#hubby never fails to make me snort

[liveyun]

𝐀 𝐏 𝐑 𝐈 𝐂 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 — 𝟎.𝟏

banner by @itaeewon 🌹

pairing. min yoongi x female reader (oc)

genre. arranged marriage au, angst,fluff,eventual smut

contains : overthinking , toxic parenting , angst but nothing too serious. not edited, maybe is full of grammatical mistakes

wc : 5.8k

chapter index | next | taglist

Yoongi never really cared for seasons.

Or, the weather, in particular.

For his part, he was often told that he's an observant person, and often wonders if he's really observant; when now he hears a couple, or maybe, a couple to be, for he assumes, bickering about the how chilly it is. He's seated beside them in a considerable distance, and in his peripheral vision, he could see how loving they seem to be.

Their small bickering doesn't really bothers him or irritates him at this point, surprisingly, even after the day he had. And now he feels, or rather observes, unknowingly, that the couple bickering is really a married couple.

He normally would've not payed two straws, but he really wonders about the weather now within their small, yet in hushed tones,

"Its really not normally this cold in autumn, agh!"

" pah, dont be so dramatic. You're just making excuses to lay your cold ass feet on my warm tummy to warm yourself up!"

" Its not my fault that i'm naturally freezing and youre a furnace, hubby."

" Blame your anaemic ass for that,wife. Not the weather…" the guy rolles his eyes and he sees the lady purse her lips and snort angrily, much to the guy's amusement. However, his pleasure seems to be only small, as now Yoongi now amusedly himself watches the lady stick her tongue out and quip back,

" Ah, then how 'bout you lend me your trench coat then, love. Since its not so cold for you, so it maybe is not much use for you, no?" , and Yoongi is aware of the ghost of a smile that hangs on his own face as he watches the guy visibly become pale and shake his head, suddenly squirming away from her hands which are on the coat's lapels.

And the bickering goes on for a few more minutes, Yoongi watches them with a silent air,laughing and snuggle onto eachother, and the lady speaks up,

" I wish if I could unmarry you."

" Ah, sorry, love. You're struck with me, and I love you."

The confession seems to melt her, resonding back with an eager I love you more, idiot, as he watches them both with wide smiles, cuddle closer for warmth.

Suddenly Yoongi feels the autumn wind flush against his cheeks to be cold.

Yet again, the strange feeling, or rather the sudden pang in his chest returns; and there's a faint thought inside him. He tries burying it inside him but however fails, as he himself desires that warmth, that protection from the cold. Not only the cold of the weather; but maybe also the cold Within which sometimes is scarier than the freezing cold.

And there's again the irrational thought bubbling inside him…Would that ever be you, that woman to him he's now made to make a match with; the woman whom he's yet to see or talk to; but hthe strange feeling in his heart won't fade from his system as he tries to shake any thoughts, yet its surprising how the faintest of the irrational of thoughts can turn into full time, disturbing thoughts which refuse to leave your head.

He cannot stop thinking about you. The person whose name he heard some few hours ago, the name which hasn't left his thoughts since then. Is that weird?

"_____." is his thought at present, and he still hasn't spoken out your name out loud. Is that weird?

He'll meet his fiance, for the first time.

He releases a breath; glances at his wrist watch. 5:30 PM, it reads. Alright, so he and gets up from the seat, because the time has come; and his troat slighty feels dry.

He prays that nothing weird or out of way goes by in the later hours today, for his heart feels that it's in a greater rush than he was ( he wasn't. nope. ) and fly out of his ribs.

As weird as that was, he prays that he didn't look like a creep of some sort; and walks out of the park.

Okay, now saying that out loud makes it weirder. Stop that, Yoongi. You can do it, he encourages himself and to his own surprise, turns back to glance the couple, maybe out of genuine curiosity, with whose curious eyes he met instantly, and Yoongi feels the hot rush of blood to his whole face. He doesn't know why did he do that, and turns back instantly.

Autumn this year indeed feels cold, Yoongi thinks.

Not only because its cold: so cold that it feels like a december when he's supposed to be wearing a crappy and itchy Christmas sweatshirt, dealing with the little rascals, his nephew and niece, and the viusal in his head makes his release a short breath; those two little kids, they don't..they maybe don't really know how much do they mean to him, and he hopes the little affection he shows to them can be enough for them, he can only hope.

And he hopes, almost with a desparate wish, that Christmas this year goes the same without any idifference in any part.

Yes,he was maybe exicted in this before as he had started but instaneously, a text on his phone washed off everything from his mind.

5:45 PM : received

min : "Don't try to squeeze your mind into something when its something not of your buisness, remember that "

He didn't open the text thread, and the notification was enough to make his lips press to thin line of annoyance.

Was this his marriage or his?

However, he cannot expect anything else from his father,so..

Here goes nothing, he thinks and enters his car, exiting the supermarket with some packets of gifts, a " token of love and promies ", something he couldn't get a grasp on, but however, he was told to do so, or maybe rather instructed to do so.

" Take some gifts with you. Eatables, mostly. Don't go on using that head of yours and buying somethimg that shall highly disppoint rather than pleasing, son. You have to impress, and so with a small token of love and to promise there's more in the future coming by".

His voice was full of what ' all that glitters isn't gold ' , and the word 'son' leaving his lips made Yoongi lose his mind totally, for he wished not many things, but to just not hear that word coming out of his lips and remind him that he was inherited of that awful man's blood within him.

It all began when his secretary, Jungkook entered his office, but not with his usual jouvial exprssion nor with his air of humor around him. Its once agin one of Yoongi's observations, that even if the young man tries his best ro remain professional within the office hours, he's never faking anything; doesn't need to.

Apart from being his secretary, he's his good friend, someone who shares his hot hotteok with Yoongi during lunch time and occasionally reminding him of him being a human and not a machine who just stays and works; accompanying him to his tours and making him smile the widest with his own. Interaction with someone younger often reminds Yoongi he isn't really that old as he thinks himself to be. In general, work with his friend isn't as terrible as without him, and even if he doesn't and won't admit that out loud, he looks forward to the young face of Jungkook.

Today, his face was nothing sort of what Yoongi is often used to, for the edges of his pierced eyebrows seem tense; showing that he's tense, though he tries his best to hide that behind that professional facade. Yoongi knows that its just the pretence and a sign of something not right.

And he was just right.

" Mr. Min, your schedule is, uh, disturbed. " I saw that coming, Jeon. But he bites that back, and motions him to speak further by a suggestive nod.

" Your, uh, er, father Mr. Min is coming to visit you.."

" Today? "

" Yeah, er… within twenty minutes."

Yoongi can tell how hard he's trying to not to stammer himself, knowing that maybe Yoongi and his father don't really share the best relationship, or even a relationship if to be called so.

" How did that happen? "

" A phone call. He approached me in that dry tone, asking about your schedule. I really didn't wanted to give it to him at the brink. Guess he read my hesistance and flipped me saying that he could get the access to it from his server himself , and this call was just a formality so its not suspected that he hacked into your systems or..er,.. I had to bite back a scoff, and.." At this he trails off and sighs, and Yoongi nods, knowing the young man's dislike towards his father and he was glad he didn't have to feign eitherwise.

" Its alright. Jeon. don't even expect anything better than that from him, and thanks for not pressing on it." Jungkook barely nods, almost as if still guilty.

" But what the fuck is he coming here for?"

" Dunno that. Laughed like a wolf when I sent him your schedule, almost as if it really was a formality and told me that he'll be here within 30, and the meeting would take " 10, or maximum 15, and would then vanish into thin air, not needing to see the " sickening" face of yours. As if his own face can make a dead man alive. The opposite, I beleive." At the sickening part Jeongguk makes inverted commas in the air with his pointers, with a scowl on his face. Yoongi didn't know if he should laugh at this, not only because the young man's usual patience seemed to be running low and was equally irritated, but because the situation was tight, and he bit back his thoughts of amusement. But the manifest of the terrible presence of his father made his head throb already.

maximum 15 minutes, ha? Let's see.

The " meeting " took way more longer than 10 or 15 minutes. So here now, he was, three days after the " meeting " with his father took place.

The traffic was surprisingly less as of today, or maybe he wonders why, is because of the different path he's taking. His phone gps shows that he's going the right path, and it would take him nearly more 20 mins to the red arrow on his screen.

And he doesn't miss the way his pulse has a visible change, again.

Alright, now as he tapped on the steering wheel as he waits for the traffic to be cleared. He thought, hah.

So to distract his mind, his sight trails off to his side seat, and Hershey's kisses, three boxes of them lies top on eachother and some chocolate bars packed neatly with a bow.

Shit, was he supposed to have the boxes packed too? He didn't know.

How could he? He never really.. had any sort of alliances with females except employees and his once used to be assistant before jeongguk.

For his male friends, a nice treat to drinks till they had passed out on the bar counter was enough for what he perceived as " gifts " , and yeah. His nephew and neice, were happy enough with treats of pizza's and chocolates. Well, maybe even some occasional toy sets, too.But he had never gifted them packed chocolates.. And for a part he thinks he's alright with chocolates as gifts…

But what if you didn't like choclates?

WHAT IF?

Ah…ha..ha.. maybe you did, because there had to be reason why Jeongguk had suggested him to..seeing he had quite experience with women, comparatively much more than Yoongi's himself. No wonder he had caught ladies staring or rather ogling at the younger man who drank carelessly and was so confident with them at all occasions, unlike Yoongi who had to pretend he didn't care, or rather was like..he didn't know how to be confident with them.

But one thing he didn't know is, that he was the centre of attention for ladies too, but nevermind that.

Nevermind the way that woman in the cash counter at the supermarket had such wide eyes, when she realised who indeed was infront of the counter, the same man who stood in the cover page of Vogue magazine this week. Nevermind the lady's whole crimson face when Yoongi shot her the faintest of smiles when the transaction was over, nevermind her trembling hands as she handed him the confectionaries. Nevermind her thoughts as she faintly wished that the chocolates were rather for her as she watched him leave. Nevermind.. all the times when Yoongi had not only women, but also men staring at him, he never really thought of it.

" Food is a way to one's heart, a thing I'd hate to agree with your father. " Jeongguk had said that with a confident nod, and continued,"..Ladies really like chocolates, you know? I know, I know.."

" But what if she doesn't like it? " Yoongi was typing an email, but his mind was on the coversation with jeongguk: He wouldn't be in peace till he gets to the roots of it. And he doesn't miss the way the younger cocks a brow with him with his lips turned up of what he can call as a smirk, and insolently had passed a laugh.

" There's no harm in trying, hyung. You're strangers, for now, and maybe that would be a way, a chance to know eachother better? "

So now he has reached the destination he was supposed to, cause the mentioned address seems this one and the same is shown in his screen of GPS. His heart feels like its on his throat now, and even in the faintest of the coughs may have the organ out in his hands. Almost. Its basically throbbing now, and Yoongi winces at the feeling: he's not used to this, because never in his life has he felt so nervous like this. Not even at the tightest of situations he has ever been, and now he can't tell if its one of them; it shouldn't be, because it apparently was just a meeting. He filled in deep inhales, and reminded himself of all what he was told to. He didn't want to; but maybe that was the human nature, to find solace in the matters which makes them feel even shittier. Or maybe that was Yoongi's nature, because all the siuations he had been nervous in, had all turned shit in the end.

No matter how hard he tried to keep everything at bay and work hard to be confident and tell himself that it shall be okay.

Not always hardwork brings success, he thinks.

He didn't want to overthink; he really didn't want to. He wanted this meeting to go totally plain as his father wanted it to be, without any "show-offs"..and the faintest part of him, throbbing with his impatient heart wants it to be eitherwise.

Only if his heart hadn't had reminded how irrational that smaller part iis, and how wrong, how painful, how utterly shit it had been the last time when he chose to choose that path, the path who wannted to feel, the part who wanted to be loved.

So he shuts down every thought inside him, and taking the boxes in his hands, gets down the car.

Alright Yoongi, alright. What worse can happen? Fighting.

He really hopes the worst doesn't really happen.

Outfit? check.

Hair? Double check.

Shoes? Check.

Breath? Deca-check ( not that he really had to do anything with it, nor his breath stank like garlic , but it matters anyway and was important. Very important. Thanks to the mint he was chewing. Thanks, bud.)

Chocolates in his hands? Check.

Despite his check list, a quick peek at the rear mirror and a shake to this long, flowy hair which parted so beautifully at his forehead and curled slightly about his nape makes him a bit more presentable. But he wasn't really thinking about his pretty hair or his way of presenting himself. He didn't absolutely know why was he so nervous, its just a goddamned meeting.

Yes, with the girl with whom he was getting married to.

Well..

Everything in order? All check.

Whew… here goes nothing again.

**

His surroundings for what he felt from his senses, was just fine art.

Artworks hung on photoframes of different cultures,and if possible he could even tell for some of them- all of them vulnerable enough to be held in a gallery or a museum. All of them finished with varnish, oil paintings, canvases, pieces of crafts which he knew, was a fine representation of the Korean culture; and such artworks which held significance to cultures around the world. Thick, beige curtains, fine Indian tapestry with bright colours, vermillion and corn yellow. Flower vases, beautifullyy blue with strokes of fine Chinese strokes. A statue of the Tree of Tenere, a Turkish rug on which his feet was placed on, he felt quite inferior to be placing his feet on the artwork: if he could, he would sit on it and observe the symbols and the colours woven so tactfully with geometrical patterns.

He felt quite, or maybe..really stupid, that even rotating his head to a full 360, it felt that it was not enough, and he ought to pay to watch such fine artworks as one does in a museum. Holy moly, he wasn't a much of an artistic person, but his enthusiasm was raised above the radar. And he could name the cultures of only a few, and couldn't name most of them; but he feels utterly, or somewhat in a bigger part, comfortable.

He was told that you were an artist, but fuck… were these all of your tastes? Were you really such an artistic person?

A happy thought had struck him the moment he thought about this, because he could have some help from his cousin Taehyung,who was just the right person to be seeked out, and with his help, he could engage in conversations all day long about artworks and maybe can even befriend you. That won't be weird or awkward.

He was currently seated on a soft tan sofa and his cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

The smile would've been a bit more natural, only if the presence beside him wouldn't have been there with his arms around Yoongi's shoulders, making Yoongi feel much stuffy and all more nervous. He didn't expect his father to be already seated in the humble house of Park's ( Though he has been here for only ten minutes, he felt that humble was the correct word to describe the house. ) with a saccharine smile plastered on his face, the smile which Yoongi knew oh, so well. The smile which at anyone's first glance would seem like a sweet, elderly smile, but Yoongi knew better. If not sweet, or elderely, a hellish bound intention was always behind that smile, and he at this moment prayed that let it be once, once, that his smile, if not genuine, be it not the one with its real meaning.

He wasn't afraid of it; he has never been; but he's scared for someone he is bound to.

The one sitting opposite to him, between Mr. and Mrs. Park, and within the sweet caresses of a comparatively little girl seated nearby, a soft smile adorning her cheeks; the apples of her cheeks slightly rising at every comment her little cousin makes, an occasional laugh leaving her lips.

You.

He was scared for you.

He has seen plrentiful of faces round his years of youth, and can read them like open book pages. The creases or the intensity of their eyes told him enouugh he needed to, and he knew enough. You, you held a bold, but a humble air around you,which he knew was necessary; which came with an innoncence. Not the innocence one would perceive at the first lance, because, the struggles of life evident within couln't affect the sweetness, the tenderness of your face; the innocence, which he feared, at the first glance, was unaware of everything and anything the man seated beside him was capable of. You were beautiful, unlike all the other women he had ben set up to or had seen: proudly buzzing about their wealth and indignance at the liberty. Who don't take a no as an answer.Those women, who didn't have simplicity as their cup of tea; All the bashful, prideful women.

You, were just the opposite. He has seen for only for some quick minutes, but he already knew that you are so, so different from all those people. You don't hesistate to laugh out loud; which he just loved, because you were aware how beautiful your laugh sounded. You didn't pretend for anything, you were just as you were. Your eyes told him a lot about you which even you yourself might not know; Even he was sure with the secretive, warning nudges of your mother at your side to behave, and Yoongi knows just as he was, you were told to be decent, too.

But you didn't pretend, and just were as you were.

" The more humble the heart is, the softer the head stands at the neck, " he remebers seeing that quote in the instagram story of Taehyung, but he's unsure if he remebers the exact one and has forgotten who had quoted that.

Within the soft ringing sounds of laughter he felt his father's hand twitch on Yoongi's shoulders, and he didn't give a fuck if it was a signal or some sort, and he couldn't care less. Just as he had expected, Mr Park and Mrs.Park were such kind people, their elderly love adding more to the humbleness of the house that Yoongi himself felt so much at ease and their behaviour towards them was so, so genuine and sweet that Yoongi had already developed a liking towards them ( and their fondness to the chocolates too, waah ) But however, there was something fishy indeed going on with his father.

When was it not?

And his suspicions were roused even more when his father groaned lightly, and removed his hand on his shoulders trying to be not much showy of his discomfiture. He guessed he's not used to meetings like these, with such hospitality, such kindness within and no facades on and meetings which actually aren't meetings and are something warm, something which a brute like him couldn't understand. Serves him right,Yoongi thought.

Presently, or apparantly, Mrs. Park was evidently aware of his father's actions and asked him if he was alright and if he needed him to whhich he answered so sweetly which made Yoongi shudder in cringe, " Ah, no, Mrs. Park. Old age has begun to tell on me, haha. If these children are growing up, we're all growing bckwards, ah. " Yoongi never particularly understood this statement, but it presently made the elderly couple smile and his father shift a bit. All the while, he could see whenever he peeked down to grab his cup of steaming tea, in his vision, that your eyes secretly were on him.. Almost as if you had something to tell, but your expressions devoid of such each time he actually looked at you; but eyes speak enough. The longing in your eyes were evident that you wanted to speak, but so far, he had only heard you intoducing yourself with a small smile and tall to your little cousin now dozing off to sleep in your lap.

And he doesn't miss the way your smaller hands stroke the child's hair as she sleeps profoundly.

And now his father with a small hum, began " Ah. Enough of us oldies speaking. If we don't let the youth speak together, that won't be fair at all!! " And with an equally cringing laugh which Yoongi hated, so much. " The new generation says, ' communication is the sole way out. Oh dear me, if you were only fifty years older!" Which was again returned with soft laughters and here now Mr. Park speaks up, his attention diverted to you, and with a small pat on your head md nods. nods, " Go, my honeybun. Young Mr. Min is a nice man, and talk to him as long as you want. " He didn't really liked to be called so by someone older than him and his sooon to be relative, but he hoped he could read your eyes which were on your father. But for your father, there was a certain hint of gratitude filled within.

" Ah, uncle….Yoongi, please call me Yoongi. "

And as he got up, he felt the demanding eyes of his own father burn through the back of the skull, seemingly wanted to him to look back, or make a signal, but he did nothing and got up to walk towards the far end balcony, as he saw you advance towards it with a slow pace so that he could catch up with her. Surprisingly, his pulse wasn't nearly so quick as it had been before, and he can only blame that despite not talking to eachother directly in any ways, he kinda felt at ease with you, and could even tell about you being on his head for the rest of the week. Well, not that he would actually say you that.

But however,he didn't miss the immense sense of satisfaction which filled his insides with his small rebellious act.

But he thought none of them when he felt, or rather he thought he hallucinated for a sure minute when he felt the touch, a brush of warm fingers. It was so slight, anyone could say it was barely there,or wasn't there, or was accidental. And he didn't want to think what he actually wanted to think. Because a flushed face wouldnt really be something for a great impression, and besides, he swears he felt within his periperhal vision, your innocent eyes, gazing directly at him. Oh, now, he really wanted to think that it wasn't just an accidental touch…

Goddamit Yoongi, focus!

**

" Its an anonymous quote. Or so, the sources have been too old to know who actually quoted that. " You answer softly to Yoongi's curious query when he asked if you knew about that certain quote, and he was slightly { read : v e r y } happy with himself that he didn't had to open the conversation with the awkward hii"s and hello's; moreover the mention of the quote had somewhat brightened your face, your eyes, and you seemed to be at ease more than what he saw in the living room.

" This is why I couldn't remember it properly, I suppose.." was his timid reply, just expectant of you knowing about the quote, he turned to lok at you directly, though you were still facing the sky, your side profile only being visible to him. Your expressions were oeaceful, but Yoongi desparately wanted to know what your thoughts were. He hoped his behaviour didn't make you feel uncanny or some sort..

Yoongi currently stood beside you in the balcony, silently basking in the cold fall winds ,watching the birds depart to their homes after the day's work as the sun finally lowered more and more down the horizon, the sky being a mix of light vermillion-pink with white clouds floating by. some occasional leaves glided swiftly through the soft breeze,it was a soft twilght.

Conversations with you were so easy, and hopefully not as awkward. You were smart, he found out, and just an art enthusiast as well. A confident, voice with tones of softness was how you sounded, and he really felt more and more at ease with you.

However, Yoongi's stomach churned, churned with such a plight of exictement,nervousness(?) and slight anticipation through the small conversation. The queation which bubbled, boiled inside his head since so long, he wanted to ask you, but definetely not in a weird way. You both were surprisingly still not at the topic of your marriage; it was a normal conversation, and as the minutes passed by, the urge increased, more and more, almsot getting irresistable.

And so again, here goes something.

" Do you want this marriage? "

Your eyebrows shoot upwards, and your eyes widen, and he sees,if anything, he can tell his question completely caught you off guard.

With some quick blinks, he sees you prepare yourself and finally turn to im. Your expression is still slightly of surprise, but however, he sees you release a breath.

" Before I answer you, Mr. Min…do you? "

He should've expected that. However, he didn't find it weird , because he isn't going to reply that he was curious to meet you, and didn't really ponder whether he actually wanted it or not, because he didn't really have an option eitherwise; to think and say yes or no. He was just told, as how examination dates are announced…you have no other option but to accept your fate.

Thats the hell of a comparision.

But now as he was asked….

He knows that you might be aware, too.

And so he decides to opt for a slow headnod, rather than any verbal response, because he's unsure of what to say, and he hopes,, through his nod, you can understand, I do.

His nod seems to have roused something in you.

He sees you look down, and waits for your answer. You're avoiding eye contact, not because you're shy, but something eitherwise.

" I don't. "

Oh.

Yoongi doesn't want to linger on it, he doesn't want to ponder on it. You don't want this marriage, and if so, he ought to leave immediately without your wishes. He doesn't wants you to be uncomfortable, and with a tiny nod which he's sure you noticed, turns his back to leave. But just as he moves forward, he feels the warm warm palm catch his wrist and give a tug.

He doesn't cares now about the way his heart struggled to get out of his throat again.

He catches your big, doe eyes staring intensely at him, with a flash of sadness, longing (??) within?

" Oh, Mr. Min…don't leave me alone.."

He now definetely feels the way his breath gets caught in his lungs. What do you mean?

" I don't mean it in such a way that I'm rejecting your proposal, Mr. Min. I wasn't really given an option whether to accept or reject..; I had to accept it, and I suppose it was the same way around you too? "

" It..it was. " he finaly had regained his power of speech, and now he didn't quite understand, but the small tug of his heart had stopped, and he rather felt releived, when he had ought not to, to know that you both were in the same boat.

You release your grip from his wrist, and sees you take a breath again.

“ I just said it because despite having no other options, I don't want to get married……" You muttered something in the end, which he quite couldn't understand, and suddenly a thought strikes him.

