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forsakenmissives · 1 year

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inspired by @izzyspussy’s prompt. hope u dont mind?? lol also tw for mention of james tartt. yknow how it is — also im thinking this takes place around the start of the season after the show ends 💚 but also (thanks nonny!) just pretend eras tour came out 2021 and barbie came out 2022 and not. now LOL

It starts as less than a handful of Tweets. Honestly, Jamie laughs at the first one, then scrolls by and completely misses the rest. And then he sees a group of lads donning West Ham merch pointing at him while on his morning run (sans Roy, who had to bow out due to a cold, the dick . . . Jamie's planning on picking him up breakfast) and whispering — but not quiet enough — that the Barbie has escaped his box. The Tweets (and comments and replies and DMs) appear more frequently after that.

The pictures of him in his pink tracksuit, tied to Roy’s bike, are passed around again. This time not by his loyal fans who begged for proper HD pics from him and thought he looked good as hell, but by the ones who call him Barbie and think his hair is blond and dumb and that he is just a dumb blond who isn’t even that good at football. At least that last bit could be easily refuted by his stats. He’s damn good at his job, and he knows it.

He doesn’t say anything about it, however, until they’re in the locker room after training, and Isaac huffs at something while looking at his phone. Jamie glances over to see him angling the screen toward him. “They’re callin’ you Barbie, bruv.”

Isaac is a really good friend, like, the best a guy could ask for. But Jamie kind of doesn’t want to think about this. “Yeah, I saw. It’s a compliment, innit? And kind of fittin’. I’m perfect, I’m everything. I am Barbie, ain’t I?”

At his easy dismissal, Isaac brightens up, grinning, and Jamie grins back. He finds the Tweet he was shown and posts a good selfie he took a few days ago, captioning it, I am everything. You wanna be Ken? It’s a bit stupid, but the insult is stupid too, so he thinks he’s allowed it.

The thing is — he wants to be unbothered by the nickname. The Barbie movie was fucking awesome, and though he’s still on thin ice with Keeley, even after their strictly-business trip to Brazil, they put aside their differences . . . that is, they put aside Jamie’s fuck-up to go and watch one of the screenings together. Yeah. It was fucking awesome. And he loves women. Like, major respect.

But the condemnations of the word are a knife’s edge away from a whiskey-tinged voice hissing soft and little bitch in his ear, and Jamie really can’t fucking deal with that right now. And he had gone and seen James in rehab, just for a couple hours, and he doesn’t regret going and seeing him, and he actually thinks it’s fucking mint the man’s getting help. He even enjoyed going through the old photos of his grandparents and James as a baby and even some of his own photos, when his mum looked a little less tired and he wasn’t afraid to smile too brightly. And in rehab, James is given limited Internet time, so the chances of him seeing the insults, seeing Jamie being called a girls’ toy, something pretty and pink, are small, and even if he does see, what can he do? They won’t just let him leave while obviously on some rampage.

It’s not like Jamie plans on going back to the man any time soon anyway. He’s not James Tartt’s anything. They just share a name. So what?

Jamie jumps at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. He pockets his phone (his Quote Tweet is now at twenty thousand likes and counting), and when he turns, it’s Roy, staring at him with those impossibly dark eyes and wild brows that make them even darker.

“Hi, coach,” he says with a grin.

Roy grunts back.

Jamie stays still for another second before blinking. “Got any wisdom for me?”

The other guys have begun to clear out, and now it’s just them and Beard still in the coaches’ office. And Will, who seems to be some metaphor for God, the way he’s always around, not even lurking, just . . . around.

Finally, Roy says, “Good pass. Don’t be late tomorrow.”

It’s so unbearably Roy that it makes Jamie sick. It also suggests there’s more he’s not saying, but Jamie isn’t sure what. He doesn’t push, however, just salutes him. “‘Course, coach,” he leans back on his heels, “dark and early, yeah?”

Roy nods, then pivots and mechanically goes back to the office. Jamie watches him go before turning and gathering his things. As he packs, he can practically feel Roy’s eyes on his back, but he knows when he turns, both him and Beard will be staring down at things on their desks. Whatever.

Jamie doesn’t run into anyone on his way out, and he’s grateful, taking a breath when he gets in his car then speeding off. He feels itchy under his skin, like when his foot falls asleep but the sensation is all over his body, and he kind of regrets leaving Nelson Road because he thinks running a few extra laps up and down the pitch would soothe him, if only a little bit. Despite this, when he gets home, he just gets out of his car and goes inside. It’s not that he’s worried about a repeat of his solo jog that one morning. It’s just really hot outside, what with it being late July and all, and he just showered, like, thirty minutes ago.

Every time a notification goes off on his phone, his stomach flips in a really awful way. Jamie turns off his phone.

Maybe now that he’s said something, it’ll die down. Since he’s made it clear he’s not bothered by it, that he can take whatever they give, they’ll stop.

And then, the first match of the season, Jamie walks onto the pitch, and a familiar song starts up. It’s not his song — but it’s certainly for him.

“Are they singing . . . ‘Barbie Girl’?” Colin asks from behind him.

“And changing the pronoun to ‘he’,” Jan adds, helpful as ever.

Jamie catches sight of one of the cameras recording the match, grins and sticks out his tongue, and when he looks to the opposing fans’ side, he even gives a little bow. Just for them. He thinks about something Lasso said to him once about bullying, after he stopped being a dick to Nate and asked why Ted never stepped in. Acknowledging it almost always makes it worse. Sorry that Jamie had believed in the ‘almost’.

;

After getting booted from Keeley’s and after a dinner at a kebab place that Jamie knows is good because Roy didn’t actually make him sit and watch — he picked bits of lamb from the skewer and placed them on the napkin in front of Jamie without a word — it’s not unusual for him and Roy to get dinner together. Sometimes it’s just them at Roy’s, who’s a better cook than his mum but not better than Simon, and sometimes it’ll be at a pub, and sometimes they’ll go to a restaurant. It was with ruddy cheeks that Roy admitted the kebab shop was like his church, but Jamie wasn’t judging. He thinks he understood the ecstasy of St Theresa after a bite of that lamb.

Tonight, however, Roy drops Jamie off at his place, and then parks the car and follows him in.

“Uh,” Jamie says when Roy stands in the entryway, a hand behind his back, posture stiff, “can I help you?”

“Go to your room,” Roy replies, and Jamie’s eyes go wide, and he says, “O-kay, Daddy,” before he backtracks, but Roy is backtracking too. “I mean, go somewhere that isn’t behind me or the kitchen.”

Jamie’s mouth drops into an ‘o’. “Right. Okay. I’ll just go to the living room, then.”

Roy nods, and Jamie walks slowly to the couch, backwards so he can watch Roy watching him.

He manages to sit still on his couch for a good two minutes, listening to Roy clattering about his kitchen, before he hops up and goes to sit at his dining table instead. It’s there that he sees a paper bag, and it takes everything in him not to peek into it. At the sound of the chair scraping against the floor, Roy leans back from where he’d had his head stuck in Jamie’s fridge, and he turns to look back at Jamie, who smiles innocently at him. He even waggles his fingers in a wave for good measure.

Roy rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, so Jamie thinks it’s fine, and he doesn’t think about how good it feels to be the one behind Roy Kent’s smile. Roy goes back to rummaging through the fridge.

Eventually, Jamie gets roped into helping out, but all his complaints are customary, and he thinks if he had allowed himself — if he had been allowed — to dream about domesticity, this is exactly how it would’ve been. Right down to the celebrity footballer. It’s kind of perfect.

Then, Jamie’s phone goes off.

It’s his news app, which he keeps forgetting to turn off the notifications for, and it irritates him every time, but especially when he actually clicks the notification ‘cause the story looks interesting, only to find out he’s somehow already used up his articles for the month, and would he please be willing to spare a few pounds every month for more? In theory, yes, he is willing. In practice . . . he has other places to put his money.

That being said, the irritation he feels then is nothing compared to the humiliation he feels now, reading the headline: This Barbie is a Footballer: AFC Richmond Jamie Tartt’s new song.

Roy is turned the other way, so luckily, he can’t see the way Jamie’s smile immediately drops from his face. This shit isn’t even important! It’s just some stupid fan war mess, the opponents’ fans trying to get in his head, and it’s not fucking working, alright? He doesn’t care. He’s just embarrassed that it’s apparently made the news. It’s really not a big deal.

When he looks up from his phone, Roy is looking at him. Jamie swallows.

“It’s nothin’,” he tells him. “Just some politician, saying some stupid thing. Sam sent it to me to rant.”

Roy nods, but he looks like he doesn’t believe him. Jamie’s voice had wavered in the middle, so he doesn’t believe himself either. But he still doesn’t budge, just leans back against the counter and waits for Roy to either turn away or say something in return. Roy turns away. Over his shoulder, he says, “I have something for you after we eat.”

“Whatever’s in the bag?” Jamie asks. Roy grunts. “Is it concert tickets? Am I goin’ to see Taylor fucking Swift? The bag’s just to throw me off, obviously.”

“Fuck no,” Roy’s response is, pun intended, swift and immediate. Jamie grins. “You’ll see later. Just . . . wait.”

Jamie groans. “Fine. But it better be good, since you got me all excited for the concert.”

Roy gives him a stern glare. Jamie puts his hands up, then gets back to washing the dishes they’re done using.

All throughout their meal, Jamie struggles to sit still, and his eyes, without fail, return to the bag. It becomes enough of a problem that Roy takes the bag and hides it in his lap, but Jamie’s no coward, so his gaze still wanders to — well.

“The quicker you finish eating, the sooner you get to see it,” Roy growls out around his own mouthful of salmon and quinoa (Jamie was surprised he had those things in his freezer and cupboard too, but it made a damn good meal, so he’s not complaining).

Jamie grows a lot more focussed after that, and he’s done within minutes — nay, seconds. Roy raises his eyebrows in approval. Jamie licks the leftover glaze for the salmon off his fork for good measure. Roy looks down at his plate.

Once Roy finishes eating, the paper bag makes its triumphant return, Roy setting it between them. He nods his head at it, and Jamie takes it quickly, before the other can change his mind and take it back.

He doesn’t expect what he pulls out, but he feels like he should. He looks between the Barbie and Roy, who’s staring at Jamie with a gaze so intense Jamie worries he might burn up from it. If this had been bestowed to him any time the year before, especially from Roy, he’d think it a continuation of the insult. But all he feels right now is laughter, the weight in his stomach turning into something bubbly and light that works its way up his throat and past his lips. Slowly — because he’s out of practice, the old fart — Roy begins to smile back.

The stupid fucking made-to-move soccer Barbie is even wearing an England kit, and when Jamie turns her around, he grins at the number and name on the back.

“You fucking dick,” he says, the words coming out as a hiss through his teeth, that’s how hard he’s grinning.

“You’re Jamie fucking Tartt,” Roy replies, and Jamie wishes he had a word to describe the look the other was sending him, but the best he can do is say how it makes him feel — really fucking good; like nothing could ever hurt him; like there is no one else in the world but the two of them; like he could go win the World Cup, the FA Cup, all the Leagues, every award in the football world, and not break a single sweat. It makes him feel a lot like he’s in love.

Roy’s not done: “You are everything. Who gives a shit if some pricks call you Barbie? You fucking own it, Jamie. You are every-fucking-thing, and they’re not even Ken.”

And Jamie will make fun of him for it later, that he’s more than aware of the movie’s tagline, but at the moment, he’s clutching the Barbie to his chest like a lifeline, and he feels a sting behind his eyes, like tears are threatening to spill, and his cheeks hurt with how hard he’s smiling.

Roy clears his throat. “Phoebe said there are ways you can change the hair, but . . . don’t use heat. It’s plastic. You can cut it or dye it fucking . . . walnut haze or whatever.”

Jamie doesn’t even correct him that it’s walnut mist. He’s close enough.

He gives the doll one last squeeze. “Thanks, Roy, I mean it.”

Roy doesn’t reply, just gives a grunt and nods his head. That’s alright too. Jamie looks down at the doll again, then leans back in his seat. He holds it up to his face, angles her head so they’re cheek-to-cheek more or less.

“Like twins, ain’t we?”

And Jamie wonders if maybe there were something in the food, or maybe in their drinks, because it seems like Roy can’t stop smiling either.

;

The opposing fans are at it again. Jamie sees Roy glance back at him and grins. He considers mouthing all good, coach, but he’s more interested in using one arm to wave and the other to hold his Barbie up the same way he had when it was just him and Roy, teeth bared all the while. The crowd goes wild, of course.

He’s Jamie fucking Tartt. He’s everything. Of course no one is going to think of him as just Ken — that’s just ridiculous.

in case you can’t tell “condemnations” is supposed to be “connotations”. ily jamieisms 💚 also i wrote this rly fast on my phone so sorry & now on ao3 if u'd prefer to read it there ✌️

#my writing #royjamie #ted lasso #jamie tartt

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something-tofightfor · 2 years

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Competing For Christmas 1: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Pairing: Modern Din Djarin x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,584

Rating: T/M: There’s some language. That’s about it.

Summary: As the holidays approach, it’s time to start seriously thinking about how you’ll spend them - and who you’ll spend them with.

After breaking the ice with your coworker Din, the future becomes a little clearer ... and you begin to see some of the possibilities.

Author’s notes:

It’s here! This is the first part of my 2022 Hallmark Christmas celebration. You voted and you chose this story as the winner - so I hope you all enjoy it.

I’m planning on releasing this in real time for each part to coincide with the dates of the events that take place in the story... but don’t hold me to that because as we all know, the holidays can and do - usually get a little hectic.

We’re playing a little fast and loose with some canon Mando elements - and I’m picturing Din as a little younger than he is in the show; early-mid 30′s. Reader will have no specified characteristics or age, aside from the fact that she is over 21 (legally allowed to drink in the US), celebrates Christmas, and she does/will have hair that is of a length that can be covered (you’ll see).

Questions, concerns, comments? My inbox is open! I tried to keep this brief, and yet again... was unable to. You should all know the drill by now.

To get alerted when I post new chapters/stories, follow @somethingtofightfor-shares and turn on post notifications - you can also ask to be added to my tag list (link in bio or at the top of my taglist reblog)

Thank you to everyone that’s showed interest in this so far.

Translations at the end!

Masterlist

The more you put it off, the clearer it became that you were going to have to swallow your anxiety and just do it.

And it shouldn’t have been difficult - not really.

He was a nice guy; the conversations that you’d had at work were always positive ones, even if they were short. You’d never seen him get upset, even when someone made an unreasonable demand of him. He’d even gone out of his way to help around the office, taking on tasks before anyone could ask him to do so, or spending extra time to make sure the older people working there knew how to use everything properly to do their jobs.

He is a nice guy, and if you didn’t ask, you knew that someone else would.

And it wasn’t just the people you worked with that you had to worry about getting ahead of - it was everyone single in your age group, too.

So on the Monday before Thanksgiving, you found yourself texting your best friend and asking her to wish you luck before taking off down the hallway and toward his office, fingers nervously trailing along the wall in your wake.

Everyone seemed to be busy as you passed, and you were thankful that no one stopped you or poked their heads out of their office doors and attempted to speak to you. One delay and I’m going to lose my nerve. I know it. By the time you reached his partially closed door, your nerves were much calmer, one hand rising so that you could rap your knuckles against the frame with no hesitation.

Or, only a little hesitation, if you were being honest.

“C’mon in.” He spoke before you’d finished knocking, and you did exactly that, pushing the door open and then sticking your head inside of the room, a smile unavoidable at the sight of him.

“Hey, Din.” Leaving the door open behind you, you stepped through the small space and dropped into the chair across from him at the desk, crossing your legs at the knee. “How’s it going?”

“Busy today, actually.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair and then gesturing to his computer. “I’ve closed a few work orders, and had to go and help Sandra log back into her computer. She forgot her password again, and couldn’t do anything.” Bet she didn’t really forget it.

As you listened to him speak, you let yourself stare at the man, trying to decide what the best course of action was. Just ask. That’s what you’re here to do. “Didn’t you help her last week, too?” Wrinkling your nose, you rolled your eyes. “I know it’s not a good idea because of safety and all that, but you’d think these people would use simpler passwords, right? Things they can remember?”

“If they did that, I’d be out of a job.” Leaning back in his chair, Din smiled at you, a dimple appearing on one cheek, visible through his sparse beard. “It’s fine. It’s what I’m here for, and it makes the day go by faster.”

“If you say so.” Both of you went silent, and after about ten seconds, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, I didn’t come here for computer help, Din. I actually… I have a favor to ask you.”

“Yeah?” Din sat up straight, leaning closer and then pushing the sleeves of his shirt up toward his elbows before resting his forearms on the desk, the keyboard between them. “What’s up?” His casual response put you even more at ease, and as you opened your mouth to clue him in, you realized that you weren’t anxious anymore - whatever was going to happen was going to happen. He’d either agree or he’d say no, but you’d never know the outcome unless you took the leap.

