made sure the treatment would match the patina.

The frame received plenty of attention as well, thanks to a few coats of black paint and diverse parts picked from the impressive stash stored in his garage, starting with an old Ford front axle, drilled and dropped 3-1/2 inches. Other goodies include a modified ’56 Ford pickup steering box and ’48 Ford juice brakes. Both front and rear spring packs feature reversed eyes to properly get the tub closer to the ground.

For motivation, Cam selected a 239ci Ford flathead, equipped with a few hop-up products. Notice the old and faded decal listing “Kenz & Leslie V-8 Service,” a firm that has been involved with automobile racing since 1935. It keeps company with an Eddie Meyer fuel block, which feeds a pair of genuine Stromberg 97s. Ponies travel via a ’39 Ford three-speed box with an open driveshaft conversion before reaching a ’36 Ford rearend with a 4.11 ring-and-pinion.

Hard to believe, but a lot of that interior has been with the car since 1933! Cam muses, “The door panels may well be original, with lots of extra nails to hold them on. Standard phaeton seats and door panels had what Ford called ‘leather-like’ material. Under the plaid seat covers, the original upholstery has a similar material.”

The driver faces a handful of rare components, such as the Art Deco–styled 1940s Yankee aftermarket turn signal switch mounted to the steering column. Under the dash, Cam installed a vintage Sun voltmeter, flanked by a pair of Stewart-Warner instruments (oil pressure and water temperature gauges). He also added a Model T ignition switch above them, though it now controls the headlights and taillights. Finally, the SCTA badge was a present from a friend nearly 40 years ago. It tends to travel from one car to another depending on his mood.

Being a true hot rod, the patina’d phaeton evolves as time passes, though Cam makes certain to perform alterations in harmony with the vehicle’s original jalopy spirit. He concedes not being a “flathead guy,” so next time you see the car, it may have a more powerful Buick nailhead. Still a cool engine, right? Come to think of it, this phaeton checks many boxes in our list: It’s a rare model preserved with care, it retains great style and stance, and is equipped with a desirable selection of vintage components. It truly doesn’t get much better than this.

These under-construction shots illustrate just how sound the body was after all those years in storage.

These under-construction shots illustrate just how sound the body was after all those years in storage.

The hot rod rake comes courtesy of Firestone bias-plies measuring 5.50-16 and 7.00-16. Cam kept the original top irons but has no plans for a top. We can’t blame him. After all, the climate proves much more temperate in the Vancouver area than most of Canada.

The nose of the phaeton retains stock ’33 Ford headlights, and why not, since they look great. Check out the buffalo logo on the grille, an authentic ’33 piece. Cam explains: “You got one of these when you travelled through Canadian national parks in the 1920s and 1930s. They have become very collectible, and expensive.”

Some call it a grille guard, others a bumper guard. Whatever you fancy, this piece is a period-correct accessory. Cam converted the two small foglights into front turn signals.

Unlike Deluxe models, Standard ’33 phaetons had painted windshield posts. A ’39 Ford supplied the rearview mirror, though Cam thinks its graceful bracket was probably made decades ago.

The 239ci flathead perfectly fits the theme of the vehicle. Cam dug through his amazing pile of parts and came up with a few gems: genuine Edelbrock heads, Eddie Meyer intake manifold, Mallory distributor, and Fenton headers with the right amount of patina.

The old plaid material hides much of the original upholstery, though it’s “very cracked and worn,” according to Cam. “My wife got the plaid seat covers about 30 years ago, and we never had a use for them—until now. She can’t recall where she got them.”

While the instruments and steering column are original 1933 pieces, the banjo steering wheel came from a ’39 model. The ’37 gearshift knob may not look overly exciting at first glance, but Cam is quite attached to it: “It was given to me by a nice old neighbor in 1958 when I was a kid, trying to build my ’31 roadster. I’ve used it in several hot rods since.”

That Moon pressure pump is dear to Cam’s heart, being a birthday present from an old friend. “It came out of a neat ’31 Ford roadster built in Vancouver in the mid-’50s. It had a 354ci Chrysler Hemi with Hilborn injection. I actually rode in it once. It tended to load up; but once it cleaned out, it was impressive and a bit scary. Now it’s just there because I like it.”