" Is it because you despise guys like me? "

And now he really wants to smile the way your eyes widen as big as saucers, and with your smaller palms spread out, you wave immediately,

"No ! no, no, Mr. Min, its not so! its really no so! "

He really didn't like you calling him Mr. Min, but he could drag on for now.

" It was a small jest, ___. I was kidding. "

You look releived, and suddenly the confidence is back in you as you set your eyes firmly to his own.

" Its not because of who you are or your position, Mr. Min. I do not care much about what the internet says, and I respect you as a person. " You smile lightly as you bite your lips, and Yoongi nods for you to continue further.

" Its because, after years of applying and getting rejected, it was the last chance for me to be finally a visual designer for Valentino,which despite having many limitations,is the star of my dreams; only if I could attend the event at Singapore past this month, which on my presence, would approve me for so in the last streak. But past this month…." you trail off once again, and past this moth was supposed to be the month of your wedding, as what he heard in the discussion back in the living room. He doesn't miss the way your features falter visibly, including your eyes, and there's such dejection in them which hurts Yoongi himself. If anything, he knows your fondness for art,as an artist yourself,your goals were high and this might be really a huge chance for you, and you ought to succeed in it, follow your dreams, and be who you are. Not instead get tied in the marriage alliances at this young age…

" You really want to be in that event, dont you? "

No reply comes back; but the way your lips are tightly pursed, he can tell your answer.

Within the flash of your eyes, he sees a reflection of his own youth age, when he too had dreams like yours; when he too had aspirations full of bright colours, but they all were crushed, one after another, so slowly hard, that it prepared Yoongi to never not set aspirations for himself ever again.

And he definetely did not want the same to happen to you, too.

Setting his jaw firmly that it must not happen, he sets to leave, because he doesn't wants to be the barrier to your hopes, your dreams. He shall talk to his father. And it doesn't matter if he isn't willinng to understand. He shall go immediately and talk about it, and maybe even…

" Mr. Min! " Your brows are now furrowed with a worried look; alsmost a scared look on your face.

" If you're thinking about it, don't, Mr. Min. "

He halted his actions. There was something pulling you back, and he doesn't know what is it. He wants to hear all of it, as he always wanted to.

" You're kind to have considered my situation so quick and I cannot be more thankful to you, Mr. Min. However,if not me, my parents…they..they've never asked me for anything since ever I grew up. Even though they're not really willing towards art, not once did they ever protest or complain about me pursuing a major in arts and not in buisness or biology as I was expected to," he was listening carefully to you, all the while observing your features of your face. From the curve of your jaw, to the apples of your cheeks, the colour of your skin, the bump of your nose, the little moles and your pouty lips, and your eyes, the fluttering eyelashes as you spoke. You're beautiful, he thinks.

Your face had a certain flash of pain within the charms of beauty, as you continue,

" and this is the only thing they've ever asked me. I don't want to run away from it, or deny it. The debt I owe them, is beyond words, and my dream holds little signifcance in light against them; and cannot be ever paid off, but I just sincerely hope it can somehow lift some of it atleast, off my heart. I will try my best to be a good wife, Mr. Min." You look up at him again, the soft breeze making some of your strands flow so gracefully, and a very soft feeling crept up his heart. He silently absorbed your words, happy to know that you're sharing a piece of your heart to him. As your eyes lock, theres's a determintion in your eyes, which he feels is a good omen, perhaps. ' I will, so please I beg you, please don't think about calling off our wedding. "

Our.

And who is he go against your wishes, when you yourself want this? A part of him hopes that your dream won't be totally crushed, and you to fight for it, but if this wedding helps you in something, he would be more than glad but makes no mentions of it. Inappropriately there was no place for words when you had so hopefully asked him to.

He sees a dried maple leaf drift in the wind, and in the darkening shadows of the sky, watched it take homage in your hair, which you're oblivious to. The urge to take it off itches in his palms, and he again ignores the flutter of his heart at your small smile while all looking at his own eyes so deeply, almost as if you're trying to read him, too.

Raising his hands to gently untangle the dried leaf from your hair, he beams off with a small smile seeing your flushed cheeks and surprised face.

" I'll try to be a good husband, too. "

He should've bought a beanie along with him, because damn. Its cold out now.

But he doesn't dare to lift off the shutters of the car, as he thinks he's going to suffocate off the energy which the old man is radiating off at this point. He knows not what pissed him off, and doesn't takes the slihtest of interests to know so. All what he wants to is to get rid of this man for now, lie in bed and think of what hapened today. He's driving silently, but can very well sense the anger of his father, but decides to keep quiet about it. The Parks at their departure were kind as ever, and you had a small smile on your face, even if small, it was genuine.

And your eyes spoke, as if speaking to his own, thank you.

And he had smiled back, or tried to convey it through his smile, always.

" What did you two talk about?" Ah, here he goes. Inevitable! He should've known better that Mr. Old Min likes to hear each details till the speaker's jaws froze, but his ears never bled. Despite that, he keeps awfully quiet, enjoying more and more as he observes the old man getting more and more pissed at his silence and finally bursts out with his rage, amplified with tremble of his old age, " You son of a devil, I fucking asked you something!"

" Glad to know you're aware of what you are. "

" You motherfucker, answer me decently. "

" To what?"

"What.did.you.two.fucking.talk.about?!"

" Oh, I forgot. Besides, you're not the one getting married, so chill, father. "

Oh-oh. He didn't really manifest the grabbing of his sweather's collars by his faher, but wasn't in the slightest surprised about that. He can feel the red hot man's anger, but the shield Yoongi has developed over the years is immune to anything.

" Despite telling you all what you were supposed to, you were with her for almost an hour. " The wrath of his anger snorts on his own, but he shoves it off.

" It wasn't an oral exam, I suppose,father?"

His grip on his collar falters, and he hears the man snort loudly. He didn't care about him, and there was no fucking way he would tell his father whatever you told him today. You both were still if more or less, strangers; still, but acquainteces, and you had trusted him enough to tell him much, and he won't by any means would share it to anyone else.

"Before I answer you, Mr. Min…do you?"

He had never thought so; or maybe he did. Since the moment he was told he was getting married, he was unsure. He had dated only like twice,and the experience wasn't really great. This is marriage, a tie of promise forever, which is undoubtedly a very huge thing. People aren't really often so faithful to keep promises, though they promise them like a piece of cake. Some promises, he knew, are hard to keep forever, and he was uncertain of the ties of marriage alliances.

After talking to you, the uncertainity in him has reduced? he feels at peace, but however there is an intruisive feeling in the back of his heart which made him feel obnoxious. Things today went especillly well,, and he was scared that it went too well.

He just hopes that it goes well-

" Its indeed sad that the chick's dreams for her becoming a designer for Valentino would be shattered by you, son. "

Yoongi felt his blood freeze.

He didn't look at him directly;but by his tone could tell that he had that smug look on his face. Indeed, the obnoxious feeling was just right.

" Not me, father. It's you,because you haven't given either of us any options. "

" Whether that chick marries you or not,it'll be easy to lure her. Innocent chick, she is. " He continues almost as if he didn't hear Yoongi. Yoongi already feels his blood boil to hear this old man call you names, and he takes some deep breaths to calm himself down. This old man is doing everything on purpose to rile you up, Yoongi. Don't let him succeed.

" Even if she had this marriage called off or not, she's going to be a boon for the Min Textiles Inc. already, " he leans back, and Yoongi has to grip the steering wheel harder till his knuckles turn white and the cold wind feels like a slap on his face as he tries his best to stay calm. He hates how right he was about this old bitch being fishy, and he can arely tip that off.

" You didn't listen to me, son. So whether you like it or not, that chick would be lured in here to design for us, without any further queries. Yeseul would definetely be upgraded more for the designs the chick would be making. At the firtst glance at her little gallery, I knew this chick had her potential-"

" You'll be using the designs of ____ without crediting her,but Yeseul? Don't you have an ounce of shame in you, old man? "

Yoongi's voice was filled with hatred,but this just was like a hide-and-seek game for the old man.

" And what about it, son? "

You were in your vulnerable state when you spilled your heart out to him, and whatever the hell this man was trying to do, would just be so unfair, that even thinking of it makes Yoongi recoil with anger. He would not let you be used by anyone.

" Even if I had told her what exactly I was supposed to, I just know your intention was the same.." Yoongi breathed out in a fury, wanting to kick this man out of his car.

" Ah, my son has grown up smart. " And the audacity the man had to grin, he nearly wanted to punch those pearly whites out of that disgusting mouth. But Yoongi contained himself in the calm box, as far as he could. If this had to be the plan of this old bitch, and if he's challeging him,

all fucking right.

He will marry you. He will protect you, with all what he has.

But surely at the moment he did not think beyond his words and what meaning do they possibly hold. All what he wanted was to keep you away from the parasitic man, because he knows how is it to be affected by a parasite.

He will not let your innocence, your sparkle snatched away from you by this terrible shit with his terrible ways, he won't get him get away with it.

He would not let him.

Turning on the ignition again, he filled in deep breaths of oxygen again, as the words of the old man filled his ears.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly your smile was almost infront of him. Almost as if you're standing infront of him again.

I'll protect you. _____ and will keep you safe. I will take care of you.

It's a promise.

And he couldn't wait to marry you.

[certifiedjaeger]

For your prompts, may I get, "wanna bet?" With my hubby Jean? 😭❤

♡ certifiedjaeger’s 800 event ♡

Character: Jean Kirschtein x fem!reader

Prompt: “Wanna bet?”

Word Count: 2K

A/N: okay listen….hear me out……you said hubby and I took that literally 😌💕 so here is dad!jean (also your husband 🤤) being cute with your baby!! he’s so sweet, I actually need to scream to someone about it (this is pure fluff, enjoy!)

Even Masterlist

“Okay, come on. Hand her over.”

You stand in front of your husband–with arms outstretched and your smile wide as ever–beckoning him to relinquish the protective hold he has on your fourteen-month-old.

“You want to see mommy, sweet pea?” Jean sweetly asks his daughter as she excitedly begins to babble at your familiar form appearing in the small nursery that she and him had just been playing in. He watches the tinier version of you in his arms with a content smile; staring down at her as she stretches her little hands out to you. A quiet chuckle leaves his lips and he decides to happily oblige both of your requests; standing up to place his daughter in your arms and watching his two favorite girls with a particularly sweet expression on his face.

“See, she’s definitely a mommy’s girl,” you sound triumphant as you smirk at Jean, putting your little one on your hip and bobbing her up and down a bit as she erupts into a fit of giggles.

“Oh?” He raises a brow. “I don’t know… she does like me quite a bit,” Jean boasts lightheartedly, looking a bit smug as the words leave his lips. You give him a playful side eye, making a small tch noise as you do so. You know that your daughter is sort of… okay, scratch that– you know that your daughter is completely obsessed with him. But a little teasing never hurt anybody…

“No, no… she definitely likes me more,” you gloat in a joking manner. “She loves her mommy, doesn’t she?” You speak directly to her now in an overly sweet and excited tone, smiling widely at her as she mimics your huge grin, “You love your mommy, don’t you?”

You hear Jean snort at your more than obvious attempt of getting your daughter to somehow agree with you and pick you over him. He thinks it’s cute, however. He actually loves it, he decides– How playful you are with both of them. How sweet your teasing is. You hear him let out another small, content sigh as he comes up behind you and laces his arms around your waist, looking over your shoulder at his little one in your arms.

“Well… I guess that makes two of us,” he lowers his head to give your shoulder a gentle kiss, watching as your little mini-me instantly finds his eyes; a huge grin spreading on her face as she starts giggling.

“Hey, no fair– that’s cheating” you whine, slightly pouting as you nudge him away playfully. “You’re distracting her… come on, let her spend time with her favorite,” you say as you hold her tight to your chest, hearing her giggles get a bit louder now as you try to hide her from her dad.

“Her favorite?” He replies in an amused tone. With brows raised, he leans to the side and instantly finds your beautiful familiar face; small giggles leaving your lips that are almost too hard to hear over his daughter’s louder ones. He stares down at you through narrowed eyes, a small smile gracing his lips as he cheekily pinches your side.

“Hey!” The small yelp you let out mixes in with your laughter as you scold him, turning around in his grip to properly face him now. “And yes! I carried her around for nine months and had to give birth to her–” you quiet your laughter, doing your best to sound serious (but failing) as you raise a brow at him, “...so I better be her favorite.”

Another snort escapes him at your slightly threatening tone; his low, amused chuckling filling your ears as he strokes your cheek lovingly, his eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief now as they stare down at you. The little one in your arms instantly reaches out to him; her little arms stretching as far as they can manage, trying her absolute best to get to her daddy as her excited noises begin to fill the space between you two.

“Hm,” his face softens as he lets his daughter hold onto one of his fingers; her tiny fist wrapping around the much larger digit, causing his heart to ache in his chest from how tiny she was. “Sorry to say it, babe– But I think she’s definitely a daddy’s girl,” he muses playfully.

“Oh?” You raise a brow before narrowing your eyes, “Wanna bet?”

Jean raises his eyes to yours, the little competitive smile you give him only makes that warm and welcoming ache in his chest grow. A smile comes to his own lips now, only it isn’t competitive. No, it’s completely smug as he teases you, tracing one of his fingers from his unoccupied hand down your arm, enjoying the sight of your brows furrowing together in feigned annoyance.

“Baby… I would, but I don’t want you to get sad–”

“Oh my god, you’re infuriating,” you cut him off with an amused smile. The taunting drawl of his arrogant voice and the insinuation that he already knew what the outcome would be of a bet concerning his daughter and which parent she preferred– well, that combination really made you want to prove him wrong. Even if you also knew what the outcome of that bet would be, as well. Even if you knew you stood absolutely no chance in trying to prove him wrong. Because truth be told, your daughter actually is obsessed with him; fully, completely, and wholeheartedly obsessed with her father, loving him with everything she had in that little beating heart of hers. Not that you can exactly blame her… you share similar feelings when it comes to this particular man.

“Okay, how about this, baby,” you let out a quiet giggle at your own teasing remark, leaning up to place a quick peck against his lips before then walking away a couple of feet and placing your daughter gently on the soft carpet. “Let’s see who she crawls to.”

Jean stares across the small distance at you with an expression that says… really? He can’t help but to smile, however, at his daughter already reaching out for him, her excited eyes meeting his own, making him instantly crumble at the adorable sight. “Alright,” he resigns, sitting on the floor and stretching his long legs out, watching as you rush over to sit beside him. “Just don’t be a sore loser when–”

“Oh, shush!” You lightly smack his arm as you start cooing at your daughter and beckoning her over to you. You know it’s a hopeless feat, and yet, you still do your best to fight for your daughter's affection. Meanwhile, Jean just sits there, admiring his little one trying her best to stand up on her wobbly feet. That seems to be the one thing you both can agree on right now: She is simply too adorable. She manages to get up on her feet, falling slightly before then getting back up and reaching her arms out toward your husband; a huge grin plastered on her face while doing so. Her smile is wide as she makes little excited noises, tiny hands grabbing at nothing but air as she clumsily moves forward. Her eyes–the same warm color as her dad’s–seem to be dead set on the one person she excitedly does her best to hurry to– Jean.

And you can’t believe it. Well… you can actually. But you pretend not to, anyways. She reaches her dad and he is just as excited as she is as he picks her up and throws her slightly in the air, catching her in his large hands and quickly hugging her to his chest. Her animated giggles and his proud praises fill your ears as you wear an exaggerated shocked expression on your face, taking in the adorable–only slightly hurtful–sight. 

You had known all along that she would immediately go to him. After all, she loved her dad. That’s not to say that she didn’t love you, of course. (There were even some days where she only wanted to be with you). But there was simply no denying the special connection that those two had. They’ve been partners in crime since the day she was born, true best friends who were equally as obsessed with one another. There was simply no denying that she was indeed a daddy’s girl. Which is why you aren’t upset in the slightest as you watch them together. No, you actually feel grateful for being able to witness something as sweet as the love of your life dote on your little girl; it makes your heart feel warm in your chest to gaze over at your two favorite people and see them love each other so openly. You only wish that you could live in this moment for just a little longer.

However, you still feel the need to tease your sweet husband. Just a little bit more… And if you can’t prove him wrong through a bet–which you failed, if I may add–then you at least want to make him feel a little bad about the end result of said bet. If only for a second, at least.

“What about mommy?” You adorn a pout, staring doe eyed at him and your daughter; feigned sadness covering your face in the hopes of getting some affection from them, as well. The look you give both of them breaks his heart from how adorable he finds it.

Before his daughter was born, he used to think that you were the absolute cutest thing this world had ever created.  However, his daughter had instantly taken that title from you the day she was born (something you wholeheartedly agreed with). And yet, there were still some moments–such as this one–where you really gave her a run for her money.

He instantly leans forward and kisses your pout away. He’s quick to attack your face with little featherlight kisses; placing them eagerly to your cheeks, your nose, your jaw, your lips (again), really anywhere he can manage. He hears his little one giggling to match the soft laughter of her mother’s; the noises filling the small, dim nursery sounding especially sweet to him. He smiles to himself as he places one last kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger slightly before then gently pulling away.

“We love mommy,” he looks down at this daughter. “Mommy’s our favorite person, huh?” He sweetly asks his daughter in an eager tone, watching as her eyes light up as she begins to babble excitedly.

“I don’t know…” your voice drawls skeptically as your face fills with feigned doubt. The corners of your mouth lift into a tiny smile and Jean instantly feels the need to kiss you all over again. His mind only seems to fill with one resounding thought: I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

“I think you were right,” you distract him from his thoughts suddenly. He watches as you look down fondly at your daughter in his arms; nothing but love in your eyes as you let her hold onto your finger. “I think she is a daddy’s girl.”

He lets out a soft huff of a chuckle, leaning forward to capture your lips once more and smiling when you sweetly kiss him back. He pulls away after a second, leaving his lips a millimeter from yours as he whispers against them.

“Well, I guess she takes after her mommy.”

You instantly whip your head back and look at him with an incredulous smile. “Jean!” you scold, lightly smacking his arm as you hear him begin to laugh.

“What? You know it’s true!”

[kiwibirbs-library]

Show Me Off

a/n: lol but like he would I can’t be convinced otherwise also fun fact my heart was beating like crazy while doing this cause like... AHHH

Pairing: Torru Oikawa x fem!reader

Warning: lol it might be suggestive but like not really

Summary: when you and some of the team are out at a party and you ex walks in, you want to be sick. Your boyfriend however has a better idea.

The night was going amazing. It was one of the numerous high school parties that Oikawa takes you too. This time even better as the other third years got to join you both. There was colorful lighting, plenty of room for once, really good food, and great music. 10/10 in your book compared to all the others hes taken you too.

All five of you were taking in the kitchen, Iwaizumi, Makki, and Mattsu making fun of yours and Oikawa terrible dancing as he spun you around the island. You just laughed and continued, to happy to really care. He was giving you that look, the one that just screamed how much he admired you.

Hes been giving you that look since they all picked you up and he held the car door open for you cheekily. He bowed saying something along the lines of ‘your chariot princess’ while the others gagged.

You did look like a princess though. You were wearing a pair of comfy heels and a short dress that complemented everything about you, your hair curled and up. Rip Makki though, who had to sit in the back with you and Oikawa as he doted on you.

You laughed as Oikawa pulled you up from an over dramatic dip.

“If you two wanted to dance so much then stop ruining our vision and go out there!” Iwa semi yelled sarcastically, tilting his head to where a majority of the students were. You giggled as Oikawa put a hand on his heart and wrapped the other around your waist, pulling you into him.

“Iwa-Chan! I know your jealous of my amazing relationship but really?” the playful tone mixed with his hand being thrown on his forehead made you snort. Iwa had a vein in his head that looked like it would burst any moment too. You quickly kissed your boyfriends cheek and said you were going to the bathroom, giving a look at Makki and Mattsu that said they were their problem for now, and darting out before they could argue.

You searched down the hall for the bathroom, finally finding it and stepping up to the mirror. You gave you hair and dress and quick fix before exiting again. You happily walked down to get closer to the kitchen before stopping dead in your tracks.

What was he doing here?

In the middle of a big group of guys was your ex. He had been horrid, always tearing you down and belittling you when you dated, even a little afterward. It took so long to build your confidence back up after him. It had taken so long for you to finally be ok with yourself after him. And there he stood, laughing with those guys like it never even happened. You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little sick, and turned back to head to the bathroom again. You were almost there when your shoulder was caught.

Oh lord please no, please no.

“Hey babe, Iwa was being mean so I came to find you. You doing ok?” Oikawa’s voice was like an angles singing in that moment. You turned and hugged him, knocking some of the breath out of him. “Oh gosh I knew you would miss me but wow,” he laughed a bit, cupping your face. You smiled but he saw the barely there tear the had surfaced in your eye.

“Hey why were you crying?” He asked, flipping the worried switch up to 110. You forced a small laugh.

“Oh I wasn’t. Just something surprised me,” you waved him off. His eyes widened.

“Was it me?” He asked, tilting your head up to him. You giggled.

“No Torru, it wasn’t you,” you smiled and patted his chest.

“Ya now I know somethings up. I’m babe or hubby not Torru. So what’s wrong hmm?” He smiled at you, still clearly worried. You sighed and pointed straight behind him. He was right, he always could see right through you.

He turned to look at the large group of guys. His eyes widened when they drifted over him. “Oh gosh he’s here? Ew,” you snorted at his reaction. He turned back to you with a mildly disgusted look on his face. “Why did you date that slime ball again? I mean really I’m glad I was able raise your standards,” he smiled a bit at the end, happy he was able to make you laugh.

“Ya but now I don’t really know what to do. He’s in the way of the kitchen,” you sighed. You looked up to see a devilish smirk plastered on your idiotic boyfriends face. “Oh no, I’m not agreeing to this. Whatever it is it’s dumb I already know it,” you raised your eyebrows at him. He just laughed a little before hooking an arm around your waist and walking down the hallway.

“Torru Oikawa. What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?” You haistly whispered at him.

“Don’t worry we’re not gunna go back to the guys just yet,” he leaned down to you a little as he went to the large group of people opposite of the kitchen. If he ever cared to looked, you could easily be spotted by your ex. You gave him a questioning smile. “Aww come on babe. Don’t you trust me?” He smiled at you, walking a bit away before making a scene about asking for a dance. You laughed.

“Yes but not in the slightest right now,” you took his hand and he quickly pulled you in and spun you around. You both laughed as you danced, people taking notice and making a small circle for the couple that were show dancing. He spun you again to the music and did the same dip from the kitchen, this time following it up slightly lifting you up and spinning around after.

Honestly this was the power he had on you. This miraculous ability to make you forget about what’s around you and just live. It astonished you everytime, though you would never admit it to his face. His ego was already big enough.

As the song ended the kids around you clapped and he jokingly bowed, making the fangirl a go wild. You laughed as the circle disappeared and he pulled you to the edge of the crowd.

“Well what was that for?” You smiled.

“Well one to get this out of you,” he poked your cheek as he set his other hand to your hip and swayed you both the the beat. “And two, that was just the attention grabber,” he winked. Your eyes widened when you realized you were standing in full view of your ‘issue’ from earlier. Oikawa leaned down to you ear, kissing it slightly yes but more to give you a small look at his face.

He looked absolutely shook.

“You little shit,” you tried to sound serious, failing horrible may I add, as he straightened and looked down at you. He smiled and laughed. He knew he was. After all he was the king of petty and revenge.

“Aww yes I know. But to be fair it was either this or I texted the guys to come too and just beat him up,” he shrugged a bit. You rolled your eyes.