“So, you weren’t here last Christmas, but I’m sure you’ve seen the fliers for the events that happen over the next month.” Din nodded, his gaze still focused on you. “Christmas is a pretty big deal here, and -”

“With a town name like Mistletoe, I’m not surprised.” He raised a brow. “But go on. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Well, if you’ve seen the fliers, then you know that the events are all part of a larger contest, right?” He nodded again, the warmth in his eyes there but subdued, the man waiting to see exactly what you had to say. “I sign up every year, always have, and I did this year, too.” He nodded again, his smile still present but somehow smaller, the man staying quiet. “It’s… long story short, I signed up with James as soon as the site went live, and …”

“And now you’re not together anymore.” Din leaned even closer, saying your name. “I’m sorry about that.” You were surprised by the sincerity in his voice; you hadn’t even known that the man was aware that you’d broken up with your long term boyfriend. But apparently, Din knew more than he let on. Just because he’s quiet doesn’t mean that he doesn’t see. “But that doesn’t … I can’t do anything about that, and if you wanted to remove your name from the list, I’m sure all you’d have to do is tell whoever’s in charge. I’m good with computers, that doesn’t mean I can hack into -”

“No, Din!” The laugh that spiled from your lips was one of the most genuine that you’d produced since your breakup a few weeks earlier, your accompanying eye roll only slightly exaggerated. “I’m not sorry about it. It was a long time coming. We wanted different things. He was ready to leave here and uproot his life and I just… wasn’t.” Not for him, anyway. “It’s better like this, but.” You held up a finger. “I don’t want to take myself off of the list, and I don’t want you to take me off, either. I … I was actually wondering…”

The nerves were creeping back in, especially with the way that Din was still watching you, the expression on his face much more interested than it had been only minutes earlier. Just ask. All he can say is no.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to pair up, Din. With me.” Wetting your lips, you paused and gave him a few seconds to let the words sink in. “It’s actually a lot of fun every year, and if you’re involved with it, it’s a great way to really experience a Mistletoe Christmas.”

“Aren’t there like five events? Doesn’t that take up a lot of time?” Cocking his head to the side, the man blinked slowly, a slight frown deepening the lines on his forehead. “We haven’t really spent much time together, so I’m not sure that I’d be a good partner. I don’t know you or this town well, so …”

“It’s one event a week leading up to the 23rd.” You reached into your pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, sliding it across the desk at him. “Starts with trivia, and then there’s a baking thing and a snowman competition.” He reached for the paper, his fingertips briefly making contact with yours as he picked it up, unfolding it. “But the biggest thing is the scavenger hunt that’s the morning of the 23rd. That’s my favorite part, even though it’s the most difficult.”

You watched as his eyes scanned the sheet, his mouth lifting into a small smile at your words. “One a week?”

“One a week. A couple hours at a time.” Leaning back, you reached up to scratch at your chin, wetting your lips. “There’s other stuff to do on the days that there aren’t events, but it’s not … they aren’t mandatory. And no, we haven’t really spent much time together, but I think it could be fun, and we could get to know each other a little better.” You paused, thinking. “I never really see you out anywhere, Din. And you’ve met a couple of us for drinks after work once or twice, but …” You shrugged. “I know you don’t have family here, so I thought it would be a good way to…”

But as you spoke, you realized that you’d never even considered the possibility that Din would leave for the holidays - using his vacation time to travel back to wherever it was that he was from originally. Shit. I didn’t … that could be a problem. “You alright?” He set the paper down, his hand lifting to run his fingers through his hair again. “You got quiet.”

“It just occurred to me that I have no idea if you’re planning on being here for Christmas, and if you aren’t, then my plan isn’t going to work.”

“I’m staying here.” His tone hardened slightly for the first time, but it passed quickly, the man shaking his head back and forth. “I’ll be in Mistletoe for Christmas. Is there anyone else you can ask, though? I wouldn’t want to ruin your chances of winning.”

“There are a couple people I could ask. But if you say no, I’m not going to.” The look of confusion on his face made you laugh, and so you uncrossed your legs and then leaned all the way forward, pressing your palms on the top of his desk. “I’m pretty competitive, Din. And none of my friends really are. I take this seriously, and I think you would, too. I thought we’d make a good team.”

“Yes.” He was grinning again, excitement back in his eyes. “I will.” You will? You’ll take it seriously, or you’ll be my partner? “When is …” He looked down, consulting the list. “When is trivia?”

“Saturday.” You grinned back, rising to your feet. “And then the baking thing is the following weekend.” He took a deep breath, exhaling as he brought his gaze up to meet yours again. “Let me give you my number and that way we can coordinate for the -”

“I have a better idea.” He stood, too, pulling his phone out of his pocket and thumbing it unlocked. “Give me your number, and I’ll give you my address. You can stop over after work sometime in the next couple days and we can strategize.” What? The look on your face must have alarmed him because Din’s lips parted, the man’s fingers tightening around his phone. “Or we can just talk at lunch or on break, that’s just as easy.

“I’m surprised that you’re inviting me to your house.” Pointing at his phone, you took a breath. “I figured you’d want to meet at a bar or restaurant or something.”

“I leave my dog alone all day while I’m here, so I like spending time at home at night when I can.” He grinned, the expression somewhat embarrassed. “I know it’s stupid, but I feel bad that he’s by himself for so long.” He handed you his phone and you typed in the number before replying, sending yourself a message that simply said “Din” in the text field, and then gave it back to him.

“No, I get it. And yeah, that’s fine. I’m free tonight and then tomorrow, so let me know what works best for you, alright?” Din nodded again, setting the phone down on his desk. “I really appreciate this, Din.”

“Don’t mention it.” He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by a loud beep from his computer, the man’s eyes immediately going to the screen. “I should look into that. That’s the noise it makes when there’s an emergency.”

Telling him goodbye, you spun and headed out of his office, pulling the door partway shut behind you. That could have gone worse. The walk back to your desk felt shorter than the one to his office had, and by the time you’d settled back down, picking up your phone to save his contact information, you were smiling outright. Much worse.

The rest of the day was uneventful, and you worked methodically to clear out your inbox and get things done leading up to the long holiday weekend, the conversation with Din fading to the back of your mind as time passed.

But when your phone vibrated later that afternoon and you picked it up, everything came back - including your wide smile - at the words on the screen.

Here’s my address. How’s 6:30 tonight sound? I can order pizza.

You only hesitated for a few seconds before typing back a reply, trying not to let yourself get overexcited.

That works for me. I’ll see you then.

—

“Stace, there’s nothing else to it. We’re going to be teammates for a couple weeks.” You were pacing in your living room, phone held to your ear. “Yes, he agreed right away, but it’s probably just because he felt bad for me. He knew that James and I broke up, so it was probably just pity.”

“Nah. He doesn’t seem the type to do pity.” The woman’s laugh was loud in your ear, but her tone was serious. “And even if it’s just because he wants to experience a Mistletoe Christmas, that’s still a good thing, right? It’s going to be fun.”

“I hope so.” You sighed, checking the time. “I’m going over to his place tonight so that we can talk about the events, and -”

“You’re going over there?” She screeched the words, her surprise evident. “Oh, that’s really good. Just the two of you means that …” She kept talking and you sat down on the back of the couch, bringing your free hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Stacy. Yes, I’m going over there. He said he would have asked me to meet him somewhere else, but he doesn’t like leaving his dog alone all day and night. So it won’t be just us, the dog’s going to be there too.” She called you an idiot but you ignored it, continuing. “And even though it was the best thing for both of us, I did just break up with a long term boyfriend a couple weeks ago. I’m not looking for anything right now.

“Even with someone that looks like Din?” She’d seen him in person when she’d met you for lunch a few times, the man lifting his hand in a quick wave as the two of you passed him on your way out the door. Even with someone like Din. “You have to admit, he’s… nice to look at.”

“He is. But that doesn’t matter. We’re going to do some Christmas themed activities together, and that’s it. Maybe we’ll become friends, but I’m not counting on it.”

“We’ll see.” You stood again and moved into your kitchen, head tilted to the side to hold your phone in place as you pulled your jacket on. “Just give it a chance. You never know - you might be perfect for each other.”

“Or,” you countered while grabbing your purse and keys. “Or we might be really incompatible, this is going to be a mess, and five weeks of us spending time together will end really badly.” She laughed again, telling you were wrong. “Maybe. But I’ve already asked him, so now all I can do is see what happens.”

You hung up the phone after telling her goodbye and that you’d let her know how things went, scrubbing one hand over your lower face. Is she right? Am I right? Only a few minutes later, Din’s address was typed into your phone and you were on your way to a house not even ten minutes from yours, music playing softly on your car radio as you drove.

There were a few houses that already had their Christmas lights on and decorations up, but you knew that the number of them would only increase the following week, starting with the tree lighting ceremony on the day after Thanksgiving. You wondered if Din would go to that and decided to ask him while you were at his house that night. Might as well.

You felt no apprehension as you got closer to his place, and even when you parked in the driveway and turned the car off, that was still true.

But as you headed up the steps to the porch - he’d turned the light on for you - you felt a small twinge of nerves. And when you pressed the button for the doorbell and were answered with a series of barks from the opposite side, you sucked in a breath, heart rate increasing. I could leave. I could just go.

You saw the dog before you saw Din, its face poking around the edge of the curtains in the front window, and were so focused on it that you didn’t notice the door opening inward, Din standing in a rectangle of light that spilled out from the hallway and onto the porch. “Hey, sorry about him. He likes to bark, but he’s all talk, I promise.” The man paused and your attention shifted from the animal to the man, who took a step back and gestured with one hand. “Come in.”

You followed him inside and shut the door behind you, and there was another quiet yip as the dog ran from the other room and into the hallway, Din bending slightly at the waist to grab for his collar. “Oh, it’s fine, he’s…” Unzipping your coat, you crouched down and then looked up, nodding. “You can let him go.”

Din did, speaking two words - Cuyir jate - and taking a cautious step closer to you as the dog closed the final distance, head held high and his nose working overtime as he sniffed at you. Look at how cute this damn dog is. “His name’s Grogu. Had him since I got here. I actually… found him.” You reached out, letting Grogu sniff your hand, and when he’d made the decision that you weren’t going to harm him and started to lick at your wrist, you let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Or maybe he found me. They tell me he’s a mix of a couple things, but that he’s mostly Shiba Inu and some sort of Shepherd.”

“He’s definitely cute.” Biting your lip as you glanced up, you nodded. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to leave him longer than you need to.” Scratching the dog behind the ears for a few seconds with one hand, you began to stroke over his fur with the other, Grogu plopping down into a seated position and whining quietly. “I love his ears.”

“Everyone does.” Din cleared his throat. “Figured we could order food and then you could tell me more about this contest while we wait and eat. I like it kinda cold in here, so I built a fire in the living room, but …” Standing, you gave the dog one more pat on the head and then moved closer to the man, wiping your hand on your jeans. “If you wanted to stick to the kitchen, we can do that too.”

“Sitting by a fire sounds great, Din.” He led you into the other room and you followed, glancing around to get a look at the inside of his house. It was clean and organized, though it was smaller than yours, and as you walked, you noticed that there were very few personal touches scattered throughout. Maybe he’s a minimalist.

Grogu pushed past you as you stepped down into the recessed living room, the dog immediately jumping up onto an armchair next to the fireplace and curling up. He settled his nose into his bushy tail, bright eyes watching intently as you lowered yourself onto the couch across from him. You kept your eyes on Din as you did so, the man stepping toward the fireplace and bending over to add another log before pulling the grate shut.

It was impossible to ignore the way the material of his shirt pulled over his shoulders - the waffle-knit texture of the dark Henley he wore tight over his back and arms - and so you didn’t. You let yourself look, leaning back against the soft cushions, and barely managed to avert your eyes when he turned to face you, pointing at the open laptop on the table. “I have the menu open for the pizza place I like. Pick what you want and add it to the order.”

As he settled down on the couch next to you - leaving plenty of space between your bodies, you leaned closer to the computer, fingers moving over the trackpad. I know this place. It’s one of my favorites.

It didn’t take you long to add your meal to the order, and when you gestured for him to finish, you reached for your purse, pulling your phone out. “What do I owe you? I can send it through Venmo, or if you want cash, I can give it to you at work tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He clicked the “place order” button and then turned to look at you, lower lip pushed out in a small frown. “I invited you over here, so I’ll pay.” Thanking him quickly, Din ducked his head, turning his attention back to the screen. “Says it’ll be about 30 minutes. That’s plenty of time for you to fill me in, right?”

It was, but rather than just telling him, you decided to show the man what he’d invited you over to talk about. “There’s actually a website, if you want to look through it. It’s got pictures and videos from previous years, and it’s how they keep track of teams and points, too.” He pushed the device closer to you again, and you typed in the address, opening up the page. “I’ll actually need you to add in your information, too, just in case we win anything. They need to have a record of who the prizes go to, so -”

“Wait, there’s prizes?” He was tapping lightly on the trackpad, scrolling through the main page. “This isn’t just friendly competition?”

“Well, yes and no.” Bending one arm, you rested your elbow on your knee and settled your chin in your hand as you eyed the website. “It’s pretty friendly all the way through. People are competitive, but they’re not ruthless, y’know? It helps to get us all in the Christmas spirit, but they like to reward the people that win, too.”

“What kind of prizes?” He clicked a video and kept his eyes on it as it played, the volume loud enough that you could hear it, but not too loud to keep you from talking. “Cookies and Christmas sweaters? Gift certificates? What are the stakes here?”

“God, no. We all get enough cookies and candy canes and all that bullshit from everywhere else. The Christmas sweaters … I can’t tell you no, because that might be part of it, but it’s more than that.” Pointing with one finger, you cleared your throat. “It sort of depends on who wins, too. There are some generic participation prizes, but for the teams that come in first, second and third, they personalize it a little.”

“Yeah?” A second video was playing, Din watching as people competed in a 3-legged race. “Have you ever won?”

“I’ve won individual events before. But I’ve only won a bigger prize once. It was the first year James and I were together, and we came in third overall. We got an overnight stay at a bed and breakfast about an hour away as our prize.” You swallowed hard at the memory, looking down at your lap. “I think that was still during the honeymoon phase of our relationship, you know? He was trying to impress me. After that year it always seemed like he was just going through the motions.”

Din was quiet for long moments and when you finally looked up, you sucked in a breath at the sight of a photo of you and James on the screen, both of you in winter hats and scarves. I forgot that was on there.

He quickly clicked to a different page and while it loaded, Din shifted on the couch next to you, obviously a little uncomfortable. “So it’s not just a couples thing? I know you said there were other people you could ask, but I figured it was just so you didn’t have to back out.”

“It’s not. I entered with my best friend a couple times. My college roommate was my partner once when she came back here for the winter break. As long as it’s a team of two and both people fall into the same age bracket, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it looks like there’s a separate contest for kids?”

“There is.” You leaned over, clicking on a different tab. “But that one’s just mostly fun. Races and making decorations, volunteering for the older kids. You have to be over 18 to sign up for the one we’re in, but there’s still plenty of stuff to do even if it doesn’t earn you points toward the competition. “You’ll see. It sounds a lot more complicated than it really is. All you have to do is show up for the main events and play, and you’ll be fine.”

“I can’t promise you that we’ll win.” He rubbed a large palm over one knee, sighing as he said your name. “Where I’m from, we didn’t have a lot of these traditions. My holidays were a lot of … structure. I’ve really only gotten to experience American Christmas a few times, and I’m still getting the hang of it.” The hang of it? It’s just … celebrations.

“That’s alright, Din.” Clasping your hands together in your lap, you shrugged your shoulders. “As long as you’re having fun, that’s what matters.”

“But you just said that you and James didn’t win because he wasn’t trying to.” He rubbed at his knee again, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to think …”

“There’s a difference between not trying and giving it a legitimate effort and losing, Din. As long as you aren’t just showing up and sitting there on your phone instead of decorating cookies, or complaining about having to trudge through the snow and getting your pants wet while we’re building snowmen, it’s fine.”

“I don’t mind the cold.” He let out a long sigh, the concern fading from his expression. “And Grogu and I really like the snow. He didn’t get to see much of it last winter, because we got here toward the end, but we took a trip over the summer, and he really liked it then.”

“Ah, so that’s where you went when you were gone for a week. Europe. There’s snow over there in some places in the summer, right?” You grinned at him, tilting your head. “You left so fast that some of us wondered if you were even coming back, and the little old ladies in the cafeteria were distraught at the thought they wouldn’t ever see you again.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting over to Grogu and then back to you. “Europe. It was a last minute thing, so I only had time to clear it with the boss.” His reaction was a little strange, but you figured that it was just the result of the man accidentally revealing too much to you after such a short time, and so you ignored it. He’ll tell me what he wants to tell me when he wants to tell me. “And I’m sure the cafeteria ladies were only distraught because I wasn’t around to help ‘em log into their email and update their order forms.” Doubtful. You snorted at that and were rewarded with another of Din’s bright smiles, the discomfort from a few minutes earlier all but gone. “The food should be here soon. Let me put Grogu outside so that he’s not trying to climb into your lap while you eat, alright?”

Nodding at the suggestion, you settled back as Din stood and whistled, calling out the dog’s name. Grogu’s head popped up in interest, and when the man headed for the back door, fingers closing sound the handle, he bolted toward his owner, tongue hanging out. “He’s adorable, Din.” You spoke as the door shut behind the dog, Din flipping the light switch on and keeping his eyes on the glass for a few seconds. “You found him?”

“Yeah. It was about two weeks after I got here, I was driving down the highway and stopped at a rest area.” He motioned for you to follow him up and into the kitchen, opening cupboards and then pulling out plates and napkins. “He was in a box next to one of the dumpsters, and I heard him whining when I walked by.” Din pulled his phone out again and scrolled for a few seconds, tapping once on the screen before he turned it toward you. “There was no way I was getting back in my car without him.”

You gasped at the picture he was showing you; Grogu but tiny, the longer fur near his ears matted and wet, his body tucked into a tight circle on a piece of filthy cardboard. “Of course you couldn’t.” Covering your mouth, you blinked back tears at the sight. “He was so little.”