Wheels are common (traditional) hot rod items, specifically 16-inch Kelseys, enhanced with cast aluminum Cragar hubcaps. And, of course, a touch of red paint brings some welcome contrast against the dark shell. The car occasionally runs on whitewall radials, plus genuine ’50 Merc wheels and caps.

Punched with about 40 louvers, the rear apron houses a ’33 California license plate, installed for decorative purposes. Above it, notice the winged light, a swap meet find originally used as trunk lid badge on a mid-’30s Chrysler Airflow.

Over the years, Cam has unearthed dozens of desirable license plate frames, mostly from BC and cities along the California beaches. His tub features a deco-styled Long Beach frame in front and a plaid model in the back. “I get some ribbing about buying it to match the upholstery,” he says.

This Standard phaeton is a true time machine, with a few details purposely left “as is.” Yes, it’s a bit dog-eared around the edges, but you just don’t find cars like these anymore.

In Cam’s Garage

The picture clearly demonstrates Cam Grant’s obsession with vintage stock/performance parts. HOT ROD produced a piece about the man and his place in June 2012. This photo, an outtake from that article, shows another interesting ride he acquired, a Titian Red ’34 roadster that somewhat hovers between a hot rod and a custom. Note the unusual door cutouts (executed in lead) and the spare wheel on the rear bumper, two details you would typically associate with custom cars.

These alterations, seemingly performed in California in the 1940s, were meant to mimic the luxurious automobiles of the time. By 1949, the vehicle ended up in Seattle, on the used car lot of H&H Motors. A young Marvin Pickard purchased it in 1951, before it went through various owners and engines (Ford flathead V8s, Buick nailhead) during the 1950s and early ’60s.

Although it never graced the pages of the well-known magazines from the West Coast, the car still received some attention during the ’50s from three small-size magazines based on the other side of the country: Speed and Custom, Car Speed, and Style, Souping and Swapping. Earl Reed owned it at the time, when it was known as the “Rip Roaring Roadster.”

Cam bought the roadster in 2009 as a great survivor with minimal body issues. While preserving as much of the old paint and parts as possible, he still added his own touch to the vehicle, using a DuVall-style windshield from friend Dave York. He then went to chop the top, although it remains functional and foldable. Other alterations include a 4-inch dropped axle, ’48 Ford brakes, and desirable Lincoln Zephyr hubcaps. In case you’re wondering, the lights mix pieces from a ’36 Ford for the front and ’39 LaSalle for the back.

For motivation, Cam elected to use a 390ci V8 that came from a ’59 Cadillac. It received a selection of Offenhauser speed equipment, such as valve covers and an intake manifold supporting dual Rochester carbs. It’s a reliable combo that allows our British Columbia resident to easily travel to local shows and occasionally across the nearby U.S. border.

    The post Jalopy Spirit Lives in this Well-Preserved and Tastefully Hot-Rodded 1933 Ford Phaeton appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/jalopy-spirit-lives-well-preserved-tastefully-hot-rodded-1933-ford-phaeton/ via IFTTT

[jeharvill]

Oliver 4, More

Member of the Family

At four years old Oliver is feeling like a “kid” in a new way. He’s a member of our family with much more ability to help out, influence choices, and be independent. I like this picture of him by the tree because he looks so big, just casually leaning there, chatting with me. 

Piggy Bank

How he got a piggy bank: We currently have assigned meals for the seven nights of the week, and Wednesday night is our restaurant night. We go to a sushi restaurant where we sit at the bar and choose dishes off boats. The owner is very nice and one day she brought Hazel over to the register and showed her a pink porcelain piggy bank and a beaded necklace. Hazel got to choose one gift to take home and she was delighted. She chose the necklace. Oliver then excitedly asked if he could have the piggy bank and the owner looked confused and said “No, no, it’s pink, it’s for girls.” Oliver was very sad and confused, but said “Okay” and returned to our seat. A few moments later the owner returned and said “Actually, if you want it, it’s okay, you can have it.” Hazel never particularly cared about her necklace, but the piggy bank has become a treasure to Oliver.