“Mad dogs not here babe, no ones getting beaten up but you.” He paused, looking slightly offended before brightening.

“Yay! I’m babe again! Turro is dead!” You let out a loud laughed, quickly trying to cover your mouth as some people gave you both a look. He just smiled and tilted your head up to kiss you. Another reason not to tell him what he could do to you, he already knew well enough.

“Ok I think we’re good now! Let’s go back to the guys and mess around in there! As much as I love to socialize I have a feeling we might be swarmed but fangirls if we stay to long,” he smiled at you. You tip toed up and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you. It feels nice to make him know I’m happier and better off now.”

“Show me off anytime my’lady. I’ll be your arm candy anytime,” he laughed, taking your hand as you both came up to the entrance of the kitchen.

Of course that was when you hand to pass mr. Issue’s little group however. He still had the same f-boy attitude that you remembered when he called out to you, seemingly shrugging of the shocked face he wore moments ago.

“Hey darlin. How you been?��� He asked. Your smile dropped when you looked at him. You looked him up and down, making a chill run down his spine. “Should I take you away from this pretty boy and show you a good time?” The way he said pretty boy made Oikawas jaw tic slightly. You however squeezed his hand as your gaze further darkened.

Oikawa will forever remember what you said next, and by far will always bring it up to you for the rest of your lives.

Keeping your slightly disguised face on you looked at him straight in the eyes and said “do I know you?” His mouth hung agap at you as you both held the gaze for a second. You shrugged and rolled your eyes, looping you arm with Oikawas before walking past the boys and into the kitchen.

As you walked in Makki was clapping while Mattsu was on his hands and knees laughing.

“I HAVE OFFICALLY HAD MY NIGHT MADE!” Makki cried as you smiled and rolled your eyes. Iwa looked as if he was tried and failing to hold in his laughter. You flipped your hair with a fake smug face on.

“That’s right. I’m amazing!” You laughed as Mattsu struggled to stand and breath to give you a high five.

“Thank you for that memory. That will be the story I tell our children when they ask what their mother was like as a teen,” he said dramatically, once again putting on a show as he kneeled and kissed your hand.

“Oh my god Torru. NO!”

“HEY! NO! TORRU IS DEAD!”

[willow-salix]

(Fluffember Prompt : Picnic)

Day 5 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

“Are you going to eat all that yourself?” Gordon asked as he sidled up to me in the kitchen. I was making noodles, nice, simple, stir fried noodles, a little bit of chicken, some veg and a sweet and sour dippy sauce. Lush.

“No,”  I answered. There was clearly far too much for me to eat alone, I had a Space Hubby around here somewhere… or possibly up there somewhere, it was hard to tell.

“Oh, cool, can I ha-”

“No.”

Cue the pout, the epic Gordo pout. I am immune. I never thought I would ever be able to say that, but I’ve grown stronger, more able to resist the bottom lip of doom. Just about. I remember that I tried that once with John, and his exact words had been “Don’t even try, that won’t work on me, I’m immune, I have two younger brothers.” I’d thought his confident speech had been all bravado and false hope, but he might have actually been telling the truth, my pouts rarely worked on him and the ones that the terrible two dished out never did. Was my man secretly a god? I mean, I thought so, I’d seen him with his top off, but maybe, just maybe he had hidden talents. Hmmm…

“You’ve got that look on your face again.”

“What look?” I asked, needing to clarify his meaning so I could decide if I needed to be insulted or not.

“The one you get when you’re staring at John or that guy from that old TV show, the Scottish one with the time travel.”

“Jamie Fraser is the most perfect of men, he is the ultimate in husband goals, he is…” I trailed off and shrugged. “I obviously have a thing for hot redheaded men.” 

“Urghh,” he made a face similar to the one that Scott made when Alan shoved his shoe under his nose last week. Like he wanted to throw up but wasn’t sure which way to aim.

“Why are you in here anyway?” I asked. “Was it just so you could bug me and judge me? I’m busy here, I’m trying to cook.”

He snorted, a scoffing little noise that was quite rude.

“What now?” I sighed.

“Cooking isn’t that hard.”

“Oh really? Then why is it that barely anyone in this house seems to be capable of it? It’s not just a case of grabbing some random ingredients, tossing them in a pot with a prayer for luck and you’re good to go.”

He declined to comment and wandered off without another word. I should have been terrified, but my bean sprouts were trying to burn so I pushed it aside to worry about later. That was my first dumb move.

My second dumb move was to actually leave the comfort of the couch and John’s recently vacated warm spot.

“What the everloving crap was that?” I yelped when a loud crash sounded from the kitchen below us. I poked John gently when he failed to react. “Did you hear that?”

“Since I’m not deaf, it would have been impossible for me not to,” he casually swiped something away on his tablet and started reading again.

“What did they do?” 

“And since I do not, in fact, have the ability to see through walls, I don’t know.”

“Go and find out.”

You’d have thought I was asking him to go shopping with me again.

“I don’t think so, you go.”

“They’re your brothers.”

“You’re the one that cares.”

“They’re your brothers,” I repeated.

He gave me that look of his that promises retribution as I rolled sideways to let him get up, rolling back to steal his spot the second he moved. I dragged his blanket over my knees (I’m feeling chilly today) and stole his tablet to watch videos on as he walked away. 

I got so engrossed, having fallen down a hole of cute hamster videos, that I didn’t realise for a full twenty minutes that John had failed to return. I had sudden and very detailed visions of my poor boy hogtied and left baking in the sun or some such nonsense. I unwrapped myself from my blanket burrito and started my very slow and reluctant walk towards the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” I yelled the second I rounded the corner, entered the room and saw the scene before me. They all froze guiltily, including John, who was at that very second groping blindly around in the pantry. And when I say blindly, I mean it literally, he was wearing a blindfold that by the looks of it, had been made by them tying my shawl around his head. I don’t know what they were thinking, if anything I’m a little surprised that I’ve never seen smoke coming out of their ears when their two remaining brain cells rub together to give them an idea.

The other idiots were all standing around in various places, standing guard over small piles of produce like dragons over their gold. 

“What the hell is going on in here? And how the hell have you roped him in?”

“Hang on, he’s got twenty more seconds yet,” Alan told me, clicking a button on his comm again. “Go!”

John resumed his digging around, knocking over two jars of mustard and an open packet of pasta which poured out like a carby waterfall. He ignored it.

“Gordon?” I turned to the likely culprit.

“Why are you picking on me?” he asked innocently. "Why do you always assume it's my doing?" 

“Are you honestly trying to tell me that you had nothing to do with this?  Whatever this actually is.”

“We’re having a picnic,” Virgil told me.

“It’s blindfolded kitchen shopping,” Kayo elaborated. I switched my glare to her, she was involved, I could tell, mostly because she still had one of her workout head wraps around her neck and had her own pile of goodies on the counter in front of her.

“It was Scott’s idea,” Alan piped up, throwing his brother under the bus. “Time!”

John dropped the item in his left hand, retaining the one in his right and backed out of the pantry. He pulled off his blindfold and gathered up his treasures, a bag of donuts, a can of whipped cream and in his hand a tin of spaghetti hoops.

“What was Scott’s idea?”

“Well, when you told me that cooking was easy-” 

“I said no such thing. I told you that it wasn’t as simple as just bunging some ingredients in a…” I trailed off, I could already see where this was going and I wasn’t impressed.

“Exactly, throw some ingredients together and make food. Easy.”

“Not easy,” I insisted.

“So I happened to mention it to Scott, who said that he agreed, you can make anything if you’re creative enough-”

“You should not be learning from the Grandma Tracy school of cookery!”

“The rules are simple,” Gordon continued as if I had never spoken. “One minute to select three ingredients, all of which must be used in the finished dish. You’re allowed to add two more ingredients to aid the construction but that’s all. You can do whatever you want with what you have, be as elaborate or as simple as you like. You must taste your own dish, as does everyone else when everything will be shared as a picnic.”

He looked so damned proud of himself, the little snot.

“How did the rest of you numpties get involved in this?” I sighed, knowing I was beaten. No one answered me. Giving up, my blanket nest calling me, I retreated towards the door.

“Do you want to join in?” Virgil asked innocently.

“No, I really don’t.”

“Do you not have as much faith in your cooking skills as we do in ours?” Alan teased. 

I paused in the doorway.

“Dare you, unless you’re scared,” Kayo threw in, just to stir the pot.

“Dammit!” She knew exactly what she was doing, I can NEVER resist a dare.

“Gimme a blindfold.”

Alan tossed me his, which I think was a football sock, but I didn’t want to look at it too closely, I just prayed it was clean. I tied it around my head and Scott checked to make sure I couldn’t see anything. I don’t know what he did, because obviously I couldn’t see anything, but it made a few of them snigger, so I’m obviously suspicious.

Alan started the timer and I groped my way around the table to the fridge.

“Forty-five seconds!”

Crap! This was actually pretty stressful. How did you pick something without seeing it? I decided to stick to one place and hope for the best, open the fridge, feel around, grab some bits, done! Right?

Easier said than done when you have recently gone shopping, the fridge is packed to bursting and you can’t tell what anything is.

“John! Grab this!” I demanded as Alan happily started counting down from twenty as my time ticked away. I grabbed something small and weird, no idea what it was and tossed it over my shoulder in what I guessed was his general direction, hoping he caught it.

I fumbled around and selected something round and cold, that I hoped might be a tomato and held that out too, then in desperation I yanked out a random box just as Alan called time.

I pulled off my blindfold and looked at the things John was holding for me, which turned out to be an apple and a tiny radish. I was holding a carton of eggs. Could have been worse.

“Let the food prep begin,” Gordon declared. “No helping each other.”

Sighing I got to work. Obviously, eggs would be my main ingredient, I cracked four into a bowl and whisked them together. 

“Do we have to use all of the ingredients we picked out?” I asked.

“Yes, every one.”

“No, I meant do I have to use the entire apple or the entire box of eggs,” I clarified.

“Oh, no you don’t, it just has to have them in there.”

“Cool, OK, and we get two extra ingredients of our choice?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” That was me sorted then. I grabbed a grater and shredded a quarter of the apple and less than an eighth of the tiny radish. I wasn’t a big fan of those spicy little buggers, I don’t like pepper and they definitely have a peppery quality to them, but I was hoping the sweetness of the apple would balance it out.

I opened the fridge again and selected some cheese which I shredded and some ham, chopping it up quite fine. That would do.

I set a pan on the stove top and waited for it to heat up.

“Do I get to use any kind of oil or something to stop my food sticking?” I asked.

The ringleaders, Gordon and Scott, looked at each other, obviously indulging in some kind of non-verbal conversation I wasn't privy to before making their decision.

“Yes you can,” Scott graciously allowed.

“Thank you.” I dumped in a generous knob of butter. Quickly I sloshed the eggs into the pan, and fluffed them up a little with a fork before I turned the heat down a bit and let them sizzle.

I glanced over at Alan who was constructing something with jam and a pile of cookies. Scott was wrestling with a can of tuna and Gordon was opening a carton of custard.

I sprinkled a little of the apple on top of the egg, then a tiny dusting of radish, followed by a large handful of cheese and ham. I eased the sides of my omelette away from the pan, making sure it wasn’t sticking and checking it was cooking.

John, I noticed, was doing something weird with a lettuce leaf that he had procured from somewhere, it was not one of his blindfolded items so he must have gotten it after. He had the leaf stretched over a small bowl and was spooning a tiny amount of the tinned spaghetti into it. Sometimes I wonder why I agreed to marry into this family. I must have been drunk.

I carefully folded my omelette in half and turned the heat off, letting it rest and continue cooking a little.

“I’m done,” I declared, turning around to survey the chaos that had become our kitchen. Oh the humanity. I would NOT be cleaning this up.

Alan, it transpired, had blindly chosen cookies, cheese slices and curry sauce left over from some McDonald’s nuggets I got a few weeks ago, bringing them and other goodies with me in the space elevator. His extras appeared to involve pilfering a few of the McVities digestive biscuits that I’d brought from home the day I arrived that Kayo had chosen in her blind scrabble around the snack cupboard. 

He’d proceeded to make a weird stacked thing he was calling a cookie burger which consisted of a cookie base, a layer of jam on top of that, the digestive and lastly a slice of cheese with a drizzle of curry sauce on top.

Gordon was constructing something very elaborate, involving a bowl and lots of layers. His random items appeared to be the custard, half a vanilla sponge cake and a tub of left over chili. My mind was boggling. 

Scott was hacking at a rather stale looking half loaf of bread that John said he found in the rarely used bread bin, I don't know how he'd managed to open the bread bin without seeing it, but apparently he had. He'd also blindly chosen a can of Tuna and a packet of fruit gummies. 

Virgil, the adorable chonk, had managed to choose a package of cocktail weenies, a tin of peaches and a few sticks of celery. He had stared at his bounty for a good few minutes, before giving up and wandering over to the pantry. He'd stared into that too, like he was looking into a black hole or contemplating the mysteries of the universe. 

Eventually he'd chosen a pie crust from the baking shelf and had begun to assemble his creation. He tipped the peaches into the pie dish, chopped up the celery and cocktail sausages and dropped them in on top. He'd looked around, rather desperately I thought, and reached over to steal John's can of whipped cream, squirting a generous amount on top of his frankenpie and called it good. 

Kayo appeared to have more sense than the others, she had been the one to find my stash of digestive biscuits and, after Alan had liberated a few, proceeded to crush them into crumbs which she lined the inside of a bowl with.

"What are you making?" I asked, because it didn't look too awful. 

She continued to construct her…whatever it was…adding some cake pilfered from Gordon, some grated carrot mixed into cream cheese that was one of her chosen extras and topping it all with strawberries. It kinda…vaguely…could be a cheesecake, if you tipped your head to the side and squinted. 

I turned to John, my man, the one that I was supposed to trust with all my heart and soul…he was…I don't know how to describe it. He'd taken the donut and hollowed out a little bit more from the middle hole, then he'd gathered up the sides of his lettuce leaf/ spaghetti hoops thing and had made it into a little parcel, twisting the end closed. He then popped that inside the hollowed out donut. I have no idea why. He'd finished by decorating the top with whipped cream and sprinkles. What was it with them all thinking that whipped cream was the answer to all their problems? Because three of them had done it so far. 

Gordon had sprinkled in a handful of peas, actual peas, on top of his custard layer, then added cream on top. I honestly don't know. 

Scott had moved on from his bread and taken some of John's lettuce, insisting it was his first, and put a leaf on the stale bread and topped that with Tuna and sweetcorn, which actually had the potential to taste OK. Time would tell. He'd used the fruit gummies to decorate the plate with, I'm not sure if that counted but since he and Gordon seemed to be in charge I assumed it was allowed. 

I slid my omelette onto a plate and vaguely wondered if I should grab a few sick bags before the picnic portion of this weird event started. 

They all looked incredibly proud of themselves, why I had no idea, no one should be proud of the mess they had made, this was not food, this was barely a step up from mud pies in the yard. 

They all took their food offerings and trooped outside, setting up camp on one of the picnic benches near the edge of the beach and settled in. 

One by one they presented their masterpieces. Here are the reactions.

SCOTT’S

“This bread’s hard, very hard,” Alan said.

“It’s very fishy,” Gordon said, although we don’t know if it was a bad thing or not.

“Not bad, I could eat it if I had to,” Virgil allowed.

“I don’t like the sweetcorn on it, it keeps rolling away,” John frowned. He was always a bit funny with tinned sweetcorn anyway, he prefers it on the cob.

“That isn’t just hard bread, that is rock bread,” Kayo complained.

“It’s edible, with fresh ingredients I’d eat it again,” I said, trying to be nice. Honestly it wasn’t that bad, I’d definitely eaten worse over the years.

“It’s almost exactly like the subs we made in college,” Scott said, popping the rest in his mouth and chewing happily. He’s weird, that one, he pretends he’s not, he offers the illusion of being the capable, responsible older brother, but it’s all an act.

ALAN’S

“Erm…” Scott hedged, spending at least a minute turning the thing in his hand looking for a way to attack it.  

“I don’t know what to do with this, Al…” Virgil was even less sure.

“Give it here!” I had less issues and snatched it away from Scott. I ripped off a bit of the curry sauce topped cheese slice, licked the sauce off the cheese, popped the cheese in my mouth then took a bite of the sweet stuff. It was hard to get my teeth through all the layers of biscuit, but I managed it. It was actually OK, separating it was the way to go. “That’s actually quite nice.”

John copied me exactly, because I’m the sensible one although he’d never admit to that. “You’re right, it’s not bad.”

 “Wimps,” Gordon bit straight through it, cheese, curry and all. Then he gagged.

Kayo took the cheese off her’s, ate the sweet stuff first then finished with the cheese, an unconventional method but it wasn’t like any of this was normal. She made a noise that could have been approval but could just as easily been a whimper of surrender.

Virgil took the whole thing apart and ate everything separately, one piece at a time, declaring it to be, “Not bad.”

Scott glanced at me with that look in his eye that said he was about to do something stupid… He reached for the curry sauce pot… 

“Scott, no!” I warned him.

He ignored me to tip the rest of the curry sauce on top of the cheese and threw it in his mouth. Immediately he let out a noise that sounded like a mixture between a gag and a burp. He chewed frantically then swallowed. We waited to see what would happen. “Not deadly,” was his verdict.

VIRGIL’S

“I’m sorry, no, I’m not eating that,” I told them, flat out refusing.  “I’m semi allergic to peaches, they give me migraine headaches and I’m not risking it. I’m out.”

“I’m excused because she can’t eat peaches and I won’t risk cross contamination,” John said, leaping on my statement as a way to get out of it.

“That’s a flimsy excuse!” Scott accused, he knew it, John knew it, we all knew it. John didn’t care.

“You’re just mad that you can’t use it,” John said, squeezing my leg under the table in thanks for my weird kinda-allergy. I patted his hand in solidarity.

“No one has to eat it, I did my best,” Virgil winced, knowing that his was likely to be the most disastrous yet.

“I’m in!” Gordon declared, picking out a cocktail weenie and dunking it in the cream before popping it in his mouth. He chewed frantically as he scooped up a spoonful of pie crust, peaches and a slice of celery and shoveled that in after the weenie. He kept chewing, his face registering at least six different emotions, none of them pleasant before he finally swallowed. “It could have been worse.”

Kayo copied Gordon and picked out a weenie which she ate first, on its own.  That’s where she got smart, washing it down with a mouthful of water before continuing. She spooned up some pie, peach, celery and cream concoction and tasted it. “Not bad like this, the celery is a slightly weird addition, but it can be ignored.”

“I feel sick,” Alan said, having shoved a large mouthful in. 

Scott, the brave boy that he is, shrugged and cut a whole slice, lifting it carefully to his mouth.

“He’s a madman…” Alan whispered in awe.

“A brave man…” Gordon added.

“A stupid man…” I sighed.

Scott bit into it, chewing slowly, rolling it around his mouth. “It’s fine.”

I stared at him in utter shock.

Virgil nibbled on a corner, made a face and pushed it away. “No.”

GORDON’S

“What the heck is this?” he of the iron stomach and nuclear powered taste buds asked.

“It’s that thing they did in that show,” Gordon answered, yet Scott still looked bemused, as did we all, blank faces all round.

“Which show, babe?” I felt the need to ask.

“The one with the friends in the coffee shop.”

“You mean ‘Friends’?”

“If that’s what it’s called,” he shrugged. “It’s a meat trifle.”

Cue horrified gasps all around.

“With a few modifications, obviously, since I had to use chili,” he hurried to explain, although it was anything but reassuring.

John pushed his fork into the center of the dish, looking more and more scared the deeper it sank.

“Don’t eat it and just say you did,” I side whispered to him, worried about his stomach since he usually lived on simple and non perishable food in Five.

“I heard that!” Gordon accused as he spoons up a big bite, determined to prove it was edible, and chowed down. “Huh…” he kept chewing, “not bad…”

“Not bad?” Scott goggled. ���Are you serious?”

“The chili is good, the custard is good, the cream is nice, the peas are a bit weird but overall it's OK.”

Virgil was the next brave soul to scoop up a tiny forkful and I did the same getting the smallest amount I could onto my spoon, mostly trying to get just custard and cream, although I think I did spot a lurker pea in there.

Kayo and Alan both scooped up a spoonful and shoved it in their mouths, obviously figuring that getting it over with was the best way to tackle it. Kayo spat hers out instantly, Alan managed to chew and swallow his. Virgil got his down but there was a fair bit of gagging.

“It tastes like a foot,” Alan declared.

John took a small bite and reacted almost like a cat with a hairball, his body shuddering, neck stretching as he silently gagged. I handed him a tissue and he gratefully spat it out, sagging against me as if he was about to die.

I looked at Scott, who nodded in return and dug out his own small amount. “On three?”

Scott nodded and began the count. “One...two...three!” We both stuffed our spoons into our mouths. Scott made a face but managed to get it down, my plan had worked and, while the pea was indeed lurking and rather weird, it wasn't that bad a bite and I swallowed without issue, pleased to have survived.

MINE

“This doesn’t look too bad,” Scott said assessingly.

“How dare!” I gasped. “Cheek of it, it looks tasty.”

Virgil cut himself a small portion, being cautious, since everything else has been questionable at best, downright disgusting at worse. 

Gordon cut himself an actual slice, a godsdamned slice of my omelette and lifted it up like he would a piece of pizza then wondered why we were all staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused. John just shook his head in utter despair at his dingus brothers and cut a more sensible sized bite. 

“I’m sure it will be edible,” he says diplomatically, it’s never good to insult the wife’s cooking even when it is so obviously crap.

Alan, disaster child that he is, cut a bit with the side of his spoon like a damned savage and spooned it up.

Kayo helped herself to a small fork full and got ready.

I reached over and broke a piece off of Gordon’s mega slice. 

“OK, good luck my friends,” I offered as I popped the eggy weirdness in my mouth… it was interesting. Nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be, the cheese and ham had mostly drowned out the spicy kick of the radish and the apple had added a weird sweetness to it, but at least it was edible if not to my tastes. I managed to chew it and swallow without choking.

“That’s oddly nice,” John said, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. 

“Well, you are the person that likes baked apple pieces on your pizza,” I shuddered in revulsion at the memory of his birthday meal.

“What a man chooses to put on his pizza is his own business,” he told me.

“Not when it’s that weird.”

“It’s no weirder than pineapple on pizza.”

“He’s right,” Scott interrupted, “this is strangely OK.” He took another bite to make sure.

“I don’t like it, it’s too sweet,” Alan said, making a face. “ I like sweet, but not mixed with savoury like this.”

“I agree,” Virgil said, setting his aside, “it’s too sweet, but you did your best.”

Gordon didn’t say anything, but he was steadily munching through his piece, I watched him, oddly fascinated.

“It’s edible, that’s all I can say about it,” Kayo told me, which for her was a compliment.

“Well? Verdict?” I asked Gordon when he eventually finished.

“I don’t know. I don’t like it or dislike it, it just is.”

“You’re being philosophical over a weird omelette?” Scott laughed.

“Had to happen some time.”

“How? How did it have to happen?” John asked, utterly bemused, looking like his brain was going into a meltdown. “Who says to themselves ‘one day I will have to say something deep and meaningful about a randomly concocted omelette’? How do you even assume that?”

“I never say never,” Gordon shrugged, not caring to explain any further. Personally I don’t think he knew what he meant either but was just brazening it out by that point.

JOHN’S

I picked up his donut creation a little gingerly, because I saw what he’d done to it and I was wary. He obviously saw my hesitation because he lent closer to help.