“And all alone. I think there were others in the box with him at one point, but by the time I got there, he was by himself. Wrapped him in a blanket and put him in the car with me.” Din swiped to the left and the next picture you saw was of the puppy on the front passenger seat, wrapped in a tan, fur-lined blanket with only his head poking out. “Took him to a vet as soon as they opened the next morning, and they scanned him for a chip. Nothing came up. I said I’d keep him until someone claimed him or I could find him a home, and now…” Din trailed off, shrugging. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“They always know when they’re rescued.” Movement out of the corner of your eye caused you to turn your head toward the window, the sight of Grogu running across the snow-covered grass making you smile. “I bet he’s a terror sometimes, though.”

“Oh, definitely.” Din’s laugh was loud and genuine, and when he pushed away from the counter, tucking his phone back into his pocket, you followed, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “He’s a little shit but I love him anyway.” Before he could sit down across from you, the sound of the doorbell filled the house, Grogu’s response barks audible through the glass. “One second.”

He grinned as he walked away and you followed his motion with your eyes, gaze locked on the way his arms swayed as he walked, fingers curled into loose fists by his sides. Din was nice to look at - you’d thought so from the minute he’d been hired. The man’s shy nature during his introduction to the company had made him something of a mystery, many of the employees - especially the women - going out of their way to attempt to get to know him. But I don’t know if any of them actually have.

He answered the door, greeting the delivery driver, and as he made conversation during the handoff, you kept watching him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. I shouldn’t stare, especially since we’re going to be hanging out so much. But you couldn’t help it, keeping your eyes on him even when he’d turned to face you again, boxes in his hands and using one foot to push the door shut behind him. “Need help?”

He assured you that he didn’t, and a few minutes later, the two of you were happily eating dinner, both boxes open on the table between you. “So tell me more about this competition. I know we looked at the site earlier, but …” He swallowed a bite of pizza, setting the slice down and wiping his fingers on a napkin. “How do they score the events? Is it easy to win?”

“Everything’s weighted differently.” Swallowing a mouthful of your own, you lifted your cup to your lips, taking a long drink of Coke. “For example, the teams that win trivia will win with that number of points, but they only carry over a specific amount to the second event.” He nodded, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “There are judges for the snowman contest, and winners are ranked, and it’s the same thing; a certain number of points.”

“Do they count the number of cookies you decorate?” He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Because I can tell you right now, I’m not going to be fast at that.”

“They do. But it’s not just the number with frosting, it’s the number that are complete. We don’t have to bake them, just decorate them. Every year, someone drops a full plate, or comes up with some lame method that they think is going to get them an advantage, but it never works.”

“What about eating them?” He raised a brow, swiping at his lower lip with one thumb and then sucking it clean, a breath catching in your throat at the sight. That’s definitely… something to see. “What happens if I eat the ones we frost?”

“I’ll be mad.” You wadded up your napkin and tossed it at him. “A couple is one thing, but there’s plenty of time to eat cookies after, Din. I promise, there’s hundreds of them that get made that night. You’ll have too many to choose from.”

“Fine.” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Scavenger hunt? That seems like it’ll be the most competitive.”

“It always is. And it’s the best place to make up points, too.” Finishing your pizza, you pushed your plate away. “There’s the typical clues, and we have to figure them out and then go to each place and take pictures to prove that we solved everything. But there’s also a list of extra point opportunities.”

“Extra points?” He finished too, sitting straight up and then leaning back, his arms behind his head as he stretched. “What does that mean?” It took you a second to answer - the flex of his upper arms through the material of his shirt distracting you big time.

“There… there’s a time limit. If you get all five or six of the main clues, you earn a certain number of points, but if you take pictures with the other stuff on the list, you earn extra points.” His eyes widened. “The trick is that some of the stuff on the list is worth more extra points, and it’s all completely random. The people that are in charge are the only one that know until the end of the competition. They upload the list with the point values after everyone’s submitted.”

“So you really have to strategize.” He stood, beginning to clear the table. “Decide if you want to try for the extra points and put the actual clues aside, or -”

“Or play the game and pick a few of the extras and hope for the best.” As you moved through the kitchen with him, you were struck with how fluid it seemed - Din putting the dishes into the sink and rinsing them while you threw away the trash and combined the pizza into one box before sticking it in the fridge.

“Exactly.” Pausing with one hand on the countertop, you eyed him. “That’s why it’s last. Gives people a chance to decide how they’re going to play it.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun.” He had one hand on his hip, fingers spread out, the tips of two of them dipping into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’m glad you asked me to be your partner.”

“Are you?” He nodded and you felt heat rising in your cheeks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. You then turned away quickly so that he couldn’t see the change in your expression. Shit. “I’m going to let Grogu in. He’s gotta be cold.” Din told you that that was fine but didn’t say anything else, and you took the opportunity to walk back downstairs, heading straight for the door. How do I respond to that?

You pulled the door open and Grogu dashed in, crowding up against your legs as you shut and locked the glass and then stepped back, laughing. Dropping to your knees again, you reached for him, the dog excitedly jumping closer and nudging at your chest and arms with his nose - which was much colder than it had been earlier.

Leaning forward, you used both hands to pet him, running your nails along his back and sides, his curly tail wagging back and forth at your touch. “He likes you.”

Din followed you downstairs, his arms crossed over his chest. Letting his words sink in, you smiled at the dog, scratching the space just behind his ears. “Yeah? Is he not usually this friendly?” Din sat down on the couch again and you heard a low whistle followed by another single word - K’olar. Grogu immediately went still at the sound and then headed for the man, bypassing you without another look. He jumped onto the couch and then settled down with his snout on Din’s thigh, the man’s hand immediately moving to his shoulders. Ok, that’s impressive. “Din?”

“It usually takes him a little while to warm up, but I guess not with you.” He looked down at the dog and then back at you. “I don’t have people over much, so this is new for him.”

It seemed like an invitation and so you took it, sitting down on the couch again - Grogu between the two of you that time. “So you keep to yourself at work and after. You don’t have many people over. I’ve never heard any of the women in the office talking about going out with you for dinner or to a movie or for a drink, even though they all talk about asking. So why’d you agree to do this with me, Din?”

You weren’t trying to pry, but you still wanted to know, hoping that at the very least the man would tell you something that would help explain his decision. I shouldn’t question it, because I’m happy it’s happening. “I wanted to.” He said your name and turned his head, waiting until you were looking at him to say anything else. “You’re friendly with everyone. You make my job easy because you never really need anything from me. And…” He scratched Grogu between the ears again, taking a deep breath. “And you’ve seemed sad for the last couple weeks, so I wanted to see if I could cheer you up.”

“Din, I -” It wasn’t an admission of anything - not really - but it made you happy all the same, and you didn’t quite know how to respond. “Thank you.” You ran your fingers through Grogu’s fur, careful not to get in the path of Din’s hand. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.” He was playing with the dog’s ears, the brown and black fur sticking out from between his fingers before he flattened them against the sides of his head. “Go on.”

“Was I the only person that asked you to partner up for the competition?”

“No.” He laughed and your head snapped in his direction. I’m not? “A couple of the girls from the sales team asked.” He met your eyes. “And so did Omera, the one from accounting?”

“And you said no?” Din nodded, his expression solemn. “Then why -”

“Because, I like I said…” He reached over, laying his hand on your arm and squeezing. “I want to cheer you up.” He cleared his throat. “And to be honest… you’re really good at your job, and you look like you know your way around these events, so clearly we have the best chance to win together.”

That made you laugh, too, your attention shifting to the warmth of his palm on your arm, the heat present even though the sleeve of your shirt. “I definitely do.” Lowering your head, you focused on his hand, the man squeezing once more before he pulled it back and resumed stroking over Grogu’s head. “Well thank you, Din. I appreciate it, and I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

“You won’t.” The room went quiet then, and even though there was plenty that you wanted to say, you chose not to, instead flexing your fingers and then leaning back in and reaching for the laptop.

“I’m going to log on now so that you can put in your information. If you enter in your email, they’ll send you instructions and updates about the events.” Once logged in, you navigated to the correct page and sat back. “All yours, Din.”

He typed quickly, entering in his name and address, along with his phone number and email. “Says I need a picture? I don’t have one on here, but -”

“It doesn’t have to be a professional picture. We can take one with your phone, or upload one using the laptop’s camera. It really doesn’t matter. They just want to be sure that no one’s trying to sub in someone for an event.”

He didn’t speak, but you watched as Din pressed a few keys and opened the laptop’s camera, ducking down so that his face was visible on the screen. He ran his fingers through his hair again but instead of taming the locks, he ruffled them even more, the man muttering something under his breath that made Grogu raise his head. Did he just call him lamb?

He snapped a picture moments later, and then with a few more taps, he spun the laptop to face you. “How’s that?” There was a picture of him and Grogu next to yours, and if you hadn’t been able to catch yourself, you would have said something embarrassing. Like telling him that that’s the best laptop selfie I’ve ever seen. “Figured even if people didn’t know who I was, they might recognize him.”

“It’s a good picture.” With a final pat, you pulled your hand away from Grogu and linked your fingers together. “Hopefully they don’t think that he’s my partner.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about decorating cookies then because he’d eat every single one of them.” Din’s hands went back to Grogu’s face, the man cradling it between his palms. “Isn’t that right, you little womp rat?”

You couldn’t help smiling at the sight, but when your eyes moved up and you saw the clock over Din’s shoulder, you winced. “It’s getting late, Din. And we’ve gotta work tomorrow, so I should probably go. I don’t want to keep you up.” You didn’t want to leave but figured it was polite to do so, and when you stood, Din did, too. “You don’t have to -”

“I’ll walk you out. I have to lock the door anyway.” He held one hand out and spoke to Grogu again, his head angled down. “Gev, Grogu.” The dog relaxed almost immediately, putting his head back down on his paws and looking up at you, brown eyes wide and somewhat sad. “Oh, don’t look at her like that.” Din rolled his eyes when he caught yours. “He acts like I’m the worst when I’m just telling him to stay put.”

“He just wants to be around you, Din.” And I can’t blame him, especially after finding out he was rescued. You led the way back to his front door, reaching for the coat that you’d draped over the banister, along with your bag. “Thanks for dinner.” As you zipped the jacket, you met his eyes again, giving him a small smile. “If you have any other questions, that site can probably answer a lot of them, but you can always ask me at work, too. It’s pretty straightforward.”

“I figured.” He was leaning against the railing, arms once again crossed over his broad chest, the bottom of one socked foot pressed to the wall’s surface just above the baseboard. “And you’re welcome. It… I’m glad you stopped over tonight.” You are? Fighting back a smile as you zipped your boot, you turned your attention toward the door, reaching for the handle. “I’ll finish filling out that information when you leave, and see you at work tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.” Sighing as the cool air rushed in when you pulled the door open, you looked back at Din over one shoulder, nodding. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” He followed you out onto the porch as you made your way down the stairs, the man still standing there by the time you’d buckled yourself in and started the vehicle. As you backed out, you noticed that Grogu had joined him, the dog sitting next to Din, pressed close to one of his legs.

The radio still played softly as you drove, but you paid no attention to it, instead focused on the previous few hours - and what you’d learned about Din. Blowing out a breath as you sat at a stoplight, you stopped trying to hide your smile and let it free, grinning as you eased your foot off the brake.

It was going to be a long five weeks - but you couldn’t wait to see how they went.

—

Cuyir jate: be good

K'olar : come here

Laam: up

Gev: stop (stay)

- - -

Tag list coming separately!

#din djarin x reader #din x female reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian au #pedro pascal character #din djarin modern au #IT guy din #star wars fic #hallmark christmas 2022 #competing for christmas #christmas story 2022 #grogu #din and grogu #but in a new way #choose your holiday 2022 adventure #christmas fluff #this one's going to have ALL the tropes

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sapphic-luminosity · 14 days

Text

4.5 years

I’m so tired.

It’s really incredibly tiring living through the ongoing pandemic and feeling like the world around me does not care that it still exists and is dangerous as ever.

It really does feel like few people care at this point. It’s very hard to be honest, but the threat is such that I can’t really just relax and pretend like it’s not there.

I do follow covid conscious people on social media and it helps to know that there’s many of us out there. And I’m glad to have a number of friends who have remained covid conscious, but like we really are few in number. A lot of friends and family members who used to be cautious have thrown caution to the wind, only maybe masking when, say, going on flights or maybe to crowded spaces if that. I still want to be friends and have relationships with these people but every time I meet with them I’m very aware that there’s increased risk in doing so. Meanwhile plenty of friends who stopped taking covid seriously have simply stopped really talking to me or including me in plans, even online friends. It’s disappointing. It’s isolating. It feels like I’m disposable to many people. But at least I do see some people repeatedly in person consistently wearing masks like I do. And that helps some.

Every couple waves I’ll see more people wearing masks such as the ongoing one. You know what, that’s welcome, I appreciate everyone who starts masking again after having stopped. But masking only during the heights ignores that the spread of the virus still goes on in between. So the next wave comes as people relax and transmission increases again.

It’s hard feeling mostly housebound. I am a bit of a homebody, but not nearly to this degree. Not having an in person job outside of my home doesn’t help with that but also I’m not sure that I could bear to do one at this point. Being disabled already pre-covid and moving states literally weeks before the shelter in place orders came into effect (not lockdowns, we never had those in the US) meant that I did not have a job when the pandemic struck. I decided to wait it out for weeks months a year until the first vaccines got rolled out and thought about trying to apply again but then in the summer of 2021 Delta came. Then Omicron. And so on. Now we’re up to BA.2.86 and JN.1 as the variants of interest. It’s never stopped. There’s never been a break. The years start comin' and they don't stop comin'.

Working from home was a huge option early in the pandemic for many people outside industries that require people to work in person but gradually companies and organizations have rolled back this accessibility by requiring people return to office. And the economy sucks right now. Applying to jobs sucks even in the best of times with the current system, but now we have confirmed cases of job recruiters putting up phantom jobs, some admitting that 75% of the jobs they’ve posted being fake to make their company look like it’s in better shape or positions where the candidate has already been selected internally and they just want to make it look sorta fair. Not to mention all the scam listings. Job hunting sucks. It’s a lot of energy spent for very few returns and my disability/chronic illness means I just can’t channel endless amounts of energy without paying a far greater price in the future.

It’s not just work either. I haven’t seen a movie in theaters since the Harley Quinn and the Birds of Prey movie in February 2020. Maybe I’ll actually go see one soon, but it’s a real risk, even during a matinee when fewer people might be there, even masked in an N95. (And definitely a much bigger risk if I should want some popcorn or a drink.) I have been to one indoor event (MBMBaM live show) that required masks of everyone in late 2022. It was a risk but masking made it feel a little safer. Nothing like the risks today where so many people seem to have forgotten the danger that they knew in 2020 and 2021 and maybe 2022 and will look at you funny if you even wear a mask much less suggest they might wear one.

We’ve known about covid spreading as an aerosol but I’ve had people I know act like it’s safe to eat inside as long as you’re far away from people regardless of ventilation. Some even still believe the six feet away idea that has been thoroughly debunked. We’ve known about long covid post-viral syndromes since 2020 and that you can still get long covid after vaccines at least since 2021. Research has come out over the last few years about covid having rampant effects on your immune system, heart, brain, pretty much any organ in your body, but people still think of it as just a respiratory illness.

Our government has failed us profoundly. I never had much trust in the government, becoming politically conscious in the early Bush era in the wake of Islamophobia and endless wars against concepts which got widespread support from both dominant parties in the US. Coming out as queer in my early adulthood, I learned about the Reagan response to the HIV/AIDS epidemic (ignoring it for several years because ewwwww gay people!!) which filled in the blanks of knowledge from my childhood where the education was pretty much just scaremongering. It’s truly monstrous how Reagan ignored HIV and yet I’m not sure anyone has really done that much better since him.

I’ve never liked Biden nor do I pretend to. But even so, he campaigned on how thousands of covid deaths in 2020 were unacceptable under a US president when it was Trump in power. Yet under him we’ve seen likely over a million people die and the dismantling of protections that helped prevent covid’s spread or monitoring. We were pushed the idea that you simply had to get vaccinated and then it wouldn’t be a problem anymore. But that’s never been true. He declared that the pandemic was over in September 2022 and in the two years since then I’ve watched more friends who mask consistently get sick than those I knew who got sick from November 2019 to September 2022. (I’m pretty fortunate in that regard, I know many people had lots of friends and relatives get sick and die or become permanently disabled prior to September 2022.)

Sure, the White House approved 4 more covid tests per household again in response to the current wave (after getting rid of that program months ago), but the tests are notoriously unreliable for a single test unless it gives you a positive and generally you need to use them over multiple days to make sure you don’t have false negatives. Not to mention that we have known about asymptomatic transmission of covid since 2020, but people just seem to have forgotten about that. Testing daily would do so much to help track the disease, especially if our leaders were to encourage everyone to do them. But there’s a serious lack of test availability. The government could give each of us a test per day and help stop a lot of transmission. Where are free masks? Where is the continued funding for vaccines? Where is funding for improved ventilation including air filtration systems for every classroom and other shared public space? Where are protections to make sure that employers have to keep people home and give them sick pay? Any public health response we had has pretty much fallen away into privatized, “you-do-you” individualism. (Anyone remember that “you-do-you” MTA sign from 2 years ago saying masks were optional so wear them however the fuck you want? “You-do-you” feel free to get someone’s immunocompromised grandma mortally ill on the subway.)

There’s only one mention of the pandemic on Harris’ campaign website’s Issues page at the moment, only in passing while talking about automotive industry jobs. The pandemic is in the past, this seems to say. There’s no need to mention it except to compare what she has done under Biden vs. what Trump did. Biden may have stepped down from running after getting covid for at least the third time and possibly suffering lasting health issues including possible covid-accelerated dementia from it but there’s no need to address that. Simply move on and forget. Maybe she can’t even admit that Biden fucked up royally in 2022, she just has to save face for the DNC. Or she’s trying to appeal to anti-vax anti-mask “Never Trump” Republicans who still won’t vote for her. I don’t pretend to understand what she’s thinking of during her campaign’s numerous missteps so far.

