#IF I WERE AWAKE EARLIER IN THE DAY MORE OFTEN I'D PROBABLY ALSO WATCH THESE LIVE...

[theminecraftbee]

oh delighted by iskall's idea of "what if i react to the recap live on twitch so i can keep up with all the other hermits and discuss with my chat about what everyone else is up to", if only because it's recursing one more level on the hermitcraft reactions. how deep can we get down this rabbit hole,

[thedeal-if]

The ROs take it upon themselves to wake up the MC so they don't miss work or an appointment, how do they do so? (also hi! i hope you're doing great!)

Hi!! Aw thank you💕 I'm doing great! Hope you are too~!

(Dante is a fucking mess of a man I'd be shocked to see him waking himself up in time to help MC lol)

You wake up to the smell of burning food and the sound of a door snapping open. He’s not exactly running late, but Dante doesn’t have all the time he would have needed to make the situation as memorable as he’d hoped.

“(Name)~ Svegliati, mia gioia~,” Dante coos. English comes back swiftly when he sees you stir, the language switch always turns his pitch a little deeper “We’re running a teensy late and I don’t want to see you stressed~”

You mumble sleepily, “How late?”

Truly, a good question. Dante still doesn’t know how to use a phone, he doesn’t own a watch either, so he cranes his head to check outside, eyes meeting the clock on the hallway wall.

Oh, you really are running late.

“Em,” words are hard to find under pressure, but Dante’s hesitation probably speaks loud enough, and you sit up hastily, bleary-eyed “We should get going soon, gioia. Or now, if you can.”

Lilith, early riser as they usually are, makes sure that their alarm gives them all the time they need to freshen up, dress, and get their makeup done and on point. Getting you to your appointment means seeing you inside and picking you up if you wish them to. Lilith is responsible enough to handle the job, it also involves you, and you’re much more fun than the alternative.

You wake up to find Lilith by your side, sitting on your bed, graceful like a cat, they smile like one too, tentatively. Their care extends to the tender way their fingers graze your cheeks, the teasing touch makes goosebumps paint your skin. Lilith bites back an affectionate smile, they whisper your name instead—as if afraid to break the peacefulness of the early morning.

“Love, time to start the day,” they say.

Josh will end up confessing days later that, though he has always been sure about the time and date, he checks over seven times whether got it right or not. In all honesty, you wouldn’t have guessed he feels paranoid about being wrong, Josh wakes you up like he has done it a million times before.

“Hey, it’s time, Dot,” he says softly. And Josh is exactly on time as always—he will also confess, with a flush, that he waits for over ten minutes while staring at be clock just to do that—, a mug of coffee he brewed earlier in his hands.

Josh waits—he waits often, doesn’t he?—until you’re conscious enough to take the mug into your own hands.

“You’re going to do great today!” the pep talk Josh gives you might come a tad too early for you to fully register anything he’s saying, but Josh’s burst of energy is motivating enough either way.

Villanelle accepts naturally with a cheerful clap of her hands. She expresses some worry but promises she’ll wake up on time. No matter what. Villanelle delivers on her promise the next morning, and her bright smile greets you like the morning sun.

“Rise and shine~” Villanelle sets down a mug on your bedside table. The flowery scent of its contents fills your senses “It’s green tea. It always helps me wake up.”

It must work wonders if one were to judge Villanelle’s ever-bright presence, even so early in the morning. The witch coaxes you until you’re sitting up, she promises she made the tea so you would like it.

Last night Victor checked over the plan with you, he went over the motions and steps methodically. You felt like you were his partner, the two of you getting ready to hunt down some demon—except the only thing that happened was your request for him to wake you up for work.

Victor knocks on your door until you are well awake, he never crossed the threshold, giving you privacy and insisting through the wood only when he feels that you’re running late.

“You’re ready?” Victor questions once you join him in the kitchen. He eyes you briefly before he checks the time, and nods “I’ll drive you there once you’re done— I prepared a simple breakfast.”

Calling it simple is definitely acting up on his modesty. Victor seems to know, he smiles a little when you eye the feast he made. For you.

Despite Aliyah’s initial—quite strong, very verbal—refusal, the genie happens upon your room at the—what are the chances?—ungodly hour you once asked her to wake you up. Aliyah denies her interest in your well-being as is customary. Then, she proves it by being rougher than rough. She pulls up your curtains, rips the bedsheets off of you, laughs at your puffy, sleepy face when you turn to glare at her.

“You knew what you were getting into when you asked,” Aliyah shrugs, she always looks strangely smug when she’s right, but today seems to be an exception. The genie notices your eyes on her, and her self-satisfied smirk returns “Don’t look so worried, human. Confidence is key.”

You think that this is Aliyah’s roundabout way of telling you she believes you’ll do great.

As soon as you ask Nathan to wake you up it’s like a flip is switched, he takes the task as gracefully as he can, with a seriousness that dies almost as soon as it appears. Nathan is blind to your very human emotions, he automatically assumes you’re nervous about your appointment and tries to get your mind off it as best as he can for the rest of the day.

Nathan wakes you up like the two of you are going to a party, with a misplaced cheer that is strangely endearing given the situation.

“Morning, morning!” he beams—albeit a little forcedly—, yawns a couple times, tugs on your hand until you’re sitting up “It’s so… fucking early! What a joy!”

You remind Eden of your need to wake up early the day prior, she makes a note of it and dutifully shakes you awake the next day. Eden stares at you for a few seconds, puffy-eyed and shaking the haze of the morning, then she chuckles.

“Coffee/Tea/Juice?”

She asks like she remembered to buy/brew it, but you find out she didn’t quickly enough when Eden abandons the house to get it fresh for you. It’s an unspoken offer for you to shower and dress, one which you take, and by the time she’s back, you’re ready to go.

[wellbafineline]

Promise?

Harry is needy and you visit him on tour

hellooo this is my entry for ms olivias ( @bfharry ​ ) boyfriendathon, im not entirely sure that anything happens in this but it is just reuniting w harry on tour fluff!!! i used the promt ‘harry’s number 1 groupie is his gf’ & this is my second full fic so pls be nice to me lol but enjoy!!  also here is my other writing 

also the title honestly has nothing to do with the piece i just picked it bc i though that line of dialogue was cute.

& heres livs boyfriendathon masterlist to read everyones entries!!

It didn't take much convincing for Harry to get you to join him on tour, actually all it’d taken was him to call you after one of his first shows on the North American leg telling you how much he missed you, and how lonely his hotel rooms felt and a couple of days later Jeff was forwarding you the plane tickets and info to meet them in Sacramento for a week of the tour.

It wasn't strange for you to visit harry on tour, but you both normally lasted a few more weeks before you caved and took the week off to go visit him, but a particularly needy harry and late night phone call with him listing all the ways he missed you, even after just a week and a half of being a part was all it took for you to take the 14 hour flight from London. 

You were antsy to see him from the minute that you got in the car at the airport, but it was only increasing as you were walking with a security guard through the corridors of the arena. The security guard points you in the direction of Harry's dressing room as you turn the last corner. You could hear Harry's playlist playing quietly behind the door as you approached and knocked. ‘Jeffrey, said i just need ten minutes and i'd be there’ he shouted through the door ‘try again’ you laughed ‘not Jeffrey’ 

The door quickly flung open as soon as he heard your voice, immediately wrapping you in his arms, resting his chin on top of your head, and you both stayed like that for a minute before he started to squeeze you a bit too tightly. ‘Getting a bit hard to breathe here H’. ‘sorry love’ he loosened his arms a little around you, allowing him to look at you for a second before completely freeing you from his grasp, you looked tired from the long flight from London and your hair was a little wild because you hadn't had the chance to brush it in the rush from the airport to the venue he place a quick kiss on your forehead before letting you go to follow him into the dressing room to get settled.

There was probably an hour before the preparations for the show tonight really started, meaning Lambert would come with the rack of all of Harry's outfits and steal him away from you for him to get dressed and prep to perform but for now you were more than content with the position you were in. Harry had come back from soundcheck earlier and immediately lay on top of you wrapping his arms around your waist and his face pressed into your neck, while your hands were stroking through his brown curls while he sighed contentedly every so often. 

You two stayed like that for the time being until people started to filter in the dressing room and asking for Harry’s attention to put the final details on the show and his outfit for tonight. You gave his hand a squeeze getting his attention to tell him you were going to find Mitch, Sarah and Adam and leave him to get ready for the show. 

•··°　• ·*　　·　·　★　.　✦　　　*　*　　.　      

The next time you saw Harry was as people were gathering to send him off onto the stage, you could hear the crowd cheering as the venue lights dimmed. ‘Come ‘ere quick’ he said as he pulled you by your hand into his chest ‘Need m’ good luck kiss’ he had the biggest cheesy grin on his face, you couldn't help but indulge him and match his smile. You bring your hand to cup his jaw, giving him a sweet kiss, but quickly pulling away, because you knew Harry and knew how he'd turn your good luck kisses into ‘make out in the venue hallway’ kisses, and you’d had enough teasing from Jeff about that over the years you’d been together. 

•··°　• ·*　　·　·　★　.　✦　　　*　*　　.　      

You’d made your way back to the dressing room ‘Ew! H you’re all sweaty’ you laughed as his arms tightened around your waist, clearly not listening to your complaints. ‘Missed this though didn’t y’.’ His voice is murmured in your hair with his arms still wrapped around your waist, but loosening so you could walk back for him to pack up and go back to your hotel, he’d said earlier that he wanted ‘his girl all to himself’ on your first night which you couldn't really argue with, being exhausted from the flight. 

•··°　• ·*　　·　·　★　.　✦　　　*　*　　.

You were waiting on the plush hotel bed scrolling through your phone, checking social media while you’re waiting for Harry to get out of the shower, he was bound to be exhausted once his post show adrenaline wore off and he said he just wanted to take a quick shower to get clean, but now you were almost certain he’d fallen a sleep under the water.

The shower water turning off is what pulls your attention away from your phone, as you were in the middle of texting back your best friend who was checking that you got there safely. After a moment harry comes out of the bathroom, he was tying the belt of one of the hotel robes as he makes his way over and flops himself on the bed next to you, motioning for you to move over so you were both lying on his side of the bed, your head on his shoulder, and moving the few pieces of wet hair he missed in his hair clip off of his face. 

‘M tired, glad we didn't go out now would have been asleep in the middle of some bar by now’ he murmured into your hair ‘Yeah, better off here’ you agreed, moving so that your leg was thrown over his hip and arm across his middle. 

After a while of laying with each other he started to get restless, still some pent up adrenaline from the show, so you suggest doing the sheet masks you picked up in the airport earlier.  

‘Y’sure your not tired? can do all of this tomorrow?.’ His arms tightened around your waist where you were sat on the bathroom counter putting the facemask on Harry's face. He scrunched up his face as you smoothed out the cold material on his face ‘M’fine just wanna spend some time with you.’ 

A little while after you had finished your facemasks Harry had decided he was hungry, finally crashing from his post show adrenaline and wanting to devour a bowl of fries from room service there was a knock on the door as you reached to put on the next episode of the show that you guys were watching. 

‘it'll be food, I'll get it’ Harry mumbled as he pushed himself up off of the bed to get the door, grabbing his wallet on the way to tip the waiter. He returned a minute later with the tray of food you ordered, setting it down on the bed. 

‘Missed you y’know’ harry starts as you put another chip in your mouth

‘Missed you two H, was only two and a half weeks though’ Harry scoffs ‘What not allowed to miss m’ own girlfriend now?’ You were already laughing as he finished, picking up  a chip to throw at him across the bed. ‘Course not, like knowing you miss me’ you smile at him ‘always love.’ 

After finishing your food Harry’d moved you both back to lay in the bed with his head resting on your chest, his eyes fluttering shut every so often, he was clearly trying to stay awake. ‘S’alright H go to sleep, will still be here tomorrow, got me all week’ you told him, lips pressing a kiss to his hairline as you reached to turn off the TV so you both could get some needed sleep.

‘Y’promise?’

‘Promise.’

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 2.6k

Warnings: swearing, mention of death, angst

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 12 Part 14

Part 13

Liam said we should drive to the restaurant. I wanted to get an Uber because I didn't think we would get a car park close to the restaurant. The shoes I was wearing were not made for walking.

"We don't have to worry about the car. They have a valet service," Liam said when I suggested an Uber would be better.

Of course, they do. I don't think I've ever used a valet service in my life, and Liam tells me like it's an everyday thing. I suppose it is for him. Earlier in the week, I was amazed to find out that he gets driven to work most days even though he only lives about 10 minutes away. No wonder movies and tv shows are so expensive to make if they have to pay for things like drivers on top of everything else.

I was excited about going in his car, though. I was itching to drive it. I wanted to ask him if I could, but I didn't. As stupid as it was, I was scared he'd say no. Every guy who had said no to letting me drive his car ended up being a prick. So I was floored when he said I could drive if I wanted.

"Really?" I asked. I was practically bouncing with excitement.

"Yeah, you seemed to like it. I was going to ask if you wanted to take it out before we got..." Liam paused, seemingly to look for the right word. "Distracted."

I clapped my hands and squealed like a child. I'm such a dag, but I was excited. I'd never driven a car that fast or expensive before.

The drive was exhilarating but too short. Its 5.0 litre, supercharged V8 engine was insanely powerful, and since it was AWD, its handling took me a bit to get used to. When we got to the restaurant, I couldn't stop smiling. "Thank you! That was heaps good!"

"You're hilarious."

"Why? What did I do?" I asked, getting out of the car and handing the keys to the valet and thanking him.

"Don't think I didn't notice that you deliberately went the long way and on the highway so you could drive faster."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I widened my eyes and tried to look innocent.

Liam just shook his head and placed his hand on my back, guiding me into the restaurant.

The food was modern Australian, Liam had a scotch fillet and salad, and I had barramundi. Liam wasn't drinking and said he would drive home. I had a couple of glasses of white wine and felt a bit sauced.

I had trouble staying awake on the way back to Liam's, and eventually, the rumble of the engine lulled me into sleep. The wine combined with the stressful week had caught up with me. I woke up when Liam pulled into the garage.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to doze off," I said as we got out of the car.

"Never mind," Liam said. "Come on, let's go to bed."

We walked across Liam's backyard holding hands. I looked around as the first time I was lead through here, I only had eyes for Liam. It was big for a house so close to the city. "You have a pool? I wish you would have told me. I would have brought my swimmers."

Liam opened his back door. "You don't need bathers," he said winking. I blushed then yawned. "Poor princess. Do you want a shower? Or straight to bed?"

I nodded, "yeah, a shower would be good. I've gotta wash this makeup off too." I kicked my heels off. The relief was euphoric, my calves were sore, and I rubbed them as I bent to pick up my shoes.

"Want a bath instead?" Liam asked, noticing my massage. It was sweet that he noticed little things like that. "The bathroom on the third floor has an enormous bath. I haven't had a chance to use it yet."