“Just be careful with it and follow my instructions,” he whispered in my ear under the guise of being romantic.

One eyebrow rose in response...I mean, what do you say to that?

He continued, still whispering. “Bite down gently and try to avoid the sack,” he dropped a kiss on my neck before sitting back in his seat. Smooth, boy, very smooth. My other eyebrow lifted to join its sibling.

“I’m just trying to help,” he assured me.

“You’ve said that before.”

“And you listened then and look how well it turned out,” he said as if that was all the proof I needed.

I heard a snigger from Gordon who was obviously eavesdropping. 

“I was referring to the fact that you often use the excuse of just trying to help,” I sniffed.

“Oh...well…” he tried to look innocent but failed, flashing me one of those devastating grins that just melted me on the spot. “Just taste my damn donut.”

I debated the wiseness of listening to him but decided that, as trust is supposed to be the cornerstone of any good relationship, I should probably pay attention.

“OK, here we go,” I bit down carefully, right at the edge, trying to measure the distance between where my teeth were and the no go zone. I think I brushed the edge of the lettuce leaf but managed to stick to just the donut which, though ever so slightly stale, was still good.

“That’s nice,” I allowed, trying to keep my cover as I passed the donut over to John who took a bite in exactly the same way and therefore stayed safe.

He passed it on to Kayo, who had been watching us intently, studying our moves with her usual mix of suspicion and calculated plotting.

 “You’ve got some cream on your lip,” I was told and sat still while he wiped it away with his thumb.

“What do you think, Kay?” Scott asked. 

Kayo, having executed a perfect bite from the other side of the donut nodded before passing judgement. “Edible.” She was now fully on board with our trickery and would never rat us out as she passed it innocently on to Alan.

Alan, trusting baby that he is, bit blindly into the donut, hitting the lettuce sack which exploded, squirting spaghetti hoop juice into his mouth.

“GAAAH what the…” he yelped, gasping in shock, dropping the demon donut with its hidden core of evil.

Scott picked up the donut, the spaghetti sauce now leaking out freely and soaking into the dough. Uncaring he takes a bite. “Not gonna lie,” he mumbles around his mouthful, “it's not great.” 

Virgil relieved him of the donut and studied it from all sides. The artist in him wants everything to look appetizing and pleasant the whole time, this did not. “This looks hideous.” He nibbled a corner. “Disgusting,” he declared, offering it to Gordon.

Gordon reluctantly accepted it and bit down carefully. He chewed, swallowed and shook his head. “Nope, gross.” 

KAYO'S 

Kayo pushed her bowl over quite proudly. “Dig in.”

It didn’t look that bad, and since I’d seen a lot of what she used I knew the ingredients wouldn’t be that bad when mixed. Hopefully it wouldn't be the obnoxious assault to the tastebuds that some of them had been. 

I slammed my spoon  confidently into it and scooped out a mouthful, popping it in my mouth before I could back out.

“Humm…” I chewed thoughtfully, what did I actually think of it? I couldn’t decide so I just spoke my thoughts as I so often do. “It's quite nice. I mean, biscuit, cake and cream cheese is nice, I don't really like the carrot mixed in but it doesn't ruin it to the point of being disgusting. I like the strawberries, so I guess it’s a win.” 

John followed my lead, digging his spoon in. “That's pretty good.” 

“I really like that,” Scott dipped his spoon in for some more. “The carrot is different enough to not bore me but the rest is normal enough to make it nice.”

“It's too sweet for me,” Virgil said, putting his spoon down after his first taste. 

“I'm not liking the carrot but the rest is good, I could eat it,” Alan said, his usual aversion to vegetables or anything healthy rearing its ugly head. 

“It's all good. I don't mind the carrot either,” Gordon said, agreeing with Scott. 

Kayo, obviously emboldened after using us as test subjects, risked tasting it herself. “Not bad.” 

Well, we've tasted everything,” I said, glugging down some of John’s water in an attempt to cleanse my tongue a little. “Was there an actual point to all of this?” 

Scott and Gordon both shrugged, not that I was that surprised, there is never much point to anything that any of these idiots do when bored.

“Not really,” Scott admitted. 

“I wanted to prove you wrong,” Gordon told me, “and I think we did.” 

“How? How did you? Some of this was disgusting, it clearly didn't work. How can you honestly think that you proved my wrong in any way, shape or form?” Seriously, the mind boggles with these guys. 

“It showed that it can be done,” Gordon insisted.  

“It shows nothing!”  

“Just let it go, love,” John soothed, obviously trying to save what little sanity I have left.

“You joined in!”

“So did you,” he countered.

“I give up!” I yelled, throwing my hands up in frustration. “It’s like talking to monkeys, you’re all mental.” I climbed awkwardly off the bench and headed back to the house.

“So, did I win?” I heard Kayo ask as I rounded the corner, leaving them alone. 

Stupid competitive Tracys! I should never have left the sofa, hell, I should never have left England. I knew this would be a mistake. I’d be insane by the end of it.

I stopped off in the kitchen to make myself a coffee, hoping it would take some of the taste away. I grabbed a few abandoned cookies and a non Johned donut and retreated to the sanctuary that was the couch and my blankets, which would be lonely without me.

I settled down, retrieved my book (I’m re-reading Outlander, which might be contributing to my Jamie Fraser love right now, all the best husbands have J names, fact) and got comfy, might as well make the most of what little peace I’d get before the chaos found me.

“Move over.”

I stayed where I was, maybe if I ignored him he would go away.

John, being John and refusing to be either insulted or put off by my rejection, simply lifted my legs and settled in their spot, dropping them back down over his lap.

I looked over my book at him as he reached for my coffee cup and gulped down half its contents. He offered me the mug and I put my book down to take it.

“Thanks,” I said because what else could I do? I sipped the coffee then put the mug down on the little table next to the couch and picked up my book again.

John took that as a sign that he was welcome to stay and started making himself at home, stealing some of the blanket and shifting to stretch out beside me. I moved over to make room, letting him settle his head on my chest as he found his tablet among the cushions.

OK, maybe there were a few good reasons to be here instead of alone at home, but I’ll never admit it outloud.

[ask-the-flirty-fighters]

Clean slate( sequel to interogation)

"Look at you so giddy, Mister," Connie teased as she sat on her Mister very comfortably facing him.

"Why would I be? " He grinned, "I'm home; I got my Heartberry on my lap in short shorts and a crop tank top, using her Heart to make me all warm."

"Holding your chin in one hand and a blade in the other." She arches her left brow as she flips the straight razor in her hand, showing off her talent with the blade, before holding it towards his face, kissing him teasingly.

"There is something unbelievably attractive and exciting about a girl who knows how to use a blade." Steven breathed out with a shiver of enthusiasm.

"OHH! So that's what that is."She teased, excitement."

She handed him the blade before reaching to the left to grab the shaving brush that was head down in a warm shaving cream 'bath.' "lean your head back for me, Bisky."

Steven did so, sighing at the feeling of warm, minty-scented shaving cream being lathered on his bearded face by Connie, as well as Connie's breast pressing against his pecs and her right hand holding his nape. Trying not to laugh at the warm tickling bristles on his hairy skin...and failing.

"Stop giggling, giggles." She chastised with a smile, bopping his nose with the cream cover brush.

"Hey!" Steven chuckled, "how I'm supposed to stop when you are making me laugh."

"What? I'm funny to you." Connie's impression of a classic gangster from the movies made him snort. "Am I a joke to you? Do I make you go Ha-ha?!." 

"A bit. Hehe-haha!."

"Oh! Really! Do you know who I am? I'm lady Ni, the shaver of the CG yakuza." She 'warned' moving close to his face.

"I thought you were mafia."

"I can be both." She pouted in best, causing him to laugh even more.

' I wanna make him laugh forever.' She mused, looking at him. "You're lucky I'm sweet on ya,' or I'd show you why they call me the 'shaver,' see." She booped his snoot again before kissing him gently. She finished putting the cream on with a grin before setting the brush back down.

"Blade."

Steven handed her the stainless steel razor and watched as she opened it effortlessly.

"I need you not to laugh, ok." She said thoughtfully, "the last thing I want to do is cut you accidentally."

"What happened to Lady Ni', shaver of the CG?"  He teased, getting a giggle from his Heartberry.

"Oh, you like her, huh?"

"She's fiery." He trailed his index and middle along her spine to the curve of her back and up again.

"MM~Mister," She purred, "I have quite the blade in my hand, near your face...Making me melt is not a good idea."

"It's always a good idea to make you melt."

"After I shave you." She countered his flirting,  "quicker I finish, quicker you can snuggle under the covers with lady Ni.'"

"Ohh, a tough mafioso, who's also a  snuggle bug."

"It just because I'm sweet on ya, see."

The two shared a laugh before she pressed up a bit more, kissing him gently.

" Now stop distracting me."

Steven hummed affirmatively, closing his eyes and relaxing as he felt the cold blade slide across his skin, heard the scraping of the hair from his face.

Affectionate intent created pleasurable sensation through Meticulous action. He never felt safer than being in her presence. Opening his eyes, he looked at her face and found himself falling for his best friend, housemate, partner...Wifey, Heartberry, and Jambud. All over again.

Her onyx eyes full of determined care, her lips bitten in concentration as her nostrils flared every so often, and the most prideful, sweetest smile every time she took a moment to look at her work and clean the blade.

"I'm so lucky you're in my life, Heartberry."

Connie paused for a moment feeling her cheeks glowed maroon, "Oh, Mister." She gave him another peck before chuckling. " let me finish, Biscuit." She grinned before continuing, this time humming 'love dramatica' as she did between her giggles.

"All right. You're looking good." She started as she cleaned the blade one last time before closing it. All in all, it took just under 25 minutes for her to shave him completely.

"Can I look?" He asked.

"Not yet. Hold on." Connie smiled as she got a warm cloth to wipe his skin off, making him purr gently.

"Now?"

"Not yet." Connie informed, removing the cloth before rubbing aftershave on his face, "such soft and fluffy cheeks." She swooned before kissing him.

Gentle at first, but it didn't take long for lounges to meet, and moans rose as they deepen the oral affection.

"So...Wanna take a look?" Connie breathlessly questioned with a giggle grabbing the compact laying on the right cushion of their couch, opening it up for him to see.

"Ooohhh, Smooth!" Steven rubbed his now clear and silky clean skin. "And not a knick on me."

"Of course, you know you're safe with me." She said pridefully, crossing her arms under her chest.

"True...True." Steven agreed, pulling her to lay upon him.

"Talk about a clean slate, right?"

"Uggh! Such a bad pun."

"You love it." She teased, rubbing his clean skin.

Steven sigh at the feel, leaning into her touch. "Thank you, Connie."

"That's a sweet tone, almost like you're in love with me."

"I mean...I'm sweet on you." He adopted a husky tone, trying his hand at being a mafia impersonation, making her laugh.

" I'm a lucky girl then." she sighed, kissing and nipping his chin." Lucky, I love taking care of you."

"Hey, I take care of you too." He challenged. "Matter of fact."

Connie shrieked out in pleasant surprise, locking her legs around his torso as he got up with her, holding her under her seat with his hands intertwined.

"I'm going to take care of you right now."  He grinned before suckling on her collar.

"Oh. Is that so..." She purred, holding him by his head and nape, offering her neck, "this a thank you for the shave?"

"It's a thank you for being in my life."

Connie looked down at his smiling face, giving him another kiss, holding his chin up toward her. "Thank you for being in  mines, Mister." She grinned,

"Now, let's go upstairs so I can be sweet on you, Lady Ni'."

"Wait, we have to clean-"

"Tomorrow"

Connie tightened her grip as her toes curled due to Steven's baritone snarled in her ear, nodding as she leaned over, allowing him to carry her upstairs excited, about what's to come next.

-------

❤🍓:i love times like this, when I get to groom my hubby.

Mr.: you're quite polarizing when it comes to that. Lady Ni❤

[snowflake-of-destruction]

Grass is Greener // Sibling Shenanigans 1/3

“I might be getting a divorce!” The signs of truth were there. Kairi had a cat carrier in each hand, Astrophe, the princess too good for a carrier, laid across her chest with claws dug into her shoulder, and the long strap of a duffel bag crossing her chest at a slant with the bag itself balanced against a cocked hip. Kairi’s shadow and liner were smudged and eyes too bright. Her smile was forced. Her hair was coiled in a complicated knot, but with several strands fallen out and curling slightly with damp and stuck to her face and neck,  and she was wearing a short black sequined dress with tennis shoes and no socks. She was a definite picture. 

However, her lines were delivered with the air of someone announcing that they had won an all expenses paid trip to Port Royal, and not that the life they had built was crumbling around them, so Axel thought he could be excused when it was with an exasperated sigh and a, “What happened this time?” that he welcomed his little sister through his front door and not a sympathetic and concerned, “Tell me what happened.”

“You know how Vanitas was supposed to be gone this weekend?” The carriers were already on the floor and Kairi and Vanitas’s manx, Ali, had, by all evidence Axel could see, turned to smoke and reformed outside the wire barred door as soon as it was set on the ground before Kairi had even bent to unlatch it, Astrophe running after his sister. “Is Stuffing shut in the bedroom?” All of Kairi’s cats knew Turkey was monarch of the realm, and they were proud aunts and uncles to the litter (Pumpkin, Gravy, Cranberry, Potato, and Biscuit, all of whom were supposed to have gone on to new homes by now, but Kairi suspected were to become permanent fixtures since Axel had not been able to “find the time” to secure appropriate homes so far since “They can’t just go to anyone, Kairi, and I’m not sending them to your broken home either!”) but Kairi’s old wirehair cat, Tillac, who Axel assumed was in the other carrier, and Stuffing had a rivalry that stretched back years. 

Axel didn’t even bother to nod, opting instead to ask, “Is Xion okay?” as he closed the door and then addressed his sister’s other question while bending to pick up the shoes she’d already kicked off so he could place them on the shoe rack by the door which she never remembered to do.  “No, I don’t keep Stuffing shut up unless I’m expecting Tilly, which I wasn’t.” The last was said with a pointed look. “I see you had your hands full, but would it have killed you to call?”

Kairi gaped at him. “Axel, I just took the kids and left my husband, and you manage to take his side by implying the only reason we could have argued is if I had planned something untoward in his absence, insult one of my dearest friends, imply you care more about Xion than your own sister, and whine about how my showing up is going to impact the plans I know you don’t have all in the space of seconds? Axel, your baby sister is distraught!” 

“Yeah, but is Xion okay?” Axel repeated without pause. “She’s sensitive.” He dropped the shoes in their proper place and let out a belated snort. “Untoward? Are you using a word of the day calendar so you can impress the hubby’s friends?”

Kairi released Tillac to go harass Stuffing until Turkey put her in her place, stood up, and tugged the hem of her dress down and readjusted the bodice to try and wrangle everything into a more presentable place. “Not all of us spend our days communicating only in grunts, brother dear.”

“Hey!” Axel gasped in mock offense. “I’m trying my best to teach Demyx human speech, but sometimes I have to meet him halfway.” He opened up his arms and gestured with his hands for Kairi to come hug him, an olive branch she immediately accepted, tripping over the cat carriers to throw herself in his arms. “Now tell me what happened and we can get drunk, or I’ll go threaten the bastard with a weed whacker or something.”  He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back. There wasn’t enough information yet to establish whether this was a you’ll work it out moment or a you really shouldn’t go back this time with a side of you could do so much better, so he left no follow up.

“It’s really not that bad,” were Kairi’s first words and Axel could have provided commentary, but led her over the couch instead. Presumably, that meant Xion was fine. “It’s my fault. I picked a fight.”

He waited a second for more details, and, when none came, he urged her along. “Atta girl. Knock some teeth out? He has too many.”

“Axel, please.”

“Didja, blacken one of those creepy gold eyes?” Axel forced an exaggerated shudder to go with his words. He didn’t have to do much to make it happen. He’d found Vanitas unnerving ever since Kairi introduced them (or, rather, failed to, since “Guess who got married in Vegas?” did not an introduction make).

“His eyes are hazel and they are gorgeous.” Kairi sighed, picking up a wandering kitten from the arm of the couch and sitting them on her lap to cuddle (Pumpkin or Cranberry, but with Kairi’s hand covering the the top of their head while she scritched their scalp, there was no way to check the marking).

“Sure, if you’re a hawk. I bet all the lady hawks go crazy.”

“That’s my husband,” Kairi warned.

“Yeah, but for how much longer?” Axel scoffed, brushing his sister’s fight with husband off again, something he still wasn’t sure he wouldn’t regret later, though Kairi’s glare was weak enough he was confident that he would be called to post bail because Kairi and Vanitas were picked up for indecent acts in the back seat of a convertible in the middle of a car show by next week. It wasn’t like this was the first time Kairi had shown up on his door, claiming things might be over. There was a bit of a girl who cried wolf situation at this stage. He picked up his half finished beer from the coffee table and took a swig. “And I’m just saying you have bad taste. Xion excluded. Do you want to put your duffel  and the carriers in the guest room?”

“I don’t have bad taste. You have bad taste,” Kairi fired back and Axel couldn’t help but picture her at eight years old with a missing tooth and a haircut she’d given herself because he had dared her. “Your last boyfriend was literally a serial killer.”

“You have to kill three people before its serial and he was only convicted of manslaughter. Honestly, it’s like you never had a bad relationship before.” Axel’s easygoing reply of the standard line didn’t match the sudden flicker out and fade of amusement from his eyes.

“You do better with bored housewives.” Kairi patted his arm, and it was almost like an apology. “I’ll get the luggage in a minute.”

“I do fantastic with bored housewives,” Axel corrected, “but I’m usually only interested in their husbands.”

“Oh! Speaking of,” Kairi tucked her legs beneath her and sat up straighter, predatory look entering her eyes, “You started work for Xion’s brother-in-law today, right?”

Kairi smiled suddenly with too many teeth--maybe she was well suited to her husband after all--and Axel found it took all his focus to swallow his beer without choking. It occurred to him that the thermostat might have been broken, because the room was getting humid but the air hadn’t kicked on. “Weren’t you distraught?” He furrowed his brow like a good concerned big brother. “Didn’t you have a fight with your husband? You may be getting divorced. I know we don’t talk about things that bother us like a normal family, thanks Dad, but that’s upsetting news! I’m distraught! My ears are wide open.” He took one of Kairi’s hands in both of his and there was a meow of protest from Pumpkin. “I’m listening.”

Kairi pulled away and resumed important kitten petting duties. Unlike before, where her petulance was for Axel  taking things too lightly, her frustration now seemed to be at internal sources. “Sora invited me away for the weekend. Most of that duffel was already packed.”

“What about Xion?” Axel whined his bias. “She was in…” Axel made an okay symbol with his thumb and index finger and whistled between his teeth for effect, “fine form when I saw her earlier. She was wearing this petal pink bodycon number so short I saw that starfish you’re always talking about, and I think she cut her hair again, or at least did some different product. She was wearing that perfume you got her too. I thought you guys had something planned tonight.”

“Maybe she was going out with Ventus.” Kairi was dismissive enough in tone, but her lips pursed when they were done with the words and Pumpkin made a complaining noise like he’d been squeezed. 

“Who?” Axel oozed false innocence and confusion.

“Her husband...fiancé...boyfriend...whatever,” Kairi waved vaguely, more obviously disgruntled by the moment.

“Not whatever. Just because you skipped a few steps with ol’ Vani the Vain, doesn’t mean there is a distinct difference between those three things, typically one that matters to most people.”

“Just those in the relationship,” Kairi countered.

“And those with...what’s the word?” Axel pretended to think as Pumpkin abandoned Kairi in favor of him, and two more cats came bolting into the room as if summoned, sensing Dad was handing out love. “Morals? Boundaries? Restraint?”

“Van and I do have restraints…” Kairi hummed,  trailing off once the joke was made and clicking her tongue to lure Potatoes to her.

Axel howled protest and screwed up his face, playing along, glad Kairi was distracted again before she could get sad. “ Too much information even for us!”  When Kairi giggled--with grateful eyes that said she wasn’t really that amused, but was trying because she saw he was working hard to keep things light from the moment she’d walked in the door--Axel declared that part of his job done and reoriented back to allowing Kairi to tell her story. “So Vanitas was supposed to be gone so you made plans with Sora, and you were just going to leave the cats? “

“Xion was going to check in on the cats,” Kairi clarified the important part.

“You were going to have Xion catsit while you went traipsing off with the flavor of the month?” Axel stretched his mouth and widened his eyes, daring his face to stick in the clowning expression. “You’ll never get her to leave Airvent and marry you instead that way!”

“I’m already married...for now,” Kairi tokenly defended her marriage.

“Doesn’t count. He didn’t get my blessing...and he never will.” Axel was quick on both parts of the rejoinder.

Kairi ignored him as he expected her to and started to confess in a rush, “So Vanitas announces that he’s not going to the conference anymore; something about him finding out some of the last second substitutions in presenters and articles being presented when his was declined in the peer review stage...He was still published, but it’s a whole political thing with being featured in the conference. Anyway, he had to boycott on principle, so he’s home, and he told me to get ready because we were going out to dinner and we were going to order multiple bottles of wine and get kicked out of our favorite restaurant because he’s already a disgrace…his words. He gave me the opening, and I took it, because I’m panicked Sora is going to show up at the door.”

Axel raised his hand like an obedient child in a classroom to be called on, but just went ahead and interrupted even when he was ignored. “Isn’t Sora the yoga guy? Couldn’t he defeat Vani Vain with the power of friendship and love?” He hadn’t met Sora. Kairi was quite adamant that he wasn’t allowed to after he’d been a little more than politely amused at her stories. It was a fair ask since Kairi had, rightly, assumed that the only reasons Axel wanted to meet Sora were to see if he could make him cry for the fun of it, warn him off his sister, or, if he proved to be as attractive as Kairi said, sleep with him himself.

Kairi continued as if the interruption hadn’t happened. “I don’t take it right away. I get dressed, start to do my hair, and then I start throwing things from the vanity and yelling about how he can’t just order me to doll up like that’s all I am, his doll, waiting pretty on a shelf, ready to play with when he remembers I’m there. I point out he never asked me to come to the convention with him, and after we had such fun at last years’.” Axel snorted, knowing that story, and the pattern of being blocked out continued,  “And I know how many spouses come along now. I think I accused him of having an affair. I really don’t know. I half blacked out. A spirit took over, and when I came to, I was packing a bag and insulting his paper because he still wasn’t getting angry enough fast enough to justify me leaving.”

“It sounds like you handled the situation brilliantly,” Axel complimented. “So did you call Sora and tell him to pick you up here, or is the weekend off? Am I on catsitting and husband deflection duty?” He wasn’t seeing a problem yet, not even something that warranted Kairi’s overdramatic divorce line, though a troubling thought did occur to him. “If he smacked you, shoved you, laid a hand on you in any way when you started yelling at him, I will do more than threaten him with the chainsaw. He’s dead. Demyx will help me hide the body. He knows a guy, and he owes me. They both owe me. Plus, I learned some tricks from my ex.” He softened his concern and threats he was prepared to follow through with in jokes. 

“Stop thinking the worst of him at every opportunity,” Kairi snapped, and Potatoes rubbed his head against her stomach to calm her. “He just...took some low blows of his own and things escalated more quickly than I wanted them to.” She shifted uncomfortably.

“Like what?” Axel responded carefully, not wanting to supply guesses when it was a losing game, even if he came from the angle of listing reasons anything Vanitas could have said was untrue.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kairi insisted, which was a prime sign that it did. “I just might be here a few days for real after Sora and I get back. He’s coming to pick me up in an hour.”

