#this is all I got... my fence keeps them from coming into my yard most of the time

[kedreeva]

Well, Monday night, SOMEONE went on an unauthorized adventure.

We got home from going to see The Mummy (1999) at our local big screen, and it was just about hitting twilight. Bug was outside (big girl!! she's been outside for most of the day for the last few days) with Earl, so I went in and closed up Earl, then closed up Artemis' pen of birds, and then Bug and I walked down to close up the barn pen's door. We walked back around and I ducked into the barn to do a quick night check of the barn birds and the quarantine birds and the quail, something that takes less than 2 minutes, and when I got back outside.... no Bug.

Now, Bug often comes outside with me at night to lock up the other birds. We go from pen to pen together. She even hops up onto the fence runners up top and flies from one to the next, and across the alley, and often when she comes down, she'll fly up to the front side yard and then run back for the hell of it, or takes a right instead of a left and ends up out by the compost heap, so I walked both places calling her, expecting to see her pop her head up and come back like always.

But.... no Bug.

So I go inside, and get Sark, and we both start looking. Did she get spooked? Did she jump up someplace? I once searched for Beep for an hour on the ground, only to look up and find out she'd just been silently watching me from above. But after almost 2 hours of searching... no Bug.

Well, it was pouring down rain, and wherever Bug had gone, she was not talking back to us, and she certainly wasn't coming when called, so we gave up and came inside. I called the local PD to let them know one of my birds had escaped and despite looking for her, we had to stop because of the storm, but left my number in case anyone called. I stressed all night, dozing on and off. I got up around 1am to do another lap of the yard and see if I could hear her, now that the frog symphony was over and the rain had stopped, but no luck.

At 5am, I went out again, and parked myself in my car on the phone with my Australian friend, to await dawn. I figured, if she'd gone up to roost, then when it got light, she'd come down. Sark came out around 5:45 and parked himself out in the field by our firepit in case she went that way. Eventually I got up and walked up and down the street, since people were leaving for work, and I stopped a few cars and asked them to keep an eye out.

As I was walking back to the house, down our long drive, I spotted her on the barn roof just as my phone began to ring. Sark had seen her fly down from one of the 60ft tall oaks on the edge of our property. He got her some peanuts, and I called her down

She acted like nothing happened. Just like hey guys what's up?

So, no more outside time at night, unless she's in a pen! Which.... considering my day today, she may be outside full time soon!

[sailor-aviator]

Singing in the Sanctuary: Prologue

Singing in the Sanctuary: Prologue

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a simple man. Well, as simple as one can be while living a life of crime. The notorious outlaw has never been interested in settling down and having a family, but will that all change when he meets a shy, new teacher who just moved into town?

Warnings: Pressure from parents, use of y/n, other than that I don't think there are any, really.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: I am equally excited to be writing this one as I am my Hangman series. I think y'all will like this one too. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. You can find this and my other works on AO3 under sailor_aviator. 18+ only!!!

Series Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List

Women weren’t meant to have careers. Woman were meant to cook, clean, have babies, and make sure their husbands were taken care of. Then you became an old woman and one day you’d be buried next to said husband. At least, that’s what your parents had always told you. When they found out that you were pursuing a career as a teacher, they tried everything in their power to convince you otherwise.

“It’s just not proper for a young lady of your background to have a career, y/n” said your mother.

“I’ve had suitors asking for you hand for years now. Why don’t you get married and then think about continuing your education?” your father had coaxed. You couldn’t be swayed, however.

It had been your dream from a young age to become a teacher. You had always admired the ones you had growing up, and learning had always come easy to you. You wanted others to experience the joys of learning like you had, and that’s how you found yourself ignoring your parents’ wishes.

It had certainly been hard work, but it was work you were proud of. When you graduated, your parents had been more relieved than proud.

“Surely you’ll find a husband now, darling,” your father had said hopefully. Your mother nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh, sweetheart! My friends have the most dashing sons who would just love-”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Mama, Papa, please-”

“We just want what’s best for you,” your father said hurriedly. You grimaced, but in the end you had allowed your mother to set up several luncheons with your would-be suitors. They hadn’t been horrible. No, in another life, perhaps you would have even been excited at the idea of marrying one of them. Settling down in a spacious, white house with blue shutters. A white picket fence encompassing the yard, and little ones running around joyfully while your husband and you looked on. And it’s not like that wasn’t your dream. No, in fact, you wanted all of that. But your dream also included teaching.

It was hard finding a job in your hometown in Missouri. And that’s why you had jumped at the chance to move west. You hadn’t told your parents about the opportunity, and for good reason. They would have stopped at nothing to keep you from going. You had stumbled upon this chance of fate when you had stopped by the general store to by ingredients for supper that evening.

“Maverick’s not a city, mind you,” said the old man as he dropped the box of fresh produce onto the counter by the clerk. “But it’s got character, and it’s growin’ every day! The mayor is even talkin’ bout buildin’ a school here soon. Told me to spread the word that we’re lookin’ for a new teacher.”

“Excuse me,” you had interrupted. Both men turned to look at you. “Could you tell me more about this job?”

“Well, it’s a real good opportunity, now, miss,” grinned the old man. “The town ain’t that old, and like I said, it’s gettin’ bigger every day. The townsfolk is all friendly and the mayor is offerin’ up a fair wage.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “And where is this town? Is it far?”

“It’s located out in the territory they’re callin’ New Mexico. It’s ‘bout a week’s ride from here to there.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling giddy at the thought of trekking west.

“How long will you be in town, sir?” you ask. The man scratches his chin thoughtfully before leveling you with a look.

“I’ll tell you what,” he began, “I’ll stick around for another day. If you decide you wanna catch a ride with me back to Maverick, you jus’ meet me by the gate leadin’ outta town ‘round noon. How’s that?”

You grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

You had packed your bags quickly, waiting until both of your parents had left the house the following day. You wrote a note explaining why you were leaving and where you were going, and then gave one last look at the house you’d called home your entire life. Taking a steadying breath, you made your way down to the gate the man had mentioned.

“Good timin’!” he hollered upon seeing you. “Was jus’ about to head on out.”

“Thank you for waiting!” you called breathlessly, setting your bags on the back of the cart and rounding to the front. The man offered you a hand as you clambered up onto the seat, and once he had made himself comfortable, the two of you were on your way.

The days passed quickly as you and the man, Hondo you would come to find out is his name, made your way to your new beginning. The heat became more intense the further south you traveled, and luscious green gave way to arid desert. On your second day of being in the desert, you saw the outlines of a town in the distance.

“There she is!” grinned Hondo. “Ol’ Maverick herself!”

“How exciting!” you smiled. About a half hour later, the two of you were riding along the streets of said town. People bustled up and down the streets and went about their business as usual. Joel stopped the cart just outside of a large, wooden building.

“This here is town hall,” he said. “I’ll getcha in to see Maverick, and he’ll getcha situated.”

Your brows furrowed. “Maverick?”

“Pete Mitchell is his name, but most folks ‘round here just call him Maverick or Mav. He founded the town, and it’s named after him.”

“I see,” you breathed, taking Hondo’s hand as he helped you down onto the ground. He walked with you up the steps and through the door of town hall.

“Hondo!” cried a man as you both entered. The man was handsome with dark hair that greyed around his temples. His skin was golden from what you could only assume was hours spent in the desert sun, and his blue eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of your companion.

“Maverick,” smiled Hondo. The man, Maverick, stopped before you two and his eyes glanced over you.

“And who is this here with you?”

“Mav,” started Hondo, stepping back to gesture at you, “allow me to introduce Miss y/n. She’s here to be our town’s new teacher.”

“Excellent!” grinned Maverick, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake. “You’re really helping us out here. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you smiled. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

“Nonsense! Now, I’m assuming you don’t have a place to stay at the moment?”

“No,” you blushed, looking down sheepishly. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Maverick beamed. “Well, until we can get the school and a house for you built, you’ll just have to stay with me and my wife, Penny.”

“Oh, Mr. Mitchell, I couldn’t!” You exclaimed. Maverick raises a hand to stop you.

“Please, call me Maverick or Mav. And I insist. It’s the least we can offer considering you came all this way.”

You smiled gratefully. “I appreciate that, Maverick. In the meantime, where am I to teach the children?”

“For now, why don’t you teach our little rascals in the sanctuary of the church? I’m sure the Reverend won’t mind.”

“That sounds lovely,” you gushed. You couldn’t wait for the start of your new life.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Forest Ranger Dean

Pairing: Forest Ranger!Dean x reader

“Hi,” you said into your phone, speaking as soon as you heard the other end pick up. “This is Y/N Y/L/N and I don’t mean to be a bother but there’s sort of a big black bear outside in my yard and it’s uh, not going away.”

“You want the forest ranger, Miss,” said the voice on the other end. “One moment.”

You sighed as you looked out your back window, the bear still roaming around, lazily taking a seat and laying in the sunny backyard.

“Dude, go away,” you said.

“Excuse me?” said the other end of the phone.

“Sorry. I was talking to the bear,” you said, getting silence on the other end for a few seconds.

“Can you safely tell me what the bear is doing?” he asked.

“Um, sunbathing from the looks of it,” you said.

“Remain indoors. I’ll be over there soon.”

“Charlie, go home,” said a man in a brown uniform and jeans, wandering into your backyard. The bear rolled on its side and the man ran a hand through his hair. “Charlie.”

The bear stood up and yawned before it padded out of your yard. The man walked around to the front of your house and knocked at the door.

“Thanks,” you said.

“You’re not from around here. Everybody knows Charlie,” he said. “He’s got that white tuft of fur that’s like the shirt Charlie Brown wears.”

“It’s still a bear,” you said.

“Yes, it is. Be more conscious of keeping the fence to your backyard shut,” he said. “Charlie loves to get his tan on.”

“So if I keep my door shut-“

“Charlie will just keep on passing by. Don’t feed him and keep your distance but Charlie is friendly,” said the man.

“Thanks,” you said. “Wait don’t bears like garbage?”