"Fuck, yes! That would be awesome. What other crazy shit do you have in this place? I think you'd better give me a tour tomorrow."

Liam laughed as we went up the lift. "Yeah, ok, there's a couple of things you might like that I've not shown you yet."

The bathroom was stunning, like a hotel or spa. The bath was the hero piece of the room, and it was huge. It sat in the middle of the bathroom on a raised platform and had tiled steps around it. The whole room was decorated to be a romantic space, a couples bathroom. Candles and body wash sat by the bath, and the room's lighting was warm. Robes hung on the wall near the tub. Although there were a shower and sinks, there was no toilet. The room was definitely built for romance, not practicality.

"I thought you said you hadn't used this bathroom."

"I haven't." I pointed out the candles, soaps, towels and robes. "A stylist got all that, fitted out each room with basics so I can move in, and it's all done." My jaw dropped.

"Your life..."

"Isn't normal." He interrupted with a half-smile. "I know." Liam started the bath. "Do you need anything? Your toiletry bag? Toothbrush?"

I nodded. Liam kissed me as he left to get my stuff. The bath would probably take 20 minutes to fill, so I thought I'd wash my make-up off and brush my teeth while it did. I got undressed and put one of the robes on. They were both huge, no his and hers, but it was warm and soft.

Liam returned, and I started to wash up. I put my hair in a bun with a scrunchy and washed my face. I brushed my teeth and saw that Liam was sitting on the edge of the bath, still fully clothed, watching the water fill up.

"You're not getting in?" I asked with a mouthful of toothbrush and toothpaste. Liam looked at me confused, so I finished brushing, rinsed and repeated my question.

Liam turned the water off, bath finally full and got up. "I thought maybe you'd like to soak by yourself for a while."

"No," I said. I wrapped my arms around Liam's waist, feeling short again as my head rested against his chest. "I want you to get in with me."

He lifted my chin and kissed me softly, almost lazily. "Alright, Sweetheart."

I lifted his jumper and raised it over his head. Liam had to help by ducking. He sat and took his shoes and socks off and then stood to remove his pants. I hung my robe back up, and we both got in the water. I sat between his legs and laid my back against his chest, my head resting on his shoulder. The water was bliss, almost too hot but soothing. Liam had put some fragrance in the water, and it smelled of lavender. Breathing it in relaxed me, and I closed my eyes.

Liam nuzzled into my neck and caressed my arm. I smiled as he kissed my neck and shoulders until I felt him stir against my back. He stopped kissing me, and he just held me close to his chest like he was trying not to get turned on. It didn't seem to be working as I could still feel him, but I admired his efforts.

"Lana, I want to ask you something," Liam said. His timbre was soft but echoed slightly through the room, making his words seem more ominous than he probably meant them to be.

My body tensed slightly, and hesitantly I said, "Okay."

He cleared his throat, and I realised he was nervous. I don't think I had heard him unsure like that before. I felt cold. "I uh, I have a premiere to attend on Thursday evening, one of Myra's. Tom, my agent, set it up." Oh fuck. He's not going to ask me to go with him, is he? "I would very much like it if you came with me." I sat up quickly, and water splashed everywhere. "Sarah said that since the cats out of the bag and I'm serious about you, you should come too." He added quickly.

I looked back at him, furious. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Because you're my fucking girlfriend." He was also mad now.

"I'm not your fucking girlfriend." I stood up and got out of the bath. I almost slipped on the tiles as I did. His hand shot out to steady me, but I pulled my arm out of his grasp. I stomped over to the robes and pulled one on. Then I grabbed my clothes from the floor.

"What are you doing?" Liam asked, getting out himself. He didn't put his robe on, and he just stood there. I don't know why, but that seemed to make me angrier.

"Getting my shit and going home."

"What the fuck, Lana? Why?"

I grabbed my bag and went to leave and found him blocking my way. "Because I want to, that's why. Get out of my way."

"What's wrong with you?"

"Just piss off."

"No, tell me what's wrong. Why don't you want to be seen with me? Why don't you want to be my girlfriend? I don't understand." He was shouting now, his voice full of anger and frustration. "You treat me like a fuck toy one minute, and the next, you're treating me like we've been married for ten years. What do you want from me? You say you aren't my girlfriend, but you sure act like you are. If you just want to fuck me, fine. Come over and fuck me, then leave. But don't lay with me and cuddle all day, cook me food, confide in me, talk to me at night until you fall asleep and make me fall in love with you. I can't take that."

For a moment, I softened. In so many ways, Liam was right. We had fallen into this relationship so easily. I felt like I knew him because we talked for months before meeting. I did enjoy hanging out with him talking. He's often felt like home to me, a safe place, a person I could trust. He was my boyfriend in everything but name. He saw the change in me and moved towards me.

I stiffened, "No, fuck you. Don't put this on me. I told you to go slow. I told you I don't want a relationship in the spotlight, and you won't listen to me." My frustration poured out. "You lured me in under false pretences with no thought about how I would feel. Like having the great Liam Cross interested in you would be enough. You're so fucking self-centred. I'm not impressed by all this," I waved my hand around the room, "Or that," I waved my hand at his naked body. "For fuck's sake, put some fucking clothes on. You're not that attractive."

Liam looked over at the robes and saw how far away they were. He shook his head. "I think we need to talk, Lana. You can't run away from this."

"You can't keep me here." He just raised an eyebrow. I gasped horrified. "You wouldn't?"

His body tensed, and he looked like he was going to try to stop me for a minute. But then his shoulders slumped, and he stepped aside.

"Thank you," I said through gritted teeth as I walked out.

I took the stairs down to his room and got dressed. He followed me, still naked and dripping water. I thought he would try to keep talking to me, but he went straight to his dressing room.

When he came out, he wore tracksuit pants, his chest was bare, and he still had beads of water clinging to his chest. My traitorous eyes looked him up and down, and I noticed it looked like he wasn't wearing underwear. Fuck me. He was magnificent. I tore my eyes away and back to packing my bag. I wasn't going to let his body distract me.

"Please, Lana, just talk to me."

"What's the point?"

"The point is so you'll let me in. You talk to me, you tell me things about you, and just as it cuts close to the bone, you clam up."

"I'm my own person, Liam. I'm allowed to have secrets." My bag was packed, and I stood up with it.

"Why didn't you tell me about Andy and your father's car accident? I had to read about it on the fucking internet."

I felt like I had been punched in the guts. I felt both hot and cold waves flow over me, and for a moment, I thought I was going to throw up.

"You're a fucking prick." I was raging.

"Alright, Lana, have it your way. Go back to being miserable and alone. Go put your wedding ring back on because obviously, you'd rather stay in love with a dead man than be seen with me." He was still shouting. Liam's body was taught, so much tension in his muscles. His lips almost looked cruel, twisted up into a sneer. His eyebrows were drawn low, making his eyes seem small.

"Yeah, you're right. I would. I shouldn't be here with you." I was near screaming now. I was irrational, tired, slightly drunk and drained. "I should be miserable and alone, and I should be thankful for that. It's my fucking fault he's dead. I fucking killed him. It should have been me. It's my fault..." I sobbed. The tears started, and I knew they couldn't be stopped. "Oh God, it's my fault." I couldn't breathe. I dropped my bag and clawed at my shirt, trying to get a breath. I was on my knees, now fighting the panic that threatened to overwhelm me.

Liam's arms came around me. I tried to push him away, fight him. He was too strong. "Shhhh shhh." He tried to soothe me. He rubbed my back. I wanted to scream at him to go away, to leave me alone. He wouldn't let go. He held me tighter until I couldn't fight anymore and just let myself go. He pulled me onto his lap, and I curled up into him as he whispered, "You're ok. It's ok." I kept sobbing until I clutched at his neck and cried into him.

I don't know how long we sat there. It felt like hours. "I'm sorry," I said when I had calmed. My throat was sore. I don't think I could have spoken any louder.

"Don't be. I shouldn't have pushed you. You were right. I was being selfish."

"I should have told you before you found out. It still hurts. I can deal with them being gone, but I can't get past the guilt. I should have been in the car with Dad. Andy was doing me a favour because I was too tired from Christmas. I wanted a day off, you know? A day where I didn't have to deal with people." My throat was feeling raw, and my mouth was dry.

"You don't have to tell me."

"No, I do. Just let me get through it, ok?" He nodded and pulled me into a more comfortable position on his lap. "I was supposed to take my Dad to Dave's house for a second Christmas. My parents had split up a couple of years ago. I fought with my mum the day before and didn't want to go through it all again the next day. My Dad couldn't drive anymore; his eyes were too bad. So Andy said he'd drop him off and I could stay in bed. He said he would tell them I had a migraine. So I laid in bed sleeping while my father and husband laid on the road, dying, trapped under a truck."

"I'm so sorry," Liam said. "I don't know how I would deal with that either. But it's not your fault. You know that, right?"

I didn't say anything. Liam was quiet after that. But he didn't let me go.

Part 14

[brittlebutch]

if its alright, I'd love to know why you picked them! tbh partner choices for pokemon AUs always have me curious and these look like good choices! (like for example, having mimikyu for Tim makes sense! and i'd love to know why you chose the rest of his team) (and tbh i would've asked sooner but i've been 'head full, thoughts of spiderman' for the past couple days lol)

no problem!! i’d absolutely Love to talk about it lmao, i hope you don’t mind this getting Long

So, for Tim I think that he found the Cubone first, on one of his last escapes into the woods before he was released from the hospital. I like it because of its mask, but mostly because it’s lonely and prone to tears. Tim doesn’t think very much of himself, but he IS a very natural and empathetic caretaker - he would be really good at taking care of a small and orphaned pokemon - especially one that reminds him a little bit of himself. I picked Duoduo because it has two heads that never sleep at the same time - one is always awake to defend itself and the other. The two brains also can communicate telepathically with one another!! Tim is absolutely not jealous of this ability, trust him. 

Yamask isn’t technically tim’s pokemon. He found it in his apartment after a black out, and doesn’t remember picking it up, but it refuses to leave. Tim doesn’t care enough to force it to leave, but they’re both very aware of the fact that He is not technically the one who owns it, even if it still follows him around. “Each of them carries a mask that used to be its face when it was human. Sometimes they look at it and cry” - Tim knows that some part of him relates, even if he’s pretty sure he wishes he didn’t. When Tim throws away the Mask at the end of the series, Yamask digs it back out and refuses to let go of it - it carries two masks these days. 

I already talked a bit about the mimikyu because it hides its face to try and fit in and appear less scary, but also because, in its busted form “It stands in front of a mirror, trying to fix its broken neck as if its life depended on it. It has a hard time getting it right, so it’s crying inside” and in its disguised form “it’s a quiet and lonely pokemon, but if you try to look at what’s under its rag, it will become agitated and resist violently” - Tim tries Very Hard to just fit in and get on with his life in broader society, but his chronic lack of friendships means that he’s not very good at it, and the way he has to continually search for whatever work will hire him means that he’s Extremely dependent on trying to appear Neurotypical and acceptable to customers and employers (but also isn’t very good at it), and we do see him protest very strongly when he’s literally unmasked by Alex, but also when he’s more figuratively unmasked by Jay’s publication of his medical records. 

Jay’s team includes Klefki (admittedly, mostly because of “KEY”, but also because it’s a collector who is willing ‘to sneak into people’s homes’ to get what it wants, which is Jay through and through). He has an Oddish because it’s very nocturnal and spends the nights “roaming actively” however it pleases (just like Jay’s bizarre choices to do a bulk of his investigating in the middle of the night). Sentret is a nervous pokemon who can raise itself up on its tail to get a better view of its surroundings - Jay and Brian both spend a lot of time Watching, but Jay’s is a lot more nervous than Brian’s is (I talk more about that when I get into Brian’s team lol), so a sentry pokemon both resembles him AND would be good for him to have since it’ll cry out to warn others if it sees something concerning. Zigzazoon is a Super curious pokemon - literally described as “relentlessly wandering everywhere at all times. The pokemon does so because it is very curious. It becomes interested in anything that it happens to see” - I like to think that Jay and Zigzazoon were both aimlessly searching the woods one night and stumbled upon each other, and then got almost instantly invested and never split up. 

I do kind of like the dramatic irony of Brian having one or more flying type pokemon on his team considering the circumstances of his death, but Pidgey specifically I chose because it’s a pretty conflict-avoidant pokemon - more known for kicking up sand to hide and escape in instead of going straight for a fight. Brian’s first instinct in almost every fight we see him in is to run first, but (like Pidgey) he can ‘ferociously strike back’ if the need arises. Arbok I chose because it’s described as having a “vengeful nature - it won’t give up the chase, no matter how far”, which is a Very Hoody sentiment. 

(I did figure out a timeline for Brian’s Arbok - it was an Ekans that he just had because he likes snakes, and they were both pretty content with its bite being ‘harmless’, but was accompanying brian to the hospital filming, and after Alex left Brian for the Operator, Ekans evolved because it needed to be able to defend Brian in a way that hadn’t been necessary before. the two of them are both traumatized by what happened)

Haunter is similarly dedicated to stalking its victims - “it lurks inside walls to keep an eye on its foes”; also “If you get the feeling of being watched in darkness when nobody is around, Haunter is there” and also so is Brian. Natu is another flying type, although it can’t actually fly yet, instead it hops around, and “The look in its eyes given the impression that it’s carefully observing you. If you approach it, Natu will hop away”, very much like Brian startling and bolting like a deer in the majority of his appearances lmao. Pokemon that stalk and watch their prey would be important to Brian, who seems to take the role of an observer/herder for the majority of the series, but having them be Offensive would also be a priority - to protect others or himself, while still seeming distant and eerie (there’s no way that Brian doesn’t Actively choose to make himself seem scary) 

For Alex, Umbreon is a pokemon that hunts at night and strikes fear into the hearts of anyone around it - it also hides silently in the darkness and waits for its foes to make a move. Alex isn’t really an active hunter? He goes after people for sure, but also seems very reliant on making them come to him (He calls Jay and Jay and Jessica come to him when he tries to shoot them in the woods, he’s in the woods when Hoody and Masky try to get Jessica out of the situation and he almost seems to just stumble upon them, he waits for Jay to wander into the basement, waits for Tim for weeks before lighting his house on fire, and then waits longer for Tim to go back to the college, etc). Houndoom’s pokedex entries talk a lot about the sound of it - which reminded me of Alex’s insistence on his monologues, and the way he’ll scream at people while trying to track them down (mostly Tim). It also says that ‘if you are burned from the flames it shoots from its mouth, the pain will never go away’, which makes me think of the way that Everyone got reinvolved in this stuff years after the fact because they just couldn’t seem to let it go - like a wound that never healed. 