Axel was silent a moment, assessing whether he should push Kairi to talk or hope the weekend healed the wounds, then nodded and gently lifted all cats away from his body. “An hour doesn’t give us much time. Go sit at the dining room table. Go!” He shooed her.

Kairi complied without asking for explanation and Axel went into the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses down from the cabinet and an open half a red from the fridge. On impulse, he grabbed a few empty beer bottles from his recycling pile as well and stuck them under his arms. He continued their conversation as he rejoined his sister. “Do I get to meet Sora or is he supposed to stay outside and honk? Put your head down on the table and look listless.” He poured the barest hint of wine in the bottom of the glass he put in front of Kairi, and did the same for the one he put in his spot at the table. He arranged the empty beer bottles with the eye of an artist. “Let me go get my phone. Look sadder, but not so sad it’s unbelievable.” 

“If you want to meet Sora, take one of his classes.”

Axel snapped a series of pictures to choose from, talking to himself, “She’s doing fine, Vanitas. We spent the evening talking. Of course. I’ll send you a picture.” Raising his voice a few decibels, he gestured back to the living room. “Go lie down on the couch, cover yourself with the fleece from the armchair,  put a cat or two on your chest, and close your eyes. We’ll shoot, ‘don’t come over now, Van, she’s sleeping,’ next and then you can change into sweats and grab some board games from the closet. I’m assuming you’ll be too mad to answer phone calls from him anyway, but do you want to take your hair down and get it wet in the sink for some, ‘No, she just got out of the shower, why are you so creepy needing evidence?’ safety shots?”

“You’re seriously the best brother ever,” Kairi leaned up on tiptoes and pecked Axel’s cheek on her way into the living room.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Roxas was watching you today from the upstairs window,” Kairi tossed out nonchalantly. “Xion texted me about it. He wants to smell your hair and cook you dinner.”

“He what?” Axel stuttered and nearly fumbled his phone. So much for a steady hand and unflappable cool. The Howe he hadn’t met yet, having spoken with Isa Howe during his initial looks around and estimates for the yard, had come outside after Xion had left, and all but admitted to watching him at least as long as to comment on Xion detouring to chat with him a minute before she went to her car, and, sure, Axel had purposefully peeled off his shirt and rolled down his overalls to his waist after Roxas had went inside, hoping he was still watching, but he hadn’t seen any proof, and their brief conversation had spent a moment on shock of shared acquaintances (“You know Xion? I knew you were Kairi’s brother--she recommended you--so it makes sense since they’re close, but that’s wild. Small world.”)  and then stayed in the professional (apparently Roxas had been the one who had done the sketches Isa had shown Axel of what the garden in the backyard was supposed to look like when he was done). Maybe Axel had noticed that Roxas had eyes the exact color blue as the delphinium hybrid he had presented at his last flower show (had to keep up the street cred that he was more than just a lawn service guy and a tree and hedge trimmer somehow--even if that sort of thing was his bread and butter), and that he was pretty cut since he hadn’t bothered with a shirt when he ran outside. And perhaps, when the sun caught his hair he looked like an angel out of a renaissance painting. None of that meant anything though.

“He wants to cook you dinner,”Kairi repeated, cavalier. “Be gentle with him. I think it would be his first time out of the box in awhile.”

“I’m not…” Axel pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to keep from getting angry and only managing to count the problems he had with what Kairi was suggesting. “Is this why you recommended me to your friend? Are you my pimp now?”

“He needs a fling.” Kairi had the nerve to shrug. “You are an accomplished flinger. The only person you’re seeing right now is Demyx, and he’s just a friend sleeping in one of your spare rooms….He is still just a friend sleeping in one of your spare rooms, right?”

“Most nights.” Axel left it ambiguous whether Demyx spent the odd night elsewhere or whether the friend lines sometimes blurred. “And my best tree trimmer.”

“That’s what I heard from Ienzo.” Kairi proved the Emberson comedic timing lived well in her. “So what’s the problem with Xion and I wanting to give Roxas a hot gardener fantasy to brighten up his life? He’s a friend.”

“So many things are wrong with that, Thalassa Shell.” In times so serious, Axel had no choice but to bring out family pet names. 

A beat passed. Kairi didn’t apologize for the idea like she was supposed to. Axel didn’t harp on it more. Another question fought its way out of his throat. “Incidentally though, did he say anything else about me?”

[honeybunny-sawamura]

Chapter 1: First Meeting

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of harassment (nothing in detail)

Word Count: 1.7k

Author Note: yaho everyone! im celebrating my hubby’s birthday by indulging in my self ship! 💝 with an OC heheh this is my first time doing self shipping OxO i hope you like the stories i have ready

Daichi Sawamura will try and say he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. That yes, he can appreciate someone’s good looks at first glance, but to truly fall in love with someone he needs to get to know them. Only when he has seen all their hidden quirks, knows their favorites and inspirations, and can immediately distinguish their voice in a crowded room will he know that he’s absolutely in love with that person.

But… He’ll never forget the moment she first took his breath away.

There had been a string of harassments happening at the city’s skating arena. Apparently, it started off with it just being verbal, but things started to get physical and the perpetrator had not yet been caught. Officer Daichi Sawamura was accompanying Detective Takei, a hardworking man he respected, to meet up with the person who had called in for someone to investigate and catch the person(s) responsible. Daichi didn’t normally patrol this area but he had heard of some of the cases from a colleague. The victims were often young women and it always happened around nighttime when the perp could hide in the shadows. It was starting to affect the community and people were getting anxious; especially with the regional skating competitions coming up soon. Hearing all of this brought out Daichi’s protective nature and he already made it a priority to make sure that they catch whoever was harassing these innocent people. Detective Takei let out an amused snort at the determination set in Daichi’s features, knowing he picked the right officer to accompany him.

The two men enter the skating arena and shiver at the chill that hit them; the inside is way colder than the weather outside. There aren’t many people around: only four to five skaters with their coaches and a couple of others who could be friends or supporters. They’re all sitting in the stands, scattered about but close enough to chat with one another. The ice rink itself is void of any skaters which is surprising since the detective and officer had been informed that the competition is in a month or so and that practices were happening almost every day at every hour.

“We’re looking for a Mrs. Bessho. A middle-aged woman, somewhere between her 50s I believe. Taller than most her age, quite thin, and brown permed hair. She’s a coach to a young female figure skater.” Detective Takei tells Daichi as they scan the place for someone that fits that description while taking in anyone they think looks suspicious. They slowly make their way down the steps and closer to the ice rink, giving a curt nod at those who look their way. Daichi thinks he spots someone fitting Mrs. Bessho’s description standing at the rink’s sideline talking to a young woman all dressed up to perform. He points out the woman to the detective, who nods, and they both briskly descend the stands. They were just a few rows away from reaching Mrs. Bessho when music starts to fill the arena and the occupied stands bursts with cheering and hollering. The young lady who Mrs. Bessho was talking to, happily waves over to her small audience and then skates away from the sidelines. She takes a leisure lap around the rink, swaying a tad to the music, before heading to the middle of the ice.

“Might as well enjoy the performance.” Huffs the older man to Daichi, leaning on one of the seats at the end of the row. A hush settles over the ice as the music fades out and the figure skater sets herself in position, serene and confidence all in her pose. There’s a silent pause for just a moment until a riff of quick piano notes opens up and the rehersal begins. Daichi couldn’t help but become mesmerized by the figure skater. How graceful she skims across the ice and how her every movement, down to even the flick of a wrist, seems to tell a story. His eyes follow her every glide and every jump makes his heart leap along, wondering if she’ll stick the landing; impressing him without fail when she always does. Daichi had seen figure skating performances before, his mother and little sisters loved watching the competitions on TV, but he’s never seen one in person until now. He can see the appeal of it and why people held high regards for the sport. Daichi himself couldn’t skate for his life and to see someone do it so effortlessly and beautifully with all those spins and jumps, he thinks he could watch this young woman skate for hours.

But it doesn’t last for too long and before Daichi knew it, things come to an end. The small audience cheers and whistles as the young woman on the ice bows and waves to them again, a triumphant smile on her face. He watches her scan the stands and giggle here and there at her friends; even from where he stood, he could tell she was quite pretty. The young officer couldn’t help but feel something electrify through him when her eyes land and linger on him. She blinks at him, tilting her head slightly in curiosity. The figure skater gives him a small but polite smile and a bow before she is called to the sidelines by her coach, Mrs. Bessho, who Daichi remembers he and the detective are here to talk to.

“Come on, let’s go.” Says Detective Takei, breaking Daichi from whatever trance he was in. He nods a bit jerkily and follows the older man to the sidelines where the coach and figure skater were.

“- was wonderful! But remember about the turns…”

“Mrs. Bessho?” the detective calls out and the two women turn their attention to them; the elder a bit annoyed with the interruption and raising an eyebrow at the two burly men.

“I’m Detective Takei and this is Officer Sawamura. We’re here about the harassment problems you called about.” Mrs. Bessho’s face morphs from irritation to realization.

“Ah, of course! We spoke yesterday afternoon. Yes, I am Mrs. Sakura Bessho. And this is my protegee, Nozomi Hoshikai. She has had a run in with the harasser before, right dear?” The older woman introduces while the girl bows in a formal greeting. Daichi tries her name out in his head, ‘Miss Nozomi Hoshikai’ and he finds it sounds quite nice.

“Well, we’d like to take any information you have so we can pursue further with the case.” the detective pries.

“Oh, heavens! Where do I start?” exclaims Mrs. Bessho before spilling everything she knew and heard of. As she and Detective Takei talk, Daichi busies himself by taking notes but he’s a little distracted. His eyes keep drifting over to Miss Hoshikai, who nods every so often as her coach goes on. Daichi takes in her inky black hair that’s tied in a bun with a few ornaments adorning it. Her eyes were so dark, almost looking black if it were for the arena’s lights above to illuminate the brown hue in them. And a soft pink color dusted her beige cheeks; was it from the chill of the ice rink or from the exertion from the performance just now Daichi wasn’t sure. Noticing he was staring a bit too long, Daichi shakes his head a little to snap out of it and goes back to taking notes. But when his gaze goes back to Miss Hoshikai, his eyes meet hers. Both of them blink in surprise and turn away with cheeks growing warm in being caught looking at the other. Daichi clears his throat and interjects the older pair with having Nozomi recount her confrontation with the harasser.

“We’d like to hear your encounter with them, if that’s alright Miss Hoshikai?” he asks politely. Something tickles in his chest when the pink on the skater’s cheeks grow a tad darker. Unbeknownst to him, Nozomi likes the way he says her name. She complies and tells her story. While she does so, a frown grows on Daichi’s face as well as the need to protect gets stronger. Even though no real harm came upon her and Nozomi dismisses her experience with a “It’s not as bad as what the other girls experienced…” Daichi can’t help but get a tad upset and reply,

“Regardless! You shouldn’t have gone through that. You nor anyone else.” Nozomi is slightly taken aback by the officer’s words; honestly touched that this kind officer refuses to brush off her frightening ordeal.  She gives him a soft smile in gratitude, and it brings back that tickle in his chest.

“Thank you…” she tells him. Detective Takei and Mrs. Bessho wrap up with a few more statements. Once he and Daichi have all that they can get from the two women, they decide to part from them and go ask the people around what they knew. The stands had cleared out while they had been talking but the older woman assures them that the others were probably in the lobby or outside.

“Thank you. We’ll see to it that the perpetrator gets caught once and for all.” the detective, along with Daichi, nod reassuringly.

“Thank you both for coming today and taking on this case. If we get anymore information, we’ll contact you.” Mrs. Bessho responds. The two men bow and when Daichi comes up, he notices that the young figure skater looks like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how to go about it. She opens and closes her mouth a few times then brings a hand to her mouth as if to ponder on what to say. Her brows are furrowed in what looks like anxiousness and the officer thinks back to her dreadful encounter that she had shared with them.

“If you ever need help, please… Don’t be afraid to call the precinct and ask for me.” Daichi offers to the young lady. He can only imagine how scared she and the others must be. If he can be of any solace to her, he’d do so in a heartbeat. Relief settles onto her features and she gives him a small nod,

“Thank you… Officer Sawamura.”

“I’m happy to help, Miss Hoshikai.”

Taglist: @tsumtsumland​ @ceo-of-daichi​ @daichis-kitty​ @karasimpno​

[ili-akkaman]

Believer

I made this for my wifey @mrsstampede for her 100 birthday. I wish you one hundred more, bish. This was inspired in the headcanon we talked about a few nights ago, because I had started writing another oneshot but I saw you liked this prompt so I changed my mind and started with this one. Hope you like it. I wish you all the best now and forever and I’m glad I’m your hubby :peepo_kek: Luv ya, bish.

Pairing: Eren Jaeger - Mikasa Ackerman

Words: 1582

The hunter was lost.

All he could hear was the owls and wolves’ howling, dead leaves crashing under his feet and the wind whispering scary noises to his ears that made his hair flutter in the air and his heart skip a beat. Everything could happen, so he was aware of all the encounters that were likely to happen tonight. Wicked witches, werewolves, goblins or any other spooky creature could appear and ask for his soul or flesh. Eren was brave, but he had never walked this side of the forest, wondering how could he let the deer he was hunting take him at this point.

Clouds hid the moon from his eyes, as if they mocked him, letting him under the ironic shelter of a cold darkness.

Another howl, and Eren’s bones wanted to leave his body in a glimpse of an eye. He was shuddering, his shoulders shook involuntarily as much as his legs, but never lowering his guard. His gun was on guard, ready to shoot at the minimum warning of movement, until he felt steps behind him, and his rifle started to shiver, too. An animal snort startled the young hunter, and feeling in the verge of death, he could barely see what he was facing. But Eren knew it, he knew he was being hunted, because he was a predator; he knew he was about to die for the way a pair of gray and bright eyes stared at him, huffing and puffing, creating dense smoke clouds that vanished in the air with every sound that told him: you are my food and I don’t care about your gun. This is the heart of the very forest, and there’s no place here for a pathetic living human like you. A primitive instinct yelled at him from inside, asking him to get rid of his gun and leave, but he couldn’t. He knew better than that. He had just one bullet, but he wouldn’t fail; this monster was close, so close that he could just pull the trigger and…

All he could hear was a click.

The bullet never left the gun. There was no deafening noise, no gunshot, no nothing. And the monster was still alive, still huffing and puffing in front of him.

And Eren was lost.

He had never felt more afraid.

The monster came closer and jumped over him, making him fall to the ground. But the next second, all he knew was this big, furred and four-footed animal was running far away from him. As if something had made it ignore him.

Still on the ground, Eren looked up to the sky and thanked heavens for making the beast go.

And he wondered how had he been so lucky to be alive.

Eren stood up. Air gusts pierced the leaves and branches, making them scream under its lash. The wind concert was terrifying and made his marrows shiver. He shook the dust off his clothes and tried to move, until a new shadow took shape before his eyes. A big, scary and angry bear roared, ready to take a swat at him. Eren closed his eyes, seeing how his whole life passed in front of him like a mirror. He was done, this was it; this was the time for him to die. He had no gun or way to defend himself from this enormous beast so everything he had left was let the bear eat him.

A first swipe, and Eren fell to the ground, almost losing his consciousness. The bear roared again, ready to hit him for the second time and finish its prey, no matter how much this pathetic human tried to run away from it. The young hunter thought about his family and everything he’d leave behind if he passed away… But something unexpected happened, startling him as a figure fast as a lightning bolt jumped over the beast and a pair of fangs sank into its flesh. He blinked several times, his arm was bleeding as was his eyebrow but he did not care about his wounds, for the scene taking place in front of him was way too shocking to look away.

Roars and grumbles pierced his ears and, for a moment, Eren thought he was about to die, again, crushed under the fight. He couldn’t help but follow their movements, staring at muscles, fur, teeth and blood. The bear beat the wolf with its claw, making it crash against a tree and going to take its prey as soon as it thought its rival had been defeated. Eren tried to run this time, but the wolf stood up, sank its teeth into the bear’s neck, and that was all.

A huge, furry animal fell bleeding and lifeless to the ground, almost provoking an earthquake. Trees shook and the night stood still, leaving an injured and tired wolf that panted hard after killing the monster.

Eren stared at its eyes, a pair of gray, deep lagoons that told him everything was ok now. The same wolf that had tried to give him a lesson for hunting a living being before, was now looking at him with gentle eyes, almost human. The wolf took two steps more and fell right to his feet, tongue out and its side wounded. He wouldn’t have to wonder if this animal was his ally, for everything that had just happened told him he wasn’t in danger anymore. And so, with no strength to go back home and the wolf by his side, Eren decided to stay next to his savior, until the sunlight rays could guide him.

But when the sun hit his face, it wasn’t a wolf what he found next to him.

It was a woman.

The most beautiful woman he had seen in all his 19 years of life.

Just like the wolf that had saved him last night, her right side was wounded. Her hair was silky, insanely black, but she was naked and shivering from cold, wrapping her arms around herself as if that could save her from his sight and the harshness of the winter.

Eren wasn’t sure about what was happening, but something deep down told him that maybe, this young woman had a lot to do with last night events.

And he wasn’t wrong.

“Hey…” he said when she opened her eyes, a pair of dark gray lagoons that shook the last of his nerve endings. She seemed to be scared, but didn’t move an inch from his light touch. “Are you okay?”

She said nothing, but when she tried to move, a moan was all that came out of her lips. Eren noticed her wound and, once again, remembered the wolf. He had seen those eyes before, the fire in them, their desire to protect the weak ones. He had seen them, just last night. But she did not say a word.

Bloodstained and all, the hunter took off his coat and covered her naked body before helping her to straight up. Her lips were red and her nails were dirty, just as her body, but he didn’t mind. She winced at the pain, while Eren’s head puzzled over the recent events, remembering an old legend about a princess who was condemned to turn into a she-wolf for being selfish, until she could help another human selflessly, so she could get back to her human form.

He had never believed in fairy tales.

Never.

But this time, the young hunter became a believer.

“What’s your name?” he asked, afraid of not getting an answer. But the sound he heard right after was music to his ears.

“Mikasa,” she answered. He could swear this woman had the sweetest voice in the world.

An uncanny silence filled the air and their lungs for a few seconds. He didn’t know what to say, and she didn’t know what to do. She had been lost in a strange body for so long that she had almost forgotten how to be a human, how to be herself.

Eren looked at her eyes and discovered his whole universe in them.

“Did you… Did you save me from the beard?”

She looked down, and that was all he needed to know the answer. The big animal was laying down near by them, and it was the moment Mikasa knew that he knew.

“Thanks,” she muttered, a while after. A half smile was drawn on his lips.

“Thanks, for what?”

“For saving me, too.”

In spite of all the physical pain, Eren smiled again, widely. She was still shivering and he could see her shoulders shaking, as much as her lower lip so, taking off the red scarf of his neck, he wrapped it gently around her, wiping away a tear that fell down her cheek with his thumb.

“It’s warm, right?” he asked, his voice as sweet as her face.

“It’s warm,” she said, getting rid of the tears she had held for so long. Eren got up, forgetting where his gun had ended up in, taking her hands between his and keeping her warm with his coat and scarf, trying not to hurt her more than she was.

“Where are we going?” Mikasa’s voice trembled. She gasped because of the pain, and Eren grabbed her, with no intentions of letting her go.

“Home,” he told her. And she cried, because she knew he had just saved her even more than she could save him.

She had found her home.

[kpopchangedme]

I think it's pretty appropriate to ask for Strip 😏 Jinyoung will be the death of me

If @hobi-my-hubby wasn’t a dead tired elementary teacher and in bed by 10pm on Friday nights, I’d believe she ghostwrote this. But I’m glad we aren’t the only ones thirsty for Kinkyoung! ;)

WIP TAG GAME

Strip - NSFW / Nudity / Boyfriend / Idolverse

“That’s not it, you’re teasing me, right?” You blink innocently when Jinyoung looks back at you and he scoffs. “I didn’t know you could do that!”

“Really? I’m pretty sure I told you…” You shamelessly lie staring at the passing blurred lights from the passenger side’ window.

“I’d definitely remember if my girlfriend told me she won a striptease competition.” You hum in response, not sure how to handle his sudden knowledge of that fact. “And Felix was there too… He saw everything?”

“Only because his girlfriend was dancing with me… We kept our clothes on, you know… Most of them anyway.” Jinyoung snorts and you shrug, a bit worried this conversation might turn into a fight.

“Wow, I’m learning so much thanks to your friends. My girlfriend is so open-minded.”

“It’s in the past and it was no different than you dancing on stage with the guys.” You’re not sure why, but his sarcasm makes you raise your guard, mentally preparing for a judgement.

He tenses, slowing down to stop the car at a red light. “Come on, it’s very different.”

“How so?”

“I’m an artist and I’m not just dancing to be sexy.”

“Jinyoung, you could dance with a plastic bag over your head and you’d still be giving wet dreams to your fans.” You don’t miss his proud smug and you roll your eyes, he’d take almost anything as a praise. “They go wild for you all the time, but I don’t ever get jealous.”

“I didn’t say I was jealous.” He presses the accelerator when the light turns to green and you study his profile, trying to decipher his pout.

“Oooooooooh…” You laugh when you finally get it and Jinyoung sighs.

“What, ‘oh’?”

“You’re bothered I haven’t told you before.”

“I had to pretend in front of all your old friends that I knew…”

“Actually… I never said anything because those are the only dance lessons I ever took.”

“You took lessons?” Jinyoung’s surprised gaze find yours and you nod. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, I think it’s pretty cool. I just wish you would’ve trusted me enough to tell me.”

You smile, pleased by his reaction. It’s not like you’re embarrassed of the genre, you never tried to conceal that from your last boyfriend, you’re actually pretty proud. It’s just that your ex wasn’t a professional dancer. Jinyoung’s so good, you don’t want to humiliate yourself by failing at being sexy, your self-esteem doesn’t need that.

“You don’t win a competition without lessons and choreography Jinyoung, we also had fierce rivals. We took The Art of Striptease 101, Erotic dancing 202 and a random Pole Fitness class, we were a really amazing duo.”

“You learned that at University?! Well… aren’t I glad you’re so educated.”

You laugh and he smiles, stopping the car in his apartment underground parking space. You’re happy he isn’t being judgy about it, but his next move makes you remember why you were so nervous and kept it a secret.

“You know, rather than telling me about your lessons…” He pauses mid-sentence to kiss your lips softly and unbuckles your belt. “��� You should show me.” He says the last part in your ear, voluntarily tickling you. You cock your neck and bring your hand over to protect yourself, making Jinyoung laughs, too distracted by the cuteness of your gesture to notice how uneasy you now are. There’s no way you’re performing in front of him.

“Well… Maybe another night.”

He blinks, taken aback as he watches you slip your heels on and throw open the passenger door. Jinyoung wanted to tease you, but your tone is cold and off, clearly tonight’s not the kind of night he thought it was. He forces a smile, getting off the car to catch up with your pace. Sometimes timing is off, you rejected the offer, but maybe you just don’t feel like it, just this time. When he reaches for your hand, you keep walking, intertwining your fingers with his as if to reassure him and he lets out a breath of relief. At least it doesn’t feel like his striptease request made you mad.

“The fiances looked great together. I really like your high school friends.” Jinyoung chuckles, pressing the button to call the elevator as his thumb traces circle patterns in your palm.

“Yeah, most of them appreciate you too…” You grin, relaxed he hasn’t insisted and you turn, just in time to see his face fall at the seemingly unpardonable offense.

“Some don’t like me?!”