Oliver is thrilled whenever he finds a coin on the floor and he races upstairs to put it in his piggy bank. Hazel actually also loves to put coins in Oliver’s piggy bank. On one occasion Oliver asked to do chores to get money for the piggy bank and he did a very good job unloading the dishwasher. It was interesting to see him strategize about how to get all the dishes onto the counter and then get himself high enough to put them into the cabinets (picture above). Sometimes he put one dish up, climbed the tower, and put the dish away. Sometimes he worked in stacks. Sometimes he got distracted by arranging the dishes on the counter.

He loves to help with everything. In the morning at breakfast time Oliver and Hazel are both very eager to be given “jobs” such as “get the spoons”, “wash the berries” or “pour the milk”. Oliver wants to be the one to “get the blubes” (blueberries). He frequently says to me “I’m so hungry! It must be a growth spurt!” Then he says in a forced casual voice “I think I’ll look and see what to eat in the refrigerator”. He really wants to be allowed to casually choose things to eat. He’ll say “Hmm, I think I’m hungry for ... maybe ice cream.” All casual. This tactic has not been successful so now he says “Mama, I’m going to open the refrigerator to see what I want to eat, and then I’ll ask you before I eat it.” 

He also wants to choose his own way of doing things in general. He wants to take 20 minutes figuring out new and cool ways to climb the stairs at bedtime. He wants to climb through the passenger door or the trunk to get to his car seat. He ponders the variety of choices he has for how to wash his hands: plug the sink or no? Water first or soap first? Sit on sink, stand on tub edge, stand on stepping stool? Ten squirts of soap or just one? Hot water or cold? He’s really into the idea that he has his own way of doing things. 

Bedtime

Right now Oliver’s favorite books are Pippi Longstocking, Stewart Little, My Father’s Drag and BFG. Sometimes he laughs so much about what’s happening in his bedtime story that it’s hard to settle him down for sleep. I always love to hear him laugh.

I try to save time to talk with him about his day at bedtime. He says interesting things. One time he told me that he didn’t like going to school because he would find himself playing with people he didn’t like. He explained that his mind would not want to play with certain people, but his body would not listen and take him over there anyways.

This is a picture of him happy at school, showing that he’s traded shoes with his friend for the day. They decided to wear each others’ shoes home that night as well. I took out my phone to take a photo of Oliver and Hazel casually stepped into the picture. I have no idea who’s shoes she’s wearing. 

I’ve been doing a basic body-scan relaxation with him at bedtime to help him settle down. We started off doing a deep breath and saying “goodnight” to each body part, such as his toes and knees. I started noticing that he was less engaged with this routine after a week so now I use it as a chance to learn new anatomy. Instead of “goodnight knees” or “Goodnight arms” we say “Goodnight patella” and “Goodnight humerus”.

He’s asking me the names of his finger bones. He asks great questions like:

What’s in the middle part of my arm?

How does my arm move?

How do my muscles move my arm?

How are my muscles connected to my bones?

What color are my bones?

What’s on the inside of my bones?

He’s always had a lot of interest in anatomy. Recently he asked me “Do babies know if they’re girls or boys?” And we talked about what it means to be a girl or boy and what a baby could know. We talked about how babies need to learn to categorize things in general. And he surprised me by saying “Women have breasts, vulva, and uterus and men have just nipples, penis and no uterus. (pause) And testicles.” I was really surprised that he thought about internal anatomy. 

Anyhow, back to bedtime. After body relaxation I sing him “Goodnight Bon Oui” and “This Pretty Planet”. Oliver and I have collaborated to rewrite some of the words and add a verse. This is our version:

This pretty planet Floating through space Your garden, your forrest, your sleeping place Golden sun shining down Gentle blue planet, spin us around All through the day, Turn towards the milky way

This blue green planet Floating in space Your school, your playground, your sleeping place Silver moon shining bright Glow in the sky, give us the light All through the night Turn towards the morning light

The line about “give us the light” was a contribution of Oliver’s that he felt especially proud of.