I chose Lycanroc because it’s described in two different ways: it’s Midday form is “a trustworthy partner who will absolutely never betray its trainer” and its Midnight form claims that it “will attack with no regard for its own safety” and “doesn’t seem to mind getting hurt at all - as long as it can finish off its opponent”. Alex gets stabbed multiple times before Tim finally gets him on the floor to attack him relentlessly, and is attacked by hoody/masky multiple times earlier in the series, but he never backs down or out. and Trust and loyalty are qualities that I thought were important for Alex’s team to have because 1) he’s paranoid and Extremely distrustful of everyone who used to be his friend, so having a team that would solidly have his back would be important to him, but 2) a team that is Willing to follow Alex’s instruction even against people and pokemon that they know and are familiar with would also be key to this sort of set up. They’re not happy about what they’re doing, but they’ll do it anyway because it’s what Alex wants, and he’s the one that they actually trust and listen to. Growlithe was chosen for its trustworthy and loyal nature as well, although I do think that Alex has had Growlithe the longest - it’s probably the most upset by the change in circumstances, so Alex probably uses it the least these days (not out of spite? He definitely doesn’t hurt or abuse his pokemon, he only uses them offensively as an absolute last resort and I don’t think he tries to actively hurt the other’s teams either - though he will defend himself thoroughly if the need arises)

Some honorable mentions are Absol - a pokemon that warns of impending danger but often gets mistaken as a harbinger of doom instead, which reminded me a lot of totheark (particularly with Entry ######), but I couldn’t decide if it’d fit better with Tim or Brian. Lucario is a good hunter that strikes without mercy and ‘finds out things it would rather not know, so it gets stressed out easily’ a lot like Alex. Munna might have been a good fit for Tim since it’s a ‘dream eater’, but the pokedex entries didn’t put a lot of emphasis on nightmares, so I wasn’t sure how much I liked it. Was also tempted to put pokemon like “Salazzle” or “Tsareena” on Alex’s team just as a cheeky little wink to the ‘alex is Definitely a weeb’ talk that went on during tim’s last livestream lmao. Tim also would have been good with a Phantump i think, since they’re literally the spirits of children who got lost in the woods, which tim would empathize heavily with, and because he’d be a good caretaker for it the same way he would be with Cubone. Comfey would have been good for any of them as like an aromatherapy pokemon - all of these guys need some mental health days to just Relax and be calm and safe for once.

[diaryofsecrecy]

It has been the most exhausting year of my entire life and I will be surprised if I ever top it...

Brent was having a hard time adjusting to the altitude when we 1st came out here, (July 8th 2020) But as time went on he got better as expected. Then suddenly he got worse and worse, Eventually he lost the job that he got because he was calling out so often throwing up and experiencing extreme nausea.  Because of covid, the doctors were booked for weeks (new patient) so it was just kind of a waiting game until we finally decided to just go to the ER.  They did a full blood panel and decided that he needs to see a GI doctor because everything else is normal. So, That was booked 2 weeks out and he was sent home with nausea medication for one week...

Of course we were going to try to buy or rent so I was freaking out about money and working as much as I possibly could... But then I too had to go to the emergency Room because I had extreme abdominal pain resulting in an emergency appendectomy😖

The day after my surgery, I am home, when my dad comes in with my older sister.

To my knowledge, my older sister was diagnosed paranoid schizofrantic. She has been Homeless for the last 11 years,  And on drugs.  She recently was beaten so badly that she was left with several brain injuries on top of it all, And while she was healing at the hospital somehow they didn't notice her walk out.  We were just about to get her placed somewhere safe...And they lost her.

Anyhow dad walks in with my sister who I guess called him from a coffee shop when they told her that she couldn't sleep there anymore (after a month of being missing again) Dad had to go back to work so then it was me & her for the next 2 days, As you can imagine, not the rest I needed post surgery... then, I had to go back into the hospital because something wasn't right. I was there for 3 more days, 2 days alone because ben was so sick that it was worse with him being there than me sitting by myself in pain and nausea of my own.

Fast forward a few more months, tragic accidents led to 2 separate deaths of my parents dogs. Both events I happen to be present, so get blamed & am no longer welcome at mom & dads.

(Still healing from sugury, brent still very sick)

We get an apartment, and I start working as a nanny for my aunt twice a week while working at Massage Envy the other 5 days.

At this point, I am tired. I am horney, and lonely, and Absolutely. Fucking. Miserable.

I am begging ben to keep up with drs. but he has lost hope of getting better, and I have no way of helping him when I am already worn too thin.

After 9, Long, long months, he eventually, with my consistent pushing, nagging, most likely not always kind remarks, he finds out his hormones are completely off, which I knew would be the case, his dick hadnt worked for the last 3 years properly..

Anyway. He blames his addiction medication rather than continuing dr. Appointments... he gets on testosterone with an outside company(pay out of pocket kind of subscription company...rather than checking insurance, or figuring out what causes low testosterone and fixing that first). I was working and had no influence in any of those choices that effect us both as they have for at least 2 years. He hasnt touched me for so, so, long.

Month 3 of his medication that seems to be working (only reason I know is there was a ton of porn in my google history, he had declined all advances, except the rare, 3 times he allowed a blowjob then left immediately after for the gym or literally anything else rather than make it romantic at all.)

Month 4, he forgets to make a payment at all, so now we owe $250 rather than the normal $100. His meds get sent, then FedEx loses the package all together so, he is sick and I am house sitting in a dream home, alone for 2 weeks straight that originally was going to be our getaway to focus on Us.

At this point, brent and I havnt slept in the same bed for 2 months. At first cause he says I'm mean and he wants to not be near me, but now its cause hes "more comfortable out in the living room..."

A month ago when we last had a conversation about our relationship he said he wants space and a break from me all together. I'm too much.

I am the problem..?

When trying to understand what he means, he shuts down the connvo, saying he cant talk about it anymore. It's been 30 days since we have made any verbal progress. Our fighting has stopped though, and I'll tell you why...

Rewind 1 week before house sitting;

1 week after brent and I had an awful fight where he told me we should take a break, I stay at my parents & My mom offers for me to join them at a graduation party of a kid I used to babysit.

We were sitting in the back of the dining room, out of the way, when I saw someone i slightly recognized in the hallway. Not sure from where, but he was the kind of guy that you couldnt stop looking at. He was clearly into fitness, his shirt couldnt hide the muscular features he had been perfecting either, despite him dressing nothing out of the ordinary. He had beautiful ink crawling up his leg, an artform that would only mean something to someone who is more spiritually awake. But more noticable about anything was that smile.

God that smile. His face was scruffy, as if he had been away, but regardless, the smile he had influenced his entire ora. His eyes smiled, his walk... smiled. He had some kind of thing about him that was a physical draw I had never known for myself before. Dont get me wrong, i have been woo'd by many men so far in my life, from all stages in life, but This one was just, different. He was making his way around the room, & I could hear his voice over my mom who's talking beside me. I had literally been blocked out by my ever wondering thoughts of this random stranger whom felt familiar.

Then, he was there, at our table?

He was so easy to talk to, not even sure how we started now, but all I know is I was not nervous despite my very physical attraction to him.

He spoke of traveling, and adventures hes been on. This guy had a whole other life in the military at one point and now was traveling, working for a company that sends him around the US.

This guy had Hope's and dreams and somehow we got to talking about that kind of thing at a graduation party?

When I left that day, I thought about him. Not just him specifically, but men like him. Had I chosen Brent wrongfully? Does brent even like who I am anymore, what does he want going forward in his own life? How do I even fit into that? He understands my need for adventure but his actions say that he doesnt want to come along. My mind was loopy after that because for the first real time I questioned, what if there was someone who wanted to see the world,  Who liked my sad music, and my emotions being in everything I do? What if there was a women more interested in the simple home life, having a couple dogs and living a small, comfortable life? Are we doing one another a disservice by occupying oneanother's lives? How could I ever bring that up with Brent at all without making him feel so inadiquite after a year of terrible sickness and defeat?

Well, when I went to that big, gorgeous dream home the following week to house sit for 2 weeks... begging him to come see me, I grew weak from overthinking. I cried, I cried so much the first 3 days.

I cried from a place of such sadness, anger, bitterness, defeat, they were so strong. My mind was cloudy, drunk, stoned, tired.... I found myself writing a suicide letter.

My plan was to disappear, I knew I'd find a firearm in the home & allow someone to find my remains eventually in the hills where I'd walk far enough.

I prepared by cleaning the litterbox, laying out several bowls of water for the dog and cat, and watered all the plants heavily. I transfered brent all the money in my bank accounts, and as I waited for the sheets to come out of the dryer I balled my eyes out, reading the last conversations I had had with my family members. I thought to myself how the kids would take it, what different life choices they would make having been close with someone before their passing. At this point, I needed something, but I needed it from someone who doesnt know me in my life right now, but the me that was worth saving. The me I still recognized.

I called an old friend from 2nd grade. Hadnt talked to her in years and years, didnt known her life, her schedual, her name(which had been changed). But she talked me down. She saved my fucking life. It took a person who knew my soul years ago, to remind me I am not alone.

I dont blame my parents, or who I thought would be my future husband. I had talked with my aunt earlier that day and she couldnt see it either. I had become this fake shell of a person and it took considering an actual murder of myself to make me see that if I continued this path, I would die eventually and nobody in my life would ever see me preparing for it.

That night, I invited a complete stranger over and we fucked like rabbits. 4 times. He got to do things he'd never done before, and I begged him to. Sounds cold, sounds unapologetically disgusting that I'd do something like that, but quite frankly, I FUCKING needed it. I needed someone to see me, even if he didnt see my current life nor care about me as a person... he saw, touched, kissed, sucked and ate me up. For the first time in at least 2 years, i felt satisfaction when I walked him to the door and watched his car drive away.

It was like a sigh of relief, an inch I could not reach for the longest time, gone. Finally.

The following days, brent began putting in more effort. It has been 3 weeks and I'd say he has been kinder to me than he had in a while (probably the lack of testosterone) but also, I havnt seen much of him in general. From his point of view, it is all fine. Hes getting the space he needed, I'm being nicer since I quit massage Envy, and things are looking up....

But that is because he doesnt See Me.

My suisidal thoughts subsided after my long conversation with Scout. & that night I called my cousin as well, and learned he too had been in my shoes before. He said something that stuck with me.

If everyone has an expiration date on their life already, and we don't know when it is, you're to the point that you're life is so invaluable that youd kill yourself than flee your life and make one you want. Dont care about the people youd hurt, because suicide is just as careless as abandoning them all indefinitely.

He was so right, it put things into perspective, gave me a freedom I felt I was waiting to gain permission for.

Five days later, I noticed He had written me 5 before, on the day I had truly planned to end my current life..

He had written me at 12am, what would someone like him, a gorgeous, beefed out, big thinker, high energy, go getter be doing messaging me, a tired women who was 300lbs a year ago, (still working on getting to a normal size) and completely at a crossroads with existance.

I entertained the connvo a tad, and honestly forgot about it for a few days as I figured no way he could be serious.

He triple messaged me, and asked for my personal contact info to have real conversation?

Hesitantly, and wildly excited to even just flirt for a moment with someone who is literally everything I fantasize when I'm alone everynight....

Our conversation immediately took off. In directions I hadnt expected at all what so ever. He told me he had to admit he felt drawn to me, like he had known me in another life. That he doesnt expect me to get it, but I did. We talked about things that only my sister and I can relate to on a spirituality standard and it changed me in that instant. Suddenly i realize, I wasn't broken, I was just misunderstood. & that there are people in this world that See Me even when I am not trying. Not many, and it takes a specific Kind of person, but they do exist and when you meet them, you cant ignore it. It is as if they stain you with remembrance.

As the sexually hungry humans we are, not only did we find that morality, values, future goals coexist, but also our importance of intimacy. Not just lust and sex, well, yes that too, uff did those conversations get so, fucking, hot, but the interactions of intimacy and how they make a person whole.

I opened up to him about Brent, and where I am at in life, asking he please oversee my unfaithfulness, but that I am loyal at heart. He says with such pain in his voice how he too in a parallel position simultaneously, however, he married her 7 years ago.

Ugh.

So now I get to choose. Do I chose mortality, say no, brent and the other women deserve to understand the severity of sex, love and passion, and if they chose not to then we will leave before we act on our mutual attraction....? Or, do we say hell with it and give in to serendipity moments that our hearts crave so badly, take on the consequences and move forward. Sigh. If only there was a guideline for complicated.

Last night, as the 5 nights before, we talked for hours on the phone. His voice makes me smile every, damn, time. Perhaps because it's new and exciting, or maybe I just love to hear him go on his tangents of loving yourself despite the bad in life. I Want him. I want him when I wake, &when I go to sleep. I do not want a life without him& it saddens me to know our timing is incorrect. He asked her for a divorce a year ago, but has sat comfortably as I have despite the horror because weve both been too busy, too tired, too... afraid that life will always be lonely. Last night, he said to me, Elise, I love you. I avoided it several times but when he said it two more times, I couldnt keep it any longer to myself, Jackson, I really do Love you as well. It's scary, and faster than I'd ever say it to anyone. But I know it to be true because I Feel it. I want his love so badly. I want him to live life along side of me because with a person like him, I'd be a better me.

I am absolutely terrified. My life, my home, my family, dogs, my 5 year relationship, the unborn children brent and I have named, and the houses we'd have... all gone?

Running away with a man who says hes going to leave his wife is absolutely stupid. I'd be an idiot to think I am enough to get him through that fear of change, yet he gives me strength to want to try, so maybe I do, Him?

Ugh my brain being pulled in many ways. My heart having been in pieces so many times now doesnt know who to go to or why. I know for certain I love Brent, is this a self gratifying moment To push me back to him? Is this the devil bringing two lost people together to ruin four people at once?or is this Fate. Fate that has seen both of us individually loosing ourselves in a life we didnt want and has brought us together to lean on one another, temporarily not?

Suppose time will tell.

Last two days he has been working a ton, and told me that tomorrow he has something he needs to talk to me about.

I assume it isnt good. I assume it is the first put off of many, because, I know I want to do the same. Part of me says I should block him right now, because lust, and attraction, both mentally and physically like that couldnt make a women addicted and that's a no good addiction when he has a women in his house with his last name. 😔

[seventeen-scenarios-blog]

[DIAMOND LIFE PODCASTS] Episode 1: Neighbours

[SUN 8/10/2017]

[2147PM SGT]

Wooed: Okay, so we were talking about shipping us with members of Seventeen the other day and somehow Scooped thinks I’d be compatible with Mingyu?

Scooped: I don’t know man, I just feel like your personality matches the best with him. Meanwhile, I don’t really see Coups and I getting along all that well.

Wooed: Dude, you’re like the mom of our group, and he’s the dad of Seventeen. You’d match perfectly

Hoshit: You’d both compete to see who can take care of each other better.

Wooed: You’d both compete to see who wakes up earlier to make breakfast for the other.