“I’m teaching a class on wilderness safety this afternoon if you want to stop by the rangers station. We’re right next to the entrance to the state park down the road,” he said. “Starts at 2.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll swing by.”

You were giving the ranger a bitch face when you finally caught his attention at the station.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, waving you into the back room when he was done counting heads. “Come on in.”

“That’s a group of kindergarteners,” you said.

“Their teacher said it’s okay,” he said. You grumbled but followed him inside, standing along the back wall with a few other bored looking adults. “Okay little guys and gals. In case you don’t know me-“

“I know you, Uncle De,” said a girl near the front.

“I know you do, rascal,” he said, ruffling the top of her head as he walked past to the other side of the room. “For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Ranger Dean Winchester, also Emma’s Uncle, but you guys can call me Dean.”

“Can I?” asked the little girl from before.

“No, rascal,” he said with a smile. “Now sh, Uncle De’s got to tell all your friends about being safe in the woods.”

Dean went into a presentation of the local area and the animals that lived there, the types of plants that grew and basically a bunch of places they should never go without an adult with them.

“Now kiddos, who wants to go for a hike?” asked Dean. A bunch of hands shot up and you took that as your cue to leave. Dean grunted when you started to go for the door. You went back to your spot, Dean moving the kids into their smaller groups with their assigned chaperones. He paused once they were outside in the parking lot, nodding at you. “Hold up.”

“Do I really have to go on this little nature hike?” you asked.

“You won’t pass the class if you don’t,” he said with a smirk. “Come on. You’re the one I’m most worried about.”

“Me?” you said with a scoff.

“Uh huh. All those kids have parents that know what they’re doing. You...you make me concerned and I don’t want to be concerned so I’d rather you go on our little hike and learn a little bit more,” he said.

“What do I get out of this?” you asked.

“Peace of mind for one. I’ll buy you dinner tonight too,” he said with a cock of his head.

“Dinner?” you asked.

“Hey. Gorgeous single women don’t exactly move here all that often. I’m not above asking you out before somebody else in town can,” he said.

“I didn’t move here to date,” you said. “I moved here to get away from guys actually.”

“Oh. We do suck sometimes,” he said with a smirk. “One little date though? No strings. Just dinner at our one restaurant in town. I mean, it’s the least you can do after I saved you from that viscous bear this morning.”

“Fine,” you said. “You get one date, Casanova.”

“That’s all I’ll need.”

[bisamwilson]

It’s about as cool as it gets in Louisiana most days—a brisk fifty-two—and Sam’s bundled up like he’s back in Washington, DC in the middle of January. 

All those years away from home, and he still never had managed to get used to the cold.

Bucky’s only in a slightly thicker leather jacket, lined with some kind of fleece, mostly because the boys had warned him to bundle up. Bucky’s sweating now, but Sam knows their earnestness in trying to keep him warm means he’ll keep the jacket on all night, the sheer amount of heat his body puts off like a furnace be damned. 

It’s become a nightly routine, these walks, first starting during warm, wet, and hazy summer nights and continuing on even now, when the sun dips past the horizon entirely too early each afternoon. They never stray far from home, walk mostly in laps near the house, but tonight, Sam takes Bucky’s hand and leads them out a little farther. 

The Christmas lights are out on all the houses Sam knows are going to put them up, and he’s feeling a little nostalgic. 

Nostalgic enough to wander over to the old house nearby that he’d absolutely adored as a child, now worn down and unlivable, marred by years of neglect and abandonment and storm damage. A years-old “for sale” sign sits in the yard, weather-worn and illegible. 

Sam stops just in front of the house—a tall, dark silhouette amidst all the bright red, green, and white lights around it—and smiles. 

“I was convinced I was gonna live in that house one day,” he says, a little wistful. “Slightly older couple owned it back then, a Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. You’d never seen two people so in love, maybe other than my own folks. They’d invite us over for dinner after church sometimes—said it was a thank you for a sermon well delivered—and Mrs. Jackson always had it decorated so lovingly. They didn’t have any children back then—never had any at all actually—so there was no one to leave it to, and I’d always hoped I’d be able to buy after they moved elsewhere, wherever that might have been.”

Sam sighs, shrugging his shoulders and running a hand over the overgrown fence. “I was already out of Delacroix when Mr. Jackson passed, about a year after his wife, and no one else ever picked it up. Now it looks like this.”

Bucky squeezes his hand and Sam takes that as a cue to turn away from the old house and to his boyfriend, swinging their intertwined palms as he pulls them forward again on their walk. 

“A shame,” he says as they walk away, “what it looks like now. Mrs. Jackson’d be heartbroken.”

Five months later, almost to the day, Bucky asks to go for a walk in the middle of the afternoon. 

It’s rainy, like it always is in May, and Sam gives him a strange look while he gestures to the outside, the rain coming down in a constant, heavy stream, loud on the roof of the house. “In this weather?”

Bucky shrugs, a little sheepish. “I’ve got an umbrella?”

Sam’s not too keen about getting wet because of Bucky in the not-so-fun way, but Bucky’s got a heightened nervousness about him that Sam hasn’t really seen since the first time he asked him to dinner as something other than just a couple of guys, so he begrudgingly grabs his own umbrella and opens the door, gesturing for Bucky to leave first. 

To his surprise, they start out on their normal route, and Sam’s a little confused as to what’s got Bucky so on edge, outside of the rain. 

When he takes a slight turn off their normal path, Sam thinks they might be getting somewhere. 

They come to a very water-logged stop right in front of the old Jackson house, and Bucky’s anxious nervousness disappears abruptly, replaced by almost deadly stillness. 

“Why are we here, Buck?” Sam half-shouts, doing his best to be heard over the roaring of the rain. 

In answer, Bucky just pushes open the gate, the latch having broken probably a decade ago, and leads Sam up to the front porch. 

There’s holes in the little roof above the porch, and it’s only slightly less rainy under it than it is outside of it, but Sam closes his umbrella anyway when he sees Bucky do the same. He waits for Bucky to explain why they’re there, but Bucky just looks around the house, his fist opening and closing again—his telltale fidget—so Sam asks again.

“Why are we here?”

“I got pre-approved for a loan,” is all Bucky says, looking around the old place and fixing his eyes on one of the holes in the porch roof. “Haven’t put an offer on this place yet, thought I should talk with you first even though you were okay with me buying the house on my own, but I’m good for it if you want it.” He scratches behind his ear, his frame entirely too small for someone normally so large. “You said you always wanted to live here, right?”

Sam doesn’t answer, a little too stunned to speak both by the thought of all the work this house needs and by the way his heart is so full to bursting when he thinks about getting to live in it. 

Bucky takes his silence as cue to keep talking, his words a little more frantic than they were before. “I’ve always been good with my hands, you know? I wanted a bit of a fixer upper in the first place, even if this is more than I’d imagined. But I can make it just how you imagined, sweetheart, let you pick out the paint and the crown molding and everything just how you wanted it growing up. Can even make some of the furniture if you can’t find what you want anywhere. 

“And it wouldn’t all be me, you know? I’m saving a lot on a down payment and a mortgage since this house is all worn down, so I can hire some contractors for things as we need. Least to make it livable quicker, make it a house. But I want to make it a home myself, sweetheart. Make it our home. What do you think?”

Sam’s quiet for long enough Bucky goes still again, and the eerie lack of movement is enough to shock him out of his reverie. It’s his turn to not answer Bucky’s question. “Dance with me?”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

Sam takes his hands in his, guides them around his waist. He places his own around Bucky’s shoulders. “Mrs. Jackson used to open up the windows on rainy days. Her record player was just beneath it, and her and Mr. Jackson would put on some oldies and dance the whole rainy day away right on this porch. Louis Armstrong was always her favorite.” He starts to sway with the music, Bucky following suit, and raises up on his toes just enough to kiss Bucky solidly on the cheek. “Thought we should continue on with the tradition if it’s gonna be our house now.”

“Our house,” Bucky whispers, like a dream, as rain steadily pours down on top of them whenever they happen to sway underneath a hole in the roof. 

“The dining room’s going to be green,” Sam says with certainty, remembering how much he’d loved the color when Mrs. Jackson had it painted one year, citing a want for something new, something fresh. 

Bucky doesn’t answer, just tilts his head up to feel the rain on his brow before he kisses Sam’s droplet-laden eyelids. Sam hums a few notes of “A Kiss To Build a Dream On,” and feels Mrs. Jackson’s approval in the warm Louisiana breeze. 

Three months later, when the house is fixed enough to at least be lived in, the first thing Bucky does is buy green paint.

(also on ao3, post dividers found here)

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #30: Denouement

Prompt: amity || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: I'm a little sad I have to break my streak of "tear out my readers' hearts" with my last prompt fill of the challenge, but alas, the prompt just did not at all work with the idea seed I had on the backburner. Ah well, always next year! Instead, we come full circle. :)

--

Were he still a wet-behind-the-ears sixteen-year-old, Alphinaud imagined he would probably be crediting himself for the sight before him.

Synnove’s yard was crammed with tables and chairs dragged from her house or hurriedly purchased from the carpenters at Red Rooster Stead, arranged in such a way as to ensure the riot of color that was her garden remained relatively unscathed. The core of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn were all present—himself, Alisaie, Thancred, Y’shtola, Urianger, Estinien, Krile, Tataru, G’raha, and the four Warriors of Light—and not for the first time, he stifled a giggle at the sight of half their number all bearing white hair. Rereha had a point that they seemed to collect them, particularly after they practically bullied Estinien into joining.

(A pang throbbed in his heart; he missed the acerbic wit of Papalymo, and wondered how the thaumaturge would have gotten along with their newer members.)

There were Hoary Boulder and Coultenet, and Ochre Boulder and the Cockburne sisters, and Riol and F’lhaminn. There were former Scions, too—Lyse, of course, currently engaged in a three-way push-up competition with his sister and Dancing Heron, but also Arenvald and J’moldva and V’mah, cheering them on.

It was the ones who had never been Scions that were the most astounding guests.