We don’t live in 2019 anymore but so many people seem trapped there. They think that we who are covid conscious are unwilling to move on and are trapped in 2020, but I find that often we’re more attuned to the actual situation going on. So many people seem to be unaware of the long term consequences of catching covid, especially multiple times. So many people passively question why everyone seems to be sick all the time or why there are so many more heart attacks and such happening in young people or why there seem to be more dangerous drivers on the road or why there are so many fewer workers these days but never stop to pursue the answer to the most clear solution. Occam’s Razor never had a chance.

The pandemic has changed us all on levels we probably won’t realize for years or decades, but I feel like many people who have moved back to 2019 are worse for it. Worse empathy for those who had any empathy at all beforehand. Worse science literacy, especially amongst medical professionals. (“You’re not going to get sick in a hospital!” “Why would we wear masks in the cancer ward!?”) Worse critical thinking. Worse memory. I know people deal with trauma in different ways but so many people just seem to be so avoidant that any tiny reminder of it makes them want it gone gone gone. Or they seem to just sigh and laugh internally at those of us taking it seriously. “You just have anxiety!” they might say, even when in my humble opinion nothing is more rational than our desire to not get sick. Not to mention all the harassment people have gotten for doing things like masking because using a simple medical device has turned into a moral panic in some spaces. (I know of some people who would mask don’t anymore because of social pressure or outright threats used against them.)

It’s hard to have hope for the future and yet I hang in there. Maybe someday I’ll be able to work in person again. Maybe someday I will be able to be on a plane again and travel outside of the US or go to visit friends in parts of the US I’ve never been to. Maybe someday I will be able to eat inside a restaurant again instead of getting takeout or (rarely) taking a risk by eating outside of one. Maybe someday I’ll be able to casually sip an iced latte in a coffee shop while reading to pass the time again. Maybe someday I will be able to go to concerts or conventions or crowded outdoor festivals or indoor parties or board game nights or even ride the bus without having to ask myself if it’s worth the risk and without having to wear a mask. But with the infection rates we’ve been seeing that feels far off and most people don’t seem to care about making that world a reality.

I hope that there will be some treatment to finally end covid-19 and its numerous lineages that continue to mutate and spread across the world like wildfire. I feel like that’s one of the only hopes. We had a chance to end covid in other ways but our government leaders and greed from corporations failed us. Yet even with that, I know that if a treatment using some kind of super effective antibodies or such is developed, it’ll probably still be kept from many people by corporate greed. But still I hope for the future even if that hope is dim.

Until then I’m largely housebound. And I will forever be changed by this pandemic, largely not for the better. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust people in general again. I’m not sure how I would cope if covid suddenly disappeared from the face of the planet, like with magic. Maybe I would just completely lose it. Maybe I’d bounce back completely in a few months. (Unlikely. I’m still disabled and chronically ill from pre-covid times. My life would still have big challenges.) But I’m pretty sure it won’t disappear suddenly.

And I’m so very tired.

#luminoustext #luminouspost #just writing and getting out some feelings #it's the annual 911 reminder that we can have 20 years of endless war against concepts over 3k people dying horribly #but 4k+ people died in august of covid and we get no policy changes about that #it feels so empty #pls don't complain that this post isn't universal in covering every situation it's just my feelings and reactions personally #i'm not writing a dissertation it's not meant to be all encompassing #sometimes it's time for pancakes and not waffles

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afeelgoodblog · 2 years

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#061 - The Best News of Last Week - October 31, 2022

🎃 — Happy Halloween! Let’s read some good news to start the week!

1. A New Climate Reality Is Coming Into View — in just 5 years humanity has cut expected warming almost in half

Nice to see balance coming in on this stuff. The situation is *not good*, but the reporting and social focus until now has been “…and therefore you are doomed.” This causes apathy, just like when people say “all politicians are the same” when they are very clearly not.

We need to focus both on how bad things are, but also the solutions for how we get through this. They exist, and we can have them. It’s going to be a life-long fight, especially once you realize that certain people make a lot more money if you think you’re doomed.

2. Germany plans to legalise recreational cannabis

Germany’s coalition government has agreed on a plan to legalise recreational cannabis use among adults.

Possession of up to 30g (1oz) for personal use would be allowed. Licensed shops and pharmacies would sell it.

3. Hundreds of rare birds rescued from island cut off by Hurricane Ian

Volunteers helped transport the flock from a bird sanctuary to a temporary new home, where they’ll stay until bridge access can be restored to Pine Island.

The birds have been relying on food donated by wildlife officials since Hurricane Ian hit, but the supply of fruit, peanuts and other edibles would soon be hard to come by because of the downed bridge and the scarcity of gasoline on the island. In the hours before the storm, the sanctuary owners herded their flock of birds and packed them into their home to shield them from the ferocity of the elements.

4. A train passenger saw a woman waving for help. It was a hiker who’d been missing.

An injured hiker near Silverton, Colo., was rescued earlier this month after a train passenger spotted her from the window. She was frantically waving on the other side of a river, having just spent two days trapped in the wilderness with a broken leg.

The rider alerted the crew of the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge diesel engine №461, according to the San Juan County Office of Emergency Management. They then notified the train inspector, Delton Henry, who was in a motor car behind them.

5. Same-sex marriage is now legal in all of Mexico’s states

Lawmakers in the state of Tamaulipas voted Wednesday night to legalize same-sex marriages, becoming the last of Mexico’s 32 states to authorize such unions.

The measure to amend the state’s Civil Code passed with 23 votes in favor, 12 against and two abstentions, setting off cheers of “Yes, we can!” from supporters of the change.

6. North Expedition finds cache of cameras on remote Yukon glacier, 85 years after mountaineer left them behind

A DeVry “lunchbox” camera left behind on Mount Lucania in 1937. An expedition team recently uncovered the camera along with other artifacts stashed by legendary mountaineer Bradford Washburn 85 years ago

The team recovered a portion of Washburn’s cherished aerial F-8 camera — a format he would later become known for worldwide — as well as two motion picture cameras and old climbing gear, tents and cooking items. (That included part of a T-bone steak, Post noted — “They were eating pretty well out there, it appeared.”)

“It was just the full array of gear from what they were using in the 1930s,” said Post, a professional skier and mountain explorer.

7. Ray of joy: Nasa captures image of the sun ‘smiling’

That’s it for this week. If you liked this post you can support this newsletter with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

#best news of last week

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insertsparkleshere · 2 years

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Speak Now - Rosa Diaz x Reader

Summary: Rosa's wedding to Pimento doesn't go as planned. (Inspired by the Taylor Swift song of the same name, the bridge of which makes me absolutely feral).

Word Count: 902

Pronouns: None, but she/her reader intended

Published: 12/18/2022

Note: I totally didn't accidentally post this on my main what are you talking about

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

Gina is the only one who knows that you're in love with Rosa Diaz.

Frankly, you're surprised that she hasn't told anyone yet, but she kept your secret. Mostly because you didn't tell anyone when you found out that her and Charles had sex, but it counted.

Rosa's romance with Pimento had been...Interesting, to say the least. To you, it came out of nowhere, but you did your best not to pay attention to Rosa's love life. You wanted to stay sane and not-jealous, thank you very much.

But Pimento...They made sense together, you had to admit. You just hated him.

Jake and Charles still didn't get why, and neither did Hitchcock or Scully. You were pretty sure Amy had an idea, and Terry definitely had his suspicions. Holt had figured it out ages ago - you could tell - but he didn't say anything, which you were grateful for.

Until he did.

"(Y/L/N), see me in my office."

"Yes, Sir."

Rosa snickered. "Someone's in trouble."

"I'm sure it's nothing. Know Holt, I put a period when there should be a semicolon somewhere in my most recent bout of paperwork."

You step into Holt's office. "You wanted to see me?"

Holt stares at you, for a long moment. "Close the door."

"Okay..." You shut it.

"And the blinds. Santiago can read lips."

You frown, but do as he asks. "Is something wrong, Sir?"

"Are you okay?"

"What?"

"Diaz and Pimento's wedding is next week. Your feelings for Diaz are...obvious. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sir. Whatever makes Rosa happy. And, right now, that's Pimento."

"Hm."

"What?"

"Have you considered telling her?"

"Once. But it's not meant to be. I've accepted that."

"You're a detective - act like it."

That was the moment that Rosa Diaz fell in love with you.

It was the third Halloween heist. And you were explaining your plan.

"I planted the idea of a Halloween Heist in your head three years ago. I wanted to have one, and I wanted to win. None of you have ever seen me get competitive, and I knew that Jake would obsess over this. Especially if he thought it was his idea.

"So, I gave you the idea for the Halloween Heist. And I waited, because I knew you'd take it into the many years to come. I didn't want to win the first one. And I considered winning the second, but the third seemed more poetic.

"All of you adore my baking, so, I decided that I would make a cake. For whoever won the third Halloween Heist. And then I said...What was it? 'It's not done yet, I wanted to make sure it was perfect.' And then I set myself up in the break room, already on Jake's team. He would want the cake, and he'd tell me to work on it while Charles guarded the briefcase, and Rosa went in to get it."

"What about Rosa?" Jake asked. "You could never betray her."

"You're right, Peralta, I couldn't. So, what do you think we did? You're a detective - act like it."

It was teasing, and off-handed, and you were riding on the high of victory, but it felt like Rosa's world had stopped.

"You were working together."

"Exactly. We made a great pair, don't you think, Rosa?"

"Yeah."

And you smiled, and Holt had looked over at Rosa, and she knew that he knew that she was completely screwed.

But Rosa knew that you didn't like her. So, she left it alone. And she met Pimento. And they got together. And it was stressful, and crazy, and every time he left, she found that she only ever wanted to talk to you.

But she ignored it, because emotions are for babies.

Or so Rosa told herself.

The day of the wedding came. You sat near the front, but behind someone, praying that no one would be able to see if you cried.

Your heart was shattering. But Rosa's happiness was more important than any pain you were feeling.

So, you tuned out for most of the ceremony. You didn't know if you could stand it.

"Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

There was a moment of silence.

There's my last chance. Your heart whispered.

You stood, hands shaking.

Hitchcock and Scully looked equally confused.

Realization was dawning on Charles's face.

Amy's eyes were wide.

Gina was smiling. She looked like she was about to laugh.

Terry looked worried.

Jake's eyes were bouncing from you to Pimento to Rosa and back again.

And Holt was neutral. You glanced over at him, and he nodded.

"This kind of wasn't what I thought was supposed to happen." You say quietly. "Right, um...I'm sorry. I just...I can't let you marry Pimento knowing that I could have said something and told you how I feel. And I didn't want to do this here, but I chickened out before, and...And now I'm here."

Rosa stepped off the pew, walking down the aisle towards you. You stepped into the aisle yourself, swallowing hard. The worst possible options raced through your mind.

Instead, she stopped inches away from you. "Hi."

"Hi." You whispered. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She leaned forward, kissing you softly. You froze, short-circuiting. Out of everything that could've happened, you hadn't expected this. "Let's go."

You nodded, and she took your hand, and you ran.

So glad you were around

When they said, "Speak Now."

#brooklun 99 #b99 #rosa diaz #rosa #jake peralta #halloween heist #hitchcock #scully #amy santiago #gina linetti #charles boyle #rosa diaz x reader #terry jeffords #raymond holt #rosa diaz x you #rosa diaz x yn

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beardedmrbean · 2 years

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WINCHESTER, Ohio (AP) — Seven law enforcement officers have sued rap artist Afroman, accusing him of improperly using footage from a police raid on his Ohio home last year in his music videos.

Four deputies, two sergeants and a detective with the Adams County Sheriff’s Office brought the suit earlier this month, claiming invasion of privacy. Other law enforcement officers who were involved in the raid are not named as plaintiffs.

The plaintiffs say the rapper, whose real name is Joseph Foreman, took footage of their faces obtained during the August 2022 raid and used it in music videos and social media posts without their consent. They say that has caused them “emotional distress, embarrassment, ridicule, loss of reputation and humiliation."

The plaintiffs are seeking all of Foreman’s profits from his use of their personas. That includes proceeds from the songs, music videos and live event tickets, as well as the promotion of Foreman’s Afroman brand, under which he sells beer, marijuana, T-shirts and other merchandise. They also seek a court injunction to take down all videos and posts containing their personas.

The suit names Foreman, his recording firm and a Texas-based media distribution company as defendants. In an Instagram post made Wednesday, Foreman vowed to countersue “for the undeniable damage this had on my clients, family, career and property.”

Law enforcement officers were acting on a warrant that stated probable cause existed that drugs and drug paraphernalia would be found on Foreman’s property and that trafficking and kidnapping had taken place there, authorities have said. Those suspicions turned out to be unfounded, though, and the raid failed to turn up probative criminal evidence. No charges were ever filed.

When cash seized during the raid was returned to Foreman, it appeared that hundreds of dollars were missing. A subsequent review by the state Bureau of Criminal Investigation determined that deputies had miscounted the amount seized during the raid itself.

Foreman is best known for his songs “Because I Got High” and “Crazy Rap,” which were both featured on his album “The Good Times." He is also known for his political activism and announced last December that he plans to run for president.

#nunyas news #not a lawyer but I do think he has a right to #film cops doing their job #expectation of privacy is the only thing I can think of #that may come into play here

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itsany62 · 1 year

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SteveTony - 22/23 favorites

Here are some of my favorite fics of 2022 and 2023 . Don't forget to leave kudos and nice comments in every fic!

...but the place where you belong by Mireille, 2k, Pre-Relationship, Fluff, Post-Avengers (2012).

Steve meets somebody very important to Tony, and makes a good impression. (Pre-relationship fluff.)

The Northern Cascades by resurrectedhippo, 81k, Grief/Mourning, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Civil War Fix-It, Road Trips.

“I’m asking.” Steve walks two steps forward and waits. Tony’s wide eyes track his movements. “If you’d like to come. Like you said, see the country. How it’s changed. How it keeps going forward.”

***

A post-Infinity War fix-it set three years after the Snap where Steve tries to outrun his grief. This time, Tony runs after him.

met my destiny (in quite a similar way) by ishipallthings, 1k, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers (2012), Getting Together.

“I’m in love with you.”

The spatula in Tony’s hand clatters to the floor with an audible thwack.

(In which Tony is incredulous, Steve is determined, and absolutely no pancakes are made for breakfast.)

Punitive Measures (Met your Match) by BladeoftheNebula, 19k, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Historical, Dom/sub Undertones.

“Gods, he’s a beast,” Tiberius said from beside him, and for a moment, Tony had forgotten he was there. “I don’t envy the omegas, he looks like he’d have a strong hand.”

When the village elders bring in someone from the outside to fairly administer justice in the community, the alphas leap at the chance to send their unruly omegas to the Flagellator.

Tiberius Stone can't understand why his omega keeps acting up so much.

by your hands or mine by apricity_and_soulshine, 1k, Alternate Universe - Western, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics.

A short little one-shot featuring protective parent Tony and equally as protective mate Steve.

•••

Steve looked comfortable where he had dozed off at his desk. His arms crossed over his chest, boots propped up lazily. His Stetson was tipped down to block out the light bleeding in through the windows of the Sheriff's office. Steve's peace, however, like most days, could only last so long before he was so very rudely startled from his mid-afternoon nap. He jolted awake at the shouting that ensued as Alexander Pierce clambered into the station, Tony hot on his tail. The sheriff barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his mate and the man who owned most of the town spitting curses and crude remarks at one another.

this love came back to me by meidui, 8k, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie).

It’s been five years.

Tony is softer than he remembers, in navy blue wool, silver in his hair and beard, laugh lines deeper around his eyes and mouth, holding onto his little girl. Steve thinks he must look rougher than Tony remembers, from the way Tony holds her tighter and steps back from him when he shuts the door of his car, as if looking for an escape.

As if he could get away from Steve.

The Best Laid Plans by ChocolateCapCookie, 3k, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Single Parent Tony Stark.

“Pete, we need to set dad up with Mr. Rogers!” said Harley excitedly. “Think about it, they’d be perfect for each other! Dad’s always so tired and stressed, he could use someone like Mr. Rogers to calm him down a bit. And I know Mr. Rogers is single, he’s always talking about it being just him and his dog…”

“Harley, this is a stupid idea,” Peter interrupted. “You don’t know that Mr. Rogers is into men. And even if he was, what do you want to do, lock them in a closet together?”

"Yes."

"No, Harley”

On Today's Agenda by Annie D (scaramouche), 779, Established Relationship, Mpreg.

Tony and Steve have been on a baby-making agenda, and Tony wants to get right back to it.

Today Was a Fairytale by iam93percentstardust, 2k, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Prince Tony Stark, Getting Together.

Today was a fairytale You've got a smile that takes me to another planet Every move you make everything you say is right Today was a fairytale

Steve gives Tony daisies.

And it’s… nice.

Tony’s suitors send him roses and exotic orchids and genetically modified blossoms that bloom in impossible colors no one could ever hope to find in nature. His mother makes sure there’s always a fresh bouquet of irises in his room—they usually come from her own garden, but he still doesn’t know how she manages to find them even in the middle of winter.

And Steve… Steve gives him daisies.

love me like a sinner by ArabellaAM, 5k, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Misunderstandings.

“So,” he says in the end, attracting Steve’s gaze towards him. “Is that everything you wanted?” It’s only then —when he swears he can feel Steve’s breath tickling his cheek— that he realizes how close they actually are. So close the hunger in those blue eyes is undeniable, just as it’s undeniable Steve is no longer looking at him in the eye, but rather to his lips. “Not really,” Steve says, voice raw and thick, as his eyes move quickly to Tony’s annular finger before returning to his lips. Tony tilts his head and asks, in a tone that sounds more like a dare, “then what are you waiting for?” Steve doesn’t actually answer; it’s Tony that makes an educated guess as he tries to grasp for air once Steve dips his head and drowns in his lips.