Scooped: And we end up sleeping for an hour per night. I’ll be like, “Hey, babe, what are you doing at 3AM in the morning?” and he replies, “Making breakfast.”

Scooped: Alright, I’ll make lunch at 3AM.

Wooed: Then Mingyu pops his head into your window and declares, “I’M MAKING DINNER :D” And you both go, “WTF Mingyu.”

Hoshit: And you both make enough food to last the entire week.

Jihooned: Guys, I leave to bathe and this happens.

Wooed: I’ll end up dragging Mingyu by the ear back into his apartment. GOD SCOOPED IMAGINE IF WE BOTH ENDED UP AS NEIGHBOURS THO. Mingyu and Coups would be chaotic, yelling at each other through their windows.

Wooed: “WHATCHU COOKIN’ THERE.” “PANCAKES.” “CAN I HAVE SOME.” “SURE.” All at like five freaking AM.

Hoshit: Dude, what if we all end up living on the same apartment floor.

Jihooned: Oh god, please no.

Wooed: One day, Mingyu gets the cold and it spreads throughout the floor because you all came over for dinner. I don’t get sick because I’d most probably be used to being around Kim Mingew already

Scooped: Or everyone just starves because Mingyu wouldn't be able to cook

Hoshit: Wait, who am I supposed to be married to in this scenario?

Wooed: I’m with Mingyu, Scooped is with Seungchul, you’re probably with Soonyoung.

Jihooned: I’ll take Seokmin then

Wooed: Seokmin starts every morning with an “ACHIM EUN MoOOOoOoOOOO~~~” and everyone in the whole floor jerks awake.

Scooped: Seungcheol screams at him to shut up.

Jihooned: The two of us will be the most childish shits

Wooed: Seokmin the type to do toilet paper pranks though. Mingyu sees him and be like, “Uh, what are you doing at my house?” Seokmin replies, “I’m… TP-ing it.” “Can I join you?” “Mingyu… this is your house…”

Scooped: Will Coups be the kinky one to leave early at our gatherings?

Jihooned: Scooped why.

Hoshit: Soonyoung and I will leave early too… to play Jenga

Wooed: I’LL LEAVE LAST BECAUSE YOU ASSES WOULD PROBABLY HAVE GATHERED AT MY PLACE FOR FOOD AND MINGYU AND I WILL CLEAN UP LIKE THE RESPONSIBLE PEOPLE WE ARE. But it’s okay if it means cuddle sessions at the couch when we’re too tired to move. “Should we bathe?” “Nah.”

Hoshit: DIRTY.

Wooed: Not as dirty as what Coups is doing next door HOOOOOooOOOoOOoOOO *blaring airhorns effect*

Scooped: WE’RE CLEANING DAMMIT WOOED.

Hoshit: I want some bread.

Wooed: OMG. Baking days with Seokmin though can you imagine!!!

Jihooned: YAaAaAAAAAsSSS

Wooed: Mingyu goes over and they hole themselves in the kitchen for like hours on end. The two of us stand there just being like, “Uh… can we help?

Wooed: Mingyu says, “Jihooned, yes. Wooed, stay the hell out of the kitchen. You’ll burn it down.” “Yes sir.”

Jihooned: Omg, also, DOGS. YES. DOGS.

Hoshit: Y'all we can all get a different breed of dog each? So that we can kinda own 5 dogs.

Wooed: I WANT A HUSKY.

Jihooned: I want corgis and shibas, and Seok can have his maltese

Scooped: Why do I feel like Coups and I will hardly mix around with you guys?

Wooed: Probably because Coups’ completely done with our shit. It’s okay, I’ll get Mingyu to yell at you through the balcony. Like, “HOYYYYYYYYYYY”

Jihooned: Holy shit I read that in his voice.

Scooped: ME TOO WTF.

Wooed: If all else fails, Mingyu’s body is definitely long enough to stretch across two apartments.

Hoshit: Soonyoung and I will dance our way into your house. We’ll jump from the balcony.

Jihooned: Please don’t jump. At least not you, Hoshit, you will trip.

Scooped: I can literally see them climbing through all the balconies like, “Sorry Seokmin, coming through!”

Wooed: Then at 5AM in the morning, Mingyu and I will go, “ESS COoOOoOOOOOuUuPS”

Wooed: Please put this convo on hold I need to go down for a meeting.

Wooed: I REPEAT. WE ARE NOT DONE TALKING ABOUT THIS. But before I start, can I just say how Mingyu and I will be the BEST birthday party planners of the group? We’ll like, keep notes of every person’s birthday including our kids if we have any. AND WE’LL THROW ALL THE SURPRISE BIRTHDAY PARTIES. We’ll invite Hansol so he doesn’t feel left out of the February 18th Squad

(Hoshit, Seokmin and Hansol share the same birthday)

Jihooned: Yeah, because Hoshit obviously will not be able to remember any of our birthdays.

Wooed: Imagine Mingyu and I making a huge fuss over Soonyoung’s kid’s first birthday because IT’S A FIRST BIRTHDAY WE NEED A CEREMONY. WHAT DO WE DO.

Hoshit: Dude, just buy a cake.

Wooed: *Narrows eyes* What kind of parent are you.

Hoshit: We can even have one balloon. One is enough, right? To be honest I’ll just give my child money. If we take into account inflation they’d be richer in the future.

Wooed: Your kid would just end up spending more time with their Uncle Mingyu and me. He’d be godfather to all of the kids, and I guess that makes me their godmum too?

Jihooned: God, have fun taking care of our kids then.

Hoshit: I’d be the chillest mom dude.

Scooped: Coups and I will just be doling out red packets to all of the kids. “Here you go”, “One for you”, “You get one too.”

(in Chinese customs, the elders would give red packets containing money to children during special occasions like New Year and birthdays WHICH IS A GREAT ALTERNATIVE IF YOU’RE LAZY TO GO OUT AND ACTUALLY BUY A GIFT COUGH COUGH)

Hoshit: OMG no, I know exactly which mum I'd be. The embarrassing one that shouts encouragements at like sports matches. My son, getting ready to serve, me: "OH YES THAT'S MY BABY BOY SLAY THEM!!!!!!! CRUSH THEM ALL!!!! SWEETIE YOU'RE DOING SO WELL"

Wooed: Then the staff in charge goes, "M'am I’m gonna have to ask you to sit down"

Wooed: Soonyoung screeches from the grandstand, "BITCH YOU DON’T TALK TO MAH WIFE LIKE THAT."

Wooed: Then Hoshit & Soonyoung’s future son: "Oh my god dad please". They both get subsequently banned from all the games, and Mingyu and I take their place because we are actual civil human beings.

Scooped: Hoshit and Soonyoung are going to get banned from everywhere. Like, EVERYWHERE. They can’t even go out in public without people around to supervise them.

Hoshit: Yeah, but we’d be like, the life of the party… Until we get kicked out.

Scooped: Meanwhile Coups and I will be the complete opposite because we are lazy old people.

Hoshit: I’d be disturbing S.Coups all day to be honest. Wonwoo too. Wait, does Wonwoo factor into any of this shit.

Scooped: I honestly wouldn’t like it if this happens.

Wooed: Yeah, Wonwoo would chill at our house pretty often, so he factors in. BUT, Mingyu and I would protect this boy with our life, so disturb him and DIE.

Jihooned: Aren’t you supposed to be having a meeting.

Wooed: It’s boring.

Hoshit: It’s okay, I live to disturb other people. I’m a professional disturber.

Jihooned: You’d be the first to die. Hoshit, I wonder how are you gonna survive with Soonyoung. You two will have trouble operating technology.

Wooed: Yeah, just because Mingyu lives next door doesn’t mean you can disturb us whenever you all need a lightbulb switch.

Jihooned: Do you want Hoshit to fix a lightbulb? I don’t think so. The whole apartment will have a blackout.

Scooped: It won’t even be a blackout. It would be an explosion. Boom. Dead.

Wooed: Mingyu and I be cuddling watching television when the electricity blows out. “GODDAMMIT KWON SOONYOUNG.”

Jihooned: Guys.

Jihooned: It's 12AM KST.

Hoshit: Shit.

Scooped: Shit.

Wooed: Shit.

Jihooned: Shit.

// THIS BROADCAST HAD BEEN ABRUPTLY CUT OFF BECAUSE LILILI YABBAY DROPPED //

Junnie: /Reads the entire long ass convo at 2:00am/ Guys when this happens, when I marry Jun, please remember to cook dinner for me every night and tell me which door to knock on because I might starve if y’all don’t. Thank you very much ok goodnight

[smolchildren-ily]

CAREFUL! VERY GRAPHIC AT TIMES!!!! Can be triggering for people who lost pets :(

Yesterday you crossed the rainbow bridge. Susi. A name I gave you just for fun. You, a random cat who kept stopping by and who ended up having her on basket on our terrace, sheltered from the wind underneath the table. You, who, without me knowing, grew really attached to my heart. I bought food for you passionately, I did, as weird as it may sound, I was eager to go shopping for you and I was so happy every time I could feed you because I saw how happy it made you. Unlike our two 'actual' cats who just ever complain, dont eat up or just straight up leave the food the way we put it in the bowl. I would be even happier when I could give you their leftovers because it meant you would have an extra full belly that day. I made sure to always provide you with dry food, too, always filled up the bowl when it was empty - which it was a lot, but a handful of other cats come by, too, I know. Also your brothers, or at least those who I call your brothers, because often times after I would have given you food you licked it a bit and then vanished just to return with Oliver and "Lackl" behind you. I felt like you always made sure they also got a full belly, even more than you yourself, actually, and that is the reason why you kept getting them. Now, with you gone, they have no more lead, and they will never know where you disappeared to or why their beloved sister left them. I feel so sorry for them, too. But they still stop by, just an hour ago both came here together. I will feed them in your stead. I will give them one pack extra, the pack that used to be for you. I loved you so much and I didnt even realize until I saw you motionless, like you were sleeping, in the absolute middle of the street in front of our house, but hidden behind big bushes so I couldn't see you. I couldn't help you. When the lady with the dog came and asked me who owns a fluffy, grey-black cat and that she would be out on the street, dead. You were already dead. Already dead. Blood poured from your mouth, and from your mouth only. A small puddle had formed under your head. Thick, cherry red blood. When I... When I picked up your body later that day, in the evening, to... to... to take you to the most heartbreaking, unholy and disgusting place, unworthy of any loved animal or animal at all, actually, because my mum didnt want you in her garden next to her beloved cat, I realized. I realized that you had only been dead for a maximum of 30 to 60 minutes. The 30 to 60 minutes I had just gotten up. I think it was late that I got up, either at 9.5 or 8.5 or maybe it was 8.14 after all. And because I felt it was so late, I was so surprised not to see you in front of the door already, like I saw you every day. Every day, for, I dont actually know how long. I dont know for how long I've known you. I dont think it was very long, but I dont remember. I just know that you were suddenly just t h e r e. Because, your brothers, they had actually visited us even before you started coming to our house. And then one day they brought you and you stayed.

You weren't there yesterday morning, and I didnt think about it much. It sometimes happened that you needed to catch on as to that I was awake - usually by my steps or latest when I opened the blinds of the kitchen window which faces the garden and the direction that we believe you stemmed from. So I went to open the blinds and sat bored beside my other cat and watched her eat, as I have to do because otherwise she wont eat often times. And I was looking forward to seeing your small, excited face behind the glass door, and to pet your soft fur. Then watch you eat away and walk into my way to beg for more. When my cat was done, I happily grabbed a pack, a different one from usual, because you had begun to not like the usual, so I wanted to give you a special treat. And I grabbed that pack and skipped to the door, opened it energetically and awaited your absolute immediate arrival and exploding joy over me and the food I was bringing you. You didnt come, which was weird. Somewhat weird, but it had been raining all week, and during rain you seemed to spend a lot of your time somewhere else. Maybe at the place that was originally your home? Your origin is still 50/50 a mystery. My mum says from the farmer where your brothers are from, but I'm not sure. But it must have been the case, because where else would you have come from? A bit run down, skinny. God, you looked so healthy just a couple of days me feeding you. So little days. I was proud you recovered so quickly, unlike your brothers, who seem to be doing very badly all the time. Such soft fur, so sleek.

And the blood was fresh and your limbs were still moving normally when I touched you. That is, later that day, that I realized: If I had gotten up earlier. If I hadn't been so lazy or tired or both. Just, maybe a couple of minutes? Maybe just 15 minutes? Who knows if you would have made it safely across the street to our house. Because you would have heard me open the blinds sooner. And you would have made your way to me sooner, and the car, the driver who was on his way to work, he wouldn't have hit your head, or any other part of you. I was just so happy that you weren't obviously hurt anywhere. Just this blood dripping from your mouth, forming a small puddle under your small, beloved head I loved to pet more than I had realized.

And I wonder, if I hadn't been so lazy or tired, if you would still be here today, and yesterday. Or if it already happened before I got up. While I was still... I wasnt sleeping, I was awake. As always, as usual. My cat always wakes me up in the middle of the night and or I just wake up at 5 or 6 or 7. Usually I stay in bed until 8, in any of those cases. But I stayed longer than 8 even, and if I had just gotten up. I wonder, could I have helped you? But I wouldt have seen you, hidden behind the big bushes, outside on the street.

The lady vet who was very busy but was one of the only ones who answered my call told me if a car hit her on the head she was probably immediately dead. Or wherever you were hit. I hope. I hope. I hope you were. Were... you know, immediately. Without pain. I wish that you died loving me and looking forward to seeing me again and to receive pets. And I will give them to you, and all the food and all the hugs you want, once we meet again. Because I hope we meet again, I dearly do, seldom have I hoped so intensely for heaven to exist. I realized that the older I get, the harder it becomes to say goodbye, to lose someone. Up until this day I believed it would become EASIER. Easier, because by an old age, you would have been through so much already. Lost so many people, so many cats. But I realize it's not and I dread the days I have to say goodbye to our other cats, to any cat, actually, to any animal. I will not be thinking about people at this time, because it is too soon. To soon, to soon, to soon. As it was too soon for you. I love you so much.

Given we have somewhat a neighbour hassle I put my mind to try to find a vet who would examine your body. To make sure you weren't poisoned, because I couldn't see any visible injuries on you. Just this little, thick puddle of cherry red blood underneath your mouth. So many vets only opened in the late afternoon, so many were on holiday, so many only opened again on Monday. But I found this lady vet, and whilst having a patient on the table she hurryliy told me that, if I found you in the middle of the road, it was most likely car. And you were probably dead. You know. What I hope you was. For your sake. And for my sake. I dont want to talk about it anymore. I love you.