Ser Aymeric was the least surprising, though at one point in time he might have been the most shocking one to see, considering Ishgard’s self-imposed isolation. He sat next to Synnove, the pair of them each with a carbunclet on their lap, the both of them deep in discussion with Thancred, Lucia (on a brief leave from the Ilsabard Contingent), Hilda, and Raubahn Aldynn. Nearby, Synnove’s aetherophysics advisor from her student days, Mhaslona, and Admiral Merlwyb presided over the large pit in which the food for the clam bake was cooking, the Admiral not hesitating to shove Ivar away with her foot whenever the ruby carbuncle came over to try to burrow into the coals.

At another table, Nanamo Ul Namo, Kan-E-Senna, and Rereha were introducing Lord Hien to Tonk; Alphinaud wasn’t sure who looked stranger to his eye in such casual dress, the Sultana or the Elder Seedseer. Perhaps the Seedseer; Kan-E wasn’t quite as focused on the cardgame, half her attention given over to a discussion with the Scion mages and Y’shtola keeping her wineglass topped off. And it looked like Nanamo and Rereha were using Kan-E’s distraction surreptitiously teaching Hien either how to count cards or how to quickly reshuffle the draw deck, with the Doman king’s shoulders shaking with laughter.

Alakhai, Estinien, and Yugiri in a knife-throwing competition was probably the least strange sight today.

From his place perched on the fence surrounding the yard, Alphinaud smiled and shook his head. Once, he had thought he had all the knowledge and answers to solve Eorzea’s problems; surely all the city-states needed was to be led in the right direction. His direction.

The arrogance of it.

“What’s got you so maudlin?”

He glanced over and smiled at his twin, who smiled back even as she easily hauled herself up onto the fence next to him.

“The arrogance of youth,” he drawled.

Alisaie snorted, and looked out over the yard. As always, he didn’t need to explain further for her to grasp what he meant; he dearly wished she would give herself more credit for her perceptiveness. “Well, it’s not like we played no part in the fate of the star,” she said.

“True,” Alphinaud said. Without thinking about it, he began tapping out a rhythm against the fence board with his heels. Alisaie joined in a moment later. “And it certainly it turned out far better than we ever dreamed.”

“I can’t believe the Sultana cheats at cards,” Alisaie muttered.

Alphinaud stifled a giggle. “I can,” he said. “She’s always had a bit of a devious streak.”

“And Rereha and the Admiral carefully cultivated it like an orchid in a hothouse.”

There was no stopping his laughter at that.

It wasn’t correct to say that everyone here was the dearest of friends, but the ease with which they all let down their barriers spoke of their mutual respect, that this time was an opportunity to rest and enjoy the fruits of all their labors. It had taken work to get here: Eorzea united, truly united, for the first time in their history, Ala Mhigo and Doma freed from the Garlean yoke, the Ascians gone with Zodiark and Hydaelyn and the Final Days.

And what better way to celebrate than with an old Scion tradition of gathering for food and drink and good company? The Final Days were averted and, most importantly, all four of the Warriors of Light were now declared fully hale and whole, no longer under the baleful eyes of the Sharlayan healer corps.

They were the true lynchpin to this wondrous gathering, the Warriors of Light. Everyone here had played some role in where they all were today, but without the four women around whom they orbited, would they have done it at all? Would they have defeated Gaius van Baelsar, or ended the Dragonsong War, or freed Doma and Ala Mhigo, saved the First, saved all of existence from the grief and loneliness of the Ancients echoing through time?

Alphinaud didn’t think so. It was their tenacity, their compassion, their utter ridiculousness, that truly brought all these people together and gave their star hope for a better future. Not that he’d be able to convince the four of them of that.

Well. Maybe one of them, though even she was more likely to merely play it up for humor rather than actually believe it.

“Oi, Alisaie! Bunny!”

Speak of the devil.

“Not that name,” Alphinaud groaned. It had been years since that accursed nickname had been leveled on him.

Rereha cackled as she bounded over to them. “Baby bunny,” she said, sing-song, “your hair is the same color as the loporrits’ fur. Your favorite color scheme for clothing is the same as theirs. You are ‘bunny’ forever!”

Alisaie threw back her head and laughed as he dropped his face into his hands. He took it all back, at least about Rereha Reha. She was a menace to society and it was a miracle she hadn’t incited an international incident by sleeping with the wrong person.

The pink-haired lalafell reached out with both hands, grinning. Alisaie took her right hand with a matching grin, and Alphinaud let out a put upon sigh—feigned, of course—but took Rereha’s left. Rereha tugged gently, and the twins hopped off the fence, letting her drag them across the yard as she skipped backwards.

“We’re putting a handicap on Heron for the push-up contest,” she said, “and we need both of you for it!”

“Why not just use Tyr?” Alphinaud said.

“Heron still has some limits right now, and Healingway will kill her if she exceeds them.”

Alisaie snorted a laugh, though Alphinaud was certain Rereha wasn’t exaggerating.

As they traversed the length of the yard to the corner where Heron and Lyse were, a flash of iridescent blue caught Alphinaud’s eye. He turned his head to follow it.

A small flock of bluebirds, each with a pair of long, graceful tailfeathers, were flitting above the yard, one with a sunflower bloom in its beak, and if he didn’t know better, he would have assumed they were playing a game of keep-away. The birds twirled and danced through the air before winging their way to perch on the lowest hanging branch of the oak tree in Synnove’s yard, from which hung a swing that currently played host to a napping Galette. The bluebird with the sunflower was in the middle of the flock, and even from here, Alphinaud could see her sharing the seeds with her sisters, as birdsong joined the chorus of chatter and laughter in the yard.

Alphinaud grinned as he followed his sister and their friend, and wondered what new adventures—and new friends—awaited them all on the morrow.

PREVIOUS || FIN!

[leastdatablebracket]

ROUND 1.5, MATCH 14

Joseph Christiansen

So many reasons. He's already married, he's a jerk to his wife, he's already slept with at least one of the other romance options. That romance option goes to you before a date with Jospeh and damn near begs you not to be stupid and go with him. The worst part? You put up with all this and he leaves you to "work things out with his wife". She deserves so much better than him! One of the writers even said he's a sociopath. 

Married and a youth minister.

Cheater, cringe man, father of creepy children, possibly evil cultist, left a guy feeling used which said guy also became friends with Joseph's wife who appears to be an alcoholic likely as a coping mechanism since she's married to Joseph

He cheats on his wife, has done so before, lies to you by claiming that he's going to leave his wife when he clearly never intends to (and, in one ending, will even cheerfully suggest that you two continue having an affair in an extremely sleazy way), and judging by the fact that the other guy we know he cheated on his wife with, Robert, hates Joseph and is now very close friends with his wife, it seems clear to me that this whole "purposefully mislead someone into sleeping with you and then later drop the bomb that it was an affair" thing is repeat behavior with him. Also, I just find much of his behavior to be very manipulative and controlling; there are many situations where it seems to me that he's actively trying to paint others in a negative light while still coming off as saintly himself, such as an early scene where he subtly implies his wife is a shitty mom because she *checks notes* let their toddler out of her sight... during a neighborhood barbecue in a fenced-in yard surrounded by trusted adults and other kids. Also notice how in this scene he pushes *her* to go look for their son, rather than just looking himself, all while keeping up his "long-suffering husband" act. (and in other scenes can be found letting his other young children wander off into the woods with sharp implements and visibly not caring, but whatever). He does this with Robert, too -- the other guy he had an affair with. Almost everything he says about or to Robert is a subtle jab about his personality or his alcoholism. Classy, Joseph. Meanwhile, the fact that you can't actually end up with him in the end (because he was never going to leave his wife for you) started some of the most volatile discourse in the fandom and had people calling the devs homophobic and claiming they were spreading a message about "gay men needing to stay in loveless abusive marriages to women" (just ignore the fact that there are several other divorced gay dads in this game who all have great relationships with their kids and are not demonized in the slightest). HOWEVER, if you see people claiming he's a cultist or demon or something, that's untrue and was just going to be a non-canon spooky alternate ending that ended up getting cut. So I empathize with him a little bit for getting literally demonized by some fans for that cut alt ending. But he loses all those points by cheating on his wife multiple times and showing clear intent to continue doing so.

He's still married when you start dating him. He's also got like 5 kids that are some "children of the corn" kinda shit, and all their names have "Christ" in them

You don't even get to date him he's still married to his wife who he doesn't get along with. Tragic really

Jakob

I like the whole "kind of an ass, but ultimately cares about people" character trope, so I latched onto Jakob early in my first playthrough and decided to marry him. Only problem? He gets no character development, ever, and constantly crosses the line from being kind of an ass to being genuinely horrid, at least to people who aren't Corrin. Then I actually married him and found out he doesn't even get over himself after that, he stays exactly the same and turns into a really bad father as well. Sorry, but no. That killed any interest I had in the character.

[drabbles-mc]

Latest & Greatest

Neil Fak & F!Reader

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: family friend

Warnings: 18+, language, weed, pining if you squint

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I finished yet another rewatch yesterday and I just love Neil Fak so much. So here we are.

The Bear Taglist: @withmyteeth @garbinge @narcolini @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was impossible to hear much of anything with all of the chaos going on. There were at least ten different conversations going on, most of them being conducted by screaming instead of talking. On top of that there was the clattering of pots and pans, items being thrown and dropped, not to mention Donna’s slew of timers. The ringing was all so staggered that no one could keep them all straight, least of all Donna. It was bedlam, but they all knew it was coming, and year after year they all kept deciding to come back.

Because of all of that, Fak hadn’t heard his phone the first time it chimed when a text message came in. When the reminder chime rang, he was too deep in a yelling match with Richie to pay it any mind. It wasn’t until all of the people who were usually occupying his time were being occupied by someone or something else, that he took the time to check his phone.

“Still doing Christmas at the Berzatto’s?”

He smiled, completely tuning out the rest of it for a moment as he replied, “Fence in 5?”

The response was almost immediate. “Clock’s ticking”

You were already outside by the time he managed to escape the house. You were leaning against the fence that divided the back of your yard from the back of the Berzatto’s, arms rested on top of it. You couldn’t remember the exact year this became the meet-up spot for the two of you during the holidays, but it had stuck ever since. It gave you a breather from your own family, and it gave Neil a break from the Berzatto’s, not that he ever really seemed like he needed one.