Oliver and I continue to both sincerely believe that we only have nightmares when we are too hot or we have to pee.

Naps and Tantrums

Stormier tantrums have been a part of life with Oliver for the last few months. For good reason, there are no photos or videos of this side of him. We’ve dramatically cut back on sugar and we’re seeing a noticeable positive shift in mood swings. 

Oliver is transitioning away from naps right now and his behavior is pretty different depending upon whether he’s had a nap. Some evenings when he has not had a nap he’s sweet and cheerful, but he has no control over his impulses. He might do something like grab a glass of water and pour it on the floor and then look at me with genuine bewilderment and say “I’m sorry, I just .. uh, did that.”

Sometimes he comes up with interesting rationalizations for why he did things, as in one instance I recorded where we were on the sidewalk and he rode is scooter way ahead of me. I yelled out “Stop! Oliver, Stop!” and chased him. When I caught up to him zooming along and stopped him he explained that he hadn’t stopped when asked because he thought I was yelling “Shock! Oliver, Shock!”

One thing I see a lot from Oliver right now is extreme emotions. If he says something like “I want you to play trains with me” and I can’t at that moment he immediately adopts an exaggerated sad posture with his head hanging very low, his lower lip stuck way out, his arms slack by his side.

He morphs from casual posture to despondent posture in a flash when Hazel refuses some request for a toy or to play. When she grabs toys away from him he is old enough to usually control the impulse to grab it right back. He might instead kick the air and say in a stern voice “I was using that, give it back!” and if Hazel says no he falls apart.

Here’s an example, very typical right now: One evening we made popsicles. Oliver made one with pineapple juice, and two that were a mix of pineapple and apple juice. Hazel got to choose the recipes for her popsicles. The next morning when it was time to eat them Hazel looked at Oliver and said “You can’t have pineapple” and he collapsed in tears on the floor. After he explained to her that his feelings were hurt, I explained to him that she didn’t actually get to choose if he could have pineapple.

One kind of behavior which is new is rants about how unfair things are. He might say “I wish you weren’t my parents and I lived in a different house because you guys never let me have any fun!” One time when he didn’t want to leave a play date with Micah he said “I wish Micah’s family had three kids and I was one of them because you guys never let me play!”

As I said, I don’t have photos of him when he’s in a tantrum, so I’ll use this photo where he’s pretending to be a fierce fighter with a stick:

Responsibility

Oliver is really stepping into much greater responsibility in his daily routines. He still would rather that I put his clothes on for him, but he now consistently (and grudgingly) does it himself. When Oliver makes a mess he doesn’t especially like being the one to clean up, but he understands that it’s something he has to do. He remembers to lock and close his car door. He likes to buckle his own carseat. He likes to help pack his lunch. He cleans up the toys in his bedroom before bed. And right now we’re practicing getting out of bed, walking to the hall bathroom, peeing, washing hands, and getting back in bed by himself at night. We also practice a lot of sidewalk safety such as pausing at driveways and looking for cars.

[sueboohscorner]

#iZombie Season 3 Episode 6 "Some Like it a Hot Mess" Recap/Review

BITCH SLAP

This episode begins with a glimpse at Liv's next meal.. An extremely annoying woman-child, attached to her headphones, and acting very much like many girls I have worked with (baby voice and all), is late for work. She is the type that seems to get away with everything with a head tilt mixed with an insincere “I’m soorrryyyy!” and a pouty lip that's selfie ready. But, she does seem to have fun every moment of every day no matter what. I am a little jealous of that. When little miss drama gets bitch slapped at work, we have our case! She is obviously murdered but we will have to wait on the why and when.

Meanwhile at bromance pad-well, I hate to say I told you so but to my friends (actually I think most of them agreed)-I knew Major wouldn’t lose his memory. We join Ravi and Major the next morning after the intense Liv-Major (Lajor? Miv?) love scene and proclamations from the night before. Ravi is quizzing him on his memory as he shoves every bit of food his mouth can contain. Zombies really miss eating! One of the memory flash cards he quizzes him on has a picture of Minor! I forgot about Minor! I hope he is happy and found his forever home!