After this lady vet, who said that she technically does examine bodies, but who seemed somewhat reluctant and like the result was clear anyway, I called who I was going to call in the first place: the animal clinic 40 minutes from us. I wasnt keen on being with... a body, because that is what you were at that point, a body. With a body in the car for 40 minutes, but I was gonna do it, just to know, just to make sure that t h i s o n e t i m e I would actually k n o w what happened to my cat. So I would know and not wonder for the rest of my life: What happened? What went wrong? Could I have done something? Do I need to guard our other cats? But I was going to do it.

The lady who picked up this time was very friendly. She caught on almost immediately that I'd just lost a cat, and after she called me back to tell me that poison leaves the body too quickly to get usable results and that it would be a few hundred euro to have this analysis done, told me she wished me all the best and if I have any questions I should call. She was the first person that day - yesterday, it was just yesterday. But it felt like a nightmare, and it feels long ago already. A nightmare I want to forget, but I dont want to forget you. Susi.

She acknowledge my pain and your death and she consoled me when I had noone else who would do that for me. My parents are on holiday until tomorrow, the one friend who I told about your death literally just replied "I'm so sorry, that's so terrible, crying faces". But I needed more than that. I didnt get it until today when I woke up just as devastated as I was yesterday and went to have lunch with my grandmother, who also knew you. And who liked you, too.

"The green-eyed one" is what she called you. The green-eyed one, because green eyes you had. So beautiful, so big. In German, we like to say "Telleraugen". Eyes as big as plates. She was also visibly devastated. It is always said to tell your old grandmother that another beloved person or animal died. So much pain they have gone through already, and it just keeps getting worse.

But we talked a lot and long about you. And how it happened. Probably happened. And who I suspect to be the murderer. Our immediate neighbours, one of them at least. When I opened the door, shortly after, I heard them leave. The woman left in her white car. But I was just glad she left, I didnt care what direction she drove off to, so I didnt see where she went. I wish I had. And usually she drives into the direction where I found you on the street. May God punish her for her sins, and do so gruelly and painfully. If it was her. Maybe it was him, because later he returned in his old, small motorcycle thing. Maybe it was him. He shall be punished just as hard and gruelly as his girlfriend if it was either of them. And if it wasnt, I wish your murderer the plague and death and a hell of a lot of gruesome pain for the rest of their pitiful life. My first suspicions had been the neighbours who had newly moved here the last couple of years. Some younger people and old people who dont care at all that we have limit here in our village of 30 kmh. Who just never care and race down the hill like they own the place. And then hit a cat that just casually wanted to get her breakfast from a human who loves her very much. I hate all of you spenders, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, and I hate this neighbourhood and I hope everyone here dies a cruel death. Bit most of all, I hope your murderer and all other spenders who put the lives of loved ones at risk, die gruesome and cruel deaths. Just like you had to. I still love you.

Time is progressing, my battery decreasing and it is getting colder. I've written so much by now, but I have so, so much more to talk about. Tomorrow, my arms and fingers will hurt because I typed all of this on my phone. But at least I still have a body and feelings that can hurt me. Unlike you, who is not here anymore.

That day yesterday was so cruelly terrible. Oh my god.

I was so restless the whole day because I didnt know what to do with your body. I put it in the semi-shed/semi-room at the back of our house, where the small greenhouse and the grave of my mother's beloved cat, who was also hit by a car, but out of nowhere after a whopping 7 years of life. The grave which is also there. I had put you in a wooden basket somewhat, onto kitchen roll. For the blood to drip onto. And to make it more comfortable in your death, even though it probably wouldn't have made a big difference, even if you could have, or would have, still felt it. It was a bit too small for you and when I picked you up, you were so heavy, and so motionless, like, and I hate to draw this comparison, but like a sack of potatoes. Heavy and motionless and it was so weird to lift you up without you moving and squirming and trying to get away from me. It was so strange, alien strange, horribly strange. I saw the puddle out of the corner of my eyes but I didnt really see anything and I didnt want to see anything, the lady with the dog just wanted you off the street and that's what I did. I was blind with tears and when I put that wooden basket thing down I saw I hadn't put your head in a too comfortable position so I... I moved you a bit so that your head wouldn't be down at your chest, and your legs moved instead a bit over the rim. Then I squatted there, looking at you. As I do a lot with my other cat. To make sure you really weren't breathing anymore. To discover that you would still be breathing and I could still take you to the vet after all and I would still be able to feed you and pet you, and all would be good. But after staring at you intensely for 2 minutes or so. Blood still dripping a tiny bit out of your mouth, just luckily I didnt have to see that, your head was still moved so that I couldn't really see your face, just mostly your body. But I saw the blood on the kitchen roll expanding. It was seemingly clear that you were. The four letters.

But I didnt really believe it. Not really. Not really so. I went back upstairs to cry, and to do something about my sadness. To call the vets, have you examined, get clearance. To put my sadness to work. And as I sat there at the kitchen table with the phones I still expected you to come running up the stairs, staring into the room and scratching the glass door to have your food. That you just passed out for an hour or two or so and would come back. I really did!

And every shadow I saw out of the corner of my eyes, I thought they were all you, returning from the backside of the houses happily and healthy and excited and quirky as ever. Just your usual self, you know.

But you didnt come, and I was restless. After I had talked to the first lady vet I realized, I decided it was most likely a car that hit you. So at least I knew how it most probably happened. But what do to with your body? And I didnt want to bring you away just yet. Because it was clear to me that I would have to bring her to the most horrible, ungrateful and unworthy of any beloved pet or animal place on earth. Because you weren't my mums favourite, and she wouldn't want you in her garden. But at lunch I asked her anyway. I texted her about that I found you dead in street in the morning, and if I could bury you next to Leeloo to give you the forever home you probably always wanted. Just a little too late.

But my mother said no. Well, not explicitly. But she suggested I take you there, and after I said I didnt want to but it is her garden and her decision. I had to wait another couple of hours, until 6 o'clock in the evening, one of which I spent half asleep in bed with our second cat, because the living still demanded my attention, oblivious of the fact that one of them had just reached the end of their road. Until 6 clock in the evening when she finally replied to take you there.

Up until that point, I had gone back a couple of times to check on you. I sat at the kitchen table knowing flies would be all over your body at some point, because this is not the first time I had to witness the dead body of one of our cats. And I didnt want the flies there so I covered you up with newspapers. Another time I came to you with scissors and an empty box that had stored Qtips, because I wanted something od you to remain with me for the rest of my life. And your fur look so inviting, not flat on your skin but a bit more wildly into the air. So I carefully cut a few tips of your fluffy silkness. The box is sitting in front of me in the book shelf, originally I wanted to bury at least this bit of you in the garden next to the beloved cat. I wanted at least some part of you to have a furever home. And I still do. But I cant do it just yet. It could be that I will just keep it here. But I will definitely put up a stone with writing on it, saying "In love and remembrance of Susi".

Another time, before that, I think, I spent a long while sitting on the tiny stone rim in front of Leeloos grave, because I was pondering if I shouldn't just bury you anyway, despite what my mother says about you. But it was her garden, so I didnt. Just this one time, I wish I had not done as I was told. I wish I hadn't even asked.

But there, in the middle of the path to the grave, there were a bunch of unusally long daisies growing l, and I had the strong desire to put up flowers for Susi. For you. So I picked them and laid them down next to your body.

I think I went down another time, always in "full gear", with heavy boots on because the grass at the backside is usually wet and gross. But you laid on concrete in the semi-room, so no worries. So I went down there just to be with you. Because I still didnt want to believe it. I couldn't believe it. I refused to. I thought if I just spent some more time with you, you would wake back up. I had one of the masks on and one time gloves when I touched you. Which I didnt for the most part.

When I had Google about the poison, many people describe situations like your death. No, sorry, I googled what the blood meant, and that is where I found it could be poison, or even a heart attack, or inner injuries. But these people also described their cats having their eyes open, so I went to check your eyes cause I hadn't seen them. And they were open. Though I only saw one. One side of your face. If your cute, beautiful face. And I tried to close them, it, but almost immediately realized it didnt work, so I gave up. But I wish I could have done at least that for you.

[sally-annesstories]

Day 70 - Manual Antonio National Park, Costa Rica

You can drink tap water in Costa Rica!

1. My alarm went off at 6.30am this morning as I wanted to be at the park at its opening time. Both to be ahead of the crowds as well as in case a storm came in. You're allowed food in the park so long as it's not packaged like chips or a muslibar. I picked up a sandwich from the supermarket which is allowed inside despite being wrapped in gladwrap even though they say only paper wrapping. Go figure. The park is made up of trails and beaches. The first beach is Playa Espadilla Sur which is supposedly often the busiest because people are lazy and walk straight there and dont move the rest of the day. My goal this morning / day was to see nature and do all the hikes. I figured I'd do them in the order I found the hikes as I was one of the first in the park so I'd barely catch people. Accidently though I missed the first turn off so skipped the first wee trail. I ended up walking to Punta Catedral first and doing trail here. It was tough because despite being 8am it was mega hot and humid. I was guzzling down my water bottle like no tomorrow. It was super pretty and there were some nice viewing spots where you could see view the whale migration (not happening at the moment!).

2. Finishing the first trek I walked past a tour group. Overhearing the instructor he said it was too early for the monkeys to be out (makes sense why I hadn't seen them). He also had a telescope looking at sloths. They're largely nocturnal and sleep really high up so they kinda look just like shadows in the trees. I think it was a school group he was touring, probably because I was the only other person around he let me have a look through the telescope. It was amazing. The two sloths went from being wee dark shadows to fully defined. Probably why they recommend a guide in the park. I think continued on to do the walk to two other miradors (one over Puerto Escondido). I hadn't filled up on water after the first trek (there hadn't been anywhere to do so) so knew I needed to be conservative on my consumption. In the head and humidity this was tough. Both walks took you to different viewing points over the jungle and ocean. The water is so blue and jungle so green, it's ridiculously pretty.

3. Back in the centre where the 3 main areas to go walking connect there were now huge crowds. Chilling in the tree over the one cafe in the park was a sloth and her baby. These were easily visible with just your eyes compared to the one I'd seen earlier. They were even awake and eating leaves. It was cute so I watched for a while before walking towards the beach. Well the animals had certainly woken up for the day by now ! When I had walked this same track earlier today there were no people and no monkeys. Now there were both people (not too many nor impacting the animals) with the monkeys roaming free. Just walking down the path I had monkeys running past me. It was pretty cool ! Still glad I did the walks before the crowds and monkeys as they are pretty cheeky trying to get into unattended (or even those in your hands).

4. Finally I went to the beach to relax. I was far enough away from a tree wo I'd spy a monkey coming towards me but close enough to other people that I'd likely get a warning for approaching monkeys too. In NZ I never really think twice about leaving stuff on the beach unattended. I usually do think a bit more about this overseas but the park felt pretty safe given everyone had paid to get in. My afternoon was well spent with 15 minutes each side, a 30 minute swim and repeat the process ! At one point I was napping and heard heaps of screaming from the water. A monkey was noshing through the unattended bags a metre from me! Finally it was time to leave the beach when I was lying down and a wave came up and soaked me! With high tide the beach was disappearing.

5. Back out of the park I walked along the water before heading to the hostel. Here the pool water was nice so I had a quick dip. Then I made dinner for the night (pasta purchased the day before) before hitting the haul after a long day.

[nachtgraves]

Hello! If you're still taking requests could you do 49 w/ jean/nino? I love that pairing and I'd like to see how you write them!

Hey!Jean/Nino .> I have a problem. I haven’t seen any of itsince the anime ended though and rewatching it is my reward for catching up onall the shit I have on hold so I hope I did them justice for my first timewriting them (:

Title: HomeSmells of Cigarette Smoke and Bread // AO3WordCount: 3,280Warnings/Tags: G/PG. post-ep12, time skip, nino deserves all the love, pining. I have a headcannon whereLotta likes to play matchmaker.Prompt: Coming home

Jean’sbeen away for about two weeks now.

It’sone of the longest trips he’s been on, and while he’s called Lotta most nights,he’s often exhausted and barely there. Lotta sends him off to bed or to take amuch needed nap. Nino’s been privy to Lotta’s concerned complaints; he himselfhas received a few texts and calls, though most have been requests to keep theyounger Otus company and watch out for her (in her borderline obsessivelyprotective older brother’s place). But there are times where Jean’s calls andmessages are personalized for Nino, and it’s all Nino can ask that Jean spendthose few minutes of his free time on him, instead of on Lotta or resting up.

It’scoming onto day 16 of Jean’s ambiguous and lengthy business trip and Nino ishousesitting for the Otus siblings. Lotta’s gone to Dowa to see Prince Schwanand her grandfather, who’s been kicking stronger than anyone had thought, butillness is always a cause for concern. She was in a rush to leave and Nino wasmore than happy to be called last minute to take care of things in both her andher brother’s absence.

Themain reason for his employment as a house-sitter is Lotta’s new hobby. In therecent weeks she’s picked up gardening, and Nino is more than adept enough atwatering plants on a schedule. Besides, watching over things is something he’snot a stranger to. Since the attempted coup and Furawau’s secession from theDowa Kingdom, Nino’s had some time on his hands, even with his new job at asmall newspaper company. In those early weeks, up to the recent months, he hadn’tbeen too sure of his place in Bādon, or his place with the Otus siblings.

Ninolays on the couch where he and Jean have fallen asleep a few too many timesafter nights of drinking and stares up at the ceiling. He could go back to hisown small apartment, but the Otus home has a warmth and comfort and something indistinguishablethat his apartment simply lacks. It’s a vague feeling he can’t place but itmakes him quite reluctant to leave.

Thinkingback, he remembers the days when he tried to stay away, remove himself fromJean and Lotta, and how miserably that failed within days. He recalls mopingabout in his apartment trying to convince himself to get rid of his copies ofOtus family photos, and the surprise of Jean knocking on his door and takinghim to the bar they frequented. Jean pointedly getting drunk without Nino’spersuasion and needing an escort home. Lotta’s remarks of missing seeing himaround after they put Jean to bed solidified Jean’s point and soothed thegrowing ache in Nino’s chest.

He’snot sure when, but at some point between the sun sinking between buildings andthe stars shining as bright as they can through city light pollution, he fellasleep. He awakes with a familiar crick of sleeping on a couch. The Otus couchis a very comfortable couch, but it is still not a bed. He very well could haveslept through the night, but he’s a light sleeper. No one was supposed to becoming home, but Nino recognizes the sound of a rattling door handle and amuffled curse.

Gettingup from the couch, Nino tiptoes through the dark and silent apartment, guidedonly by the city light filtering in through the windows. He searches out for aweapon of some sort on his way to the front door, but only finds some ofLotta’s cooking and pastry magazines. It’s as good as anything, so he rolls oneup as tight as he can and hides against the wall that turns into the entryway.Whoever was trying to get in seems to succeed just as Nino’s in position,substitute baseball bat ready in his hands and prepped for a swing. The lightfrom outside the apartment floods the entryway and a shadow stretches out, thehead coming to just in front of where Nino’s standing. He’s about to bringglossy paper to human skull, using the shortening shadow as a reference, whenthe intruder calls out: “Lotta?”