Every year he was in a different flannel and sweater combo. You wondered if he and Theodore flipped for it each year to see who got to choose. Not that it really mattered much since they both ended up wearing the same thing regardless. One year you were going to have to weasel your way into going on that shopping trip with them.

“Can’t stay away, huh?” you said as he walked over to the fence.

He raised his eyebrows, laughing as he came to a stop in front of you. “You are the one who—”

“I meant from Donna’s,” you cut him off, chuckling as you nodded towards the house behind him.

“Oh.” He laughed and gave something of a shrug, not giving more of a response. There wasn’t really much more to say about it. He made himself busy, fumbling with the button on the pocket of his shirt. You didn’t say anything, just pulling your sweater tighter around you as you watched him pull a joint out of the small pocket. It was enough to send both of you into a fit of laughter.

“Saw Francie earlier when I went to the store,” you said with a chuckle. “Still on the no-fly list with Nat.”

Neil shook his head as he sparked his lighter, mumbling emphatically around the joint in his mouth. “Because of the fucking thing!”

You laughed. “Doesn’t help that she never said sorry.”

“Maybe she took your spot,” he said once he lit his joint.

“My spot?”

“On the no-fly list.” He took a drag before handing it to you.

You were laughing as you placed the joint between your lips. You inhaled deep before responding. “I’m on DeeDee's not Nat's.” You shook your head. “Pretty sure I’m fuckin'…permanently barred from entry.”

There was a beat of silence between you, like the conversation was about to take a heavy, serious turn. But instead you both broke down into fits of laughter. There was so much that could be said about Donna being the one that banned you from the holiday festivities, but you didn’t know if it said more about her as a person, or about you.

“You hated Christmas here anyway,” he finally said when the laughter had died down. Even as he said the words he still had that same goading smile on his face.

“Most sane people would.”

“You’re not sane.”

You handed the joint back to him with a roll of your eyes, “Sane-adjacent.” You paused, watching him pull another hit. “My mom asked about you, by the way.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Bullshit. She did not.”

“She did!” You were laughing as he passed it back to you. “She asked how her favorite Fak was doing.”

“That does not mean—”

“And you’re my favorite Fak,” you kept going, talking over him the way you all always did with each other, “so by extension you’re also her favorite Fak.”

“What makes you so sure?”

You chuckled and shrugged. “’Cause I’m her favorite daughter.” A beat passed as you brought the joint back to your lips again. Your voice was slightly strained as you tried to talk without letting out your entire inhale at once. “So? What’s the latest and greatest?” You finally let go of the breath you’d been holding. “Catch me up on the last few months. What've I missed in the life of Neil Fak?”

He watched you for a second, staring at you as you stared down at the joint in your hand and tried to figure out how much more the two of you could even really get out of it. It was almost done, the rendezvous almost over.

“Got a new high score on Ball Breaker.”

You nodded, expression serious but the glint in your eyes giving away the humor of it all regardless. “Of course, of course.”

“The toilet at The Beef is still exploding every couple of weeks.”

“I think Richie breaks it purposely just so he can see you again.”

Another beat. Another second of you two staring at each other. Another shared fit of laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of that notion.

“How’s Ralph Squared?” you asked, trying to hold back just a little bit of your laughter over the fact that he named both his cats Ralph.

“Ralph are good! No escapes lately.” He tapped his knuckles against his head. “Knock on wood.”

Your smile was enough to nearly make your cheeks hurt. “Good.” You paused. “How are you?”

Fak shrugged and nodded. “I’m good.”

There was a look in his eyes that had you thinking maybe he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t do it. He wouldn’t. That’s not what these little meet-ups were for.  These were for both of you to get some fresh air and something similar to silence after spending hours in your respective war zones. Granted, Christmas at the Berzatto’s made your family Christmas seem like a walk in the goddamn park. But you still enjoyed the breather. Still enjoyed leaning on the opposite side of the fence from Neil and smoking together like you were still in high school.

“Please,” you joked, “spare me the details. Don’t get too carried away on me now—I only have so long out here.”

He rolled his eyes at you, face turning pink in a way that you both simultaneously and silently agreed to chalk up to the cold. He snatched what little was left of the smoke from your fingertips and finished it off, both of you chuckling quietly at the petulant child-like nature of it.

“You know how I am,” he finally said with a laugh. “You?”

You sighed, dropping your head so that your chin was resting on your forearms, forcing you to look slightly upwards at him. “Still waiting for you to get out of Chicago for a week and come visit me!”

“It’s so far.”

“It’s not that far.”

“It’s pretty far.”

You rolled your eyes but you were still smiling. It was the same debate every time you came home. You weren’t actually that upset about it—you knew who you were dealing with after all. The Fak's and the Berzatto's weren’t the types to just up and leave Chicago. Even if it was just for a week.

“I’m just saying,” you stood upright, adjusting the sleeves of your sweater, “I’ve got a pull-out couch with your name on it.”

“I don’t even get a real bed?”

“I hardly even get a real bed!” you shot back with a laugh.

“That does not make me want to come and visit you more. Just saying.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’ll work on that.”

Before either of you could try and say something else to keep the conversation going, the screaming in the Berzatto house reached a crescendo, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Neil tucked his chin down for a moment, gathering himself up before heading back in to see what the damage was this time.

“I’ll let you go take care of that,” you said with a small laugh as you crossed your arms over your chest, the cold finally starting to get to you.

“I’m sure Mikey's got it all under control,” he replied, getting both of you to laugh.

“Mm, I don’t know, sounds like it might be A Fak.”

He laughed. “It’s always A Fak that’s why they invite us.’

You shook your head, unable to stop the smile on your face. “Merry Christmas, Neil. Tell Theodore I said the same.”

“And Francie?”

You laughed. “Sure. You can tell her, too.” You took a step back towards your parents' house.

He gestured to the fence. “Same time next year?”

You had to laugh. “I’m here for the rest of the week—I better see you again before I go. Preferably not in, you know,” you gestured to the fence again, “fuckin' no-man's land.”

“Pfft,” he mocked deep confusion and offense, “Do I not come when you call? Do I not respond when you beckon? It’s what I do—I show up.”

You laughed. “I’m just saying.”

“I’m hearing, I’m hearing,” he said, smiling as he started to make his way back towards the house. “Merry Christmas!” he called back to you once you turned around and started to head back to your own house.

You laughed as you turned just long enough to shout back, “And Happy Fuckin' New Year!”

[ihatebnha]

Hum idk if I remember everything I wrote let's see: barbarian Bakugou from the fantasy Opening probably brings you dead animals/trophies like a random stray or pet hunter animal who is showing affection/trying to show off/worried you need help getting food

Thank u sooo much for sending this again (I'm just a big boo boo about pets dying, literally makes me SO upset , seems like u got everything included so hopefully i was able to capture the initial vision right, too <333

(warning: slight dubcon but it's mostly just confusion, some eating stuff + i take a lot of liberties here)

-

LMFAO YES THOUGH, barbarian!Bakugo acting so much like a feral (momma) cat trying to live in your house. Bringing you combinations of dead animals and foraged goodies, even if the animals are like... concerningly weird and strange (sometimes deer, rabbits, and birds... but also foxes, wild pigs... skunk).

And what's funny is you try to get him to stop and explain that you're fine and you don't need his shit, but... he just DOESN'T believe you and continues bringing you stuff. No matter what.

Maybe cuz he's the village's best hunter but like... seeing that your cottage (?) isn't decorated in pelts and branches of herbs and drying meats 24/7 makes him soooo concerned. The first time he manages to bully his way through your door, he's sitting at your humble little eating table and just looking around... terribly grumpy while he unloads his pack.

(He's thinking about the fact that his future bride is probably starving, you're thinking that he's WEIRD).

And he can totally speak but... in my head I always imagine barbarian!Bakugo as super quiet, so it's not like he ever explains any of this to you, either. Just sort of... wedges his way into your life via brute force.

You see him at the market, haggling with the meat stall about how much he should be paid for his most recent hunt.. and the second he notices you without a fur pelt on, just like... rushes over to throw his own over your head. You try to stop him and shove his arms off of and he's just blocking your way until you keep it on.

And he's always like... coming over and skinning animals right there in your yard, salting them and everything and leaving them out to dry as though you don't have your own curing processes going on. Probably even takes off his furs and just does it in his loincloth, too. You can't even ask him what's going on without having to bear witness to all... that. All the girls who live next to you flock to your fence to watch except he just keeps glancing at you to see if you’re looking.

(It's also funny cuz after, he always waits for you to eat, too. Won't leave until he sees at least something go into your mouth... and when he does, sits there until you to tell him the cut of it was good, or the seasonings were right. Literally with his ears perked up and eyes all wide.)

It's probably not until the your country's yearly courting festival that you realize his goal. It's kind of a big deal for your village mostly cuz everyone is expecting Bakugo to like... compete for another nation's princess... but nah. The second all the eligible men are allowed to ask for someone's hand in marriage, he's running right for you.

(And the same stuff still happens, skunks and all, just... now you're officially engaged LMFAOOOO.)

[fandomsandshipping1]

Christmas/Holiday Story #2: Burnt out burn out.

Peggy had been on and off decorating her place, and the castle, ever since December started. As it got closer to Christmas, she started doing more, and more, and more. The clan got used to suddenly ducking out of her way as she came running past, box of decorations in hand, off to decorate another part of the castle.

Tonight they had set up yet another tree, this time in the library. They had been in there for a few hours without sprinting out to get more decorations. And that made Goliath think something was wrong.

"Peggy?" He asked, opening the door to the library. Sitting there by a plugged in, but turned off, Christmas tree, staring at a string of lights in their hands was Peggy, tears streaming down their cheeks.

"Gah! Why you just turn on?!" She shouted at the lights. "You're plugged in, you're all new, why! Won't! You! Turn! On!?" She groaned in frustration. Goliath walked over to his partner and set a hand on her shoulder.