Or, Steve visits Tony after five years and it's not the salvation of the world he's after.

as long as you love me so by ohjustpeachy, 1k, Established Relationship, Snowed In, Christmas Fluff.

“For what it’s worth, this is not how I imagined our first Christmas going,” Steve groans from where he’s sitting on the floor. It’s hard wood, and Tony knows it simply cannot be comfortable sitting that way. Even super soldiers aren’t immune to backaches, surely, and after the day they’ve both had, Tony wants nothing more than to lay right there beside him, ice and snow and ruined Christmas and failed mission be damned.

Or, after a mission goes wrong, Steve and Tony find themselves snowed in at a cabin in the middle of nowhere. On Christmas Eve.

#stony #stevetony #superhusbands #superfamily #tony stark #steve rogers #mcu #avengers #marvel #my recs

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years

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You’re the Mark

Day 3: Glove Kink (Ray Merrimen x F!Reader)

(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen. The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW: Light angst (neglectful relationship); smut (fingering; shades of dominance). 18+ only.

Word Count: 3435

Requested by anonymous!

You aren’t subtle at all, and the guys notice it almost immediately.

Strike that: most of the guys notice it almost immediately. Bosco, Levoux. They get back from a heist, this time at a poorly-guarded nightclub. They immediately set into motion like clockwork: start unpacking the money, dousing it for dye packs, microwaving it, counting it out. They are still in their tactical gear, close-fitting black clothing, heavy boots, gloves.

And most of them notice. The guys watch you as you stare at Ray, the desire blatant in your expression. You run the cash through the counting machine, but your eyes track Ray around the room while you do.

Bosco, Levoux—they notice.

Ray does not.

No one would ever accuse Ray Merrimen of being a great boyfriend. He’s not even a very good one: his first love has always been the high of planning and executing a heist, and any woman has always been a distant second. He’s a closed-off man; his stint in the Marines and then in prison has left him with little ability to grow connections beyond the fraternal ones with his MARSOC and heist buddies.

Somehow you wriggled your way into his life. You have the everloving patience of a saint, always overlooking the benign neglect, overlooking when you come in a distant second to a new score.

Levoux and Bosco love Ray like a brother, so they help him out as best they can. They both have families, loved ones. They both know that having someone to go home to each night can help keep the demons at bay.

They also both know that even a woman like you, patient to a fault, will eventually grow weary and leave—so they help him out.

It’s Bosco who sidles over to Ray. Ray is lost in his usual post-score audit, when he mentally walks through each step after the fact, looks for slip-ups or unforeseen snags. It’s overkill. It’s more work than is necessary, especially when there are better things to do.

“Hey,” Bosco says, his voice low. “Why don’t you leave it? We’re almost done here.”

Ray shakes his head. “The diagrams were off. They had HVAC work done that changed the schematics of the back office.”

“Doesn’t matter. We got away clean.”

Ray opens his mouth to argue, but Bosco reaches past him, rolls up the diagrams of the club. “Leave it, man. Don’t you have better things to do?”

Ray shakes his head. Bosco snorts in disgust, and he jerks his chin in your direction.

“C’mon, Ray. Your girl has been eye-fucking you for the past half hour. She came here all dolled up in that cute little dress, waiting for you.”

Ray turns and glances over at you, catches your eye. You gift him with a smile, then turn and run a new stack of money through the counter.

“When was the last time you spent any time with her, huh?” Bosco continues, quiet so you don’t hear him. “We’re nearly done here. Why don’t we roll out and let you have some alone time?”

*****

Ray knows he’s a shitty boyfriend. He has analyzed it from all angles and has no fucking clue why you stick around.

In theory, he wants to be better. In theory, he knows that you’re the best thing to happen to him I a long time, maybe in his whole life. Levoux once pulled him aside at a cookout, gave him a speech about how rare a loyal woman was, how a guy had to hold onto a steadfast woman with both hands when he found her.

In practice, he has no experience in this sort of shit. He’s had girlfriends, obviously. He just always kept them at arm’s length, and it never hurt when they finally got tired and broke up with him. Ray Merrimen keeps his inner self walled off from everyone, and that never was an issue until now.

For the first time, he thinks it might hurt. If you got tired of his shitty boyfriend behavior and broke up to him, it might actually hurt him.

He keeps his inner self walled off, but you’ve breeched his defenses anyway.

He knows he absolutely has to do better.

The guys clear out, and it’s only you and Ray left in the garage. You’re running through the final few bundles of cash. He walks over to you, tosses his black beanie, his black leather gloves onto the table beside you. You look up at him with that sunny smile of yours. As if he hasn’t been neglecting you for weeks and weeks so that he could focus on this heist.

These stupid heists. For the first time, Ray Merriment starts to think maybe there’s something beyond planning and executing perfect robberies.

“You did really well,” you tell him. You glance down at the running tally you’ve been keeping. “Looks like you’ll come out to almost a half million, all told. Seems like a lot for a night club.”

“We targeted that club because they were running drugs too.”

You laugh. “Criminals stealing from criminals. Doesn’t that cancel out the crime, like multiplying two negative numbers?”

“I don’t feel bad about it, stealing from those assholes.”

He watches as you finish up, as you bundle up the last batch of bills. Bosco’s earlier comment is at the forefront of his mind, and Ray doesn’t miss the shy glances you give him out of the corner of your eye. Shy glances, but laced with obvious heat—the way you catch your lower lip between your teeth as you watch him.

You finish, put the final bundles of cash in the non-descript toolbox that will be loaded into the work truck and transported to the guy who launders it for them. Then you turn and fix him with that same smile.

“Ready to go?” you ask.

He shakes his head and stares back at you. “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend, haven’t I?”

You sputter when you reply that no, he’s been fine…no, he’s been great, and Ray knows you’re being nice and lying to him.

“You can tell me the truth, you know. I want you to.”

You shrug, embarrassed. “I know you’ve been busy. Preoccupied. It’s fine.”

He shakes his head again. “It’s not fine. You deserve better.”

“I’m happy where I am, Ray.”

“You like waiting around on a career criminal who always puts you second?” He stares at you hard, half-wants you to wise up right in front of him. Dump him then and there and move on. You do deserve so much better: you are young and sunny and sweet and loyal, and anyone would be lucky to have you.

You cross your arms, and Ray is reminded that you are stubborn too—sweetly so.

“I’m happy where I am, Ray,” you repeat. “And I don’t mind waiting around for my career criminal boyfriend.” You tilt your head, sweep your gaze up him: from his combat boots to his short-cropped hair. “I like the way you look in your tactical gear.”

The corner of his mouth twitches in his version of a smile. “That so?”

“Yup.”

“You know, I’m a shitty boyfriend,” he says conversationally, and he turns back to the table where he tossed his gloves. “But I’m a fucking great criminal.”

You hum in interest, and Ray glances at you as he picks up his leather gloves. He pulls them on deliberately, one at a time.

Bosco was right: the lust in your expression is blatant. Your eyes get a heavy-lidded quality, and instead of biting your lip as you did before, your lips are parted as your breathing quickens. You watch his every move, watch his hands with obvious interest.

“The key to being a great criminal is intention.” He keeps the casual tone, but he stalks around the table towards you with purpose. Fixes you in his stare, and your breath hitches.

“It’s having a plan,” he adds. He stops and stands inches from you: he’s a full head taller, and he bends his head to look down at you. “It’s having a clear vision of what you want to do and then executing it.”

“What…” You stop, swallow audibly. “What do you want to do?”

He chuckles, reaches out one gloved hand and lays it gently along the side of your neck. “I can’t tell you. You’re the mark in this situation.”

“Oh.”

“You just have to wait until I do it.”

“O-okay.”

“All you have to do, baby, is tell me if it’s too much.” He lays his other hand on your waist. “You tell me to stop and I’ll stop, got it?”

“Got it.” Your voice is tight, strained. Even through the glove, he swears he can feel your hammering pulse in the side of your neck.

He dips his head lower, murmurs low in your ear. “Only problem is, I don’t have the schematics on you. You gonna take what I give you like a good girl? Or are you gonna be a problem?”

You breathe out unsteady, and he feels you shift against his light hold. “I’ll be good,” you whisper, and this is all new—the two of you have never played at anything like this, but Ray falls into this dominant persona too easily…and the want is shimmering off of you like heat off of asphalt. Being submissive must affect you similarly.

“What if it’s too much?”

“I’ll tell you to stop,” you answer.

“See?” He bends his head to you, nips lightly at the side of your neck. “Already doing so good for me.”

He moves the hand from your neck and puts it on your waist too, and then he turns you, walks you backwards until you bump into the table. He taps your hip, signals for you to hop up, and he guides you to sit on the edge of the table.

“First thing any good criminal does is get the lay of the land,” he says. “Learns the landscape.” He lays a gloved hand on your bare knee, places the other hand on your other knee. He presses on them, spreads your thighs and then slots himself between them.

He shifts one hand to cup the back of your neck, bending over as he towers over you. He steadies you, and he feels the barest bit of resistance against his hold. He turns the hand on your knee inward, strokes along the apex of your knee with the supple leather.

“Still okay?” he asks. He keeps his voice low, quiet. It’s his heist-voice, the same one he uses once the situation is under control and he needs people to pay attention to what he’s saying. “You gotta talk to me, baby.”

“Still okay.” You nod against his hand.

“You’ll tell me if you aren’t?”

“Yes.”

He wonders how it feels to you, the gloves touching you instead of his bare hands. It’s a curious sensation for him: desensitized to not feeling your soft skin, Ray is able to focus more on you. He takes in the way your breathing picks up, but you seem to be trying to hide it, seem to be concentrating on keeping calm.

He alternates: he skates his fingertips inch by inch against the inside of your thighs, switches from one leg to the other. When your breath starts to get a ragged quality to it, when he gets close to the sweet spot, he pulls away and starts over, this time with a firmer pressure. Then again, a third time, palming along your thighs, cupping the curves of your legs, letting you feel the seams of the leather.

“Seems like I’m taking too long, right?” he asks, still using his low heist-voice. “Criminals who get caught don’t take their time. They rush it. They get sloppy and miss some important point.”

You reach up, hook a hand around his elbow of the arm holding the back of your neck. “And you’ve not missed anything important?”

He hums in agreement. “Learned a lot of valuable intel.”

“Like what?”

“Like that it tickles when I use my fingertips really lightly. You want to jerk away but you stop yourself, because you are listening so well and being so good for me. But when I put my whole hand on you, when I grip your thigh with my entire hand, you press into it. You like that best. Being manhandled.”

To demonstrate, Ray does that—spreads his fingers wide, grips the inside of your thigh firmly. Presses that leg open wider, and he’s rewarded with your own fingers digging into his arm as you bite back a soft moan.

“Now, usually, I tell my marks to keep quiet.” He glances down at you, but your head is bent. He takes in the way your chest rises and falls, how hard you’re trying to keep your breathing even.

“But here, I think I’d rather hear you,” he continues. “Don’t you dare stop yourself from making noise. I wanna hear you.”

“Ray—”

“Don’t hold back for me. Got it?”

A beat, and he swears he can feel the heat rising from your face. “I got it.”

He lets his hand drift higher and higher, and even through the leather of the glove, he can feel the heat of you. He strokes you gently, the pad of his gloved hand rubbing you through the thin fabric of your panties as he cups your mound. You moan again, and you don’t try to stifle the sound this time.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “You listen so well.”

He goes slow, leisurely. Takes his time. He owes you his time—this bit here and so much more—but this is where he can start. After all the nights you went to bed alone, all the moments he missed because he was laser-focused on the club heist…he owes it to you, with interest.

Your other hand snakes out, lightly grips the bicep of the arm touching you so carefully. He can feel your fingers circling him, the surprising strength in your grip. A reminder that you’re soft and pretty and can play at these submissive games, but there’s a force hidden away in you, a secret reserve of strength that he rarely sees because he’s rarely around.

You’re also selfless to a fault. Even now, neglected as you’ve been, you squeeze his bicep and whisper, voice ragged and hoarse, “what about you, Ray?”

“I don’t share details with the mark,” he replies with a smile. “But you’ve been so good…I guess I can tell you. You don’t worry about me at all. You worry about yourself, okay?”

“But—”

“I’m running the show here, so you kinda have to listen,” he interrupts.

“Okay, but—”

He tsks in mock disappointment. “And you were doing so well.” A beat. “I’m taking care of you right now. I’m gonna make a mess of you, then I’m gonna take you home and clean you up. And if you’re very, very good, I’ll make a mess of you again.”

You drop your head at that, breathe out a shaky sigh as you press your forehead to his chest. He chuckles again, drops a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Still with me?”

“….yes.”

He shifts his hand between your legs. He pushes the fabric of your panties aside, and he strokes his gloved finger through your folds, drawing a shaky groan from you. He can feel your heat through the leather, but he can’t feel if you’re wet—but he can guess that you are, judging by how easily his fingertip slides against you.

The thought of you soaking the black leather of his glove, your scent mingling with the faint smell of the cured leather…it makes him grow harder, his cock pressing against his pants. Already his glove is rendered useless for future heists, covered in your DNA, and the thought of repurposing them for these sorts of games makes his own breathing quicken.

Already he can thinks of other things to repurpose. An outfit of all black, the tactical gear that made you ogle him so openly. Maybe a length of rope to bind your wrists….

Ray twists his hand and pushes his index finger into you, steady, until it’s buried in you.

“Oh, god,” you groan and you aren’t quiet at all. Just as he told you.

He kisses the top of your head again. He pulls his finger out, plunges it back into you. Again and again, over and over.

“Like that? Fuck, I can hear how wet you are. You like getting finger-fucked on my gloves? Like soaking them? Ruining them?”

He adds a second finger, pushes both into you. He can feel how the gloves add the barest bit of girth to his fingers, make him just a shade bigger. He can feel the stretch of your pussy accommodating him. He stills for a moment, lets you adjust to him. To the size of his fingers and the seams along the gloves, the unique sensation of something other than his bare skin inside you.

When your tight grip on his bicep loosens a little, he curls his fingers inside you. It always takes him a moment, so he presses carefully, slowly. Presses against the inner walls of your pussy, and he waits until he hears the sharp intake of breath, hears the whimper as you cry out, “right there, f-fuck, Ray, right there.”

“Knew I’d find it,” he smirks as he presses firmer, rubs you there. “Even with the glove on.”

He can’t feel you the way he usually would. Every other sense heightening in its absence: the scent of your arousal, the sight of your head pressed against his chest. He can hear how wet you are, but he can also hear the way you whine out his name, the little moans you give when he presses his thumb against your clit. The way your breathing gets harsh, catching in your throat as he draws you closer and closer.

He can still feel some things, though. He can feel your hands gripping his arms, can feel your feet when you lock your ankles around his legs. He can also feel the subtle way you rock against the table, pushing back against his hand the barest little bit. You stay in the submissive role mostly, but your hips move almost unconsciously, chasing his plunging fingers.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he whispers, and his own voice is hoarse now. “You gonna ruin these gloves for good? Make such a mess that I have to clean you up with my mouth when we get home?”

“S-so close,” you pant out. “Feels so g-good, Ray.”

He presses his thumb against your clit, hard, and it pushes you over the edge. His sensation is dulled by the leather of the glove, but he can feel your orgasm still: the way your pussy grips him, ripples along the length of his fingers. He swears he can feel the rush of your cum, feel it soaking through the seam of the well-made gloves, can feel the barest bit of your arousal against his skin.

He releases his hold on the back of your neck and winds his arm around you. He pulls you close as you tremble through your orgasm; he mutters against the top of your head how fucking good you’ve been, how hot you are, letting him fuck you with his gloved fingers.

You finally calm. You unlock your ankles, you release his arms. Ray slips his fingers out of you, and he bites back his own groan to see the mess you’ve made: the black leather slick and shiny with your cum.

But he puts his other hand on your shoulder, and he pushes you away from him enough to finally see your face: it’s similarly wrecked—your eyes glassy, your lower lip shiny with spit where you’ve been worrying at it. He smiles to see it, and he dips his head to kiss you.

He tries to keep any heat out of it. He tries to make it sweet.

You grin up at him when he breaks away. “Good heist, Merrimen?”

“Got the goods, got away with it,” he replies, deadpan. “Pretty good heist.”

“You are one of the best.” You crane your head for another kiss, and he obliges, and he feels the heat behind it…

“But I believe you promised to clean up the mess you made,” you reply when you break away. “So…”

“Home?” he asks.

“Home,” you agree.

#tropes-and-tales #tppkinktober2022 #ray merrimen #ray merrimen x reader #ray merrimen imagine #den of thieves

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xbunny-k · 2 years

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The Actor & I: PART TWENTY-EIGHT – Anastasia? Are You Ok?

This is part TWENTY EIGHT of a very long, SLOW BURN series on Austin Butler and a Production Assistant on set of Elvis (2022).

Masterlist here!

Anything italicized is main character’s thoughts!

Warnings: *this next entry will discuss an abusive relationship (emotional and physical) can DM you a recap w/out that part of the story if you need!* Possessiveness, smidge of misogyny, Smut, Fluff, eventual Spoilers for Elvis (2022), language (If i missed anything, please comment so i can add!)