Ninoabruptly loosens his grip on the magazine, letting it unroll in his palm. Thelights flicker on and Jean stands, hand frozen on the light switch as he seesNino.

“Uh,hey. Wasn’t expecting you to come back tonight,” Nino laughs.

Jean’seyes scan Nino from head to toe, lingering on the loosely rolled magazinebefore meeting Nino’s eyes with a questioning frown.

Ninoshrugs. “I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to you coming in – thought itwas a burglar.”

“Soyou grabbed one of Lotta’s magazines.” Jean’s mouth quirks slightly and Nino canonly smile helplessly back.

Jeanmoves from the light switch and Nino follows after him into the living room.Jean drops his travel bag by the coffee table and collapses onto the couch witha heavy sigh. Nino leans against the wall and watches. He’s so used to watchingJean. It’s habit to catalogue every twitch in the blond’s expression and heknows every detail of Jean’s routine movements. He’s familiar with the way Jeansprawls across his couch, head tilted back and arms draped along the backrest.The way he tugs his tie loose, blindly reaches for his cigarettes and lighter.The way his lips close around the stick and how smoke streams gently from hismouth in a relaxed sigh.

Jeanslides his gaze to where Nino’s standing. “Sit down, the couch doesn’t bite.”

“Lotta’sgoing to be mad at you for smoking in here,” Nino responds, but he takes a seatas told.

Jeanrolls his head so he’s got half his face smooshed against the couch but canlook at Nino easily. “Speaking of, where is she?”

Ninotilts his head in surprise. “Did you not know? Your grandfather’s sick and shewas worried so she flew over yesterday. She asked me to house and plant-sit,which is why I was here.”

Jeansits up, frown on his face. “Grandfather’s sick? He called me just a few daysago and seemed perfectly fine.”

Ninojust shrugs. “It’s what Lotta said when she called me, asking me to look overthe apartment while the both of you were gone. Wasn’t expecting you to be backso suddenly.”

“Itold Lotta I was coming back tonight or tomorrow morning though.” Jean’s lipsquirk even more downwards, perplexed. Nino’s just as confused for a momentbefore he remembers that nosiness and plotting behind peoples back for theirown perceived good is a Dowan royal family trait. He hopes his face is asimpassive as ever.

“Maybeshe forgot. In any case, I guess I’m off plant-sitting duties,” Nino says,trying to change the direction of the conversation, “I should head back, it’slate and I really didn’t mean to fall asleep here earlier.”

Jeanshakes his head. “You can spend the night. It’s not like you haven’t numeroustimes before.”

Thestatement is true, but Nino needs to remove himself from Jean’s presence. Lottaplotted to get them alone together for whatever reason but he is not about toruin something he’s already got too fragile of a hold on. He gets to his feetand waves Jean off.

“Yeah,but I have some work to do and all my material is at my apartment.”

Jeanstands as well and Nino’s halted by a firm grip around his lower arm. Nino wantsto pull away, but he also desperately wants to come closer. He settles for notmoving at all and staring at the point between Jean’s brows.

“Haveyou eaten?” Jean asks, his question abrupt and innocuous.

Ninoshakes his head. Jean smiles.

“Thenhave dinner with me. I don’t like eating alone.”

Ninoopens his mouth to refuse but he soon finds himself seated at the Otus kitchentable across from Jean with a plates of rice, pork, vegetables, and, of course,dinner rolls, laid out before them. Jean’s half-finished cigarette smotheredout in the ashtray leaving only a faint trail of smoke. He smiles. There’s norefusing an Otus.

“Whatare you smiling about?”

Jeanpoints his fork over at Nino. The blue haired man just shrugs and busieshimself with eating.

“Nino.”

Thetone and cadence almost resembles a whine and really, Nino’s never stood achance anyway.

“Justthinking,” he replies, and in an attempt to distract the vice-chairman of theinspection department, offers the last dinner roll and the tub of butter.

Jeantakes the offerings but Nino doesn’t get away scot-free.

“Careto share?”

“Howoften are you, or even Lotta, told ‘no’ in terms of getting what you want?”Nino returns.

Jeanpurses his lips in thought and Nino has to redirect his attention to the lastbits of his dinner. The blond eventually replies in slow and measured words asif he is still trying to think of a specific instance. “A fair amount,probably. No different than anyone else, I’d say.”

Ninocan’t stop the snort of amused disbelief that bubbles up his throat and out hisnose at that. He has to cover his mouth with his hand so he doesn’t spray foodeverywhere. When he looks up at Jean he has to consciously decide that theexpression on the blond’s face is categorically a frown and even though hismouth is stretched somewhat close together and forward and his bottom lip isjutting out the tiniest bit and his clear blue eyes that catch the flash of acamera like polished crystals are marginally wider—frowning. The unofficial prince is frowning.

“What?”Jean demands.

Ninoshakes his head and starts clearing up the table. If he doesn’t have to respondhe doesn’t have to attempt to deny Jean what he wants. But Jean, unusuallypersistent at the worst of times, follows after Nino with his own plate, adetermined shadow. Nino presses his lips together in a tight line to preventboth laughter and Jean’s answers.

Jeansighs in defeat and Nino lets a small smile of victory past his guard that Jeancatches, if the narrowed gaze is of any indication and pouting—frowning mouth. Nino really needs to goback to his apartment. He says as much to Jean once the last of the dishes areput away: “I should really go back to my apartment for whatever is left of thenight.”

Jean,leaning against the counter, fixes his gaze on Nino in the way that seems tofreeze all movement from the latter. The blue of his eyes and depth of hisstare fixing the object of the stare in place until the blond allows toindividual to move. Nino leans back against the counter, body twisted towardsJean and awaiting what he has to say.

“Youknow,” Jean starts, head tilting slightly. “You never call your apartment‘home’.”

Ninofrowns, confused by the way Jean has taken the conversation. He’s not sure whatthe blond’s point is and Jean can apparently tell. The blond’s mouth twitchesupwards at the corner he always gets food smeared around and has to lick atwith his tongue or dab at with a napkin. Nino finds it fortunate that Jean’snot as into creamy pastries as his sister and coworkers are.

“Younever refer to your apartment as ‘home’. It’s always ‘apartment’, ‘place’, oreven just bed.” Jean continues, andwhile Nino was distracted by Jean’s thin lips and subtle facial twitches, theblond had apparently come closer to the taller man.

“You’dalmost think that ‘home’ isn’t part of your vocabulary, but—” and now Jean isright in front of Nino, to the point Nino is teased by the warmth of Jean’sbody to the hint of tobacco and ash and smoke—“when you take me or Lotta backhere, you almost exclusively call this place home.”

Jeanstares up at him – those few centimeters Nino has above the blond seem tovanish – waiting for a response. Nino clears his throat and he would try tostep back and create more appropriate space between them, but he’s against thecounter and any movement away would be too obvious.

“Well,this is your home. What else would I call it?” he manages to respond.

Jeanseems to come even closer.

“You’reavoiding the question.”

“Younever asked one,” Nino says.

Hefeels victorious for a moment before Jean blinks and then releases a soft huh.

Jeancatches Nino’s gaze with his own. Nino can’t look away even though he knows hereally should find some sort of escape route. The situation was coming to asplit in the road where one path led onward, peaceful and uninterrupted,whereas the second path fell away into nothingness, the ground cracked andcrumbling and dead. Nino knows that this split is unavoidable in hisrelationship with the blond, that at some point in their time together this splitin the road was inevitable. He could only delay it for so long, and despite hiseffort it seems like he’s run out of back roads, scenic routes, and detours.

“Wellthen, here’s the implied question: why do you never refer to your apartment ashome?”

Withthe blond standing and staring unwaveringly in front of him, barely inchesbetween them, Nino can’t break eye-contact and any excuse or redirectiondisappears from the grasp of his heavy tongue like the wisps of smoke thatcling only as a vague olfactory presence to Jean’s clothes.

“Ihaven’t considered it to be a home for a while,” Nino answers, surprising himselfin the process.

Hedoesn’t know when, but it was likely after the death of his father and Jean andLotta’s parents, probably around when he realized his feelings for the olderOtus strayed from duty to friendship to more. It was a gradual thing, much likethe development of his feelings towards Jean, but also his sister. Nino first adoredher with a reverence brought on by her connection to beloved members of royalty.It was, and still is, impossible to not feel protective of and adoration forthe young princess. Nino’s feelings for the girl grew into a responsibility ofa familial, brotherly nature as his feelings for Jean grew romantic and wanting.

Jeanseems to be just as surprised with Nino’s abrupt concession. But he quicklysmiles and nods, as if he had already known the answer and was just waiting forNino to catch up. Nino wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

“Well,since I know you’re lying about work, there really is no reason for you to notjust spend the night. We have the guest room…” The way Jean trails off impliesthat there’s something he wants to add or suggest. His gaze flickers down thehallway towards the bedrooms and Nino watches the subtle movement of Jean’sthroat as he swallows, preps his following words with a flick of tongue across thinlips.

Ninois almost afraid to ask but he can’t help himself. “Or…?”

“Mybed is big enough for two.”

Ninoisn’t sure if he hears Jean correctly, if his brain has warped the blond’swords to something that belongs in a fantastical, fictional world far removedfrom reality.

“Huh?”Nino so eloquently asks, or rather grunts. It’s really more of a vague sound ofsurprise and disbelief that changes pitch several times within the singlesyllable.

Jeangives Nino a knowing look. “Come to bed with me. Just to sleep.” He grins alittle and adds, “For now.”

Thefact that Jean’s face tinges pink even though Nino can tell the other man istrying to play cool makes him feel better about the fact his face is likelybright red and his dropped jaw is probably very stupid looking. His cool,badass biker image is in shattered pieces at Jean’s feet. But he doesn’t reallycare about it that much right now.

WhileNino still can’t quite regain control over his mouth and ability to speak – stillstunned into silence by Jean’s very blunt flirting, teasing? He hopes it’s theformer – he can nod and follow Jean into the blond’s bedroom, led by his wristin Jean’s firm grasp. Jean only lets him go to change into his pyjamas; a soft tee-shirtand a pair of flannel pyjama pants that are much too baggy on his slender framebut endears him to Nino that much more. With a quick, pointed look, Nino stripsdown to his boxers and pulls on a shirt Jean tosses him from his closet. Ninocan’t help but subtly lift the neck and take a quick sniff, and from the wayJean smirks even with pink cheeks as he crawls into the modestly sized bed, heknows that he was caught.

Hehesitates, but slides into the bed as well. Nino doesn’t know if he should turnhis back to Jean, but when Jean settles on his side facing Nino, he reaches upa hand and grabs at the collar of Nino’s borrowed shirt and tugs him down,deciding for the photographer.

Ninoisn’t sure if he was expecting the brief kiss or not. He’s been going onautopilot since Jean cornered him in the kitchen and his brain is only justcatching up.

Thekiss is brief enough that he almost thinks it didn’t happen, but the way hetries to follow Jean’s mouth after the blond pulls away says otherwise. Jeansmiles and leans back in for another kiss. This one, Nino can close his eyesand enjoy, simple and closed-mouth. He pulls back and lies down fully on thebed facing Jean.

“Wecan talk about this later if you want,” Jean tells him. “I’m exhausted andreally just want to sleep for a few hours.”

“Goodnight,” Nino says and Jean smiles at him before settling in and closing hiseyes, his breaths evening out surprisingly quickly. Nino feels a tug of guiltat keeping the blond awake for so long when he likely had wanted to immediatelyfall into bed upon returning. He can’t quite bring himself to completely regretthe events of the night, however.

Ninodoesn’t fall asleep for a while. He can barely process what’s happened since hewoke up from his accidental nap, much less how he’s ended up in this situation,this position. In Jean’s bed, next to the man himself who is out like a light,face soft and gentle in sleep, body warm and facing Nino. He settles onto hisside, arm bent under his head and lets his eyes drift shut, relaxed. Eachinhale fills his nose with soothing scents of laundry detergent mixed with ahint of salty sweat. Nino falls asleep, more content than he thinks he’s everbeen.

Inthe morning, Nino wakes up alone but the other side of the bed has stillretained some of the warmth from his missing bed partner. He pads out of Jean’sbedroom to see the man grabbing fresh toast from the toaster, one butteredslice already in his mouth and the remains of a cigarette burning out in theashtray on the kitchen table. He’s wearing his glasses, thick rimmed and rectangular,equal parts dorky and adorable.

“Morning,”Jean says when he notices Nino, mouth full of bread but smile still wide as itcan be. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Ninocomes closer and something in him settles at the scent of cigarette smoke andbread.

[audreycritter]

Sooo, you said you don't mind having a list of flash fics and trauma asks to work through... This is kind of both; What do you think of a flash fic that's *about* trauma? ((I'd just absolutely adore one that goes into a little detail about Tim and your idea that the oft-made-fun-of coffee habit actually predates his time as Robin-- but if you've got lots of Tim requests, anybody, really! I love your take on the Batfam and their psyches.))

um so I couldn’t stop thinking about this and I ended up writing a REALLY LONG AND REALLY SAD THING.Gen/Family/Backstory~6700 WordsTim Drake, Janet Drake, Jack DrakeMild canon divergence/much canon inclusion

Shut Eye (AO3 Link)

Timothy Jackson Drake was the kind of baby that defied parenting books. He was not a particularly active infant, but he craved motion instead of sleep. He exhausted every chapter of sleep advice while he exhausted himself, Janet Drake, and the three nannies that had come and gone by the time he was seven months old.

During the day, when the doctors and psychologists and parents who had penned the books said he was supposed to be kept awake, he was content to gaze at toys or attempt to roll over or gum on his chubby hands. He did not nap, except those places or times it was inconvenient– the ten minute drive to the pediatrician, Jack’s shoulder right before he had to leave for a meeting.

In theory, he should have been exhausted by the time bedtime rolled around (nine, then eight, then seven, on the dot, because the books said schedule was important, the books said maybe he was overtired and earlier was better), and he was exhausted– exhausted enough to let his eyes close with the swaying motion of being carried to his crib.

But in the gap between arms and mattress, his eyes would snap open and he would shriek and wail as if hurt or gravely offended. Once, on a new book’s recommendation, they tried to let him cry it out. Three hours of screaming ended with a sweaty, red-faced, furious baby vomiting all over his sheets.

They tried everything.

Music, white noise, fan, night light, blackout blinds, organic cotton sheets, warm pajamas, no pajamas, extra formula, sensitive formula, a teddy bear.

Nothing worked.

“He hates sleep,” Janet said more than once, eyes ringed with deep circles even make-up couldn’t cover anymore.

“Maybe,” Jack agreed absently, looking over stock reports.

“He hates me,” she complained, when walking the halls to lull Timothy to sleep resulted in him screaming in her ear when he realized she was walking toward his bedroom. Somehow, he knew.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Jack said without looking up.