"Perhaps you should take a break?" He asked. She shook her head.

"No. Because if I go take a break, I will forget that I'm supposed to be dealing with this tree and the sTUPID LIGHTS!" They glared at the lights in their hands. Goliath sighed, then took the lights from Peggy and picked her up. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to hold onto you until you agree to take a break." He told her. "You're stressing yourself out." Peggy pouted in her partner's arms.

"Fine..." She grumbled. "Cheater..." Goliath then carried Peggy over to an armchair and sat down with her. She sighed, leaning against him. "How do you manage to put up with me?"

"Because I love you." He told her, gently stroking her hair. She leaned against him more.

"... I'm sorry." Peggy muttered.

"For what?"

"For all the chaos and mayhem I've been causing."

"What chaos?" Goliath asked, causing Peggy to look up at him.

"You know, all the rushing and racing about like a chicken with 'er head cut off." They muttered.

"That's not chaos, Peggy. I have seen chaos before, I was around when the trio were pre teenagers." He told them. "Besides, it's nice to see you so excited and passionate about something." He added. Peggy sighed.

"Yeah... I guess so." She shrugged. "I'll admit, I'm not really doing this for myself." She stated, resettling a little.

"You're not?" Goliath asked.

"No, I'm doing this for my mom." Peggy admitted. "She always went all out for Christmas. I remember one year my father told her; "Marie, please don't go all out this year." And my mother replied; "Of course, Stephan, I'll just put some lights on the roof." And that turned into "Well, I'll just put a wreath on the door", which turned into "I should put some lights over the windows", and then the fence, and then a light up deer showed up in the yard, which turned into two deer, which turned into eight deer and a sleigh, and elves with gifts, and penguins on ice skates, and a Christmas tree that played music." She remarked, then lightly chuckled. "And my poor father, he looked at my mother and said; "Marie." He said; "Marie. You went all out again." And my mother only replied; "I know.", in the most cheerful little voice." She shook her head. "Despite all my father's complaining about the decorations, he always helped put them up and take them down. I think he loved it just as much as she did." She sighed. "If they lived around here, I'd be helping them decorate their house too."

"And you do this in their honor?"

"Well yeah, kind of. It's also kind of to keep the tradition alive." Peggy stated. Goliath thought for a second.

"Perhaps, if you're taking the role of your mother, then I can take the role of your father."

"Are you asking me to tone it down?" Peggy stuck their tongue out at Goliath, who chuckled.

"No. I'm offering to help." He replied. Peggy thought about it.

"Alright, you can help by figuring out why the darn lights won't come on." She replied.

(Tagging under the cut.)

@one-winged-dreams

@askthelovenest

[thelastspeecher]

Foster Ford AU prompt: little Ford interacting with Shermie? Alternately, him interacting with a Mcgucket sibling.

I went a bit nuts writing this. It's so much longer than I planned, but I just had to put in as much Quality Shermie Content as I could. Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

              “Hey, Ford.”  Ford looked up from the catnip mouse he was using to play with Dr. Whiskers.  Stan stood before him, grinning.  “Wanna go get donuts?”  Immediately, Ford’s stomach rumbled.  Stan laughed.  “I’ll take that as a yes.”  Ford stood and threw the catnip mouse.  Dr. Whiskers pounced on it eagerly, tail twitching with excitement.

              “Is Aunt Angie coming with us?” he asked, following Stan to the front door.  Stan shook his head.

              “She’s got to work on her thesis.  But we’ll bring her a donut back,” Stan said.  Ford nodded.  “Need help with your shoes?”

              “They’re Velcro, so, no,” Ford mumbled, slipping on his sneakers.  To his dismay, he was struggling with tying shoes properly, which led to favoring those without laces until his coordination became better.

              “All right.  If you ever wanna wear the ones you’ve gotta tie, I’ll help you,” Stan said.  “Ford and I are heading out, Ang!” he called.

              “Have fun!” Angie shouted back from the study she was working in.  Stan held the door open for Ford.  The two exited the house.  Ford went to the Stanleymobile, but Stan shook his head.

              “Nah, we’re not driving there,” he said.  “There’s a great kosher bakery just around the corner.  We’re gonna walk.”

              “Oh.  Okay.”  Ford went back to Stan’s side.  Stan raised an eyebrow at him.  Reluctantly, Ford held out his hand for Stan to hold.  The two then began to walk down the street.  Stan and Angie lived in a much nicer neighborhood than the one Stan and Ford grew up in.  The houses were tidy, the yards had picket fences, and there wasn’t a sickening smell when the wind blew just right.  Stan nodded at various neighbors, asking how they were doing.

              “I don’t really care much about these bozos,” Stan whispered to Ford after making light conversation with a middle-aged woman.  “Most of them are pretty boring.  But it’s always a good idea to make friends with your neighbors.  You offer them help when they need it, then they’ll help you when you need it.”  Ford nodded silently.  “Angie tells me that I should be helping out of the goodness of my heart, not for my own gain.  But we just had to agree to disagree on that one.”  Ford giggled.  Stan grinned.

              They turned a corner and were promptly on a street lined with small businesses.  Ford looked around, curious about the stores he hadn’t realized were so close by.

              Then again, I’ve only been living with Stan and Angie for a few days.  I haven’t had much time to explore, particularly because Stan and Angie have been keeping me close to home while I “adjust”.  They arrived in front of a bakery.  A sign in the window proclaimed that everything inside was kosher.  Ford looked up at Stan curiously, remembering how he had specifically mentioned that at home.

              “Do you keep kosher?” he asked.  Stan looked down at him, seeming surprised.

              Oh.  Right.  My first foster family was Christian and didn’t do much for me when I said I was Jewish.  He probably didn’t expect me to remember much terminology.

              “Uh.  No.  Not really.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “You remember some stuff about your dad, right?”  Ford nodded.  “Did he keep kosher?”

              “…No.”

              “Okay.  Good.  I mean, if your dad wanted that for you, Angie and I would do it, but it can be a lotta work.  Especially since I gave up on that as soon as I could and Angie’s Catholic.”  Stan managed a weak smile.  “But the donuts here are the best in town.  Also, we’re meeting someone who does keep kosher.”

              “Who?” Ford asked.  Stan pushed open the door.  The bell over the door jingled merrily.  Ford walked inside.  He swallowed nervously when he saw the man sitting at a nearby table.

              “You’re gonna meet your Uncle Shermie!” Stan said cheerfully.  Shermie got up from the table and walked over to them.  Ford quickly hid behind Stan’s legs.  “Aw, c’mon, kid, he’s not scary!”

              I don’t know if I can face anyone else from my past like this.

              “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Shermie said.  Stan shook his head.

              “No, it’s fine.  He’s just kinda shy.”  He looked down at Ford.  “Trust me, kid.  Your Uncle Shermie’s a good guy.”  Ford remained silent.  “Wanna get a donut?”

              “Yes, please,” Ford mumbled.  He followed Stan to the counter.  Stan ruffled his hair.

              “I know you’re a bit nervous about meeting Shermie, but don’t worry.  You know how I’m taking care of you because your dad can’t?”  Ford nodded.  “Well, Shermie took care of me when my dad wouldn’t.  He did the same thing for me that I’m doing for you.”

              “I guess that’s a good point,” Ford mumbled.  He closed his eyes.

              I’m here now, I just have to deal with it.  I don’t have to engage in any conversation.  I can just stay quiet and eat my donut.  Hopefully, Shermie will be the only other person from my past that I have to encounter.  Ford knew that Stan had completely cut contact with their parents, so the likelihood he’d have to deal with Caryn or Filbrick was negligible.

              “Whattaya want?” Stan asked.  Ford pressed his face against the glass display, taking in the options laid out before him.  A strange sense of nostalgia washed over him.  They had grown up down the street from a kosher bakery, and as such, this was far from the first time he had perused fresh donuts with Stan.  He looked over and up at his twin brother.

              But this is the first time this has happened with us twenty years apart in age.  Stan smiled at him.

              “Know what you want?” he asked.  Ford looked back at the donuts.

              “Blueberry sprinkle,” he said, pointing.  Stan nodded.

              “Good choice.”  He looked at the young woman manning the register.  “You heard the man, Carly.”  The woman, Carly, giggled.  “And I’ll take my usual.”

              “Blueberry sprinkle and triple chocolate coming right up!” Carly said cheerfully.  She grabbed the donuts for Stan.  Stan handed over the cash.  “So, who’s the kid?”

              “My nephew, Ford.”  Stan patted Ford’s head.  “My twin, his dad, he, uh, he can’t take care of Ford right now, so he’s living with me and Angie for a while.”

              “How long?” Carly asked.  She gave Stan his change, which he tucked into his wallet.

              “However long he needs to stay with us,” Stan said vaguely.  Carly nodded, picking up on the hint that Stan didn’t want to talk about it.               “What about Aunt Angie’s donut?” Ford asked.

              “We’ll grab it on our way out,” Stan said.  “Fresher that way.”  Ford frowned.

              I’m not sure if that’s true, but it’s not worth it to disagree.  With their donuts in hand, Stan and Ford headed back to the table.  Stan waited until Ford climbed onto his chair, then sat down on his own.  Shermie smiled at Ford.

              “So, Ford, tell me about yourself,” Shermie said.  Ford looked down at his donut.

              “Like what?” he mumbled, picking at his treat.

              “Well, what do you like to do?”

              “Um.  Read.”

              “What sort of things do you like to read?”

              “Anything,” Ford said with a shrug.  Stan snickered quietly.

              “Anything except what a kid his age would normally read,” he corrected.  “I’ve caught Ford going through Angie’s biology textbooks.”

              “Really?” Shermie asked.  “…Do you understand the things in Angie’s textbooks, Ford?”

              “A bit,” Ford mumbled.

              Just about all of it.  But most kindergarteners wouldn’t.  Ford pulled off a chunk of his donut and popped it into his mouth.  I’m not used to hiding my intelligence like this.  I can’t risk anyone being even more suspicious of me, though.