Tags: @manddor @pumkiinpasties @its-funny-til-its-not @karamelcoveredolicity @butlerstyles @feral4austinbutler @mirandastuckinthe80s @emilykolchivans @atombombbibunny @francescababy @starry-night-20 @yeetfack-blog @milaa24 @londonalozzy @xo-aurora @chaoticbilly @mamaspresley @sageskywalker @cryingabtab @readerloverlevy @jakiki94 @dancer4j @pennyroyalcreep (Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

Please, if you like this, share it, comment, like it and enjoy xx

The next few days at work fly by as I’m busy preparing to be out of office for over a week to travel to Memphis with Austin, Baz and a few other people from Baz’s team. By the time it’s Friday night, I regret making plans tonight with my friends, but it’ll be good to see them and decompress from work a bit. I change into a black dress after getting ready for the night with my friend Nicole. I’ve been drinking a bit while getting ready and decide to take some pictures and actually post on Instagram, which is not very on brand for me. I giggle posting the photos thinking they’re a bit risqué of me in a mini dress on the bed, but who cares.

A few hours later, we’re leaving dinner with a group of friends and head out to a club, which is not my thing at all, but it’s for our friend Justin’s birthday. Awhile after being on the dance floor and drinking a bit, I decide to sit down and check my phone. As soon as I see the notifications, I feel like I sober up a bit. 3 texts from Kelsey, she’s with us, why is she texting me? 5 texts from Austin, I….

I decide to open Kelsey’s texts first since it’s weird she’s texting me since she’s with us, but she runs over to me before I can read them. “Ana, did you see what I sent you?! Why is he commenting on your Instagram. Like he deleted it, but still,” she screams over the music pulsating through the club. “What,” I yell back at her. She points at my phone before sitting down next to me. Her texts look panicked starting with, “OMG!” to “ANA!!!” and then finally a screenshot of my Instagram. Austin had commented a red heart emoji. I feel myself blush but try to hide it from my best friend.

I then realize I had texts from Austin. I rush to open them but try to shield them from Kelsey who is right next to me.

“Ok, I went to the grocery store and you’re going to think I’m crazy for how much stuff I bought.”

“I know we’re hanging out tomorrow, but what are you up to tonight?” “Your post…you look really great.”

“Where are you headed tonight?”

“Sorry for all the texts, I started drinking with some friends and…I just wanted to talk to you.”

I smile at the last one because I too want to talk to him. I kinda miss him even though we spent a lot of time together this week… As I’m deep in thought about texting Austin back, I see the last person I would ever want to see. What is he doing here? I need out of here.

I feel Kelsey grab my arm and I look at her. It’s the look best friends know what it means right away, “No I’m not ok, we need to leave.” She nods and grabs her purse and I follow suit, but as we’re getting up, my ex, Brandon, approaches me and leans down whispering into my ear, “Oh hey, Anaaa. You look good.” I roll my eyes and nod as politely as I can while gripping onto Kelsey’s arm for dear life.

I look over at my friend Justin and yell over the music, “I’m sorry to leave early on your birthday, but we’re gonna head out!” He comes over and whispers in my ear, “I don’t know why he’s here; I don’t even know the last time I talked to him…” I shrug and hug him as I try to make my way out. Before I can get away from our table, Brandon comes up and tries to pull me away from Kelsey. Kelsey pulls me on the other side of her, placing herself between me and my ex as she shouts at him, “Not tonight, Brandon. Just leave her alone.” Apparently, this is loud enough to get a bouncer’s attention as a bouncer makes his way over to us. I make eye contact with the bouncer and then look at Brandon and it seems the bouncer understands as he goes to ask Brandon to leave.

Kelsey and I try to leave the area, but with a rope tying off the area, we get a little stuck. Brandon comes up behind me following the bouncer and says loudly for anyone to hear, “You look good for a slut. Anyone want an easy time? Look over here.” I try to hide myself out of embarrassment for the scene he’s causing and to hide my expression from Kelsey. I don’t want her to see he still has the ability to make me feel so small. We broke up a while ago after I finally realized he was being abusive to me and it’s taken me time to heal, but his words still hurt. Kelsey pulls me out and before I know it, we’re in an Uber headed to my place.

Once we get back to my place, she offers to come up, but I just tell her I’m tired and gonna go to sleep. I promise to text her the next day and then head upstairs. The minute I get inside I slide down the other side of the door and just burst into tears. It’s not so much what my ex was yelling, just the place it brought me back to. I work so hard to not think about my past and anything that happened with Brandon but seeing him and feeling his grip on my arm. I feel my phone vibrate in my bag and pull it out. It’s just Kelsey letting me know she got home and to call her if I need her. I gasp for breath in between tears and switch from my messages to the phone call screen and before I know it, I’m waiting for an answer.

Eventually, I hear Austin say, “Anastasia? Are you ok? It’s so late.” There’s no way he can’t hear my tears as he then just asks, “Are you at home?” I nod and realize he can’t see me nodding, but I cannot bring myself to stop crying as I just whimper out, “Yyy-es.”

He firmly responds, “I’m on my way, I’ll be there in 15 minutes, ok, Anastasia?”

In what feels like no time at all, Austin arrives to my apartment and softly knocks on the door. I’m still sitting on the floor right against the door, so I just slide up and open the door. Austin is in a t-shirt and sweat shorts and his face falls as soon as he sees me. “Oh, Anastasia, what’s wrong,” he asks as he walks in my apartment and closes the door behind him. He pulls me in immediately into a hug and whispers, “It’s okay, baby. Let’s get you to bed.” He kisses the top of my head and guides me to my room. “Do you wanna take your shoes off and I’ll get you something comfy to wear,” he asks, but I grab his arm. “Don’t go, please,” I quietly beg. I slide out of my heels and lay down on my bed. Austin sits in the space next to me and I can feel him looking at me trying to figure out what to do or say.

Ana, you need to say something. He isn’t your boyfriend, but you called him and begged him to come over.

I tune my thoughts out as I don’t have the energy to be thinking about work or what Austin actually is to me. I just needed my friend who would be there for me without question. Kelsey wouldn’t judge me, but she would just tell me to wisen up and not dwell on it. She’d be right, but I just need to let the emotions out. I can’t bottle up how much seeing my ex and feeling his skin on mine, even if just a brief second, hurt me. It took me back to such a dark place.

While my head is spinning, I realize Austin has gotten up from the bed. “I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna get you some water,” he says as he bends down to me and rubs my cheek softly with his thumb. I nod and he hurries out to my kitchen. I see him come back towards my bedroom, but he goes into my bathroom. I try to relax my mind and calm myself down to stop crying. I can feel my tears streaming down my face, but I finally am able to catch my breath and feel the sobbing stop.

Austin appears at my side crouched down facing me. He has some Tylenol and water held out for me, which I gladly take. He takes the water glass and offers me a make-up removing wipe, which makes me giggle. “There she is,” he smiles softly at me. I take the wipe from him and sit up a bit to take my make-up off. Once I’m done, he caresses my face with his thumb and says, “Much better.” I can feel more tears coming as I lay down again and I quietly ask, “Come lay down with me?” Austin with zero hesitation slides out of his shoes and is laying down opposite me. He wraps his one arm around me and uses the other to rub my arm. He quietly asks, “Anastasia, do you wanna tell me what happened?”

I sigh and quietly say, “No, but I feel like I owe you an explanation.” He turns me around so I’m facing him, and he says, “You don’t owe me anything. We can just lay here until you fall asleep, ok?” I nod and stay laying facing Austin. I run my fingers on his chest over his t-shirt. His eyes darken quickly, but as I look up into them, they soften back to their normal icy blue and he softly says, “Everything is gonna be ok, Anastasia. I got you, just go to sleep, baby.” I don’t have the energy to fight him on calling me baby, but I can feel my body react for a moment. I get so caught up in my thoughts…

He’s just a friend… but why is he calling me baby? Why did he rush here in the middle of the night? I was ignoring his texts and he came to me immediately when I called… Why is he looking at me like that? I just want to kiss him…

In order to stop from thinking so much and doing something I regret; I decide to open up to him. “I was out with some friends and my ex was at the same place,” I start to say quietly. Austin’s eyes look at me with such focus, like he isn’t just focused on what I’m saying, but how I’m saying it. “We broke up on pretty bad terms… at first, he was my everything. My first boyfriend and my first…well everything. Brandon started out great, but then he was a bit controlling and would lose his temper with me, but just get angry. Then he’d start grabbing me too hard or shoving me, but he’d always apologize like it was an accident,” I continue, and I look away from his eyes. “I remember the first time Brandon hit me, he apologized immediately. I thought I was done right away. But he was so apologetic I took him back a few days later. But then he just kept doing it. He’d hit me or shove me, apologize and we’d move on before he did it again. He started just demanding I stop going out with friends and I really never saw them for months. I had just turned 19 and he took everyone away from me,” I say as I look back up at him.

Austin’s eyes are locked on me, and I can see anger in them. He looks so hurt and I feel bad for unloading this on him. I think he can sense my thoughts as he says, “Anastasia, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to keep going if you don’t feel comfortable. I’m here for you, no matter what. You’re at home. You’re safe. I have you.” I look down from his eyes that are locked into mine and he reaches down and grabs my hand. I look back up at him and he quietly says, “I’m always going to make sure you feel safe. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop you from seeing him tonight.” I squeeze his hand and say, “I want you to know everything. It’s important.” He looks deep in my eyes, like he’s trying to get in my head to know what I’m thinking. He nods and I continue, “I was in class one day and ran into Kelsey, who immediately knew something was off. I didn’t look like myself, I was weak and just drained of any visible life, pale, thin and just no light in my eyes. It was summer, but I was wearing long sleeves and pants. She got it out of me that he was just hurting me, but she didn’t need to know anymore.”

I start to cry and Austin pulls me into him as he strokes my hair and says, “Anastasia, you’re so brave. You’re out of that time in your life and you’re so loved. You have everyone here for you and you’re safe.” I start to cry even harder. He barely knows me, but knows what I need to hear to be comforted… I bring myself to stop crying and continue, “I spent months living with Kelsey after she helped me just load up my stuff and never even say anything to Brandon other than ‘I’m leaving.’ I changed my number, stopped using social media and just learned to be myself again… My friend group, which was also his friend group, stopped hanging out with him. I really had a clean break from him once I regained my sense of self.”

Austin looks deep into my eyes as he pulls me out of our embrace and says, “I’m so happy you were able to do that for yourself. It’s why you so strong willed, you can really do anything you set your mind to. It’s why I like being around you so much. Anastasia, thank you for telling me.” He pulls me back into him and I grip my arms around him as we’re laying in my bed, on top of the covers and facing one another. I feel so much lighter after telling him all this; like he really knows the real me now. It’s ugly, but it’s what made me the person I am. “He’s the only person I’ve been with and just hearing him say things about me… just really affected me and I just had to come home,” I whisper, and I can feel his body tense up. Austin says, “Anastasia, don’t worry about anything he has to say. I’ve got you.”

#austin butler elvis #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler x reader #austin butler #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #fan fiction #fan fic

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cindylouwho-2 · 5 months

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RECENT ECOMMERCE NEWS (INCLUDING ETSY), Early May 2024

Welcome to my latest coverage of Etsy and other ecommerce news, early May edition. I am off for a short vacation Monday, so thought it best to get this report out now.

Want to get shorter versions of these reports but more frequently? Become a paying member of my Patreon. I will be adding new resources and content there once I get back from my trip.

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TOP NEWS & ARTICLES

Etsy’s first quarter financial report for 2024 was not great, but that was expected. The real news is that they no longer expect the current quarter to be much better [Tumblr post by me]. Also, they are still planning on changing search.

Canadian shipping service Chit Chats is shutting a dozen offices in 4 provinces, starting April 29 through May 15 [LinkedIn Post by me]. It appears they expanded too fast and have much more competition now than when they first opened, so the additional locations were not very busy. Some may be replaced by drop off points. There is a thread in the Etsy forum with more info.

Etsy CEO Josh Silverman made over $16 million in 2023, roughly the same amount as 2022 [pdf; see page 56]. Almost all of that was stock options. Chief Financial Officer Rachel Glaser made over $8 million, as did Chief Technology Officer Rachana Kumar.

ETSY NEWS

Etsy buyers are receiving emails asking them to rate their recent purchases, as discussed in this Etsy forum thread. The owner of Garden Path Rosaries at Peter's Square Marketplace sent me the screenshot below, which popped up after they clicked the email to confirm they had received the order.

These questions may be connected to details popping in recent reviews, even though the popups and emails say the feedback “won’t be shared with the seller or shown on Etsy.” See this screenshot from Kathie from PillowDetail’s shop:

It’s also possible these review details come from a different test, or even from the act of leaving a review, as some buyers report getting similar options when they leave public reviews. [As is usual with Etsy, they change a lot of things without explaining how any of it works.]

Etsy seems to have deleted most Messages in seller spam folders without any warning, and some shop owners are not happy about it. [The only one I have left is a recent Message that Etsy moved there erroneously.]

Etsy is still promoting its TurboTax discount to Canadian sellers - even though the integration only works in the US. [post by me on LinkedIn]

Canadians no longer need to have a Canada Post Solutions for Small Business account to use Etsy Labels - and the discount for Tracked Packet to the US is very good. [Patreon post by me]

NBC News calls out Etsy for AI crochet patterns that don’t work. While the article blames the images being made by AI, I’ll bet the patterns were too.

Despite this type of criticism over allowing AI items to be sold on the site, Silverman told a recent investors conference that he is still all in on AI in many forms. “Many sellers on the platform are generating content in collaboration with a machine, Silverman said, and a large amount of new item listings are generated in collaboration with GenAI. But given that Etsy is a platform for handmade goods, the boundary between man-made and machine-made required some clarification. “We had some discussions about, is that handmade or not? Does that belong on Etsy? And we decided, ultimately, that it was—in the same way that electronic dance music, the most popular form of music in the world right now, is collaborations between humans and synthesizers,” said Silverman. “I think this collaboration between humans and machines to generate art is actually going to be the next frontier.” He did admit that the search chatbot tested on the app many months back was poorly received. [The article is really worth reading, in my opinion.]

Gift Mode has now launched worldwide [text with embedded video], and gift teasers will soon include videos from the giver. The teasers have been growing in popularity, with 7% of gift orders in March using the teaser.

The Marketplace Trends report for spring & summer is out, and apparently there has been a 266% increase in searches for divorce gifts. Even more impressive is a ”2,159% YoY increase in searches on Etsy for lawn games”. Skim through the whole report if you want to know what is trending up.

Etsy released 2 different “impact goal” posts on Earth Day, which included Reverb and Depop. While you can read a lot more detail in the 2023 Integrated Annual Report [pdf], here are the individual posts:

Environmental impact goals: reduced carbon emissions, on track to be net zero carbon emissions by 2030. “[S]ellers created 108 million listings with circular attributes on the Etsy, Depop and Reverb marketplaces, including vintage, upcycled, used and secondhand items.” The document mentions increasing Disaster Response Grants (for U.S sellers only) and “open source resource guides that help makers access climate-related disaster information and funding.” 2024 goals are listed.

Social impact goals: discusses gender, race and disability representation in its workforce, and funding for “creative entrepreneurs from low-income and underserved communities.”

Related to the environmental impact goals, Etsy published a disaster guide (mostly US-focussed), and put out a (very short) funding guide for US sellers at the same time.

ECOMMERCE NEWS (minus social media)

Amazon

Amazon added over 5 million sellers since 2018, 2 million of them in the US. That's only about 100,000 more than Etsy in the same time period, comparing 4th quarter 2018 to the end of 2023.

There are now Amazon shoppable livestreams on Prime Video and Freevee. “Amazon Live’s FAST channel will feature 24/7 programming from popular creators and celebrities, such as reality TV stars …Brands like Tastemade and The Bump will also host streams to sell their products.”

Amazon drone delivery is ending in California, but continues in Texas and will soon start in Arizona.

Amazon’s first quarter was great, but note that ⅔ of its operating income comes from the cloud services, not ecommerce.

BigCommerce

BigCommerce announced many new features, including more country localization, new builder options, syncing inventory through Feedonomics, and of course, AI.

eBay

eBay is now testing an Explore feature to put together a clothing shopping feed with AI. I don’t have this in Canada yet, but it has been spotted in the US and the UK, and the links in the article do work in Canada. I selected a bunch of women’s options and was presented with a feed that had a lot of men’s clothing, so this appears to work about as well as Etsy’s Gift Mode, which Liz Morton compared it to.

eBay’s sales and revenue were both up slightly in the first quarter, while active buyers were down 1% from the year before.

Shopify

Shopify is reorganizing Support, in part to inject more AI into the process. Employees are worried about possible layoffs.

Walmart

Cart.com is now helping new sellers start on Walmart Marketplace, and is offering multi-channel syncing for existing businesses as well.

All Other Marketplaces

Vinted has turned a profit for the first time, riding the trend of interest in secondhand clothing.

Ruby Lane will be increasing its shop fee to $45 from $25 as of June 1, and will be removing the rebate for listing 15 new items monthly.

Bonanza’s annual Spring sale runs May 8th to 15th. The coupon code sellers must activate is SpringSale2024.

The EU has forced Shein under the umbrella of the Digital Services Act.”The European Commission specifically noted new requirements for Shein around illegal products on its site. The company will have four months to submit a risk assessment report and will need to introduce mitigation measures against “the listing and sale of counterfeit goods, unsafe products, and items that infringe on intellectual property rights.”

Shipping

Labels service Shippo is introducing paid tiers for any businesses printing over 30 labels a month through its service. Anyone printing 30-200 labels a month will be charged $19 monthly; under that is free.

Canadian customers - who are already being charged 5 cents USD per label - are also affected, although we get fewer features and carriers [Shippo just confirmed this via support ticket.] Sounds like there are cheaper options for most of us elsewhere now.