Timothy arched his back and howled at the world.

Nanny after nanny quit when it was clear that their job involved no naptime breaks to pee or eat and hours of carrying around a miserable, tired baby who jerked his head up every time he suspected his eyes might be closing.

“He’ll grow into it,” the pediatrician said.

But if anything, he was getting more resistant to sleep, more aware of their methods.

Things that had once worked for brief hours, like driving in circles with him strapped into the car seat, backfired and before long he cried in shrill suspicion anytime they had to drive anywhere.

One by one, their meager methods faded and he would crawl, then toddle, around the house in staggering fatigue until he finally slumped over somewhere around one in the morning with Janet or a half-asleep nanny trailing after him. Sometimes they’d risk moving him if it seemed especially uncomfortable, like halfway down from a dining room chair, but other times if he was on carpet or the couch or even once inside the piano bench, they’d leave him. Moving him often woke him up, and once he was out they only had until five in the morning or so, anyway.

Then Timothy Drake discovered books and his temper, in the same few week span.

Janet Drake, desperate for some relief and maybe, maybe a solid three hours of sleep and a nanny who wouldn’t quit, found her world flip-flopped.

Now Timothy was angry about everything. Nothing made him happy. He threw and bit and pulled and roared his way through every day, upsetting sippy cups and plastic plates of cheerios and her fragile sense of well-being.

But at night, he’d sit in his crib and happily hum to himself while his fat little fingers turned thin pages with impossible care. She guessed he still stayed awake until one or two in the morning, but she slept through all of it, because at least he wasn’t screaming and at least he was staying in his crib (he had taught himself how to climb out the same week he learned to pull himself to standing, and would fling himself toward the floor and crawl away while indignantly crying).

“Is that really something we should indulge?” Jack asked once, looking at the video monitor from their master bathroom.

“Shut up, Jack,” Janet had murmured, almost asleep already. “At least he’s quiet.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t love Timothy. It was just that loving Timothy was so exhausting and she wasn’t entirely sure, despite Jack’s insistence, that Timothy liked her very much in return.

“Just wait until he says mama,” one mother advised her at one of the only playgroup meetings she attended. “It changes everything.”

The mother doling out this advice bounced a smiling toddler in her own arms, who demanded a kiss in childish babbling a second later.

Janet looked across the room where Timothy was sitting, surrounded by the chaos of playing children, studying a book about wild lions. Another boy stumbled on him and Timothy screamed and hit the round-cheeked face of the other boy with the book.

They didn’t go back to that playgroup.

But the other mother had been right, in a way.

Timothy’s temper, so volatile and constant, dropped off almost in the course of a single day. His wordless shrieking and chattering was just beginning to worry her– the books said he should have a vocabulary of close to two dozen words now, and until that day she didn’t think he had any.

That day, he picked up a cup full of watered down apple juice and held it aloft like he was going to pitch it onto the floor, his face already flushing red with fury, and he paused with it clutched in his tiny hands. Then he looked at Janet and held the cup out, and said so clearly she didn’t process it at first, “No, I want milk.”

“Please,” she promoted automatically, in a stupor, staring at him.

“Please, I want milk. Where is it?” he said, blinking at her calmly.

And just like that, with rare exceptions, his temper had vanished.

The nanny had been with them for four months (a record), Timothy was speaking in full sentences and looking at picture encyclopedias until he passed out at night.

Jack suggested they take a vacation.

Without Timothy.

Janet only felt a twinge of guilt when she agreed.

“I love you,” she said to him, kissing his head, the morning they left.

“I love you,” he echoed, while watching a butterfly as they stood in the driveway, the nanny clutching his hand.

She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or the winged insect. Her consolation was that when she picked him up and hugged him, his arms snaked around her neck and squeezed. His little body was warm and limp against her, trusting and cuddly. He pulled back and looked at her face.

“Mom,” he said, bypassing the traditional repetitive syllables. He twisted in her arms and pointed. “A painted lady.”

She was fairly certain he was talking about the butterfly that time.

They fell into a routine. Jack had missed her traveling with him and she had missed it, too. It seemed unfair to put Timothy through the red eye flights and different hotel rooms and gauntlet of available foods, and every nanny they hired promised he never seemed very distressed at their absence.

Janet wasn’t sure if this was comforting or wounding.

“He’s such a good baby, so quiet,” one nanny said. “So polite.”

Janet wondered if maybe she was talking to the wrong nanny.

They’d come home and Timothy would tear around the house, whooping like a banshee, while Janet talked about the places they’d gone. She didn’t know how much he heard while he was standing on his head, tangled in the living room curtains. But he asked questions that were, if strange or specific, on topic. She couldn’t answer half of them.

Once, when he was three, they came back from Argentina and she’d gotten a book to read with him. It had been a while since they’d sat and read, but Janet assumed from his overflowing bookshelves that the nanny kept them both busy. Timothy snuggled up next to her, happily enough, but half a page in he put a hand right over the text.

“This is not real,” he said firmly.

“No,” she agreed. “It’s fiction.”

“Spiders do not talk,” he said peevishly, jabbing an accusing finger at the next page.

Janet’s heart skipped a beat when she realized he was reading, and reading ahead of her. His little face was a pinched picture of disgust.

“Spiders do not talk,” he repeated, as if scolding her. He slid off the couch and darted to the bookshelf. He came back with an orange bound field guide and climbed up next to her again and opened it, pointed to a microphotography image of a garden spider. “This is a real spider,” he said.

Janet put the storybook away and spent the rest of the hour pointing to words, amusing herself and not testing him.

She was testing him.

She was also proud.

“Jack, did you know Timothy can read?” she asked when he walked into the room.

“Good,” he said, tearing open an envelope. “He’ll get into a good preschool. I thought we could go to the circus tonight. A good one is in town.”

“Elephants!” Timothy shouted, standing on the couch. Janet made a mental note to look into preschools before they left again. It was probably overdue– she kept forgetting how quickly he was growing up.

At the circus that night, Jack pulled strings and they met the acrobats and the elephants before the show. Janet snapped a picture of Timothy on the shoulders of a young, dark-haired acrobat. She didn’t think she’d ever been good with children at that age, but the acrobat had Timothy giggling within seconds.

Once in their seats, Timothy had watched everything, sometimes covering his ears when the announcements or music pumped through the speakers grew too loud. Jack had gotten them good seats, and Timothy stood on his with Janet’s arm around his waist for safety. Their neighbor, Bruce Wayne, sat a dozen seats away and it was the first time Janet had seen him since the Christmas party at his house two years before.

Timothy’s attention was fixed on the circus with a patience that belied his age, his eyes wide and his little spine rigid under her hand. He watched the elephants, the clowns, the lions, the firebreather, the acrobats, the plunge to their deaths.

Half the crowd screamed and the other half gasped, all in unison; it was a wrenching sound mingled with the bodies hitting the hard, packed ground and it lingered in Janet’s dreams for years after. Everyone was so focused on not looking, or looking for help, or moving to or away, that it was several minutes before she heard Jack snap, “Godammit,” and she realized Timothy was looking straight at the bodies with a blank expression as he gradually comprehended it wasn’t part of the show.

“Dead,” he announced calmly, as Jack swept him off the seat and over his shoulder.

Janet followed, turning her head from the pools of blood when they walked toward the exit. She put her hand over Timothy’s eyes just as they swept out of the tent; too late, she knew, because he’d tracked the bodies as they moved through the crowd.

For the first time since he’d begun lulling himself to sleep with books, he woke crying that night.

“Dead,” he kept saying when she picked him up to bounce him on her hip. “Dead. Dead.”

After the fourth night like it, she took him to the pediatrician. She asked about seeing a child psychologist, but the doctor seemed more interested in the fact that Timothy could read and was putting a model of the human eye together on the exam table after taking it apart with his nimble, chubby hands.

“He’s a little young for conversational therapy,” the doctor said, leaning back on his stool. “But I think you might find some help if you have some intelligence screenings done.”

“He’s very smart,” Janet said defensively.

“He is. He’s very bright. It might help to see if he’s dealing with autism or–”

“He’s not autistic,” Janet snapped. “He’s fine. Aren’t you listening to me? He saw two people, well,” Janet noticed that Timothy’s fingers had stopped adjusting pieces. She made a vague downward motion with her hand and raised an meaningful eyebrow at the doctor.

“Does he have friends?” the doctor pressed.

“Friends?” Janet demanded. “He’s three. His friends are the Kratt brothers and Elmo. He makes eye contact. He hugs me and Jack. He talks to us. He doesn’t mind new places. He’s fine.”

“Hmm,” the doctor said noncommittally.

“I’m signing him up for preschool,” Janet said as a last defense, feeling attacked. “If his teachers notice anything, they’ll say something.”

“Alright,” the doctor said, standing. “It was nice to see you, Timothy.”

“Tim,” the boy corrected, holding up the reconstructed model eye. “Look. The pupil is in half.”

They left the pediatrician’s and within ten days, Tim was enrolled in preschool, Janet had found a new pediatrician, and his nightmares had stopped. She didn’t bother looking for a child psychologist, figuring his young mind had rebounded after given enough time.

Tim took to preschool like a fish to water and, satisfied he was adjusting well, Janet resumed traveling with Jack. The nannies never complained about him anymore, except laughing updates that he asked too many questions. They still couldn’t seem to keep a nanny longer than six months, but now it was always external things and not Tim himself. Family illness, finished college, another job opportunity, cancer.

When Tim was six, they came back with presents that had very different outcomes. Janet brought him an encyclopedia of planes she’d found and set aside time between lunch and her chiropractor’s appointment to look at it with him. When he opened it, he flipped slowly through the first few pages and though he was trying hard to smile she could tell he was disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, wrapping an arm around him. He stiffened. “It’s okay if it’s boring right now. Maybe you’ll like planes later.”

“I have this one,” Tim said, as if admitting it pained him. “I got it when I was four. It’s…it’s good though.”

“Oh,” Janet said, taking the book in her hands. “We can exchange it.”

This was a lie and he knew it. She’d purchased it in the English section of a bookstore in Germany.

“What are you reading now?” she asked, trying to keep him talking, to show she wasn’t upset. Or, wasn’t very upset.

“Harry Potter,” he said, retrieving the book and sitting down. He was halfway through the second one, or so she guessed from the number on the spine.

“I thought you didn’t like fiction,” she said.

“I’m not a baby,” he rolled his eyes.

“You’re six,” she said, looking over his thin shoulder at the dense block of text.

“I’m glad you noticed,” he said, sounding suddenly bitter and moody.

“I told you, I’m sorry we missed your birthday,” she said, guilt washing over her all over again. “You said it was a good party, though.”

“I’m trying to read.”

She got up.

“Timmy-boy!” Jack’s voice boomed through the room. He missed Janet’s warning glance and headshake. “I got you a camera. Thought you might like playing with it.”

Rather than insist he was reading, Tim abandoned the book in the blink of an eye to take the heavy, black digital camera from Jack.

It was too large, too expensive, too complicated for a child and Janet had tried to tell Jack so, but he’d refused to listen. Tim struggled to hold it up but flipped through the buttons like he’d been doing it all his life.

“It has manual focus,” he said, sounding excited.

“You can use autofocus for now,” Janet said, trying to avoid the eventual meltdown over blurry pictures.

“Don’t discourage him,” Jack said easily, grinning at his own success. He posed for a picture.

He fiddled with the settings all afternoon and Janet felt both justified in her worry and heartsick with the aptness of it, when she caught Tim in the hallway outside the dining room thumbing through pictures and muttering, “Stupid, stupid. All blurry. Stupid.”

When she tried to talk to him, his face went blank and he shrugged, turning the camera off and letting it hang from the strap around his neck. It was too large, the leather band spanning from his nape where his hair curled all the way down to the collar of his science day-camp shirt.

“It’s fine,” he said, brushing past her.

She caught him again, ten minutes later, sniffling and rubbing his eyes while he talked to the nanny in the kitchen. The woman was flipping organic salmon filets in a skillet and Tim didn’t have her full attention, but maybe he preferred it that way, Janet thought with a pang. She was suddenly jealous of the woman but Tim was all smiles again by dinner, so she let it go.

Late that night, Tim climbed onto her bed with the camera. She was sipping a glass of wine while Jack yelled at someone on his cellphone from the walk-in closet. She’d already taken her makeup off and let her hair down, so when Tim pointed the camera at her she laughed.

“Not now,” she said, putting a hand over her face.

“Don’t miss my birthday party next year,” he said, kneeling on the bed with the camera held up. He said it simply, without malice or hurt, like he was giving instructions for delivering a package or ordering food.

Janet dropped her hand and let him take the picture, the wine glass near her mouth while she smiled for him.

“Okay,” she said, the smile fading after the shutter clicked.

Tim crawled off the bed and opened the closet door to take a picture of Jack with his arm thrown in the air, his face flushed as he shouted at someone about a contract falling through.

Janet never saw either picture. She assumed he deleted them, but she also didn’t say “I told you so,” to Jack about the camera. She went to sleep accepting that she’d been wrong, again, about Tim, and woke up to him already outside on the back lawn climbing a tree to take pictures of the house. The nanny was on the patio in a bathrobe, yawning and drinking coffee, and Janet wasn’t entirely certain that Tim had ever gone to bed that night.

But saying anything to Tim about sleep was pointless, so she didn’t bother. She helped him set up an email account so he could send her pictures when she and Jack flew out again at the end of the week. Rather, she stood next to him, giving him permission, while he pecked at the keys one finger at a time and set up an email account for himself.

Even though they weren’t there long that time, it wasn’t like Janet was never home. She came home for a month, sometimes two, at a time and left again with Jack for business or sightseeing. Her trips away always started as one week, or two weeks, and turned into six or seven or nine. Three months, even with stellar reports from the nanny, was her limit.

But at home, Tim had school and computer club and LEGO Robotics club and photography class and after school science camp and swim lessons and soccer practice, and it seemed selfish to interrupt his education to do…nothing. So she saw him between dinner and bedtime, and sometimes in the morning he’d creep into her curtained bedroom and tell her goodbye before he left for school.

And Janet had lunch dates and appointments and gym classes and meetings of her own, and if Tim was dissatisfied with this arrangement he rarely showed it.

She did come home from India for his seventh birthday, with Jack.

She came home from Hong Kong for his eighth birthday, without Jack, but with his apologies and an expensive traditional film camera.

Tim had a gift for her, too, and it made her feel guilty about how badly the rest of the time at home went, because it was only the second time Janet had been forced to fire a nanny and it just figured that it would be a nanny Tim was particularly attached to.

The trouble started when Tim walked in to give her the photography book he’d put together as a gift, the printed album in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. She accepted the book and reached for the coffee, but Tim pulled it back smoothly, quickly, and frowned at her as if disappointed.