              “Wow!” Shermie said.  “You really are just as smart as your dad, aren’t you?”  Ford shrugged again.  “Other than reading, what do you like to do?”  Ford blinked.

              What do I like to do?  I haven’t had opportunities to do much since moving in with Stan and Angie.  He looked at Stan.  Stan smiled at him in the way one does when a child behaves in an endearing way.

              “You like playing with your LEGOs,” Stan prompted.  Ford nodded.

              “I do.”

              “LEGOs, huh?” Shermie asked.

              “Yeah.  One of Angie’s brothers has a kid about Ford’s age who’s a little genius, too,” Stan said.  “When we told him about Ford, he said we should get some LEGOs for him.  It was a good move.  Ford barely touches his other toys.”

              Yes, because the other toys are embarrassingly juvenile!  Ford couldn’t deny that some of the toys Stan and Angie had gotten for him were tempting, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be degraded to playing with them.  Of the options given to him, LEGOs were the best by far.  They weren’t just for children; Ford recalled his college roommate building things with LEGOs when he was bored.  I didn’t realize Angie had a brother who recommended them.  I owe him one.

              “I’ll keep that in mind for future gifts, then,” Shermie said, winking at Ford.  “When’s your birthday?”

              “April 22nd.”  It was a date with no significance to Ford.  By the time CPS asked about his birthday, he had realized he wouldn’t be able to convince anyone of who he was.  So he chose a random day off the calendar in the CPS official’s office, which had still been turned to the month of April.

              “April 22nd.  Got it.”  Shermie grabbed a napkin, pulled a pen out of his pocket, and scribbled it down.  “I’ll make sure to put it on the calendar.  Though I imagine I won’t forget, since your Uncle Stan and Aunt Angie will throw you an awesome birthday party.”

              Ugh.  Hopefully things will be different by then.  I don’t know if I can stomach being the center of attention at another children’s birthday party.  The party his foster parents threw for his fifth birthday had been brutal for Ford, though everyone else seemed to have a fantastic time.  Going to other children’s birthday parties was only marginally better.

              Thankfully, after that, Shermie and Stan picked up on Ford’s reluctance to talk and the conversation changed topics.  Ford listened silently to his brothers as he slowly ate his donut.  Shermie and Stan seemed to have a much closer bond than when they were younger, though Ford supposed that came about when Shermie took Stan in.  He wasn’t privy to the details.  As a teen and adult, he’d purposefully avoided any updates regarding Stan, and as a child, he wasn’t going to be told much about Stan being kicked out while still a minor.

              But Ford remembered the day Shermie found out what had happened to Stan.  Shermie had dropped by to visit and asked where Stan was.  When Caryn said he had been kicked out for ruining Ford’s science fair project, Shermie became irate and stormed out.  From what his mom had told him, Ford knew that Shermie found Stan living in the Stanleymobile and insisted Stan move in with him.  Not long after, Shermie got a job offer in California, so both he and Stan left.  Anything after that, Ford was learning for the first time.

              “You should take him to the coffee shop you met Angie at,” Shermie said.

              Stan and his wife met at a coffee shop?  How cliché.  Though, I must admit, also adorable.

              “I dunno.  He’s already tried to sneak coffee from us a few times.  Taking him to a coffee shop might be like an alcoholic going to a bar,” Stan replied.  Shermie frowned.

              “Mom did say that Ford was drinking a lot of coffee before he disappeared.  I wouldn’t be surprised if his son managed to sneak a few sips while he was distracted.”

              “That’s what Angie thinks.”

              “Speaking of Angie, have you taken him to her work yet?”

              “Not yet.  But we’re gonna go tomorrow.”

              “Excellent.”  Shermie smiled at Ford.  “Trust me, Ford, you’re going to love Angie’s work.”  Ford looked down at the crumbs on the table from his donut.

              “Where does she work?” he asked quietly.

              “It’s a surprise,” Stan said.  “But like Shermie said, you’re gonna love it.”  Shermie looked at his watch.

              “Shoot.  I’ve got to get going.”  Shermie stood up.  “I’m going to grab a few donuts for Amelia and Caleb.  Want to join me, Stan?  You had to grab one for Angie, right?”

              “Yeah.  She won’t be happy if I forget,” Stan said, getting up as well.  He looked at Ford.  “Stay here.  I’ll be right back.”  Ford nodded silently.  Stan and Shermie went back to the register.  Ford strained his hearing, trying to eavesdrop on his brothers.

              “I know you were worried about how well you’d be able to take care of Ford,” Shermie said to Stan.  “But from what I can tell, you’re doing great.”

              “Really?” Stan asked.

              “Definitely.  He trusts you enough to hide behind you and looks to you for help.  Those are good signs, particularly from a kid who’s been through difficult things like he has.”

              “Good.”  Stan sighed.  “He’s a great kid.  I just wish his actual dad was here to take care of him.”

              “Until they find him, you’re doing an amazing job,” Shermie said firmly.  “And I think it bodes well for when you and Angie start having kids of your own.”

              “We were originally gonna start trying pretty soon after Angie finishes school,” Stan said, “but we might put it off more if Ford’s still with us.”

              “I see,” Shermie replied.  “Don’t put your plans on hold for too long, though.  You two deserve to start a family.”  Ford stopped listening.  Guilt suddenly squirmed in his gut.

              Stan’s wanted to be a dad since we were kids.  But he’s willing to wait for me?  Ford swallowed.  No.  It’s all right.  By the time Angie graduates, surely I’ll be my proper age again.  The guilt didn’t go away, however.  If anything, it got worse.  The conversation Stan and Shermie had, where they referenced living together after Stan was kicked out, was replaying in Ford’s mind.  If Shermie hadn’t taken Stan in, what would have happened to him?  Nothing good.  He was a teenager living in his car!  Stan and Shermie walked back to the table.

              “We gotta head back, Ford,” Stan said.  “Angie’s gonna die of starvation if we don’t bring her a donut.”  Ford managed a weak smile and slid off his chair.  Shermie crouched down to Ford’s eye height.

              “It was nice to meet you, Ford,” Shermie said.  Ford impulsively threw his arms around Shermie, hugging as tightly as he could.  Shermie, though visibly confused, returned the gesture.

              “Thanks for taking care of Uncle Stan,” he mumbled.

              “Family’s gotta help each other out,” Shermie said simply.  He squeezed Ford.  “That’s why Uncle Stan is taking care of you, now.”  He stood up.  “Don’t forget about the offer to babysit, Stan.  I’d love for Ford to meet Amelia and Caleb.”

              “We’ll let you know,” Stan said.  “Say hi to them for me.”

              “Say hi to Angie for me.”

              “Will do,” Stan said.  Shermie left.  Stan turned to Ford.  “I’ve got a very important job for you, okay?”

              “What?” Ford asked.  Stan held out the paper bag containing Angie’s donut.

              “Carrying Aunt Angie’s donut back home and giving it to her.  It’s a big deal, but I think you’re up to the task.  Are you?”

              “Of course,” Ford scoffed, taking the bag from Stan.  Stan grinned.

              “I knew you could handle it.  You’re a good kid, Ford.”  Ford smiled back at Stan.  As Stan took ahold of Ford’s free hand and led him out of the bakery, a new feeling bubbled to the surface.

              I feel…content.  Ford looked up at Stan, who was whistling off-key while they walked down the street.  For the first time in years, things between myself and my brothers aren’t complicated or difficult.  A mutinous thought crossed Ford’s mind.  When I tell Stan who I truly am, that’s going to change.  Do I really want to tell Stan the truth, and lose everything all over again?  Lose him all over again?

[vanoincidence]

Baby Hatchet || Van & Vic

TIMING: mid april. LOCATION: vic's home. PARTIES: @natusvincere & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: van goes to find her missing package, and the post office told her it was at none other than vic's house! CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Rosie had a beautiful, lush backyard to play in.  Vic had made sure of it when she bought their home- she even designed the landscape herself.  

At first, when Rose had been given to her, everything felt so temporary.  Surely she wouldn’t actually be expected to keep a human child alive, someone must have been coming to take her away to safety with some nice, normal hunters. But things started to almost seem normal- Vic had painted the walls of her guest room with lavish, detailed fairy tail characters from her own childhood, and it wasn’t long before Rosie started reaching for her for comfort instead of self-soothing.  And suddenly, Vic couldn’t imagine life without the small being by her side.  But the modest home she had owned at the time wasn’t big enough by any means, not for a growing little girl.

So, Vic went on the search for something newer and bigger, and, well… she found something bigger.  Bigger was about the only thing it had going for it.  The home was huge, massive, if she were being frank, but it was severely unsafe and outdated (sometimes she wondered if it was older than her). But there wasn’t much that could get between Vic and her plans, and so for the next year or so (she had gotten so much better at keeping track of time now that Rosie was around), Vic did everything she could to make the home look bright, shiny, and new as it ever did.  She spared no expense, because she didn’t have to, and because her daughter deserved everything.  Especially a beautiful, lush backyard to play in.

Except lately, Rosie had absolutely no interest playing in the beautiful backyard, but had instead taken a fascination to the front yard instead.  The front yard, usually home to Vic’s flowerbeds and elaborate landscaping, now had every inch of its driveway covered in chalk.  Vic, despite the circumstances, had accepted this change surprisingly willingly, and was sat upon the driveway with the three-year-old, the two of them creating their own doodles that seemed to interlace with the other’s.  Winnie, for her part, seemed more interested in the pedestrians passing by than their art.  Vic didn’t mind in the slightest, though, since that kept both the strangers and the hyper dog occupied.  

—- 

Van looked down at the piece of paper that had lines of ink scratched overtop of it. Tongue pushed against the roof of her mouth, she squinted into the distance. She wasn’t sure how somebody had screwed up a delivery this badly! How was it that every single time she ordered something, it just so happened to get delivered to the opposite side of town? Maybe it was her fault for online shopping. She should’ve been supporting local instead, not buying miniature statues of Acheron to fill the shelf she bought with the Ikea gift card Regan left behind. 