Liv is happy but has to get home not quite ready to have the talk about last night. It’s complicated.

TEAM BLEYTON

Over at the girl’s place, Peyton and Blaine are full on domesticated.

She’s cooking him bacon!

That’s love people! Liv still has her Viagra Visions which leads to duty being called, and she heads to the crime scene where Yvonne, our party girl, lies dead in the bathtub. There is a hair dryer in the tub, but it’s no suicide. Clive notices a piece broken off the dryer and a chipped tile which indicates someone threw it in. They talk to the homebody roommate who seems to be the complete opposite of our victim. She shows them Yvonne's messy room (which looks a lot like mine) and explains she was living soap opera with this girl. Good luck with these Drama Queen brains Liv! (And to everyone around you)!

Back at the lab, Liv does her thing and the techno music starts. It might not be techno but I am old and cannot differentiate between all this new dance music that sounds the same. So, Ravi and Clive now get to deal with Club Girl brain. Liv can’t find her cell phone so she asks in an ultra-whiny voice for Ravi to call it.

It literally rings in the dead body they have sewn up!

Liv and Clive visit the victim’s work to watch video of the earlier bitch slap, but Liv is only concerned to learn Yvonne was a DJ. Seems like everyone is these days!

“…hashtag my kind of cool bitch!”-Liv

Major and Ravi play video games and discuss girls etc. Liv arrives and Ravi gives her an update but she is distracted.

“This case I’m solving, I think she was killed for being AWESOME! Murdered by haters, literally!”- Liv

Ravi informs Liv  Major isn’t remembering certain things and then asks Liv is she ran her errand earlier.

Ravi, are you dense? Why would you ask Liv on these brains to run an important errand right now?

We head over to The Scratching post where Don E, (I’ve been spelling it Donnie this whole season but someone just corrected me…thank you Mary), is trying to console a customer about his new zombie life. The guy is willing to pay a million dollars for a cure. Don E is intrigued.

Liv heads to her new spot…da club! Really, they are there for questioning but it’s more like Liv has been called home to the mothership. Clive asks the owner some questions and wants to talk to his wife, Trish who might know more but she is out running errands.

“You might remember me-I used to come here, Eighties Remix night? Oh, and also, we’re the police!” -Liv

Liv “questions” the bartender…

While Clive gets some history on Yvonne’s work habits…Liv decides to pump up the volume.

Don’t quit your day job Liv…seriously. Liv starts to get her  party on which is making Clive extremely anxious. Possibly because she is drinking Vodka straight from the bottle and proceeds to empty it? While searching in the stockroom for more booze she comes across the elusive Trish, who also happens to be the slapper from the store camera.

“Hashtag case closed!” -Liv

Trish claims her innocence and says she was only hiding in the stockroom because she knew they would recognize her from the slap. Reason for the slap? Apparently, party-girl Yvonne slept with her husband, the club owner. Not cool club dude! He does have an alibi, a girl called Jen, specifically “oops I forgot my bra-Jen.” Trish has an alibi also- involving a little revenge sex of her own.

Liv shows up to check on Major. He is in the middle of writing letters to people in case his memory doesn’t stick. She reminds him to write to 2 people I don’t know. His parents?

“This is so totally a moment, right? And you won’t even remember…” -Liv

After they kiss, Major tries to tell her something but she wants to preserve the moment with no words; with silent purity.  But then she takes a selfie. OMG!

Major boards a bus to Walla Walla. I guess that’s where he is from. Are people really from Walla Walla? So, wild guess- he is going to see his parents.

Back at Bleyton land, Blaine is cooking for Peyton now and Peyton is working on the dominatrix case from last week. Liv remembers she needs to get the blue juice ingredients for Ravi and prints it out on Peyton’s printer. Liv gets a vision of Yvonne’s nice coworker yelling at her and rushes out to question him without her print out, which puts it in the hands of Blaine.

Hmmmm….