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

A New Lease on Life - #59

         WELL. It's been about a donkey's age since I've been able to update this. Normally I'd apologize for the wait…but…well, honestly, I've been beating myself up enough as it is and it's not like it happened out of the blue. Kinda-brief update for anyone wondering:            I've warned about an impending grief hiatus since my uncle Bob's cancer diagnosis, and the hiatus came to pass in December. Uncle Bob finally lost his fight to cancer after two years of treatment and fading. The end came on rather suddenly but after the deathwatch he went peacefully and without pain. His death really messed me up, especially since I was already suffering from depression. Our first Christmas without Bob was also our last Christmas with Granny Chance, his mother and my grandmother…she suffered a massive stroke in January and died soon afterward. In the space of a month, my family and I lost two members, one right after the other. In a word, the whole situation has been FUCKED and it's still not completely over. There are good days, and bad days…and, to quote a certain Del Toro film, "Then there are the really bad days." Between those, we're all slowly working our way through the fallout and healing process.            This chapter is the first I've been able to finish since SEPTEMBER, largely because all of my stories are currently in plot-required angsty-dramatic phases and I CANNOT WRITE SAD SCENES when I'm depressed. It's entirely IMPOSSIBLE, they always come out farcical or they just don't flow. It SUCKS. TBH, I don't know for certain if I'm going to be able to catch up to my previous writing abilities or pace anytime soon but I'm certainly going to try. Also, quick note if you're reading this on Tumblr – they recently enacted a WORDBLOCK LIMIT on text posts of 100 blocks. Yeah. We're now limited to 100 paragraphs including the title. If the chapter's low dialogue and has no notes, that's fine, but if not? Well, we're just screwed because THIS ONE ran 86 ¶s WITHOUT the notes, glossary, and pre-story stuffs. I'm not sure yet how I'll be handling that limit for good, whether that means posting links to sites without the bullshit limits, posting long chapters in pieces, or linking to the separate posts with the notes and glossary, but I'll figure it out in time. For now, I’ll be including the NOTES at the end and you can find the GLOSSARY at FFnet or AO3.  Check out Spotify for a playlist centered on this arc - features suggested listening for this chapter and the next few, and much, much more.         Lastly, I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for their patience and understanding, and give a shout-out to some wonderful people who've made this new chapter possible. This chapter is dedicated to Wolf, Newt, and Ihlni for their invaluable support and kind words – to my hubby Cold for letting me ugly-cry on him without complaint and never failing to remind me that life has to go on – to my ma-in-law for teasing me about earning a nasty hangover instead of acknowledging that I looked like death-on-the-rocks and was obviously crying before I answered the door – to my mother for being a bloody SAINT and to my father for intentionally being an asshole when someone to fight with was just what I needed – to Wanda Farmer on AO3 and vbt22220 on FFnet for their encouragement in reviews, the folks on Tumblr who offered kind words when I needed them most, and to all you wonderful people who've stuck by me, read my stories, and are still reading after all this time. Above all, though, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of Granny Chance and Uncle Bob – may they ever rest in peace.

Suggested Listening: Fuel "Hemorrhage [In My Hands]," Paramore "The Only Exception," Prince "Purple Rain," Survivor "I Never Stopped Loving You" 

 59: A Matter of Honor

The Lair, November 19th - around noon

Donatello wasn't known for being a fool; regardless, he felt rather foolish anytime the obvious failed to register until it was staring him in the face. This was just such a time. He didn't recall sequestering himself in the lab much less falling asleep at his workbench, but the proof was self-evident: a crick in his neck, a strand of insulated wire still stuck to his drool-sticky cheek, and sweat-smeared glasses half off his face. It took a moment of tired lip-smacking and searching to comprehend the facts—ah, right, he pulled an all-nighter to complete the vital signs monitor for Kimber's visit. From what he could see, the device was, indeed, completed. Too tired to consider the absurd picture he must make, he peeled the wire trimming off his cheek and set it aside.

What woke him? He searched his memory, found nothing, then turned to more closely examine his surroundings. A plate of now-cold PopTarts and a cup of coffee (helpfully covered with a cracked saucer) waited a safe distance from his elbow. Right - it was Saturday. This time last year he easily lost track of the days between all-nighters and the sleeping-binges that always followed them. Now he had a weekly reminder in the form of too-sweet coffee and half-burned pastries, courtesy of the confusing woman whose scent still clung to his skin. How blessed he felt in this moment…

The moment ended with a familiar sound—a sleep-slurred phrase he could recognize anywhere but never quite understood. Ya been away too long he got, and he recognized the terms sook, e'en, and nip though he wasn't fully certain of their context.* Beyond that the half-Celt tucked into the cot may as well have been speaking Greek for all he knew. The oft-repeated tease fell short in a particularly nasal snore. Donnie hoisted himself out of his chair with a chorus of protesting joints and slowly rounded the workbench. Silently, he regarded his sleeping woman, soaking in all the silly little details that caught his eyes—the freckles spattered across her skin, the flash of faded ink peeking up over her drooping neckline, the stubborn silver cowlicks sticking up at odd angles from her loosely bound hair—anything to remind himself she was still alive.

He shook his head in weary defeat. A full week after their desperate flight from Willsdale and every time he woke he still half-expected to find Amber cold to the touch, lifeless and painted in blood. Perhaps, he considered as he gathered her in his arms and made his way to their bedroom, this was one scar which would only be healed with time. Perhaps, he considered as he lay her across the neatly tucked quilt and curled up behind her, he could only conquer his fear of Amber's death by focusing on her life. Even as he tugged her flush against his plastron and groin and nuzzled into her neck, he couldn't erase the memory of her: bruised, bloody, and broken, and rapidly fading in his arms. He shuddered and sucked in a steadying breath of her scent.

She wasn't dead, she was alive now…it was enough…right?

Red Fern Florist, Noon

Normally, Red Fern Florist was a calm place – a quiet and classy establishment that just so happened to be run by people who didn't care about being quiet or classy. This, alas, was not a normal day, not even in the slightest.

Abilene Whitaker manned the register, eyes focused somewhere beyond the neon-streaked pages of her textbook and not registering a word. The backroom echoed with near-constant racket—crashes, curses, objects falling or being thrown… Abby sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and dragged herself off of the barstool to investigate. Sure enough, Mercy was stocking the shelves a tad too roughly…if by roughly one meant throwing the bags of supplies around like a spandex-clad steroid junkie at a WWE grudge-match smackdown.

"Alright, that's enough," Abby snapped at her blonde subordinate; Mercy froze, embarrassed grey-blue eyes meeting Abby's over a lean, hunched shoulder. "You've been stomping around and slamming things all afternoon. What on earth could be so horrible you've gotta torture the mulch?" Mercy cringed, fixing guilty eyes on the bag of mulch in her grip. Caught. "Well?" The blonde uttered a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, snorted, then slid the bag onto its shelf with more care than necessary.

"My man's ex is comin' by tonight," she admitted under her breath. "She's stayin' a few days."~

"WHAT?!" Abby squawked in protest. "He's bringing his ex over?! Aw, Hell naw! Girl, you drop that boy before I find him and punch him in the man-fritters!" Man-fritters?** Mercy couldn't help it – she sniggered at the visual – but her laughter faded into regret when she registered the rest of Abby's threat.

"No can do," she sighed, "it's kinda unavoidable." Abby crossed her arms, scrunched her lips into an almost exact replica of Leo's 'pissy leader pout,' and waited for an explanation. Mercy rolled her eyes, spearing her fingers into her hair and yanking. "Kimber…well, she's like me an' Amber," she explained under her breath. "Remember I told ya Amber…uh…went home for a few days? Well, she almost…um…didn't come back. Bitch-nipple's comin' over to see how long any of us can stay home without that happening. She invited herself, we voted, Raph lost, she won." Abby took a moment to let that sink in.

"Your guy tried to vote her off the island?" A grim nod from Mercy. "They broke up before she left, right?"

"…and she left before he an' I met," Mercy added even as she rolled her eyes.~ All the code-talk really got on her nerves but they had to be mindful of the security cameras. Abby leaned against the doorframe, lean shoulders at a sharp slant, and hazel eyes puzzled behind her fuchsia-streaked hair.

"You think she wants him back?" she asked quietly. "He won't…" She sucked in a nervous breath. "What if she tries to win him back?"

"You're kiddin', right?" Mercy scoffed. "He dumped her! He's been angsty as fuck over breakin' her heart, yeah, but I know'im—she could make all the moves she wants, he ain't gonna budge."~ Not to mention Kimber's still dead she added in her own head then shook it. After all, she was dead, too. The whole situation stank like a crappy soap opera. "I trust'im, Abbs," she added under her breath. "Raph chose me, not the Jersey-Devil-wannabe…jealousy's pointless when I already know the end result, an' that end result is he's with me."

Abby watched her a moment, scrutinizing and studying; just as suddenly as she issued the threat against Raph's genitals, she smiled. "You're a strong woman," the neon-haired clerk remarked lightly. "I ever heard one of Cherie's exes asking to stay, I'd bash the twat's teeth in. You need anything, you give me a call, alright?" Mercy nodded, halfway between a cringe and a grateful smile, and went back to the stocking. "So how are things going between you two, anyway?" Abby added taking up her share of the lifting. "You never bring him by, you never tell me much about him…how's he treating you?"

Mercy paused, brow furrowed, and scrambled for an answer that didn't make her sound like an absolute sap. She couldn't find one. "He makes me wanna listen to Faith Hill, watch him sleep, an' punch his ex in the teeth," she grumbled. The heat in her cheeks went nuclear at Abby's excited squeal.

"Oh-em-GEE!" the younger practically shrieked. "You love him!" Mercy shot her a sour glare.

"Woman," she groused, "shut yer ass – the bullshit's leakin' out."

The Lair, shortly after dusk   -   00:00:00  

Two weeks ago, Kimber Bryant faced down Leonardo and demanded the opportunity to make right the trouble she caused his family. Now she stood in the hallway, practically quaking in her mud-stained canvas sneakers, unsure how to proceed. It didn't exactly help that Leo was still glaring at her from behind and her other escort, Donatello, kept fiddling with the tablet strapped to his left forearm.

"Now remember, you've gotta keep the leads from getting tangled," the genius rambled without ever once looking at her. "A little perspiration shouldn't cause any unwanted interference—I insulated the outer casing well to deter any outside condensation or humidity finding its way into the monitor's internal components but there are limits." Kimber rolled her bottle green eyes over at Leo in hope of rescue from Donnie's babbling but received only a glare. "It's not fully water-tight," the genius continued with a shrug and 'meh' expression, still without even glancing her way, "so we'll need to cover it with a water-resistant dressing when it comes to bathing but other than that it—"

"Today, Donnie," Leo grumbled. The younger startled out of his thoughts, fingertips still poised on the holographic chart projected over his tech-tab. He blinked a few times in rapid succession as though refreshing his memory then turned to Kimber in question. From the looks of it, she seemed ready to chew her ankle off to escape the lecture. She really was so very different from Amber…how could they possibly be the same person underneath it all? Could a person's history and past choices really have that big an impact on their personality and attitude?

"Uh…right," he uttered with a wince. "Anyway, it's natural for your core temperature to fluctuate a certain amount over the day but if it drops too low, I'll get an alert. We may not have much time to get you back…so…" he trailed off in hopes she'd pick up the slack.

"Don't get comfy," she finished sourly. "Yeah, I got it. Git lawst."~ He crinkled his nose at her demand but said nothing; instead, he rolled his eyes in defeat and took off toward the lab.

"Remember our agreement," the eldest warned under his breath as he shouldered past her. "You have one chance, and you're to stay—"

"I got it, I got it," Kimber snapped in response. "Go dig t'at stick out'a ya ass before it gets stuck up t'ere."~ Other than a deep-chested growl of warning, Leonardo said nothing—he just stormed past her to some destination she didn't care to know. Rolling her eyes at his attitude, she made her way toward the light at the end of the hallway. The closer she came the more clearly she heard a familiar voice—a voice that still haunted her fondest dreams and worst nightmares.

Familiar laughter led her into the living area where two people were cuddled up on a lumpy sofa. The larger wore a familiar boyish grin that stole the breath right from her lungs. In her grip, the duffle-bag strap slid loose—sweaty palms, she realized. A fluttering, weightless sensation filled her veins—oh, no… 'Gawd dammit…why've I gotta still love'im?'~ She choked around the damned butterflies doing barrel-rolls in her gullet. Steeling her nerves, she shook off her mushy thoughts and turned the corner. 'It don't change nothin'—dead's dead, an' he never chose me anyway. It's better t'is way.'

Raphael…he looked so much the same and yet so different. His eyes shone with laughter where they once burned with distrust; his posture was relaxed where he always kept up a front before. Tucked into his side and 'narrating' the boxing match with absurd faked voice-overs was a tall, lean woman with short messy blonde hair. Kimber's lip ached to curl in a sneer as the blonde loosed a raucous laugh but she fought it back—Raph wasn't hers. If this…this woman in his arms was enough for him…well, she'd respect that. She only ever wanted to see him happy and by God, she'd do so, no matter how much it hurt.

One moment, everything in Mercy's world was perfect. There was a decent match on TV, Raph had 'bullied her' into not-cuddling with him, and for the moment they had no other obligations. As it always seemed to, though, everything fell apart in a single breath…a breath that carried a perfume of vanilla, sugar, and musk. The smell wasn't entirely unpleasant but it was strong enough to make her sinuses burn and her head hurt. Why must so many people marinate themselves in perfume and cologne?

As Mercy and Raphael turned to greet the newcomer in unison the arm around her waist slackened—bright golden hazel eyes widened—full, scarred lips fell slack in dismay. Those lips formed a single word—a name Mercy spent hours cursing that afternoon—but no sound came forth. Torn, she held her silence, eyes darting from Raphael to the stranger and back again almost desperately. She knew this moment would come, she just didn't realize how much she'd want to scream obscenities when it did.

The stranger broke the stare first, bottle-green eyes flustered behind their impeccable smoky eyeliner. She reached up to her modest neckline, grabbed at the pair of worn metal dog-tags at her chest, took a deep breath, then looked up again with a weak smile. "'ey, Raphie," she murmured in a voice still thick with smog. "Long time no see, huh?" The hulking mutant couldn't even get out a single word; he just nodded, his chin and lips unnaturally stiff. Even as he stared down Kimber Bryant he clenched his fingers even tighter to Mercy's waistband. Mercy glanced down at the sight of his three-fingered hand anchoring her in place by a belt-loop. Just that morning, she woke up with that hand tangled in the hem of her nightgown anchoring it at mid-thigh. She had nothing to fear.

She pried Raph's fingers loose, stretched an imaginary crick from her neck, and rolled off the sofa to her feet. "I'll catch up later," Mercy remarked with an entirely faked smile and made her way to the side door. "Compost prob'ly needs a turnin' 'bout now."~ On the way past, she silently took in what details she could, mentally comparing them. The other woman was her height but beyond thin and into skinny. Her hair was coarse—naturally red from the looks of it but with a texture similar to unraveled jute twine. A sharp glance told Mercy the other had practically no ass; no competition there. She rolled her eyes, punched in the security code to pass through, then let the door drift shut behind her.

Before she could get anywhere a pair of large, powerful hands snatched her by the shoulders, spun her about, and pinned her to the tunnel wall. "Why you leavin'?" Raph demanded sharply. His voice was barely below a shout but as so often before, Mercy saw underneath that posturing—she saw the suspicious shimmering in his eyes, the nervous tic in his jaw, the vulnerable hunching of his shoulders, and the lurching of his throat and plastron from frantic heaving breaths. Fear was the one thing he really had no reason to feel in this case but it was written all over him. She cupped his squared jaw, thumb tracing the scar splitting his lip.

"I ain't leavin', ya meathead," she corrected as he covered her hand with his in a frantic grip. "You were friends, right? Ya never got to say goodbye. I've seen how this's been tearin' you apart an' I'm sick of watchin' it."~ Her lips curled in a tease but it was entirely true—she was beyond sick of having another woman in their relationship, even a dead one. "Ya need closure, I get that—I'm backin' off so you can get it. Got it?" Raphael said nothing—he just stared back, visibly searching her words for subtext. When he finally spoke, what he asked made no sense.

"Why?" he demanded in a near-deadpan. Mercy wrinkled her nose but before she could speak, he continued. "Why're ya testin' me like dis? What've I done ta deserve dat?"~

"Testin' you?" Mercy shook her head and scoffed. "I'm not testin' ya, Red," she promised. "I know you and I trust you—you're not about to cheat on me with anyone, much less a dead chick, right?" He shook his head in agreement and his eyes softened; he belatedly released her hand, choosing instead to cup her cheek.

"I wouldn't do dat to ya," he confirmed gruffly. "I'd never…I promised not ta hurt ya an' I meant it…but…" He faltered, flustered and struggling to find the right words. "Dis ain't right…ya ought'a be pissed at me fer even lettin' 'er come here…heck, if dis happened to any other guy, he'd get slapped fer lettin' it happen!"

"You're not any other guy," Mercy reminded shortly, "an' I'm not any other gal. Jealousy won't help anything, it ain't healthy, and you weren't too keen on her comin' over, to begin with. I've got no reason to be mad at'cha, an' especially no reason to hit ya."~ Her eyes drifted back toward the side door, now closed, and she sighed. "I don't like it," she admitted as her hand drifted down to his thick neck, "but I know you need closure an' I trust you enough to not interfere."

Raphael said nothing—what could he possibly say?—instead, he took a step back, eyes wide. This wasn't the first time she professed her trust in him, nor would it be the last, but this utterance seemed the most improbable of all. Wait…no, there was one other moment even more unexpected—a recent moment, the moment he first witnessed Mercy Ross fall apart at the seams, right there in his arms.#

Tousled blonde hair spilled across his pillow like scattered straw. Unpainted lips, swollen from friction, panted around gasping breaths. Work-roughened fingertips clawed at the equally tough skin of his bare scalp and shoulders as he unleashed all his pent-up frustration on her finally bared skin.

   "I trust you," she'd promised only moments before. "When are ya gonna start trustin' yourself?"  

   "Ya shouldn't trust me," he'd blustered, but despite his denials, he caved to her temptation. He knew from the first breath it would take weeks to clear her pheromones from his lungs; he'd never forget the taste of her or her keening cries of completion. When the madness left her eyes and the fire dulled in his blood, Raphael knew he'd never be able to see his Mercy the same, nor would he ever cease to be humbled by her seemingly unshakable faith in him—trust he couldn't recall doing a damn thing to earn.  

That July, Raphael took a chance on happiness in the middle of an open rooftop—a single kiss followed by countless more, all sound-tracked with heavy metal. Ever since then, anytime he fell to the temptation of Mercy's lips, he lost himself completely. He wanted her—he needed her—he craved her—she was the air he breathed, vital to his very survival and responsible for every beat of his heart. Far below the filthy streets, in a dark passage forgotten by the world in general, he stole her lips and breathed her in reverence.

He loved her—loved her beyond the limits of his fears and follies—and that was why she knew he wouldn't let her down.

"So you two, huh?" Raphael ducked his head to avoid Kimber's eyes, hoping she couldn't see the traces of stickiness at his lips or the tenting of his patched trousers. She said nothing, choosing instead to examine the worn red tweed of the sofa arm she perched on.

"What of it?" he retorted slumping onto the seat at the opposite end of the couch.

"Looks like ya found a good one, 'at's all," she shrugged. He studied her silently a moment, searching for signs of deceit. In his heart, he knew this stranger was Kimber—his Kimber, the friend he threw away over his insecurities and fears—but her appearance was largely unfamiliar. Kimber was always on the chunky side of curvaceous but with an undeniable sex appeal. This new body was built like a scarecrow - all long limbs and frizzy hair - but underneath he could see the same sensual confidence Kimber had before she died. That sensuality was all Kimber - Amber lacked it completely, always coming across somewhere between odd and awkward. This woman, though visually unfamiliar, was definitely Kimber. Something in her eyes spoke of mischief…and regret. "Fer Gawd's sake," she swore under her breath and turned an acidic glare on him. He refused to meet it, locking his eyes on one padded and splayed knee. "I know t'a drill—I'm dead, not stoopid."

"Ya were never stupid, Kim, jus' stubborn an' naive," he protested but she waved him off.

"T'en quit lookin' at me like t'at." After a moment of resistance, he finally bit the bullet—he met her eyes. "Yeah, like t'at," the redhead grumbled, "like I'm gonna jump ya if ya take yer eyes off'a me or somethin'. I may be livin' in a homewrecker but t'at don't make me a homewrecker." This time, she was the one to hide her eyes.

A long, tense silence filled the room, broken only by the occasional sound from the Lab or utility room. In this unexpected but overdue moment, despite the drastically different appearance, Raphael saw Kimber as she was when they first met—not the over-confident temptress with the venomous smile and devil-may-care attitude but the lost, lonely, frightened runaway searching for her place in the world. Her new body was thirty-five if it was a year old, but she'd never looked more like a child to him than she did now. The night she turned Lefty and Northpaw over to the police and fell apart, Raph let the wrong head do the thinking and her heart suffered for it. So much heartache came from that one bad call—Kimber's death, too, was a result—how could he ever make it right?

"Rah-fay-el." The quiet – almost reverent – utterance of his name startled him from his brooding. Kimber faced the far wall but her eyes were locked on his askance. "Tell me t'a truth…did ya ever love me?" He blanched; she scoffed and picked at the faded red tweed covering the sofa. "I know we was close," she clarified in a soft tone void of accusation, "friends to be sure, but did ya ever love me like I loved you?"

He didn't answer—he couldn't answer, not around the painful lump in his throat. For so long, he wondered the very same. Loving Kimber, after all, would have made his betrayal a crime of passion rather than a bad move made in paranoid self-defense. Despite all his brooding introspection, though, he always came up with the same answer: he could have loved her, but he didn't…if he'd kept his head, maybe, someday, he could have loved her, but he didn't. "Exactly." Kimber's near-whisper broke his train of thought. "I knew ya didn't love me," she admitted even as her shoulders drew tight and her painted lips stretched in a sort of sneer. "I always knew it, I just t'ought…eh, no matter. I'm not gonna fuck up yer life again."

"I think ya got dat backwards," Raph pointed out dryly. "I fucked up yer life—I'm why yer…" He faltered, his throat clenching around the word as though to prevent him from voicing it. "Ya know," he settled for with a weak half-shrug, "like dis." Kimber watched him silently, eyes sharp enough to cut away his protective façade.

"Say it," she challenged. He flinched; she slid off the armrest and stalked over to face him, arms crossed in defiance. "Say it, Raph," she ordered, "ya know what I am—ya know t'a word, so use it. I'm…" She trailed off, one eyebrow cocked in expectance.

Raphael cringed. Of all the times he wished it was possible to completely withdraw into his shell, this was one of the worst so far. Weary hazel eyes drifted from Kimber's dirty canvas sneakers up her faded jeans and cotton blouse, up to her unimpressed eyes. "Yer…dead," he whispered as if confessing some great sin.

"Exactly," Kimber harrumphed and jabbed him between the eyes with one clear-lacquered fingernail. "Dead folks an' live folks jus' don't mix, ya muck-brained mawron.~ It wouldn't work an' I ain't about to waste my time tryin' ta make it work. Capiche?" He nodded, glaring up at her retreating back.

"Den why'd ya come back?" he asked, letting his hand fall back to his knee. "Dere had to be anutha way to test Don's theory, so why'd ya volunteer?"~ Kimber stilled in her pacing, carefully arranging her words before they could all spill out without concern for her feelings.