#ecommerce #EtsySellerNews #etsy #microbusiness #cindylouwho2 #EtsyNews

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vendetta-if · 2 years

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Hey guys 👋 I just notice that I should probably start making posts updating on the exclusive content that I made on Patreon whenever I finished them 😅

So, I decided to make two posts to let you guys know all of the exclusive side stories and the spicy ones that I currently have up on Patreon so far. In this post, I'll exclusively focus on all the side stories and give out a little sneak peek of each of them. For the spicy side stories and Q&A sneak peeks, click here.

If you guys are interested in supporting me and getting access to all of these exclusive side contents, please check out my Patreon page 🥰💖 I currently have a monthly-subscription-based payment set, so you don't have to worry about getting charged twice when subscribing near the end of the month.

Other than weekly progress update posts, here are currently all the exclusive side stories that are up by the end of November 2022:

Vendetta Halloween Interactive Side Story

Around 19K words, it's a really cute and wholesome and fluffy story about little MC, Ash, and Rin celebrating Halloween together with Viktor, Takashi, Luka, and Cara. You'll have three Halloween costumes to choose from, which will also affect Ash's and Viktor's costumes. There will also be four different activities to choose from for the Halloween Fair and a bunch of smaller interaction options!

Check out the little snippet/sneak peek of the story in this post!

Dead Man Walking (Part 1 & Part 2)

An angsty AU where MC is the one who dies instead of Viktor that night in the alley. Written in Viktor's POV. Around 6K words long.

You’re not sure how you even got into this mess in the first place, but you should’ve known that this day would come, sooner or later. You can only run away for so long before the consequences of everything you’ve done catch up to you.

Any other day, or maybe when you were younger, you would have turned back and tried to face them head-on. But now, you have something special—oh, so very special and dear to you—and you won’t risk harming him; his safety is the only thing on your mind right now.

You are running through a maze of deserted and dank alleyways on a cold winter night, and beside you is your son, his little hand is engulfed in your bigger one as you hold on tight. Sasha has just turned ten today and even though this might not be the best birthday he has had so far, you are planning to make it up to him in the next few days during the weekend.

Vodka Misadventure (Part 1 & Part 2)

A wholesome side story featuring young MC and Ash regarding the vodka incident that they talked about at the party in Chapter 2 😂 Written in MC's POV and a little part in Ash's POV. 6.5K words long.

It’s far from your first time stepping foot in his office. You’ve spent a lot of time with Ash here when you were both younger, hanging out with each other while Uncle Luka worked on some stuff on his desk. It’s certainly a spacious office with a plush carpet and sleek and elegant furniture. There is no window in the room, but it doesn’t feel suffocating at all.

In one corner of the room, there is a full set of sofas, armchairs, and a low and wide coffee table made out of black marble. It’s where you often spent time with Ash and also where your Uncle would receive guests. You know your uncle always makes sure to lock his office whenever he’s not using it and the fact that you’re both in here right now without him even knowing makes you nervous a bit as if you’ve done a crime.

“We have tunnels?” you say in awe.

“Cool, right? Uncle Luka showed this one to me, like a few days ago. He said he’ll give us a thorough tour soon. Said it’ll be useful for us to know, in case of… Well, never mind that. I still have one more thing to show you!” Ash gushes.

They set down the pizza box on the coffee table before moving towards Uncle Luka’s big desk and you trail after them gingerly.

A Fateful Encounter

A Yvette backstory on how she first met Viktor. 6K words long.

Yvette’s heart rate skyrockets as panic starts to sink in. Thankfully, she had taken advantage of the man’s momentary distraction to grab her phone. She quickly taps it to unlock it, only to find out that the phone is… dead. The electricity…

“Well, I think it’s enough chatting. Now, what should I do with you, huh, missy?” There’s a slight edge of excitement under his tone. “If you really are a hero like you said, then maybe it’s a good idea to kill you and make you an example. Or maybe maiming you to the point where the agency wouldn’t want you anymore will be a better fate? Hmm… I like the sound of that. I can already see the headlines: ‘Tragedy strikes as a young superheroine’s career got cut short,’” he says to himself almost dreamily before turning back to her, electricity charge building up in his palms.

He takes a step closer to her and Yvette scrambles back futilely. She feels her scalp tingling as strands of her hair start floating from the static electricity building up in the surrounding atmosphere. This is it… This is the end of my career, my life, she thinks one last time before bracing herself for the agony. However, the man stops at the last moment and turns his head towards the entrance. Yvette hears the crunching glass chimes for a split second before the man in front of her is tackled away.

Patreon Link

Spicy Side Stories and Q&A Sneak Peeks Post

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youjustgotxfiled · 2 months

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Hey, everybody! I've finally gotten around to starting to upload my own works on this hellsite! :D

This one's dedicated to all the Amphibia and Sashannarcy fans out there, as well as to everyone who deals with trauma, CPTSD, anxiety, depression, and other mental & emotional conditions and disorders, as well as to everyone in the LGBTQ community at large. You are ALL warriors who deserve the best out of life.

This piece was written between May and November of 2022, but is only being uploaded here now because a) I wanted to run it through beta readers to feel confident enough to post it, and b) I wanted to make sure my AO3 and DeviantArt accounts got their uploads going first.

If you like what you see here, feel free to like, reblog, and share with everyone! Any and all engagement helps me out a ton (especially the reblogs XD).

Story for Chapter 1 below the cut for those unable to access the link above.

************************************************************************

You are invited to: THE BEST FAMILY DINNER EVER!

You’d recognize that script anywhere. The kind of writing that can come from just one colleague of yours: the inimitable Marcy.

You’ve known each other for a fair bit now; ever since Marcy moved back to Los Angeles and took a job in your studio three years ago, you’ve have been quite the talk of the town as perhaps the two lone people ever to have gotten more than five words out of each other in any given conversation. Not that either of you mind too much—being both introverts and nerds helps you be that much more attuned to each other’s needs and interests, to say nothing of the ease with which each’s rapt attention to the ramblings of the other helps block out the surrounding office gawking and gossip. After all, both of you are very much used to it by this point in your lives.

Still, this invitation comes as a surprise. For one thing, Marcy is not one to talk about her private life or after-work plans much, and neither are you. For another, one of the few things she has revealed is that she’s married to a pair of women, and not just any pair: they’re Anne and Sasha Boonchuy-Plantar, famed heroes and defenders of Earth from the attempted “Frogvasion” over ten years ago. Though you haven’t said as much to Marcy, you’re filled with all sorts of weird emotions at the mention of their names. Excitement, fear, curiosity, and longing all collide within you, TV and social-media images and sounds of that day—of THEM, at their most fierce and intimidating—bouncing around in your mind, leaving much more space than is comfortable to wonder how much of it carries over, then or now, into their private lives.

How similar it makes them to…well, them.

No, you think. Your hands are beginning to tremble, your breathing becoming tougher to do. Not them. PLEASE not them. Not right now.

You put the invitation card down on your desk, gripping your hands against the front edge to steady them and not tip off any snooping passers-by. For a long moment, you close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, hoping the serrated pattern it takes on when you get like this isn’t loud enough for anyone to hear it. After a shake of your head for good measure, you open your eyes again.

“Heeey!”

You jump in your seat, and it’s all you can do not to scream. At least your hands have stopped trembling. You can’t say the same for your breathing, however.

“Oh my frog, I’m SO sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” Marcy says as you turn your head to see her standing next to you. Her hands are covering her mouth, and her brows are furrowed upward. Uh oh. Better make a quick cover.

“No worries, Marcy! I was, uh…just kinda tunneling on this frame, is all,” you reply. You throw in a sheepish laugh and grin for good measure, hoping to God—excuse you, FROG—that she buys it. “You know how I get with that sort of thing.”

“Oh, yeah! I’m the same way when I get SUPER-invested in something,” says Marcy. She flaps her hands to accentuate her words, a trait you find makes you smile. For a moment, you wonder if Anne and Sasha react the same way about it, too, though the chill coming up your spine and settling in your stomach at the mere thought of them prompt you to shove the question aside and turn your attention back to the still-chatting Marcy.

“—so she was thinking that we should sub it out for roast beef sandwiches, but of COURSE Anne wanted something a little more special than that, so—”

“Marcy,” you say. She quiets right away, noting the tension and uncertainty you’re failing so hard to hide in your voice. “Do…” The names seem a bit too difficult for you to spit out, so you opt for the next best descriptor. “Do your wives know you’re planning all this?”

“Of course they do,” Marcy replies. She tilts her head with a confused look. “I’ve been begging for them to put this together with me for at LEAST the last two weeks. I can’t even BEGIN to tell you how many work stories of our convos I’ve shared with them just to get them to let their guard down and be a LITTLE curious about you.”

Let their guard down. Sounds…possessive. That doesn’t bode well. The icy feeling in your stomach begins to swirl. Out of sight—you hope—your grip on the edges of your desk tightens, even as you flash another smile. “Heh, yeah. Probably should have figured that. Sorry for the stupid question, Mar.”

“Oh, no! I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” says Marcy. She looks down for a second, her beautiful smile fading a bit. “Frog knows I’ve hurt them enough with trying to plan stuff behind their backs.”

It’s your turn to shoot Marcy a perplexed look. Hurt? Behind their backs? Whatever in the multiverse could she be referring to? You look down towards the ground for a moment, wheels turning at an even higher speed in your mind. You look back up at Marcy. “Are…are you okay with telling me more about that?”

Marcy emits a sad grin, shaking her head. “No. Not right now, anyway. That stuff’s…pretty private between the three of us.” She looks back up at you. “You ARE super-nice and considerate, though. Maybe one day. When I’m ready. When all three of us are ready.”

When all three of us are ready? Now that’s curious phrasing if you’ve ever heard it. Your pulse begins to quicken, as does your breathing. Your trembling hands are becoming a bit more pronounced, too. Does your possessiveness reading have legs? Maybe accepting this invitation isn’t such a good idea…

You squeeze your eyes shut, gritting your teeth. You exhale in a huff. You’re not letting this fear overtake you again. Not ever again—you let them control you enough as it was then, and you have no intention of ever letting them win. This is YOUR life to live now, dammit!

Right?

You reopen your eyes and shoot an even more exaggerated grin at Marcy than before. It’s crucial that she not see your panic right now. “Fair enough. Perhaps tonight’s dinner will be a start, then.”

Marcy’s eyes widen. She begins to jump, hands flapping a million miles a minute. “EEEEE!” She squeals, all toothy smiles. “I’m SO excited for you to come over! Oh, I can’t WAIT for you to meet the other girls! This’ll be the best guest-dinner EVER!”

************************************************************************

You arrive right on time at six o’clock, though more so because you had trouble finding the right address than out of any sense of precision or punctuality. After all, the directions are but one of several thoughts racing through your mind.

At length, you reach the bottom of the steps leading up to what appears to be a modest suburban house like most others here in Long Beach—small front porch, two stories with a couple of windows apiece, sloping up at the top where the attic might well be.

You close your eyes, taking one more deep breath. You look down at yourself—not dressed the fanciest in the world, but presentable enough, in your opinion. Plus, you made a point to comb your hair and shower before heading out. Outside, you’re about as good as you’re going to get.

The question, of course, is inside.

You’ve been running through several scenarios in your mind—or rather, your mind has been running them through you. It’s never been your best friend for most of your life to begin with, but you and it have been on extra bad terms with each other since they tore you to pieces all those years ago. Fear and suspicion have lived so long in your head that they now color your perception of every person who tries to touch you, and these three are no exception.

First off, Marcy. She’s sweet and all, if a little on the airheaded side of things in spite of her clear exceptional intelligence. Despite your mutual talents for talking each other’s ears off, however, most of your convos never turn to your personal lives, in part because she seems to…well, never want to talk about it. She always tends to look down, or in directions other than your gaze. Like she’s far off from that moment and into one from the distant past. One with a lot of secrets.

Too many secrets.

What do they contain? Do you want to know? Is it something that can hurt you if you don’t? How long do you let her play this out before demanding she come clean? And are you willing to lose her as a friend because of it, like you have so many others--?

You shake your head in a violent motion. You’d better get this show on the road before you change your mind.

You pull out your phone, pulling Marcy’s contact info up. “I’m here!” you text. You add a smiley face for good measure.

A minute passes. Two. You start to wonder if maybe you’ve got the wrong house, after all.

Ding!

“Be ready in five! Just need to finish the main course lol,” Marcy replies. For a moment, you’re confused as to why they don’t just let you in and make you wait in the living room or something. Then comes the second ding! “Still trying to clear the last of the smoke from the oven. Wouldn’t want you to die from carbon-dioxide poisoning before the loves even get to meet you,” she adds, throwing in a sweating-smile emoji for punctuation.

You begin to smile and sweat at the same time, too, though not for the same reasons she is right now. Loves, she called them. And they might be possessive. Which means getting too close to any of them, too quick—but to Marcy in particular—equals a high chance of getting eaten alive by them. In any case, you need to sit down and get your thoughts a hair more together. Strategy was key for a successful night here, after all.

You take a quick glance at the porch, and notice that there’s a swinging chair hanging from the right-hand side of the eaves. Three, maybe four people wide. Perfect. You waste no time in marching up the steps and making yourself comfortable, taking care to keep your toes dug into the wood of the porch floor so that you’re not swinging all over the place. Once you’re settled, the thoughts catch up to you again.

Strategy, comes the first offering from your subconscious. A fitting word for this situation. One an ex-military leader like Sasha would appreciate.

Sasha. Right. The blonde double-sword warrior whose severing of the interdimensional demon’s cord—umbilical? medical? The public debate still raged—was now perhaps the second-most iconic news image in recent memory, of course to Anne—

A full-body shiver strikes you. Not now. Not right this second. And why are you feeling so cold as you’re sweating, anyway? Isn’t it 75 and sunny? You squeeze your eyes shut a moment, then reopen them, determined to keep them on the porch floor for now. Okay. Time to focus.

Determination, your brain titters. And focus, too. I wonder how many more appropriate words we can add to the vocabulary list of Sasha descriptors before we—

“Shut. Up,” you growl. Frog, you wish you could just grab the jokers that liked to snatch the microphone for your thoughts and crucify them against the wall, sometimes. You can dream, can’t you?

Dreams, your mind responds. You’ve been having all SORTS of dreams about Sasha, haven’t you?

Much as you hate to admit it, you have. And many of them haven’t been pleasant.

Ever since the footage of that fateful day was uploaded for all to see and meme, you’ve developed a nasty habit of rewatching it over and over along with millions of others. It’s become a bad combination with your memories of them, but Sasha’s clips, though brief compared to Anne’s, are anything but merciful in how they’ve impacted your psyche. For starters, they helped you develop a deep fear and suspicion of anyone with combat training, in particular those teenaged or older with any kind of military background. For another, one of the few things Marcy has deigned to mention about her wives is that Sasha, like them, seems to have a chronic short fuse even outside of battle, and you know all too well the various kinds of body discoloring that can result from someone with a loose emotional grip. All well and bad, to be sure. But that’s not even the worst part.

The worst part is the dreams.

It’s enough of a struggle to get to sleep these days anyway, has been for years. But once sleep comes…the horrors are often indescribable. Them, seeming to save the day and the city from the invasion—and then continuing to kill, and kill, and kill, until you’re the last Angelino standing, begging for mercy and a second chance that will never come. Sasha and them, together, tying you up and forcing you to watch their plans for a dictatorial new world order come into fruition, with your eyes being taped open to deprive you of sleep for good measure. Sasha alone this time, in your house that you bought with your own money, stalking you, beating you with a cup, and then her fists, and then her boots, because it’s just so fun to torture you for being so weak and helpless and not wanting to learn how to fight like she does, then taking the sword from her beltline and tearing your heart out with it, with watching you lose consciousness and your life being so funny to see that she just keeps laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and—

Ding!

“Jesus!” you shout. Your toes lose their grip on the porch floor, and you’re quite certain at least a couple of the neighbors heard you. As you wait for the swing to run its course, you look down. Your upper body is now soaked in sweat. Great. Just great. At least you can use the weather as an excuse, you hope.

The swing comes back to center position, and your breathing has returned to a manageable level. You waste no time checking out the text that startled you from your poisonous reverie.

“Gonna be another 5 before we’re ready, love! SO SO sorry to keep you waiting outside,” it reads, punctuated by a frown. “Smoke alarms going off ALL over the house now, so now we’re trying to keep the food, furniture, AND you from getting soaked. Try and enjoy the sun! Will text again when we’re all done.”

Smoke alarms? You scrunch your face. Then, you hear the faint, shrieking beeps coming from inside, the detector in the living room behind you losing its mind as you felt like you were not a few moments ago. Perhaps that was why you didn’t catch it the first time. And as for poor Marcy…well, she’s confided to you about being a walking disaster before, but this? This is another level. You wonder if these are the kinds of pratfalls Sasha and Anne have to deal with every day. And what their limits are for tolerating it.

More to the point, you wonder about Anne’s limits for tolerating it.

For tolerating you.

Unlike Sasha’s limited footage, Anne’s is so extensive that breakdowns of her fight with the mad King Andrias are plentiful on social media. What that’s meant for you is plentiful opportunities for every punch, kick, shot, and word between the two of them to be burned into your mind. Bad enough that every moment of combat itself raises their specter in your mind, and that the additional sounds of shattered windows, wrecked cars and buildings, and ear-piercing screaming churn your stomach. Even these things, however, pale in comparison to how Anne powers up—and how it all ends.