Back at the lab, Ravi is still waiting for Liv to get it together when he gets a surprise visit from Don E whom tells him about the customer who wants the cure for a million dollars. Ravi reminds him the cure has the memory issues and Don E offers his “Blaine’s a faker” theory we have all been musing over forever. He happens makes a heap of sense-weirdly. Blaine’s problems DID all go away after he “lost” his memory. Ravi continues to try to reach imprudent Liv when Peyton shows up to discuss the dom case. He actually tries to hide from her from a second. Poor Ravi!

After about a nano second of thought, he decides to tackle the Blaine faking theory with Peyton even though he just blew it off with Don E. But, he does give her something to stew on. If Blaine IS faking that means the cure works and that would mean everything; especially to her best friend. Peyton’s not having it though, or she’s enjoying her denial.

“I just wanted you to hear.” -Ravi

“And I did.”-Peyton

Hashtag Awkward! Oh great, now I am starting to chatter like Liv…new brains please!

Back at the station, Clive is checking alibis and Liv is carping about creepy nice guys. Liv gets another vision of Yvonne dumping out her purse. Just like her room, her purse looks just like mine! Yvonne was at a pawn shop trying to sell a collectible baseball.

Back at the lab, Ravi still seems to be attempting to count on Liv to get the ingredients for the blue solution. Ravi, get it yourself!!!

Liv is supposed to be watching Major as well so they rush over to their place to check on him but realize he and his bags are gone.

In Walla Walla a police officer knocks on a woman’s door and informs her a young man was wandering around the bus station. It seems he doesn’t know who or where he is. Oh no! Major is in the police car and the woman recognizes him.

At the funeral home, Peyton brings Blaine food. They really do revel in the eating! Peyton imparts her conversation with Ravi to an unphased Blaine who quickly changes the subject. She also tells him that Major took the cure which definitely peaks his interest. Peyton says she is so happy with him, she doesn’t think she would care even if he had gotten his memory back. Blaine comes clean.

“Major’s gonna get his memory back…and the good news doesn’t stop there. This is me.” -Blaine

Bombshell! Blaine HAS been faking. He tells her you do lose your memory at first but then it snaps back fairly quickly. So, my theory was wrong. I really though he had only gained it back last weekend. He’s a good actor! He tells her he did it so he could change his life, change who he was and the way people viewed him.

“Well it worked, you’ve made a fool of me.” -Peyton

Back is Walla Walla, Major awakes in his childhood bedroom. He recognizes his mother so Blaine was telling the truth.

Peyton goes to tell the news to Ravi and Liv, that Major will be okay because he will get his memory back soon. The cure works!

“So, what do you say Liv? Ready to be human again?” -Ravi

Of course she is!

Back at the lab there has been a break in. Of course…Don E anyone???

Clive is still at the police station questioning the co-worker which this leads him to the mousy roommate. Who cares who killed Yvonne??? I want to know about the cure whereabouts! Anyway, all roads lead back to the valuable baseball. Kind of saw that one coming. It’s always the quiet innocent ones, isn’t it? Yvonne pawned her roommate’s baseball and replaced it with a fake one. So, she killed the bitch because of it-plus she annoyed the bloody hell out of her. I think a light sentence is justifiable. Hashtag minimum sentence in a low security prison?

Back at the lab, not soon enough I might add, Peyton suspects Blaine, Ravi suspects Don E and Liv is just tremendously depressed. WAIT! Ravi remembers there is still one dose left! The one he gave to Major just in case. He never used it!

Clive arrives with his confession thanks to Liv’s vision which leads me to believe Clive will not be happy losing his best asset. But I am wrong…Clive is a good guy and just wants Liv to be happy and get her life back.

Back to Blaine, he doesn’t seem to have cure syringes- but he does seem to be drowning his sorrows and using Liv’s print out to make the blue juice complete with his forgotten little smirk. What are his plans now I wonder?

Major returns and they attack him for the final dose! But, oh no- he doesn’t have it. He gave it to someone. To who? We shall find out!

FIND OUT NEXT WEEK!

Episode grade: 8 1/2 It was remarkable, as always, but Liv’s brain did get a little much and the case they worked on was pretty lackluster.