"I never got ta say goodbye," she admitted in a near-whisper, "not ta you, not ta Daron or Lefty, not ta anyone who mattered…but I've neva been t'at big on goodbyes anyhow, ya know?" Her voice cracked on the last words and she took a moment to compose herself. When she spoke again, she turned to the side as though watching him over her shoulder but her eyes remained hidden. "I made a lotta mistakes, Red—a lotta stoopid decisions t'at hurt a lotta people—an' much as I wanted to just stay dead, I lived ta regret every one'a t'ose decisions. T'at's why I came back…t'a fix t'a shit I broke an' atone for my sins. If t'at means stayin' here fer t'ree days while you an' Blondie play suck-face, so be it."

"Ya know you're puttin' yer life at risk, right?" Raph reminded, ignoring the suck-face comment. "Donnie ain't sure about da timing on dis thing, ya know. He an' the braided nutcase passed five days in her world but they weren't gone a whole three days, here. Who's to say ya'll have a full three days here? Who's ta say ya won't drop dead in an hour, or three hours, or even a minute from now?" He shuddered at the thought, his mind helpfully supplying several months' worth of nightmares to choose from, most of which ended with Kimber dying in his arms. "Ya froze, Kim, an' dat ain't an easy way to go; are ya really willing to risk goin' through it all over again?"

"It's my choice," she reminded with a stern expression reminiscent of an unimpressed schoolmarm. "No one asked me ta make t'at choice. Besides, see t'is?" She tugged her neckline aside to show him the small plastic device hung from her neck and the line of wire trailing down to her armpit. "T'is lil' t'ing's monitoring my core temp—we've got t'is covered. Trust me?"

Raph considered the plea a moment—for it was, indeed, a plea in every sense of the word—then gave a slow, reluctant nod. "I don't like it," he admitted in a throaty rumble, "but it ain't my job ta like it." There was much more to say, but for the moment, he hadn't words.

"Nope," Kimber agreed with a sly grin. "It's yer job ta help me give Daron a heart attack. What say we give'im a visit from t'a Livin' Dead Girl?" It was just a tease—just another excuse to ignore the elephant in the room—but for the moment, Kimber didn't care. She had more important tasks to focus on—messes to clean up, mistakes to correct, sins to atone for, and honor to regain. For now, the rest could wait.

  The Lair   -   00:35:00 and counting

Time stops for no man, people often said, and the same could be said for women. Never mind that Amber's cantankerous counterpart was staying in the Lair for the weekend…lurking around every corner…stinking up the place with her perfume…just waiting for a chance to bitch-slap Amber back into her place at the bottom of the food chain…

Amber shuddered at the thought and firmly shoved it into the back of her mind. Kimber Bryant made Amber all kinds of nervous but her presence didn't excuse Amber from her chores. There was too much to do—laundry to put away, studying to do, dinner to prepare— Something soft and furry brushed against her calf, startling her from her thoughts. "Right," she muttered as Kirk bypassed the laundry basket at her feet and hopped up onto Donnie's bed. "Gotta clean the litterboxes an' feed Kirkland too." After a mrrruhl of warning and a superfluous butt-wiggle said feline launched himself right into a pile of folded undergarments and began viciously mauling a sock big enough to double as an oven mitt. As he lay on his side, wrapped around the sock and kicking like a homicidal kangaroo, Amber sighed and shook her head in whimsical defeat. After how much she'd missed him she couldn't really be upset with the little murder-machine; cats, after all, would be cats, and socks could be darned.

"It's inevitable, Kirk," she teased as she hung a pair of patched canvas trousers in the frame-and-fabric 'closet.' "You're just gonna have to get used to sharing me with Donnie. I know I'm Mom but he's mine - you can't resent him forever." With an adorable cotton-muffled urrrr, Kirk glared at her over a mouthful of beige knit as if to say watch me. Ah, the jealousy of spoiled cats.

"Honestly, I'm lucky to have Donnie," she added to herself, doubts and worries filling her thoughts between wire hangers. Back before the dream connection was confirmed—before Donatello confronted her with his old Tonfa and confessed the name of her dead classmate—Amber could fool herself he wasn't the same Donnie she grew up with. She could tell herself that he didn't know all her dirty little secrets. He didn't watch her fall apart over the last few years of her life, partly from illness and her and partly from depression and apathy. He never heard how her poor choices in college may have led to the death of a classmate. He never knew she routinely slaked her carnal needs in impersonal encounters so her time with him in dreams could be focused on more important things than her hormones. If this Donnie wasn't her Donnie, then the mistakes of her past were only a secret to keep.

The problem was…now she knew this was her Donnie…and by the sounds of it, he remembered everything. Amber paused, fondling a strip of worn purple fabric. Even after countless washings, every one of those masks smelled strongly of his oddly comforting blend of coffee, machinery, musky exertion, and spice. "How can he even look at me, Kirk?" Amber murmured into the sweet-smelling fabric. "I screwed up with him so many times…I gave up on him, I – I gave myself up to other guys…how doesn't he hate me by now?"

This last question seemed the most perplexing. Sure, the purpose of those impersonal booty-calls was to shut up her hormones so her scant time with Donnie could be put to better use, but she always regretted them afterward. Regret, though, didn't count if a person intentionally committed the same crime over and over again, and she was guilty—guilty of closing her eyes, mentally replacing the other men with Donnie, and crying herself to sleep after they left. Regret was a weak word, really; what she felt wasn't weak. After all the time she spent hating herself for the infidelity, the idea that Donnie didn't hate her for it made no sense.

The dead silence tore her from her ruminations; odd, considering Kirk had a habit of 'answering' her every time she spoke.## After a quick glance at the bed, it was all she could do to keep from laughing. The little furball was out cold, wrapped around her favorite bra and snoring into one generous cup. The battered sock sprawled on the floor half under the bed—the enemy was vanquished. Chuckling at the absurdity, Amber crouched to retrieve the sock but paused when she noticed something wedged between the mattress and box spring. A warped silver wire binding, traces of green beyond the rings…surely she was mistaken, but it wouldn't hurt to check…right?

Amber tugged the notebook loose and promptly cringed in recognition. It was her journal, the one she hadn't written in for months then misplaced. Why was it jammed under the mattress like a nudie magazine? Curiosity drove her to investigate and she quickly discovered the litany of notes scribbled upside-down in the back. She quickly lost herself in the writing—questions and memories, hopes and fears Donatello couldn't bring himself to share with her, all centered around their years apart. Though she didn't dig too deeply, there wasn't a single word of blame or judgment anywhere—nothing that indicated resentment or disgust. Amber almost missed the sheet of loose-leaf that slipped out and fluttered to the floor—almost. The pencil-scribbled contents might have made her stumble if she hadn't already seated herself before. "I met my lover in a dream," she whispered in recognition.^ "That poem…I thought I lost it...I guess Donnie found it?" Soon enough, she hit the final lines:

Mibbe someday he will see –     Someday the truth I'll tell. For now, I've only memories,     And dreams I shot tae Hell.

Or, rather, those should have been the final lines—they were the last she wrote. Someone, however, clearly thought the poem wasn't finished and added their own verse…in pen…neatly printed by a familiar hand straddling the border between calculating and persnickety. "No way," Amber muttered thickly as she scanned the added verse, wide-eyed and breathless. "Naw fookin' way!"~ No matter how she protested, the words remained clear, impossible yet obvious. Still marveling at their presence—and at the subtext—she never heard the soft ticking of a distant clock, or the even softer inhale accompanying.

Dreams can sometimes fall apart,     And memories can fade. The truth you shared can't change my heart…     Your lover-friend I've stayed…

I'll see you in our dreams.  

There was no stopping it, no holding back: Amber crushed the paper to her pounding heart in elation. He remembered. He understood. He loved. Perhaps, even…he forgave?

Sometimes emotions are too powerful for words; fortunately for Amber, squealing unintelligibly required none.

UP NEXT: (Currently in-progress)

Chapter List

- The vital signs monitor – At first I wasn't quite sure if such a device was on the public market, at least aside from 'smart' devices like FitBit and such, so I did what I do best: I researched the fuck out of it for funzies. Turns out there are more varieties out there than I expected, each monitoring different signs in different fashions and to different accuracy levels. Since Donnie's never been the sort to simply COPY others' ideas, we can safely assume he's combined the best of several devices. The result is a small electronic monitor [about the size of a 9-volt battery] hung from the neck by a lanyard, which measures core body temp by way of leads attached to an adhesive-backed electrode stuck in the armpit. We can also assume fitting the device on Kimber was incredibly awkward because she intentionally MADE IT awkward.

* Full statement including what Amber's snoring cut off: "Ya be'n 'way too long 'gain, ya sook—nae be'n by fer a nip'er a bosie. Wha's a lass ta think?" – This little bit of Scotchness is a routine in-dream tease from Amber. You've been gone [from our dreams] too long again, you old softy—you haven't even come by for a kiss or cuddle. What's a woman to think?

** Man-Fritters – Alas, I cannot claim authorship of this little snigger-inducing euphemism. That honor belongs to author Mimi Jean Pampfiloff in her Accidentally Yours series. While the first two books were pretty recipe [if you know what I mean] they were HILARIOUS recipes. I'm not ashamed to admit that the scene in the first one where the heroine belts out 80's pop hits to keep sane made me laugh so hard I spewed my tea, CHOKED ON IT, then spent the rest of the day CROAKING. It was WORTH IT. (That said, the author also used a lovely little nonsense-word coined by my IRL friend Autumn back when we were in high school but didn't notate it. I'd encourage Autumn to stop starting word trends without first seeking a copyright but that'd mean I'd have to pay her every time I stole her stuff, heh.)

Also: Abby has no accent. She's intentionally warping the Oh, Hell no! in hopes of showing Mercy just how upset the news makes her.

# Implied smut – The encounter referenced here didn't make it to in-story occurrence BUT it took place during the Absolutes arc, which took up too much time-and-space for the intended back-and-forth between worlds. It's written up and included in the "Gallery of Memories" as The Blonde and the Beefcake and it can be found HERE.) It's almost entirely lemon, BTW. ;P

## Kirk tends to 'answer' Amber every time she talks to him – I am SO not basing this on our cat Heiferlump. Nope, not at all! …fine. Yes. Heifer responds to EVERYTHING she hears, no matter who says it, and it's rare to find someone she can't bait into answering back. She's particularly adept at getting my father to argue with her and routinely tries to argue with the microwave beeper. O_o It's awesome.

^ The Poem, "Dream Lovers" – I've not posted the entirety of the poem in any chapters or even the GoM installment of the same name. NOW, however, you can find the entire poem in comic format HERE, on this story's Here on Tumblr, OR on DeviantArt. The comic includes Donnie's additions and a small blurb of backstory leading to this scene, and the Tumblr/AO3 posts include a glossary for the many odd words used in the poem. For convenience's sake, I've included the translation of the included verse below.

Again, since Tumblr’s decided to be an ass about wordblock limits, see FFnet or AO3 for the glossary if anything throws you off.

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Imagine having a movie marathon with Mycroft, all nestled up in that chair. Possibly bickering over what movie they are going to watch next. Do with that as you like. :P

“Now we’ve already watched your fantastical murder romantic comedy ______ now its only fair that we watch one of my choosing,” Mycroft reminds you as you not too subtly go to reach through the pile of  DVDs for the next movie to watch next to the chair.

Stiffening at the accusation you’re a bit put out since you know that Mycroft has been out of country for well over a month and you want nothing more than to watch all your favorites with him but understand that Mycroft wants to see his shows as well.

Giving your best pout you inform your husband of almost three years that, “I wasn’t picking out the next movie sweetheart, just getting out your favorites and bringing them closer so you could figure out which one to play next.”

Mycroft does not look convinced as he gives you a “sure you were” look and holds his hand open to retrieve the believed favorites of his to choose from. “Be  a dear and fetch us another bottle of brandy from the cabinet while I peruse from this selection,” he asks placing his now empty glass on the ottoman before him.

“Of course,” you reply effortlessly as you whip off the blanket and press a kiss to his temple.

It had become somewhat of a tradition between the two of you-movie marathons when Mycroft returned from some unGodly  business dealings for the crown for months at a time to unwind and reconnect.

To reclaim he passage of time lost to work and other personal appointments and just relax as husband and wife.

At first there was hardly any movie watching at all with the pair of you unable to keep your hands to yourselves as the beginning title sequence droned on, later alcohol was involved making it still less movie watching versus commentary from all drunken parties involved along with some impromptu couch sex which had resulted in damaging the poor furniture but not replaced if for the sake of memory alone.

Now with more stability in the marriage and several promises hushed into the night after watching a spectacularly bad occult film at 2 a.m. in the morning the pair of you can appreciate movie marathon nights for what it really was intended for-to be together half naked and watch movies together.

The coldness on your bottom makes the trip rather short as you’d much rather be back under the covers next to Mycroft as you grab the bottle and go, feet slapping against the tiled floors heading back to the family room.

Mycroft, the cheeky bastard has already pushed play on his choice and has his glass held out. “Please miss, may I have some more,” he quotes so horrendously that you can’t help but snort as you open the bottle to pour.

“Babe you are drunk,” you giggle as Mycroft takes a good swig from the glass the second you finish pouring it.

He looks rather indignant at the statement picking up his blanket to go around his neck revealing his naked legs in the process, “Madame, I am many things but drunk I am not…I just happen to be pleasantly plastered.”

Mycroft’s smile is infectious as he then starts to slap the space beside him on the chair, “Come, sit with me my love.”

Considering that you’re not had as many as your husband you’re quick to remind him, “I will as long as you don’t try to recreate that sex scene in that B rated movie. Remember last time we had to call the doctor to help put your leg back into its socket without pain numbing medication because you were so wasted.”

“Of course not ____, I’m an older and wiser man,” Mycroft claims scooting over to make room, “I would never try to do that again.”

Skeptical but also wanting in on some of that warmth from your hubby you make the perilous trek of a few inches to be joined with Mycroft on the chair to continue with the marathon.

It takes a quick tick to get in position and naked skin on skin makes it oh so more distracting that by the time you do get comfortable on the chair you just barely fail to catch on to what is playing on the television.

“Mycroft this is the movie isn’t it,” you deadpan.

“It is.��

“And you’re not going to try and recreate the sex scene in it like last time right,” you ask apprehensively because truth be told you did not like being the somber one watching Mycroft wither in pain because he dislocated his leg trying to copy the leading actor.

“Of course not, I promised I wouldn’t,” Mycroft dismisses giving you a small sigh of relief before following up with, “at least not on the chair. I figured we could just try it on the floor like common heathens and then perhaps on the couch if you’re amendable afterwards during the credits.”

 Letting your head roll onto your husbands shoulder you try to stop smiling because you just know this will only lead to calling the family doctor once again but cannot help but be happy with the familiarity of it all.

“You know I’m always up for anything you want to do,” you say honestly, “but please, please don’t try to do it exactly as the actor does- we’re not exactly young anymore Mycroft. Some things are beyond our limits.”

“Now I wouldn’t say that _____ after all I was dealing with the Tibetan monks for well over a month and they did teach me a few things,” Mycroft says ominously.

“Mycroft.” 

[swtorramblings]

Helplessness Part 2: Slumber

Art commissioned from @fleeting-sanity. And thank you again. Sorry to drag you away from the Tiralls or your space hubby.

Vaylin has collapsed in the Odessan wilderness, and the least likely candidate to bring her home has found her at her mother’s request.

I Shall Save Myself - Chapter List

1306 words. Part of “I Shall Save Myself”, beginning with The Final Chain Last chapter: Helplessness Part 1: Not What I Was Next chapter: Helplessness Interlude: Awakening

At first, Koth had responded as anyone who knew him might expect, with, “Hell, no!” But, he had to admit, Senya owing him a favor was appealing. And, if it turned out she did not owe him a favor, maybe that would be all right, too.

He flew out to the area and began his search pattern. If nothing had eaten her, dead or alive, it shouldn’t take more than a few hours, and most of the work could be done automatically. It was a bit after midday when the sensors picked her up.

As he took over flying the craft, he saw an adult acklay standing nearby, sniffing at her. Maybe he wouldn’t have to do anything. He couldn’t be blamed if a monster ate the monster. Then, the creature sniffed her again, looked up to where Koth was setting down, and walked off. Koth could swear that it was basically telling him, “My work is done, she’s all yours.”

Of course the massive predator liked her.

He reached her side and very carefully checked her vital signs. He had been assured she wouldn’t harm him, but for one thing, he didn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen anything that convinced him she had changed from the murderer she had been. Two, even if she had changed she might lash out if he startled her. Either way, it would not go well for him.

She seemed to be just deeply asleep. Breathing and heart beat were regular. She occasionally snorted or mumbled something inaudible. Vaylin was completely at his mercy.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He looked at the blaster rifle in his hands, that he’d taken down to chase off the local wildlife. That he couldn’t deny he had thought to use for another purpose. Why should he deny it? She deserved it. He slung it on his back. He could have let her die, maybe, payment for everyone she had killed. Revenge for Torian, who had been a good man. He could kill her if she was an immediate threat. He could not kill her like this, and now that he was here, he couldn’t even bring himself to leave her.

After he had, very carefully, settled her into a cot in the back of the ship, he fixed himself dinner. The search had taken several hours, and between that and the stress of having to look for his Emperor’s lunatic daughter he was famished. He also downed a gulp or two of light ale. He was very much on edge, but he needed to be able to stay focused, too.

He had found a pair of lightsabers on her belt, which he relieved her of. The couldn’t work, could they? Surely no one would arm her? He locked them up, just in case.

He sat and stared at her, the former tyrant. The mass murderer. It would be impossible to tell her crimes looking at her right now, but he knew. Knew very well. The entire family was treated too kindly. Even Senya should have been locked up after flying off with the Prince. Her children should both be dead. At least Vaylin was watched closely, her brother had somehow become a trusted member of the Alliance.

He realized that the sun was getting low and he hadn’t reported in. He turned to the control console and prepared to make contact. He looked back briefly, and realized that Vaylin was looking at him.

He couldn’t help himself. He jumped back in a moment of panic and drew his blaster pistol, pointing it at her. She sat up, but she made no move to defend herself. She didn’t even reach for where her weapons had been. She just continued to look at him with those cold blue eyes.

Not that she needed a lightsaber to kill him. He re-holstered his blaster. He took it as a good sign that neither of them was dead.

“You’re pretty sure of yourself, Princess.”

She blinked at him sleepily. “No, I’m not. But if you were going to hurt me, I couldn’t stop you. I was rash. Again. I used myself up and I’m too tired to fight. But I’m told you’re a good man. Thinks too highly of my father, but a good man.”

“After what you’ve done, why wouldn’t a good man finish you while he had a chance?”

“How would I know? I’ve never claimed to be either.”

He stared at her. Was she really so weak? And how could she be so flippant? “Do you even feel anything about what you’ve done? The lives you destroyed?”

She smirked up at him. He had walked over to her. His hand was back on his blaster. “Not a bit. I replay the screams of everyone I’ve ever killed and it comforts me. Is that what you want to hear?”

He shouted down at her, “Why would I want to hear that?”

That smirk was gone. She glared at him and shouted back, sounding again like the mad tyrant. “Because it makes you feel better! Justified! Righteous!” She looked away, her voice lowered. “As if you needed more reason.”

Koth gritted his teeth. “You sound like you want me to kill you. Why are you goading me?”

“I’m broken. Haven’t you heard? I sometimes want to hurt people. I sometimes want to be hurt. That was made part of me. Sometimes, I even try to not be what they made me. I usually fail.”

“What are you talking about?”

She smiled again, slightly. “You really don’t know? Oh, what you must think of me.”

“I think you’re a monster.”

“I am. Very much. Right now declawed, but still dangerous. I’m thinking right now of what I might do to you if I were stronger. And hoping I wouldn’t, but I don’t really feel guilty about it. How can I be anything but a monster? Before I collapsed, I actually felt happy. How can anyone but a monster feel happy, even for a moment, after what I’ve done? Arcann never feels happy, maybe content every now and then, but then even that’s gone. Mother rarely feels happy, and she deserves it more than either of us. She was weak, but she tried. I hate her for it, but she tried.

“So, kill me, because I deserve it, or take me home.”

He backed away. He wanted to ask what had made her this way, but this wasn’t the time. He would find out later. Instead, he asked, “And you don’t feel guilty about any of it?”

“No. Why?”

“What was all that, then?”

She could not answer for a moment. “You really are a good man, aren’t you? Thank you, Koth.”

“It’s the least I can do. This isn’t over. But, for now, I’ll take you home. At least Senya will owe me a favor.”

“What? Mother sent you?”

“Yeah, that’s what the Commander said.”

“What did I ever do to her? Well, lately?”

He wasn’t getting involved in that, so he turned away and prepared the ship for take off.

She spoke behind him. “You called her Senya?”

“What? It’s still her name, isn’t it?” He turned for a moment and looked at her. She was grinning up at him, a look he had never seen on her, a look of genuine amusement. Like she was bursting to tell him a great joke.

“She is your Empress, you know.”

“I will never call her that.”

“She hates it.”

“What?”

“Being called Empress. She haaates it.”

He thought about that. Of course she hated it. She was always in charge, but hated people thinking of her as being in charge. He mouthed the words, “Yes, My Empress.” Imagined her reaction. For the first time all day, a slow smile grew on his lips. He said more loudly, “Thank you, Princess.”

“The least I could do.”

[pandabearlikes]

Temporary Affairs

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17  

Chapter 13. Resolution       

  2017 was coming to a close.  Since your foot was still healing, you were imprisoned in the four walls of your living room.  Silently, you watched as your fiancé sprinted from the kitchen with a slice of pie.  Oh, how much you just wanted to touch your feet against the tiled floors.

  “Try it,” Jongin suggested, holding up a spoonful of pie. 

  You took a bite and instantly your face scrunched up.  Okay, so no one’s perfect.  Jongin’s shoulders slumped back in defeat.  He stood up with the plate hovering over the trashcan. 

  “NOOO!” you hollered, leaning over to grab his arm. 

  “But it’s not good,” he spoke. 

  You grabbed the plate, placed it on your lap, and stuffed a spoonful of pie into your mouth.  It was so terribly bitter but you suppressed your urge to spat it out instead you quickly gulped it down. 

  “It’s delicious!” you lied. 

  “Really?  I made more,” Jongin exclaimed, happily running back into the kitchen.  Crap.  But love is love and love has no taste buds. $#%#%@@%@     

  So you gobbled down another slice of the sweet potato pie, still unable to comprehend how your fiancé had the talent to turn something so sweet into this insane bitterness.  He must be a genius.  That’s exactly it. 

  “It must be really good.  Let me try some,” he said, taking the spoon from you. 

  “Nooo…” you warned but he had already stuffed it into his mouth. 

  You snorted and fell over in laughter when his complexion paled.  His eyebrows furrowed and he trudged over to the garbage can to spat it out. 

  “You lied,” he accused, still hovering over the trash bin. 

  “What? It’s good,” you said stubbornly as you demonstrated by eating another slice. 

  He moved the plates aside and sat on the coffee table to look directly into your eyes.  He’s so, so handsome.  Okay, focus, ________ah.  FOCUS. 

  “Why are you staring at me?” you asked with a spoon dangling from your mouth. 

  “You’re so in love you can’t even distinguish between bitter and sweet anymore,” he concluded.  Spot on. 

  You shook your head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I think you need to get your taste buds check”.    