As she approached the house, she immediately took notice of the toddler, dog, and woman– a myriad of colors canvasing both the ground. She paused just outside of the fence, jumping slightly as the dog seemed to show interest in her. Van looked at the paper in her hands, then to the address that was posted on the wall next to the front door. Yeah, this was the place, but it didn’t look like there were any packages sitting outside of it. She should ask. Yeah, definitely ask. 

Van cleared her throat after a moment, pushing the paper into the space between them, showing the address on the slip of paper from the post office. “Hi, um– I– my figurines got sent here instead of to me? And um, this is the address that the post office gave me.” She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. Would the woman think she was a scammer? God, all she wanted was her Acheron. 

—- 

Most people that walked by either ignored them or politely complimented the chalk art.  Vic had taken to smiling politely at the compliments, something she wouldn’t have considered a few years ago.  Somehow, Rosie was teaching her that not everyone had to be a threat.  But sometimes a lesson had to be taught a few times before it stuck.

 Winnie and Vic took the throat-clearing stranger in two opposite ways.  Winnie, sure as ever that this new friend was speaking directly to her, couldn’t contain her sudden burst of excited energy.  She zoomed around the front yard, circling back to the stranger with a lick to her hand before repeating the process a few more times.  Vic wasn’t as welcoming.  She stood up, placing herself between Rosie and the stranger.  The toddler, who  didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, kept on with her drawing. She looked down at the paper, unsure she should grab it without more information.  She had been reading horror stories about phantom contracts on the internet lately, and worried just grabbing such a thing might somehow pass over ownership to her house or something.  She needed more information.

“Online shopping can be incredibly unsafe.  Do you often put the wrong address on your orders, or am I just lucky?”.  The paper she was holding did seem official, but Vic knew she had to keep prying.  She thought back to the small box that had been delivered yesterday, the one she’d meant to bring to the post office before her whole day got thrown off when Rosie scraped her knee.  Injuries with three-year-olds were expected, and Rosie had been so brave, but Vic felt the need to restock her blood supply so there were absolutely no slip-ups.

“Figurines… do you mean toys?  Are you a parent?”  She glanced back at Rosie, thinking about the positive outcomes playdates seemed to have in all the parenting books she’d read in the past three years.  “How old is your child?”

—

Van stumbled back slightly as the dog rounded to her side, hand covered in grass and dirt now from the way it’d surely been digging at something in the ground earlier. Van wiped her hand against the backs of her pants and looked over at the woman who immediately took care to step in front of the kid that was next to her. 

“I mean, yeah, but so can like… going to the store.” Especially here, she thought. The last big shopping trip she’d done, Debbie had ended up dead and she and the others earned stab wounds. “I didn’t put the wrong address! They said it was sorted wrong by the post office or something.” She stuck the piece of paperwork into the space between them, not quite crossing the threshold as the woman didn’t seem overjoyed to be in her presence. Van could at least tell that much. 

At the mention of being a parent, Van coughed, hand to her chest. “Me? Dude, I’m like twenty– well I mean, I’m twenty-one, but that just happened like last month. I don’t look like a mom, do I?” She looked down at herself, the cargo jeans she wore dragging haphazardly against the sidewalk so that the ends of the fabric were lined in dirt and mud. She looked up at the woman who (was clearly a mother) and coughed out an apology. “There’s nothing wrong with being a mom, but like, I’m not one, and I don’t think I could ever be one, because what happens if a kid gets knives, you know? I’m not even allowed to have knives. I’m twenty-one.” Van could feel heat rise to the back of her neck as she stumbled over her words. “I’m the child here, la– ma’am, and um, I’m just here for my figurine which is not a toy, it goes up on a shelf and you look at it because it’s nice to look at.” She couldn’t believe that this woman thought she was a mom. She’d be a terrible parent! She couldn’t even take care of herself! That was like, Erin and Jade’s jobs! 

—

At the girl’s words, Vic hesitated, her mouth opening and closing in thought.  She had a point, and for a brief, rare moment, Vic was at a loss for words.  It was the reason she started having her groceries delivered since her alarming interaction with Baby Bloodworth in the park.  She wouldn’t have been thrilled for this stranger to find out she was a hypocrite.  Again, she stared at the paper placed in front of her for a beat, but this time she grabbed it after a moment, reading through the words with furrowed eyebrows.  Behind her, she heard the gentle scraping of chalk- Rosie apparently having had enough of staring at the stranger.  “Stupid useless government agencies”, she muttered, passing the paper back to the girl.  “Are you planning on filing a complaint about this?  I can help you start the process.”

Vic found herself smirking at the fact that the mere thought that the girl in front of her could be a parent send her into a sort of spiral. She looked down at the girl’s clothing, her eyes raising in judgement and a bit of disgust.  Perhaps she misplaced her washing machine, too. Rosie, as sweet as they made them, heard the coughing and brought over the roll of paper towels Vic had brought out to smudge the chalk, shyly holding them up to the girl. Vic smiled down at her and tucked her wispy curls behind her ears as she spoke to the stranger.   “Both twenty and twenty-one are perfectly reasonable ages to be a parent.  Or they once were, I suppose.  The youth of today is much less mature… I’m thrilled you’ve decided to wait.”  Vic, for her part, was 307 before she became a parent.  “You don’t give them knives until after you’ve trained them”, she said as Rosie ran off to chase Winnie, their favorite game together as of late.  Her giggles echoed behind their conversation.  “My daughter is adept at hatchet throwing, too, but she’s a bit shy around strangers.”

She stared at the girl for a moment longer, and then opened the gate, gesturing for her to come in the yard.  Neither Rosie nor Winnie seemed threatened by her presence, and Vic was working on trusting people rather than hating them right off the bat.  A disorganized, dirty barely adult seemed like a good start.  “So it’s art, in a way?  I can appreciate art.”

—

“Yeah, the government totally sucks and everything, but the post office is like, the least of our worries even if they did mess this up.” Weren’t they severely underfunded? Probably. That sounded right. Van didn’t want to be mad at the post office, but didn’t mind being upset with the government, because the government totally sucked. “I don’t…. think so? A complaint is going to take a lot of time, and I just sort of want my package, you know?” A nervous smile crept across Van’s features as she brought her hands together, thumbs pressing against each other.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the toddler holding up something towards her. The roll of paper towels were bigger than her head, and Van, for some reason, was transported back to a time where her dad would look at her through the paper towel hole and then make noises, too. He had done a great elephant impression. Van wondered if this woman did that for her daughter, or if she showed love in other ways. “I’m–” She took the paper towels, unable to find it in herself to be rude to the toddler. “Thanks.” She looked down at them, not quite sure what to do now. She didn’t actually need them. Maybe she’d leave with the paper towels instead of her package. Maybe that would be the way this went. “I don’t know any twenty year olds who should be parents, actually.” Maybe if they really wanted to be? But Van couldn’t fathom it. It just wasn’t for her. 

“Trained…” Yeah, that made sense! She’d never been trained to deal with them, and hadn’t ever been taught how to hold them properly. That made a lot of sense. Van cleared her throat, tucking the paper towels to her chest with her arms crossed over them. “Hatchet… she’s so small though? How does she do that?” That was a surprise, to say the least. Impressive, too. Van could barely hold anything above her head. Her arms were weak. A toddler was stronger than her which was a little belittling. Maybe she should hit the gym. “That’s cool though, um– didn’t mean for it to sound like a bad thing or whatever.” This woman was strange. She reminded her a little bit of Regan, actually. 

The gate opened, and Van padded into the yard, craning her neck to look at the chalk art from the correct angle. “Those are nice, and um– yeah, it’s like art, I guess.” That was a good way to put it, and it seemed to please the woman. Maybe she’d get her package afterall. “Are you an artist?” It was clear that was the case, as it was fairly easy to discern which chalk art was the woman’s and which had been the child’s. If it had been Van, both her attempts and the kid’s would’ve looked the same.  

—

Vic crossed her arms over her chest, barely listening to the girl defending the post office before she practically cut her off.  “But they inconvenienced you.  And me, for that matter.  They risked the integrity of your package with their careless mistake and they need to be held accountable so they understand that the choices they made to lead to this mistake are not acceptable.  Life is about learning, and the post office is not immune to this fact.”  There was no joking tone to her words, nor was there malice.  To Vic, she was just educating this poor, young girl about a fact of life.

As she watched the interaction between Rosie and the stranger, Vic wondered if this girl had ever interacted with a small child before.  “Maybe you’re right.  I mean, you’re practically still a child yourself.”  She couldn’t imagine the girl in front of her rocking a baby to sleep or gently combing tangles out of wet hair.  But then, three years ago, she couldn’t have imagined herself doing any of that, either.  “Is it something you want one day, do you think?  To be a parent?”

“Oh god, n- not real hatchets!”, Vic exclaimed, flummoxed.  “They’re rubber!  Do you think I would trust a preschooler with actual hatchets?  Her motor skills barely allow her a firm grasp on the leash, nevermind a throwing hatchet.”  She shook her head, completely flabbergasted as she looked back toward Rosie, not at all aware that the stranger her mother was talking too had wild ideas about small children.  “No”, she said, shaking her head as she turned back.  “She won’t try the real things until she’s at least 5.”

Vic glanced at their art as the two of them walked by, finding herself a bit embarrassed about being complimented.  For years, she’d been anonymously submitting art to contests around town, never venturing as far as to share her name for fear of being noticed.  She only started painting ‘professionally’ (if you called crude cartoons on storefronts professional) once Rosie came around, because bartending just didn’t seem like a job that a mother should have, but she often avoided feedback about that art, too.  Waiting to be scrutinized for her passion made her feel like a little girl again, being asked loud, harsh questions she didn’t know the answers to.  “I don’t know if one is entitled to call themself an artist.  I think that’s a title that’s meant to be bestowed upon you.”

Vic glanced toward the front door as they reached it, knowing the package the girl was waiting for was just on the other side of it.  She looked at Rosie, who was so covered in chalk dust and concentrating on what she was doing, then at Winnie, who was laying next to her, covered with a few chalk dust handprints herself.  Then, her glance fell to the stranger again.  It was so rare for her to bring people into her home, even less so strangers, but this would be okay, right?  The girl would barely be seeing the inside.  