First, the power-up. By some grace of the multiverse’s cosmic forces, she had—has? —the ability to go from regular, brown-skinned Thai to a glaring, snarling, blue-haired demigod of immense power. The aura itself is intimidating enough, but the changing of her eyes from brown to icy blue is unnerving. And that voice. Oh frog, that voice—a voice at once hers and that of a power far beyond comprehension, one even angels and demons alike would tremble from in fear. Her power in this state is (was?) nothing to sneeze at, either—she could fly, summon swords, dismantle enormous missiles, knock the block off of dozens of robots, take insane physical punishment. All primo nightmare fuel for someone prone to conflating, extrapolating, and associating. But even this—even this—doesn’t stack up to the real reason you can’t sleep at night anymore.

The way the fight ends.

For all the damage and punishment the two dealt Los Angeles and each other up to this point, it was at least comprehensible thanks to its striking similarity to that of a superhero showdown in a Marvel or DC film. Even when Anne, demonic voice and all, began to tear down the leviathan about his inability to open his heart or follow his true feelings, it felt, cruel as it was, familiar enough. Precedent, after all, bred familiarity and minimized shock value, the key ingredient to creating trauma. Which made what happened next all the more insane.

There were two occasions in the fight where Anne lost her grip on her powers. The first time, she’d been clocked enough by the king’s fists and missiles to make a mini-crater in the helipad of a nearby hospital, where she appeared to be down for the count—that was, before some FBI agents on the scene had the bright idea of using enormous loudspeakers to play one of her favorite songs, a move that brought her and her powers back and is now the reason you still struggle to listen to K-Pop on the radio anymore. The second time, however, was where things began to defy description.

Alongside Anne and Sasha, there were dozens of the aforementioned FBI agents, some military, and a host of creatures—from the other dimension, it was presumed—battling all manner of robots and perverted animals on the street level. Among them was a small family of what appeared to be anthropomorphic frogs, from which the event itself would get its name. One of the more well-known images from the day was when they began a strange, hypnotic dance that would end up subduing a pair of mutated herons responsible for much of the early damage. It was one of these smaller frogs—Sprig, you seem to remember Anne calling him in the fight footage—that stepped in as a meat shield when Anne seemed to just lose her glow all at once, leaving her on the physical brink and ripe for a finishing blow from the titan. A single slingshot to the dome to get his attention. Then…the speech.

There are internet denizens who can quote the whole thing chapter and verse, but you’ve never been one of them. Something about the necessity of change, feelings repressed, and following one’s heart when the moment comes, all coming from the soul of someone once near and dear to the king long since lost to time and regret. All you know is that the letter Sprig read to Andrias appeared to have moved him to tears, to the point where he began to wail about the accruement of his sins being too high to overcome and pounding the roof of the building they were both on. And yet…Anne didn’t care.

She just. Didn’t. Care.

No matter that her enemy had seen the light, no matter that his subsequent redressing himself into the armor he’d been using the whole time looked involuntary, no matter that she seemed ready to hear him out for a second before his re-armoring appeared to be all it took to convince her otherwise.

She kept trying to power herself back up. To rear back for one last blow. A couple of snaps of the fingers. A spark. Then all blue again, circling back around, picking up speed as she—from what you remember of the footage available—aimed straight for the frog’s heart. The king himself, frozen for a moment, then waiting until the last possible second before disarming himself again, eyes closed, arms spread wide, embracing the inevitable—a gesture that even the most hardened of war veterans would give pause over, reflexes permitting.

Anne did not give pause.

She killed him.

Oh, everyone debates whether the king died from the blow, citing deceptive camera angles and trajectories and combat philosophy. But you know.

You know better.

You can’t speak for creatures from other universes, but you know for a fact that not a single one of Earth’s would have survived a direct shot like that. And that the king, torn limb from limb, never moved much again. And that Anne, smiling and triumphant over her deed, took one last look at him, went up to the floating castle for something (someone?), and came back to drag his body up to it before the castle vanished into the portal from whence it came.

All of this, burned into your memory. And that blow. That last blow, that image seared into the brains of everyone who lived through that day but yours in particular—THAT’S what keeps you up at night. What wakes you up, shaking, crying, sweating, hyperventilating.

Because she could do it to you.

“GAAAAAH!” you scream, yanking yourself out of your daymare. As your feet kick out and the swing begins to go again, it turns out you are, in fact, hyperventilating, and your heart rate is an easy two-and-a-half beats per minute. You look around for something, anything that will get it under control before you pass out.

You check your pockets. Nothing. And you didn’t bother bringing a bag with you. Dammit.

You cock your head in every direction you can, discovering that your scream somehow didn’t bring a single curious neighbor out to inspect the unholy noise. Nor did anyone from the Boonchuy-Plantar house come to check you out. Yet.

Okay. Time for a last resort.

You cup your hands together as tight as you can, then thrust them onto your nose and mouth. Out, in. Out, in. Easy now. Slow it down. Not so high and low, now.

Out, in. Out, in.

On this goes for about two minutes. The breathing stabilizes to something resembling normal, as does your pulse. You’re shaking again, but that will be easy enough to hide. So will the tears that are now intermixed with the sweat flowing from your hair. What won’t, however, is the icy feeling in the back your head, or the slowness with which your body now moves. Whatever. You can figure that out as you go tonight.

Ding!

You jump again, almost dropping your phone as you pull it back out of your pocket. Stabilizing the bottom of the phone against your chest, you see another text from Marcy.

“All done! Ready when you are! Just ring the doorbell and I’ll come let you in,” it reads. Below the message, a second one that came in just as you were reading the first: “SO sorry again about making you wait. Hopefully you didn’t get too bad of a sunburn!” A sweating-smile emoji punctuates the text.

You have to smile at that one. You, a native Angelino, getting sunburned? One might as well be worried about a Republican becoming governor of the state any time soon. Letting out a small snort, you find yourself a bit more relaxed. Good. You’re going to need your happy face on for this one.

You stand up, legs still wobbling a bit. You limp your way over to the door and use the doorframe to straighten yourself. One last exhale, and a straightening of your top.

Then, you ring the doorbell.

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 2 years

Text

Just a Dream

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Female Reader, Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers

Word Count: 2517 // Rating: Mature

Summary: It was two weeks after the day she turned eighteen All dressed in white, going to the church that night

Tags/ Warnings: My Writing, Halloween Challenge, Writing Challenge, Songfics, Marvel Cinematic Universe, MCU, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Weddings, Grief, Funerals, Established Relationship, Wedding Day, War Time, Change to Storyline, Steve Doesn’t Go To War, Army, IDK how they do the flag thing, Love Letters, Engagements, 1940s Era, Just a Dream // Carrie Underwood, I Wonder Who’s Kissing Her Now // Bing Crosby, The Song Varies But I Like The Bing Version, Lyrics, Reader’s Wedding Dress

Notes: This is part of my writing Challenge for Halloween 2022. All fics are based off of songs I love. The aim is to write one fic a day for 15 days straight. I’m doing a similar thing for Christmas but they will all be headcanons [requests welcome for that] Enjoy x

15 DAYS OF SONGFICS FOR HALLOWEEN (OCT 15TH - OCT 31ST)

I sat on my bed my fingers combing through the box of letters in my lap. They were dirty, fingerprints full of grime across the page where he’d stopped and started either picking what to say or being torn away from writing to me. But I didn’t care. My fingers deftly selected the one I’d be looking for. One of his most recent ones. I unfolded it carefully a small smile coming to my lips as I saw his familiar chicken scratch handwriting on the page.

Y/N,

Sorry I haven’t written to you much these past few weeks. I was hoping to get this one to you by your birthday so if it’s late let’s pretend it's the post office’s fault, not mine. I hope you have the best day sweetheart. I know we already planned everything but I was hoping that I’d be home on the day to give you that ring we saw at that jewellers down on 3rd street. But when did the pair of us ever get that lucky? I promise as soon as I’m back that ring’ll be on your finger and we’ll be in that church.

Love you always

Buck

My thumb swiped over his name as if I was trying to absorb the love through the page into my body. I sighed and placed it back in its box before I bent down and placed my shoes in front of me, slipping into them one by one. As my foot hit the bottom of my left dainty court shoe I felt something underneath my toes. I wiggled them trying to get a grip on what it was. It was round and cold against my stocking-covered foot. A sixpence. I smiled. My mother, ever the traditional and also the efficient. God knows how long that had been in there just waiting for the day. I stood up and smoothed my dress out careful for the creases of where I had been sat not to show.

‘Oh you just look,’ my mother said. I turned to find her standing in the doorway. She was in a stiff skirt and suit jacket, a small hat nestled in her hair, and she was looking at me with tears in her eyes. She came into the room and grabbed me by the elbows as she looked me up and down. ‘You look, beautiful sweetheart,’ she said thickly. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. ‘Thanks Ma, do you really think this is still right though? I mean …white?’ I whispered gesturing to my dress. It was simple, skirting around my mid-shin with long sleeves and a moderate v-shaped neckline though I knew it would be enough to get tongues wagging. ‘I bought it specially,’ Mom said, ‘besides anyone says a word they’ll have me to deal with-’

‘Girls,’ my Dad said cutting her off. He stood by the bedroom door nervously, ‘we oughta get going. Traffic..’ He didn’t linger instead he headed back downstairs leaving me to watch where he had disappeared. I felt my mother caress my arms softly and then she headed to the door and waited for me. I looked at her trying to push the lump that had returned in my throat down. With my head held high I walked towards her and we headed downstairs and into the car that my Dad was waiting in.

The ride to the church wasn’t all that long though it felt eternal as my Mom babbled on nervously. Eventually, we pulled outside a grand old building that was starting to look more and more out of place in the middle of downtown Brooklyn. My Dad pulled the car to the kerb and motioned for us to get out which we did, standing on the sidewalk as he pulled around into the parking lot and reappeared, looking harried, a few moments later. ‘That parking lot is busy as hell,’ my Dad griped. ‘Frank,’ my Mom said in a warning tone. ‘That’s a good sign,’ he said quickly, ‘plenty of people.’

I didn’t say anything. My stomach had formed a colossal pit inside itself and my legs felt heavier than lead. I couldn’t focus on anything else but walking up those stairs to that front door. I entered first, my parents behind me, and looked out into the grand hall of the church. It was lined with stone pillars, ornate statues on every wall and stained glass windows that were now blocked out from the light on one side from where New York had continued to grow around them. As the door made a noise heads turned towards me pew by pew, taking me in. Some smiled. Some bowed their heads. Then as my eyes swept down to the front of the line I saw Steve. He stood up watching me closely.

I felt tears burn my eyes and I pulled the veil that had completed my outfit down over my face blocking me somewhat from view. Music started gently in the background as if announcing our arrival.

And then, he was there. At the end of that aisle waiting for me. Bucky. Except he wasn’t him. His handsome face wasn’t smiling back at me as planned. No, instead, a cold hard wooden casket was propped up in front of the altar draped in an American flag.

I felt bile at the back of my throat. Anger. He fought for that flag. Died for that flag. And here it was like some horrible reminder separating me from him one last time.

I felt my Dad’s large hand press into the small of my back, edging me forward though my feet didn’t want to go. I walked down the aisle, my head bowed so I couldn’t see everyone watching me, listening to the clack of my heels on the tatty tiled floor.

We got to the front quickly and my parents slid into the pew behind Steve. He stood there awkwardly looking as if he was trying to decide whether or not to hug me. His eyes were red-rimmed and tears brimmed in them as I stood there. I couldn’t do it any longer. I couldn’t look at him. So, I sat down and he quickly followed sitting next to me in the pew. My vision was blurry and my head bowed but I still spotted the order of service as Steve pressed it gently into my lap. Bucky’s face beamed up at me bringing with it a new wave of silent tears. I heard someone up ahead clear their throat and looked up to see the preacher standing at his lectern, itching to begin.

‘The funeral director tells me everyone expected is now seated,’ he said sadly as the music faded out, ‘so I would like to begin by asking everyone to bow their heads as we come together in prayer.’

I dropped my eyes to my booklet, opening it so I could read the order of service as he started to speak.

‘Dear Lord, we ask you today that you lift up the soul of our dearly departed Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and with that heal the hurt that has brought us all together on this very sad day,’ he said. I fought the urge to snort. He spoke as if one church service was going to fix everything. As if it was going to pull the knife that had been sticking into my chest for the past few weeks out. My mind wandered, blocking him out, as I dropped my eyes to the page which listed the readings and songs I had chosen for today. As I did I felt a gentle hand slip into mine. Steve.

His fingers were cold and slender. Entirely unlike Bucky who could wrap both of my hands in just one of his. But like I would with Bucky I didn’t shake him off. It wasn’t what I wanted, what I yearned for, but it was enough to keep me from breaking down entirely. Like it had been a week ago.

‘I don’t want to meet with them,’ I said folding my arms across my chest in an effort to hold myself together. My Mom pushed the kitchen door to and turned to me, her face sympathetic yet thunderous. ‘Well you have to,’ she said. ‘Why?’ I said pathetically, ‘I don’t care what they pick. Steve can do it what does it matter.’ ‘It matters because it’s important that Bucky gets a decent service!’ she hissed. She was desperate to yell at me I could tell but the threat of guests in the next room and the fact I kept spontaneously bursting into tears seemed to stave her off, ‘and it might have escaped your notice but you and Steve are all that boy had left. Now, I know you don’t feel like talking to people but I doubt Steve does either. And I know it’s not the same love but he’s hurting too. Maybe a little support from you wouldn’t go a miss.’

I stared at her. Her eyebrows were skirting the top of her forehead and I felt annoyed at just how right she was. I trudged past her and into the living room where Steve was sitting opposite a portly gentleman who was offering him a brochure that Steve took and started to leaf through. The pair of them looked up as I entered and Steve threw the brochure onto the coffee table.

‘Miss Y/N?’ the man said as I sat down on the couch beside Steve, ‘Steve said you’d be along in the minute. We were just going through the brochure and I was just asking Steve if he’d thought about opening hymns.’ ‘We hadn’t started properly,’ Steve said sheepishly. ‘Of course not,’ the man said, ‘though I did say Make Me A Channel of Your Peace is a really nice one.’ ‘No,’ I said my voice hard. ‘Or Amazing Grace-’ ‘Buck,’ I said my voice strangling his name as it came out. I had barely spoken it since we had heard the news, ‘he didn’t go to church. He didn’t know any hymns.’ ‘Yeah,’ Steve said, ‘what about a song instead?’ ‘Well, the organist-’ ‘Would be able to read any sheet music we got right?’ Steve said overriding the gentleman who was looking a little irked. ‘Yes, I’m sure they would,’ he said setting aside the sheet of paper he was holding.

‘What should we pick?’ I said nervously looking at Steve. He looked exhausted. His face was practically grey and the bags under his eyes were more black than purple. He also looked thinner, if that were even possible, his face a little more gaunt. ‘I wonder who’s kissing her now,’ he said without missing a beat then his gaze caught mine. He dropped his head nervously as he mumbled, ‘he loved that one…played it the entire day the first time he met you..damn near broke my record player.’

That familiar lump returned to my throat as I pictured them sitting in Steve’s tiny front room him putting the needle back again and again so the song would play. It wasn’t even my memory and it was like a knife to the gut.

‘Shoulda never turned him down that day,’ I said with a chuckle which surprised everyone in the room. ‘Nah,’ he said, ‘he needed knocking down a peg or two.’ ‘I bet it bruised his ego,’ I said sadly. ‘Never, you know Buck…never backed down from a challenge,’ he said and I nodded though it was tiny. His words hit me like a freight train. He was right. Bucky never did back down from a challenge. This was why we were here. ‘Right,’ the man said clapping his hands together in order to move proceedings along. As he started to babble on about psalms and readings I stared at the wall behind him blankly. Until, after a moment, I felt a tiny hand slip into mine on the couch beside me. My fingers laced into his at once and I didn’t let go until that man was firmly out the front door.

My not paying attention had lasted longer than I had expected because when I looked up I found everyone was standing and Steve’s hand was tugging me upwards. We sang a couple more songs. My Dad got up and said the eulogy, a fact a was thankful for as neither Steve nor I figured we could get through it in one piece, and then just like that it was over. Army officials descended from the sidelines in perfect unison as we stood watching their dance. I could feel Steve stiffen beside me. Out of patriotism or longing, I didn’t know which. And then one of them was in front of me offering a folded-up flag out to me like some medal of honour.

Dozens of eyes burned into me as I looked at this man. Stern. Unyielding. I reached out and took the flag off of him holding it to my chest but it was no use. As a horn started to play a military procession and several men lifted Bucky’s casket off of its stand my heart broke.

It was like a bullet ripping through me, fragmenting my heart into pieces. I wanted to drop to my knees. I wanted to scream. Sob my heart out. But I couldn’t. I was stuck. As they moved passed me leading Bucky to the hearse I stood frozen to the spot. Steve and my Dad grasped me gently by the elbows and pushed me forward. It was a wonder one of them didn’t have to move my feet in step either.

It was like wading through custard. Wading through custard on a road a mile long. Like I was dreaming. I wished I was. I willed myself to wake up. Hoping that when I came to I’d be lying in bed with Bucky, his arms wrapped around me as he gently caressed my hair. I wanted him to ask me what my nightmare was about and for us to laugh at how preposterous the idea was because he would never leave me.

I wanted to walk out this very door as I had planned. My Dad and Steve were still behind me but Bucky was on my arm instead, confetti around us as we celebrated being newlyweds. Like we should’ve been doing today.

But I couldn’t.

Y/N,

I’m coming home! Well for a while at least. They’re shipping us somewhere new so in the downtime me and you will be back together. And I know just what we’re doing first!

Tell your Ma to start organising a date for the church. I’ll be back in two weeks so anything after then is fine. I don’t want to waste another minute. And tell Steve to get to writing his best man speech, can’t have him letting the side down.

Love you always,

Buck

Baby, why'd you leave me, why'd you have to go I was counting on forever, now I'll never know Oh I'll never know

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