“Tim, I’ll look at the book,” she promised. “Right now. You don’t have to tease.”

“I’m not,” he said, sounding irritated. He sipped the coffee. “I can get you a cup if you want some.”

“You’re seven,” she said.

“Eight, since this morning,” he answered, sitting down on the couch. His feet dangled over the edge of the cushion. He’d always been small for his age and it made the mug he held seem even more ridiculous.

“Eight is too young for coffee,” she said sternly. “Go dump it out.”

“I have a cup every morning,” he protested, whining, holding the mug more closely to his chest. “Look at the book I made you.”

“Letitia,” Janet called sharply to the nanny, straightening her posture.

“Mrs. Drake?” the woman answered, coming into the room with an armful of Tim’s laundry.

“How long have you allowed Tim to drink coffee?”

“Oh,” the woman said, bewildered. She seemed more confused by Janet’s tone than anything else. She made eye contact with Tim. “Two months, ago, now?” Her gaze shifted back to Janet. “He has trouble sleeping and coffee always makes me sleepy, so we tried it.”

“It doesn’t help,” Tim said. “But I like how it tastes.”

“Of course it doesn’t help,” Janet snapped. “You’re a child. It’s full of caffeine and can stunt your growth.”

“Myth,” Tim said, patting the book she was holding. “I did research. Are you going to look at the book?”

Janet closed her eyes for a moment and said, “No more coffee, Tim. That will be all, Letitia.”

Tim threw himself back against the couch, scowling, and then looked straight at her and took a long drink of his coffee. Janet sighed and flipped open the book. Maybe she could try to reason with him later, when he wasn’t already mad at her.

The pictures were good– photography class and his personal drive had paid off. But she noticed a bothersome trend only three pictures in. The pictures were all black and white: a smiling homeless man, the jutting and crumbling gargoyle of a downtown bank, a crowd of stony-faced teenagers with spiked hair and skateboards.

“Tim,” Janet said, her voice scared and hard at once, “Tim, where did you take these?”

“That’s Charlie,” he said quickly and excitedly, leaning forward and tapping the picture of the grizzled, toothless man. “He’s nice. I buy him hot chocolate sometimes.”

“Tim,” Janet said again.

“I don’t know their names,” Tim said dismissively of the teens, “but they were excited about the pictures. I printed some at the Walgreen’s for them.”

“Tim,” Janet hissed.

“Gotham,” he said casually, as if it were obvious. The problem was that it was obvious and he was eight years old and should not have pictures like the work of a fucking Gotham Times’ journalist’s side project about poverty and the city.

Janet was too shocked to summon any other words for a moment. She turned another page.

It was a building at night, clouds in the distance, the silhouette of a distant figure with points on his head like animal ears.

“Look!” Tim shouted, “It’s Batman! It’s the best one I got of him.” He reached over and flipped the page for her. The next page was a blurred picture of a boy in a bright uniform, soaring through the air. “I had to zoom in a bunch but this is the best one of Robin.”

“Timothy Drake,” Janet snapped so fiercely that Tim jumped, his coffee sloshing in the mug. “How did you get these pictures?”

“I took them,” he said, his little brow creasing.

Janet stood and paced for a moment while Tim shrank back on the couch, his mug pressed against his chin.

“Letitia!” she shouted and the nanny reappeared, this time with a backpack and a washcloth in her hands. Janet waved the album in the air and demanded, “Why the hell are you taking my eight year old child into downtown Gotham?”

“She’s not!” Tim protested, at the same time Letitia said, “Mrs. Drake, I don’t know what–”

Janet whirled on Tim.

“She doesn’t take me,” Tim said, standing and reaching for the book. Janet held it out of his reach. “I’ve been skipping Science Explorers after school. And soccer at the YMCA at night.”

“Why?” Janet asked, a cold pit of fear warring with anger and bafflement alike. “I thought you liked science.”

“It’s too easy,” Tim said, a little desperately. “It’s all stuff I know. But downtown is interesting.”

“It’s not safe,” Janet snapped. “And it has to stop, right now.”

Tim’s face twisted in fury and then went blank, impassive and unreadable.

“Letitia, you’re fired,” Janet said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, ma’am,” the woman said quietly. “I’ll go pack my things.”

“No!” Tim shouted, standing on the couch, the blankness falling away into sheer rage.

“Yes,” Janet said firmly, tucking the book under her arm. She felt a pang of regret that this, and not praise for his artwork, had to take the precedent, but his safety was more important than feelings about pictures. “It’s not your fault, Tim, that she wasn’t watching you more carefully, but coffee? Trips alone into the city? No. This is why we have a nanny, to keep you safe, and she’s not doing her job. I’m not mad at you, baby, but you need to let me be a good mommy right now.”

Tim was still standing on the couch and he glared at her and then his expression shifted to something cold. He stretched out his arm and before she could order him not to, he tipped his mug and dumped the entire remainder of his coffee straight onto the brushed suede couch. It splashed across the fabric and splattered the white carpet beneath.

“You little shit,” Janet gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth right after. “I’m sorry, Tim, that…I shouldn’t have said that. I think we both need time to calm down.”

It was lunchtime when she went to find him and could hear him crying in his bedroom. It was locked and she knocked gently.

“Go away,” he snarled from inside.

He just needed more time. She let him have it.

She found another nanny. She gave strict instructions that he was to be accompanied to all his classes and clubs and that coffee was absolutely off-limits. He was still angry at her two weeks later and with resignation, she decided that giving him more space might help. She joined Jack in Tokyo.

The next time she went home, it had been five months. Tim had come to join them for a month in the middle of that, so she didn’t feel too guilty about being away so long. Tim chatted with her like nothing had ever happened while with them in Europe and happily took pictures and added things to their itinerary.

But once she came home, it was to more problems. She was beginning to dread going home.

There was a stack of notes from teachers, praising Tim’s intelligence and expressing concern that, while he made friends easily enough, seemed to have trouble maintaining long-term friendships. He was often distracted or fell asleep in class, he conversed easily with adults but ignored most children his own age with the exception of a few. None of the notes had ever been forward to her, all the envelopes neatly sliced open. Tim had opened them.

The nanny was a woman she didn’t recognize even though they’d texted a few times about Tim and scheduling and plans. When Janet pressed, she got it out of Tim that the other woman had resigned quickly and that he had hired another nanny without ever letting Janet find out. His resourcefulness both impressed and frightened her and she dreaded to ask, because she had to ask and she already knew the answer, what he’d been doing in his spare time.

His answer was casual but his body was tense and it was then that Janet realized, with the sharp sensation of nausea, that Tim was both a remarkable child and nearly an absolute stranger to her. And he was afraid of her, afraid of her disapproval, and fiercely defensive of his own freedom all the same.

“Taking pictures,” he’d said vaguely at first.

“Downtown, but I’m careful,” he added after a moment.

“I know where all the police stations are,” he said helpfully, almost an hour later, when he approached her again.

“I take a taxi, so I’m with a grownup,” he said at dinner, as if this constituted responsible childcare.

Janet couldn’t even think of what to say to him. She wasn’t afraid that he would hurt her– he was, and remained for the most part, a gentle and quiet boy. He was so careful and precise and she watched him that same day rescue a spider and put it outside before taking pictures. There was a steel in him that she recognized, a hardness that surely came from Jack and would maybe benefit him in business someday, and he was stubborn and independent, but he wasn’t violent. More than anything, she was afraid of losing his waning affection.

“You have to talk to him,” she told Jack, passing the buck. “He’s your son. It isn’t safe.”

“Damn straight, it’s not safe!” Jack had thundered, when she finally filled him in on all the details she’d kept back for the past year. “Tim!”

After Jack yelled at him, her plan turned out to be a failure. Tim was furious at both of them and did not seek her out for solace.

Jack tried to confiscate his cameras, but Tim produced another one within hours. She didn’t know if he’d hidden it or purchased it somehow. Jack took that one, too, and the next morning they woke to ten identical cameras in boxes on the porch while a chipper-looking delivery man waited for a signature. Tim had ordered them online the night before, using Jack’s card, and Jack threw his hands in the air and let the boy keep them.

They fired the nanny and hired a new one. Janet stayed behind when Jack left for Australia, determined for once that she could be more obstinate than her sour child and was pleased to find success. Tim’s ire faded quickly and she let some smaller things slide in favor of connecting with him. They didn’t have a traditional relationship, exactly, but he joined her in the morning for coffee when he wasn’t at school, he was happy and even excited to come to her with projects and ideas. He wasn’t sneaking out of club meetings, as far as she could tell, and after two months she was satisfied that he’d adjusted and found a healthy, age-appropriate medium.

If he sometimes seemed a little sad or reserved, she chalked that up to his age– he was getting close to surging hormones and it was an area where she was lost. She’d have Jack talk to him again. She went to the school and had him moved to more advanced classes and several of his issues at school seemed to disappear.

Halfway through her third month at home, Tim was doing well and Janet was growing bored. The long hours he spent in school and in class, with a nanny to take care of the details, left her with nothing to do after she’d exhausted lunch and manicure dates with friends who seemed caught up in their own on-going lives. Plus, Jack kept calling and asking when she’d join him again and he was, after all, her husband. So she made plans to join him and Tim had accepted her announcement with that same impassive expression he had that could mean any of a dozen things. They were doing better, more attached, so she decided if it bothered him, he’d certainly say something.

And he did.

But he waited until ten minutes before she left for the airport.

“I don’t want you to go,” he’d said, tears in his eyes before he ducked his head.

“Tim,” she’d said, her voice strained. “It’s a little late. Your dad is expecting me.”

“So, call him,” Tim said, almost pleading but not quite.

“I mean, if you really need me,” Janet said slowly, considering. She was torn, so torn– she’d missed Jack and he was so busy, but Tim wanting her– needing her– felt like something she’d been waiting years for him to admit.

“No, never mind,” he said quickly, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I just had a weird night.”

“Are you sure?” Janet asked, knowing she’d drop her plans if he said the word.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Tell Dad I said hi.”

Janet kissed his forehead and hugged him and went out to the waiting car. She felt a little disappointed but guilty about it, because it was good that he was alright.

She was barely out of the front drive when he came tearing out of the house, crying.

“Mom, mom,” he said, rapping his hand against the window while she rolled it down. “Mom, please, stay. Please stay.”

And maybe it was the stress of being late for her flight, but Janet felt suddenly annoyed with him. He was almost nine years old and had known her travel plans for five days.

“Tim,” she said, trying nonetheless to keep her voice soft and calm, “you don’t need to be so dramatic. It isn’t like you. I’ll come home in a week, baby. Just a week.”

He hiccuped and put his arm across his face and she waited. After a moment, he nodded and turned from the car.

“Love you!” she called after him.

“Love you,” he answered, his voice muffled through his sleeve.

When she called a week later to check on him, he sounded fine. He didn’t say anything about expecting her home, which was a relief since Jack had made plans without asking her first, and Tim was already excited about an experiment he’d been working on. She listened patiently while he talked about it and then he had to go to an evening class.

His ninth birthday came and went and Janet came and went from the house, over and over. Tim fluctuated between giddy and morose, but never at such sharp spikes or with such pronouncement that she grew worried. The one time she did feel a slight pang of concern, Jack soothed her worries with the acknowledgment that Tim was a boy and whatever he was dealing with was probably normal.

Janet really didn’t know so she trusted Jack.

They fell into routines and Janet was now long-used to Tim being awake when she fell asleep and also when she woke up. She wasn’t sure when exactly he slept but he was responsible enough to take naps in the afternoon sometimes, and if it was unusual that he drank coffee he made up for it by brewing extra for her when she was home, better than she could make for herself.

And as he grew, he became increasingly private, or guarded, sometimes even locking his room when he was away.

When she mentioned this to Jack, he snorted once and waved a hand, saying, “I don’t know any twelve year old who wants his mother to find his dirty magazines. I would’ve wanted to kill myself.”

And Tim wasn’t defensive or angry in conversation, but rather gave off an aura of near-constant worry. Janet resigned herself to his growing sense of self-determination and need for privacy, suspecting she was crowding him, and went to Paris with Jack.

They came home sometime in the middle of his thirteenth year to find his worried frown vanished and the basement outfitted with gym equipment. Jack, though he never worked out if he could help it, seemed exceedingly proud of Tim’s newfound hobby as if his pointed insistence on soccer during Tim’s elementary years had something to do with it.

“This is great,” he said to Janet while surveying the equipment. “Maybe I’ll start exercising. It’s great for him.”

Janet couldn’t even find anything to be anxious about. Tim had gone from pushing hard for adulthood to nearly adult, seemingly overnight. He carried himself like he knew where he was going, and his moments of obvious self-doubt or hesitancy were dwindling.

And if Tim, when he did talk to them, spoke often of Bruce Wayne, who was she to deny the boy another mentor? God knew Jack was home even less than she was, and Tim clearly looked up to their long-time neighbor. When she insisted on asking some questions, just to make sure Tim was…safe, was not being ‘taken advantage of’ as she put in mildly, afraid to put ideas into his head if nothing was going on, it turned out that Bruce Wayne shared a fondness for photography and computers. Tim had been caught sneaking onto the property to take pictures and when Janet expressed horror at his trespassing, she’d been introduced to the butler and felt much better afterward.

So, when Tim gently suggested that perhaps, at nearly fourteen and with a responsible neighbor and a busy school schedule, that he no longer needed a nanny, Jack was all too ready to cut it out of the budget and give the boy his freedom.

“He’s a responsible kid,” he assured Janet after letting the nanny go. “He’ll be fine.”

Tim barely slept.

Tim inhaled pots of coffee.

Tim worked in the gym for hours, arranged his own trip overseas the following year, kept his door locked, taught himself how to drive, emailed her regular updates that she always read but didn’t always know what to reply.

And at least he wasn’t using drugs or vandalizing property or throwing parties in the house while they were gone. Her friends were now dealing with such behavior in their children, and two of them had already dealt with arrests and one had a son in rehab– rehab at fourteen.

If she had any remaining reservations about their new arrangement, they were not discussed with Jack. After years of happily traveling and working together, things had taken a bitter turn between them and when they weren’t fighting about each other, the last thing she wanted to do was fight about Tim.

And Tim was, like Jack said, fine.

He emailed her pictures that she looked at on her phone while waiting with Jack to board the plane to Haiti. For a moment, she considered sharing them with Jack but he was in a bad mood and stressed about a delayed boarding time.

She opened an email to reply to Tim, to admire the pictures and tell him she loved him, but their seating section was suddenly called and she turned the phone off. Tim knew, like Tim knew nearly everything. She’d never known such a smart kid and it was more obvious the older he got, the more children she met.

Tim was fine.

Janet was not.

They arrived to muggy weather in Haiti and she saved the email to Tim in her drafts and in the end, it was never sent.

Janet Drake went home three weeks later, an unusually short absence.

The problem was that she went home in a coffin.