  Giggling, you licked up the rest of the plate and slurped the spoon.  Outside, fireworks started to blast in the distant.  You turned around to look out the window.  It was such a pity that you couldn’t watch outside due to your leg injury, but as long as Jongin was with you nothing else mattered.           

  “Hehe,” you cutely mumbled.    

  Your fiancé wrapped his arms around you from behind; swaying you from side to side as the official count down began.  You turned around to look at the fireworks through his eyes.   

  Ten.

  Nine. 

  Eight.

  Seven.

  Six.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  One. 

  Automatically, your lips were on top of his.  His fingers laced through your hair as you sucked on his lower lip.  Abruptly, he backed away.  You looked at him hurt by his rejection but upon seeing his disgusted expression, you threw your head back laughing.  Jongin wiped his lip with the back of his hand. 

  “Seriously, Jagiya, that pie is so, so bitter”, he complained. 

  “Heehee,” you smiled foolishly at him. 

  “But I guess love has no boundaries,” he chuckled then leaned in to kiss you again.  Did he just admit that he liked me? @%$@%#$#%  Breath, _________ah, breathe. 

  Swinging his arms around, you asked, “Oppa, what are your resolutions for 2018?” 

  “Marry a beautiful wife,” he replied bluntly, pecking you on your nose.

  Your face turned red.

  “How about you?” he asked.  Marry a handsome hubbie. <3

  “Hmm…maybe just be less stressed out about others’ opinions,” you said thoughtfully.

  “That’s a good one,” Jongin replied, nodding in agreement. 

  “Also, maybe paint more..?” you said unsure. 

  “That’s a good one too,” he replied, fixing your hair so that it didn’t cover your face.

  “But I don’t know if Appa will like it…” your head hung low and your voice diminished.

  Your fiancé sighed, “And there you go again…”

  You pouted so he caressed you in his arms. 

  “After we get married, I’ll open an art gallery for you,” he promised. 

  You melted into his chest like a puddle of de-thawed snow.         

  ----

  Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye and you were finally up and running again.  Throwing your pretty pink flats on, you skipped happily out the door.  It was January 14th, which was Kim Jongin’s birthday.  You wanted to give him a surprise by stopping by his office to present him with a bento you spent the whole morning preparing. 

  As you stepped into Bliss Communications, the staff recognized you and started to greet you but you held your finger up to your lip.  They nodded understandingly, muffling back giggles as they fangirled about you two lovebirds.  Biting your lip, you slowly inched your way to Jongin’s office, making sure that he didn’t spot you through the glass windows.  As you got to the door, you lifted your hand to knock but froze in place.  From the window, you saw the silhouette of a woman.  Your eyes narrowed.  She advanced toward your fiancé, wrapped her arms around his neck, and…kissed him on the lips.  Your eyes widened in terror.   The wrapped bento box fell out from your hands, shattering onto the floor.  The noise alerted Jongin’s attention.  Immediately, he pushed the girl away and rushed to the door.  But you’re already gone, running into an elevator. 

  Seconds felt like minutes and minutes dragged like hours.  The room spun in front of you and you almost willed it all to be a dream.  Because you opened your heart vulnerably to a man you fell in love with and you had every reason to believe he felt the same.  But…he doesn’t. 

  As the door closed, you saw a frantic Jongin appear, calling after you.  Tears rolled down your eyes.  You knew it was too good to be true.  All the surprises, gifts, and confessions were all lies.  At the lobby, you swung the revolving door with so much force, you almost smashed yourself on the cheek.

  The cold winter storm grazed your face but you ignored it, running as fast as possible away from the man you loved.

  I should have known.  I should have known better than to believe that a rich, handsome, perfect man like him would fall for someone as flawed as me.  I should have known better than to believe his sudden 360-degree change didn’t come without a motive.     

  “Jagiya!”  Kim Jongin’s voice cried out.

  Wiping the tears from your face, you turned around to see how close he was, but because your attention was elsewhere, you failed to see the random bump of the sidewalk.  You crashed down hard against the pavement, scraping your right palm.  Your ankle throbbed as well and you could have sworn you had re-injuried your old wound.  As you desperately tried to get up, Kim Jongin caught up to you. 

  “Jagiya!  Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing your bleeding hand.

  Instantly, you slapped him across the face, your blood smeared on his cheek.  He froze in place and you began to attempt to stand up again.  As soon as you do, a splitting pain ran down your leg and you crumpled onto the floor again.  Straightaway, Jongin swooped you up into his arms.  You thrashed around, punching him in the chest. 

  “I hate you.  I hate you, why did you do this to me?!” you cried, clawing at his shirt. 

  Finally, he placed you down on a bench.  Your head hung low as you sobbed.  Jongin lifted your face up so that you were staring directly at him. 

  “Listen to me,” he demanded and you reward him with another slap. 

  “Were you using me because your father’s company needed our help?  All that marriage shouldn’t be business bullshit that came out of your mouth was all a lie,” you shouted bitterly. 

  “No, no I would never use you, Jagiya,” he tried to persuade, holding tightly onto your arm so that you couldn’t leave.

  “Then explain to me why you were kissing Lee Sohee just now!” you hollered, kicking your legs around.

  “Babe, stop moving your leg, your ankle is hurt,” he warned, gripping your leg in between his so that you would stay still.

  “You really should audition for Hollywood,” you said bitterly. 

  “______ah, Sohee and I broke up months ago!  As soon as I realized I was falling for you, I broke things off with her,” he desperately tried to explain. 

  With tears uncontrollably streaming down, you stared into his eyes and said, “Kim Jongin, I loved you.  Why?”

  He wrapped his arms around you and said, “_______ah, I love you too.  Please, listen to me”. 

  You kicked him in the shin with your injured foot.  Jongin grimaced in pain but your leg also throbbed in anguish. 

  “Jagiya, I didn’t kiss her.  She kissed me.  She didn’t want to break things off,” he tried to explain but you shook your head repeatedly. 

  “Kim Jongin, I don’t ever want to see you ever again,” you said. 

  Your heart shattered into pieces and for a moment you wondered if you were really dying because every part – every inch of your body felt like raw flesh soaked into vinegar. 

  “No, please don’t do this to me,” Jongin begged, his eyes bloodshot from crying as well. 

  Turning around, you stared into his soul and firmly said, “Kim Jongin, I won’t marry you.  I will never marry you”.      

    a/n: YAY DOUBLE UPDATE ~dances around~

  But they broke up.  Oops.  Um…well at least I gave you guys fluff in the beginning of the chapter before it ALLL PLUMMETED DOWN AND EVIL AUTHOR SHOWED UP.  BAHWHWWHWHWHAHHEHA ۞_۞

  I’m currently under food coma LOL so sleeeepy.  ;p from now on I won’t accept exam for early update unless you add in a sexy pic of Kim Jongin jkjkjkjk <wait, is that a double negative?  ~wiggles eyesbrows~ LOL OMG I’M SO SLEEPY, excuse me.   

[gay-farming-simulator]

All Your Perfect Imperfections

(I got hit with the writing bug again tonight, decided to whip up a short one-shot featuring my main farmer and her hubby, as I’d intended to do so long ago. I hope you guys enjoy, I suppose this was a rather self-indulgent fanfic, but it makes me feel better. Having reassurance and someone who understands how badly loud noises startle me is something I really want in my life, and I guess right now the best I can manage is this fluffy little fic…I like how it turned out though. Anyways, enough of my rambling, on with the show.)

Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9854066

Bizi knew she wasn’t the best cook in the world. It was a fact; it was just a legit fact she’d known her entire life, or at least, from the moment she’d burned the potatoes at Thanksgiving, and that she’d constantly left a numerous amount of grilled cheeses unattended and come back to find them burnt.

So, why was she in the kitchen now, of all places? And with a plethora of ingredients spread out on the counter? Well, simply put, it was her husband’s birthday, and at the moment, he was out at the beach. She saw this as the perfect chance to surprise him with his favorite meal of crab cakes for lunch when he came home later.

Now, I have the recipe…if only I had the smarts…

She hummed, cracking open an egg over the bowl and tossing the shell aside. Every now and then she paused to take a peek at the recipe, just to make double sure she was getting everything right. Regardless of having recipes at her attention, she just always seemed to fail at following them properly, whether it was misreading or missing a detail. Even with the various dishes she’d cooked in the years she’d lived by herself, none of them had quite ended up perfect yet.

Yeah, she didn’t think her cooking was that awful, it was definitely an improvement over how badly she used to do. Maybe her tastebuds were just too used to the burnt, hard meals she’d produced. But this was different; this wasn’t just a meal for her, this was a meal for Elliot too. He’d never said bad about her cooking, but she did feel a little upset for him having to constantly put up with her scorched meals, some of them almost looking like they’d had flamethrowers taken to them.

That’s why she was determined to get this one right. Especially since it was Elliot’s birthday.

By now, most of the ingredients were already in the bowl. The only thing left it seemed…was the crab.

Ugh. Bizi wrinkled her nose as she picked up a knife, and picked up the small, slimey half of crab she’d wisely chosen to slice off earlier. It was better to get the worst part over with, at the least, all she had to do was mix them in. But even that seemed like a tedious process.

It wasn’t as awful she thought, once all the crab pieces were in, she searched the cabinets for a whisk. Of course, it was in the highest cabinet, so she found herself having to stand on her tiptoes to reach, even though she was fairly tall. Grunting, she climbed halfway onto the counter, just barely reached the spot where the cooking utensils were conveniently kept.

At this same time, the front door to the farmhouse opened and she could hear Bailey barking excitedly as a pair of footsteps padded across the wooden floor. A small smile crossed her face as she came down from the counter, now holding the whisk.

“Bizi?” An accented voice called out, followed by a short chuckle with some barking mixed in. The barking obviously coming from Bailey, because if it was coming from Elliot, that would just be weird.

The dog was all but jumping over the long haired man as he entered into the kitchen, smiling upon seeing his wife. She was holding the bowl and mixing in all the ingredients, though this didn’t stop her from greeting him with a kiss as he approached her. “Hey babe, have a good time at the beach?” She smiled back at him, turning to the counter to set the bowl down. Elliot stooped to pet the fluffy pooch still bothering him and sat at the kitchen table, reaching down to take his shoes off.

“A very nice time, actually. I watched the waves come and go, just like old times.” he stated, having to set his shoes on the table to avoid having them being ripped to shreds by the dog still bouncing around the kitchen. “Have you been alright here, by yourself?”

“Me? Yeah, I’ve been great!” Bizi finished whisking and set the batter-covered whisk down on the counter. “I managed to get all the crops watered and fed some of the animals. Lucky for me, Cluckers decided to be nice enough to drop some eggs for me.”

She beamed, gesturing towards the bowl.

“I kinda needed ‘em, you know…”

“Ah, I see.” Elliot raised a dubious eyebrow upon noticing his wife was attempting cooking, but tried to remain as polite as possible. He had to admit, he was still a little scarred from her attempts at their first meal together as a married couple, which had basically been a very-burnt steak and raw potatoes. Granted she was a much better cook now, but she still had room for improvement.

She seemed to read his thoughts and snorted, placing a hand on her hip.

“Doubting my cooking skills, are we?” she teased. “Well, maybe I’ll just pour all this down the sink then….”

“No need for that, darling. You know I like your cooking as much as anyone.”

“Aha, see, you said 'like’! 'Like’! Not love, I wonder why?”

“I think you know why.” Elliot crossed himself, leaning back in his seat. “You aren’t a bad cook, dear, but I’d daresay not even Bailey likes your food.”

“Ooh, touche.” Bizi picked up an oven mitt, shooting him a coy smile. She noticed said-dog was gnawing away at his own food bowl, shaking her head before turning her attention back to pouring the batter into a pan. Elliot eyed her with curiosity, now leaning back forward to get a better look at what she was doing.

“Just what lovely creation are you making?” he inquired. She looked back at him, as she finished scraping the last bit of batter into the pan.

“You’ll have to wait and see.” she answered, giving a small wink.

“Aw, not even a hint?”

“Nope.”

“Bizi, I’m astounded.” Elliot pretended to look offended, but quickly laughed. “No, really. Whatever is darling, I’m sure it’ll taste wonderful.”

“I hope it does. I’ve worked my ass off in this kitchen for at least two hours now trying to get this recipe right.” Bizi grumbled, setting the bowl down. “If these things burn I swear I’ll just–I don’t know, I’ll probably chuck 'em out the window or something.”

“I wouldn’t be too doubtful.” Elliot got up from his seat, carrying his shoes with him. He placed another kiss on his wife’s cheek, causing her to lightly blush. “Maybe you’ll have some luck this time.” He turned to leave.

“I’ll be in my study, I’ve still got a chapter that needs writing.” he said. “Let me know when lunch is ready, dear.”

“Will do, captain.” Bizi saluted him as he left, then turned back to the oven. It was all pre-heated, it seemed, so she picked up the pan and opened the oven door, having to lean back to avoid getting her glasses fogged up. Regardless of this, she found herself having to take her glasses off to make sure she was putting the pan in correctly.

Since the crab cakes were in the oven, she turned her attention towards the stack of dirty dishes on the counter, those dishes mainly being the batter-covered whisk and bowl, and the little measuring cups. Sighing, she heaved the small items into the sink, and moved to pick up the bowl.

As she was about to put the bowl into the sink, she yelped at seeing a stray crab leg still in it and gagged, moving swiftly to the trash can to dispose of it. In her haste, she didn’t notice Bailey the dog had finished his meal and was now trotting in the same direction she was watching, right under her legs.

It was debatable what was louder; the bowl breaking, the dog yelping, or Bizi’s scream, as both the human, dog, and the ceramic object hit the floor. Despite only one of these breaking, Bizi still found herself unable to get up. Her knees remained glued as she pushed herself up the best she could, and she gasped at seeing the broken bowl.

No, no, no, no…

Her hands shook as she moved to grab a broken piece, and even Bailey whimpered in concern.

Now the moment Elliot had heard the loud crash in the kitchen, he instantly set his pen down and looked up, not hesitating to make his way across the house and into the other half. It was commonly known his wife was a klutz, probably the queen of the klutzes. It wasn’t uncommon to hear something breaking, shortly followed by her panicked scream.

He entered into the kitchen, where he found her on the floor, on her knees, scrambling to pick up the pieces of broken bowl, her arms visibly shaking. When she looked up at him, he was astounded to see her eyes were red and puffy, like she’d been crying. She quickly wiped the tears still on her face and sniffed, scrambling to pick up the pieces once more.

“I–I’m so-sorry, I’m sorry, I tripped.” she quickly apologized, her shaky tone causing Elliot grief. He sighed, and grabbing a dustpan, walked to her, kneeling down to help. Her arms still shook violently and she kept dropping the ceramic pieces, so she ended up watching as he scooped the broken pieces into the pan.

“Ba-babe, I’m sorry…” He didn’t respond as she apologized again, but instead of getting up, sat the pan aside, reaching to take her quivering hands into his. He sighed sadly, gently rubbing her calloused hands with his more-smoother fingers.

“My love…” he mumbled, looking up at her with an equally-as-sad smile. “Please, don’t cry. You did nothing wrong, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I kn–I know, I know…” She hiccuped, looking down from him. “I just can’t help it…I told you how my dad was, you know how he was. I just get so scared you’re going to flip out on me one of these days.”

“But I won’t, you know that.” He squeezed her hands, then released one of them to lift her chin up, to face him. It broke his heart to see how puffy her face was, and he shook his head, brushing a tear aside with his thumb. “I promised you that, I know how you are with yelling…I swore I’d never treat you that way, you deserve better.”

“You’re just saying that…” Bizi mumbled, pushing herself back to stand up, though remained seated with her legs crossed. “One of these days you’re gonna get mad at me, I’ve broken so much of our crap and burnt so much food…why haven’t you flipped out on me yet? Seriously, you’ve got the patience of an angel…”

“It’s simple, love.” Bailey ran between, as if he were escaping a crime scene. Elliot scooted a bit closer, re-taking her hand in his. “After everything you told me, I could never imagine myself treating you that way. You’re my wife, and even if you are clumsy…” She smiled a bit, as he caressed her hand.

“And a bad cook. But that’s not why I fell in love with you.”

“Oh, and why did you marry me?” Curiously, Bizi eyed him, brushing back another tear from her eye. Elliot thought for a moment, and lifted her hand, placing a tender kiss on it.

“Because you’re the only one who ever really understood my dreams.” She didn’t respond, though her already-flushed cheeks went a little deeper and she looked down.“You share my imagination, and you inspire me. You’ve fought and worked hard to be a better person, and I admire that.”

Bizi’s smile now broke out into a grin, albeit a flustered one. Her face flushed even deeper.

“Ah…hey, seriously…you…you’re a dork, you know that, right?” she mumbled, covering her face with her free hand. It was now her husband’s turn to grin, and he shrugged, looking up in amusement.

“Well, you do tell me that everyday…” he mused. “I think I know by now, yeah.”

“Aw, cut that out.” Playfully, his wife punched him in the shoulder, causing him to let out a small gasp. “I’m supposed to be the sassy spouse here, remember?”

“Well aware, dear.”

“Good.” She heavily sighed, flopping both hands in her lap. “Well I dunno about you, but I think I wanna get off this floor before I decide I like it here. How about you?”

“It does sound more appealing.” Elliot agreed, and grabbed onto a chair nearby to support himself. He held out a hand to help his wife to her feet, although she stumbled a bit before regaining balance. Even after gaining balance, though, she still found herself wobbling forward, thankfully, Elliot caught her before she hit the floor again, or even the table this time.

“Whoa. Hey. I’m okay.” she gasped, and looked up at her husband. “Thanks.”

He smiled back at her as she stood back, but she stood back, looking down at the pan. She surveyed the broken pieces of bowl, and her gaze went back to him.

“Sorry about the bowl…” she murmured.

“It was just a bowl, dear, I’m sure we can replace it.” he reassured her, going to pick the dustpan. “I care more about your well-being much more than a broken bowl, because unlike that bowl, you’re irreplaceable.”

“Geez, aren’t you just the cheesiest…”

“I mean it. I’d rather have a hundred broken bowls than having to see you upset.”

“Well okay babe, but you’d be paying for all those bowls, just know that.” Bizi joked, leaning back against the counter as Elliot disposed of the bowl bits into the wastebin. “I’m not about to spend all my hard-earned money on some frickin’ ceramics.”

“Understood, love.” Though he sighed, he smiled over at her. He walked back over and took her by the hands again, pulling her close. Brushing a strand of her short brown hair back, he looked her over. Though still slightly flushed, she was smiling now, and he could see no tears present. Noticing how he looked at her, she tipped her head at him, lifting an eyebrow.

“What are you looking at?” she asked. A soft chuckle emitted from behind his lips, and he tipped his own head, cupping her cheek in his hand.

“Oh…nothing.” he said. “Just my wife, who’s not frowning anymore. I like her when she’s like this, especially when she’s smiling. It makes her look so much more lovely.”

Bizi opened her mouth, about to tease him for his cheesiness again, but instead, just laughed.

“You…god, thanks for the reminder of why I fell in love with you…” she mumbled, before the two exchanged a lingering kiss. As if to intrude on the moment, the timer happened to off behind them, blaring loudly through the small kitchen.

This, however, did not seem to interrupt the moment at all.

[refusemyreality-blog]

The Word of the Year

To start this is not a false story. It’s fake. 2017 allows me to repurpose this word. Here’s why I will:

For four years, I’ve been interviewing my sister while she was living and dying with cancer. She died on my birthday 2017. 

She permitted me to write about what we talked about. Ostensibly, I have her husband’s permission. But what she really wanted me to write about was her life so her two children would know her and remember her.

The night she died it became clear I had to limit, maybe even stop, writing publicly about my dying sister and about burying her, unless I wanted to lose members of my family. Writing about trauma and family stuff uncovers all the unhealed soul wounds we carry from growing up. 

So while I was fulfilling promises that I made to her, to bury her and write about her, inasmuch as her husband and kids benefited, it all cracked open.

My birthday weekend, I executed what had started two years earlier. I buried her. That is to say, I carried out her burial plans, which I’d  helped her talk about with all those who thought a natural burial was weird. A few weeks before I’d helped her husband pick a plot and negotiate as a natural a burial as a poor family can afford -- still cheaper than cremation, btw.-- I ordered her plain wood coffin.  My husband and I transported it across state lines the Friday before Halloween. (Drive the speed limit, hubby. The police will never believe this is not a colossal prank.)  I helped obtain and file the death certificate. I orchestrated washing and wrapping and preparing her body. 

I could not have done that alone. I had my husband, her husband, some siblings. We took heat for this burial.  

This is like “Weekend at Bernie’s” dripped off a couple of tongues with a condescending tone. Don’t you get the insult, the para-language inflected. My bro-in-law shrugged it off. He’d just lost his wife. He didn’t need to “baromet” the implied “this is tacky and low-class.” So I took the brunt of it because I was the face of the process. 

Burying someone green and inexpensive is “not natural” by our family’s new upper middle class standards.  It’s not what we do... any more. We clawed our way out of the trailer park. We can pay for someone else to do it. Proper middle class people snot through boxes of tissue and “celebrate life.” We pretend that is an universal, classy approach to death.. Until we all evolve to immolate our bodies and then strap our children with what to do with the ashes. That’s the new middle class way.

It’s hard to admit you grew up trailer trash when now you rub elbows with the hoity-toity classes in the capital, in your company, in your church, at your alma mater or with your administrators. 

“Fake” took on a new meaning in 2017. According to NPR (losing you there, aren’t I? Dead give-away that I’m not a good tumblr.), “fake” now means “I refuse your reality.” 

The lines in most memoirs risk bleeding truth and “fakeness.” Memoirists should aim to true, but anyone can reject that reality.

 I tried writing true this year, but it hurt people I love. They needed to refuse my reality, because, hey, I was writing about our dead sister and how we grew up living trailers, wearing hand-me-downs while eating home-grown or donated food. We have some family secrets and a fundy religious background that is a bit whack-a-do.

But what is truth when it comes to one person’s memory? When Pam Houston (see the book Cowboys Are My Weakness) taught my non-fiction workshop, she defended the deliberate and accidental alteration of details in memoir for the purpose of story telling. My ethical side, which thinks it’s godlike and sits like a ten pound gargoyle on my shoulder, wanted to gnash her up and spit her out.

I want to write the real me, as Mary Karr praises in The Art of  Memoir. But the real me fits this description (that Mary wrote of me, because she is psychic or intuitive though we haven’t met yet.) 

Unless you’re a doubter and a worrier, a nail-biter, an apologizer, a rethinker, then memoir may not be your playpen. 

The conflict between my writing and my disposition leave me with these choices: Quit writing to placate the objections. (This would be to lie about who I am what gives me life.) Write on and piss them off. Or go under a pen name and work this shit out until I have achieved another principles of Karr’s, which is to say I should be curious, exploring my inner mind, my doubts, my failings, interpretations through what happened. This is more about sorting my junk out than dishing on others.

This story is truth from inside my guts: subjective, limited. You’ll get my version vetted by those who know me enough to call my crap if I make stuff up or remember it badly. Sorry for the warped version of fact checking. 

I think it’ll be fair to allow my snarkiness through. On the surface, I’m judgmental and super-righteous. My kids tell me “Yeah, mom, we know, you did all the things right.” What they don’t know, what others don’t remember is that I’m paralyzed at the thought of being judgy, wrong, unkind or a stumbling block. At least, the penitent in me is. Like I said, the superficial, immediate and reactionary me is not. She’s usually riffing on the room and deliberately warps the events with voice to make someone snort their drink through their nose. Later she wonders why she said that and if people think she’s mean.

So, here begins the story of ...