—

Van stared at the woman as she dug into her opinion about the post office. So she was dealing with a Karen? Was that what this was? She wasn’t sure it was that serious, but what if it had been? What if Van had been waiting on something really important? Well, the Acheron statue was important (to her), but the lady had a point and she knew it, even if she didn’t feel particularly good about taking it out on underpaid government workers. “Um, I’ll… go and talk to them. For sure.” She wasn’t going to, but it wasn’t like this woman would actually know if she went and did, right? 

It wasn’t the first time she’d been called a child, especially by an older woman, and she figured it wouldn’t be the last. Though, in this situation, Van did nothing to fight back against the comment. She was a child who shouldn’t have a child, and that was her opinion. If other twenty year olds, or freshly twenty-one year olds wanted to go and have children, then so be it. She just wasn’t one of them. Choice mattered, even if she made the opposite one. “Yeah, exactly. I’m like, a super child, you know? Almost as tall as one or whatever. I don’t even think a kid would fit on this hip.” Her mom had been her height, but it was getting harder to remember those kinds of details with the years that passed. At the woman’s questions, Van shook her head, waving the paper towel around so that it became slightly unraveled. Now stressed, she began balling it around itself, “no, not at all, I’d be like, a super terrible parent.” Even if that weren’t true, she couldn’t fathom ever being one. “I can like, barely take care of myself. Instead of groceries, I’m buying figurines, you know?” She let out a nervous laugh, the paper towels now tucked to her chest. 

So they weren’t real hatchets, and maybe Van should’ve known that, but she had just figured that if they weren’t, then the woman would’ve noted that. Then again, she just did. “Until she’s… 5? That’s…” She looked towards the toddler that was dotted in different colored chalk. “That makes like, total sense.” Van had realized very quickly that there was probably no reasoning with this woman. She hated inconveniences, and Van was one big one, if she were being honest with herself. 

Yeah, the longer Van sat here with this woman, the more she was reminded of Regan. Maybe they’d even get along. Then again, maybe their opinions would cancel each other out and they’d actually hate each other. Not that Van would ever know, Regan was in Ireland and she was never coming back. “If you um, do art, I think that you can call yourself an artist? Or that you like doing it? It takes up time, right?” She thought of Nora in that moment and her chest tightened. She missed her friend, and she even missed Regan. “Plus it’s like, really good, so I mean…” She shrugged, not sure where else to go. If the woman didn’t want to be called an artist, then Van wouldn’t waste her breath, but it seemed like she was an artist. 

They were closer to the door, and Van was closer to freedom. Her Acheron statue (or in Thea’s words, Grimace), would be in her possession, and she’d be free to display it however she wanted after putting the delicate pieces into place. They stalled outside of the door and Van cleared her throat. “Um, I can… wait out here? While you grab it? These shoes are like, kind of hard to take off and everything.” They were double laced converse that were tied around each other at the top. Half the time, Van just wiggled her feet out, but she figured that might only make this woman (a near certified Karen), more upset. 

—

“Okay.  You can let me know how it went, if you want.  Don’t let them intimidate you.  I know how some people like to take advantage of young women’s perceived naivety.  You’re entitled to get what you want out of this interaction, so don’t take no for an answer.”  Vic considered offering to go with the girl, but it was just as well that this might be a lesson she had to learn on her own.  

She smiled, small and inquisitive, as the you woman demonstrated her lack of hips.  “You’d be surprised the sort of things they sell for infant care these days.  I’d bet your hips would have no issue propping a toddler up with the right equipment.” For a moment, she paused, ignoring the first half of the girl’s statement in favor of the second.  “Wait, but you do have groceries, right?  You’re not experiencing food insecurity for the sake of this statue?”  Knowing the pangs of hunger herself, she couldn’t in good faith let someone go without food, not when she had plenty stashed away inside for Rosie.  

“That would be true if people weren’t duct taping bananas to walls and calling themselves artists because of it.”  She thought on the questions, looking back toward Rosie as she continued to color.  Even the term art was subjective, in it’s own way.  Childhood was art.  So were flowers and music and memories of something she wasn’t sure even existed anymore.  She didn’t know how to respond, so instead, Vic just gave a small nod at the second compliment. 

At the girl’s offer, she hesitated.  She would be inside for barely a moment- would that be enough time for the stranger to snatch her happiness away?  Nothing this young woman had done had indicated that she’d do something like that, though, and Vic had been slowly learning that one of the best methods to quell her distrust for, well… everyone, was to try a little trust.  For a moment, she stared at the stranger, trying to communicate silently what fate might be bestowed upon her if she even thought about hurting her family.  To the young woman, it probably looked like she had to fart.  

Vic ventured inside, leaving the door open just in case, and reached the end of the front hall where the package was safely resting.  All the while, she was pushing thoughts away, the ones that told her all the awful things that could be happening just outside.  But her hearing was impeccable, and all she heard was Rosie humming contentedly.  As she walked back outside, she hoped the girl didn’t notice how embarrassed she was.  “Here it is, um…” she looked down at the package.  “Van.  And it was nice to meet you.  I’m Vic, if you’re wondering. Or if one of my grocery deliveries end up mysteriously at your house.”

—

Van nodded in response, speculating that if she were to further engage in the conversation about the downfall of the post office, the woman might decide that right there and now was the best time to go and have the conversation about their inability to do their jobs. Van didn’t want to offend the post office. They were the least paid, and they really only wanted to help people, right? Get their packages, connect loved ones who hadn’t entered the age of cellphones— all of that. 

While the woman’s comments could be seen as invasive, Van forced herself to imagine Regan in front of her, delightfully unaware of social cues. Maybe that was the same issue here. Van was bad at them, too, so she couldn’t really blame the woman! But still, there was something about her hips, and as she opened her mouth to respond, she was being prodded about her comment regarding groceries. “Oh! Um, that was like, a joke. I actually work at a pizza place, so I get unlimited pizza. It’s an okay deal for the shitty pay.” Oh god, now this woman would be able to parse out where she worked. What if she came looking for verification that she had gone to the post office? It was too late to take back the statement now. “Minimum wage affords me both the statue and pizza. It’s a good gig.” It was a terrible gig, but she wasn’t about to go into the details of why. 

The woman did have a point. A banana taped to a wall didn’t have the same emotion as something that somebody had spent hours on, but wasn’t art still subjective? She didn’t know enough about the politics of art to really get into it, but her mind kept wandering back to Nora and the abandoned paintings in her crypt. “I think that maybe somebody finds that artistic. I think it’s okay if you don’t.” After a brief pause, Van continued, “I mean— I don’t either. Not really.” She didn’t want the woman to get mad at her for possibly thinking a banana taped onto a wall was art, so she made sure to amend, “and like, sometimes art is bad.” Yeah, that was good. 

She was so close to getting her Acheron figurine and leaving. She could practically feel its energy from the other side of the door. Well, not that she actually could, but the lesbian power the figurine radiated was enough to let Van know it was definitely on the other side. Van blinked at the woman as she seemingly hesitated. What was taking her so long? Did she not actually have it? Was this whole thing just a facade? Was the baby even real? She looked behind her at the baby who was definitely real, still enamored with the chalk and the sidewalk. 

Finally, the package was hers. It was the same size as the Black Swan figurine she had gotten off of Depop, and she hoped that inside, she wouldn’t find a bunch of scattered and broken pieces. “Oh, thank god—“ She grabbed the package from the woman— now named Vic, and held it to her chest in exchange for giving Vic back the paper towels that the little girl had handed over. “I hope not. I mean, groceries are a lot harder to like, transport and stuff, you know?” She bit the inside of her cheek as she looked behind her, then back to Vic. “I mean, if that does happen then that’d totally suck, but I definitely would bring them to you. I wouldn’t just eat your groceries.” Van guessed that Vic probably bought the really good yogurt puffs for the kid, and Van might steal those. They were expensive and they were a good snack. She’d put a Red Bull in for replacement. How would Vic know that wasn’t on the shopper? “Thank you for keeping it safe though, I totally like, owe you one.” Did she? Probably not, but she felt like she did. 

—

All things considered, Vic’s fears turned out to be unwarranted.  If she were a petty person, she would be mocking herself from five minutes ago for being so worried about leaving Rosie with this sweet, confused, underdressed stranger.  She grabbed the paper towels with a grin, putting them on the sun table beside them.  “That would be very kind, but unnecessary.  We enjoy our evening walks, we could just venture over to wherever you are with our wagon and take them from there, if the situation should arise.  I doubt it will, though, really.  The odds of that happening are actually quite miniscule.”  Vic said this with her full chest as tourists were lining up to catch a glimpse of the giant leg currently resting in the woods.

“You shouldn’t say that to strangers, you know”, she said.  It was a lesson she’d learned after being burned by more than a few fae in her time.  She was glad to pass on 300 years of wisdom to the youth of today.  When Van had first approached, all of Vic’s apprehension had made her wish she could just imagine her away, but Vic thought perhaps she wasn’t so bad, with her baggie, ripped pants and her strange art.  “You let me know if you need help at the post office, okay?  I’m extremely adept at writing strongly worded letters.”  Maybe she should trust Winnie and Rosie’s judgements of strangers more often.

[fruitless-vain]

Hey I got a question for you my resident training expert friend. If you don't mind.

New house, next door has 4 very barky and attention seeking dogs. Any time the back door opens, or they see me through the bathroom or bedroom window, they start barking. If I take Isolde out to give her some ball time, they go nuts along the fence.

They are all friendly, but they just do not calm down....ever. I have been outside for 40 minutes just sitting and they do nothing but bark. Their owners occasionally try to call them in, but don't leave the back step so the dogs mostly ignore them.

I am starting to wonder if there is anything I can do on my end. Like would trying to interact with them by the fence calm them down or more likely to make them go more nuts with excitement when they see me?

I know, neighbour's dogs aren't mine to train, but I can't even set foot in my backyard without them going off...and I have to keep my bedroom curtains closed most of the time so they don't go off if they happen to see me through the fence and window.

It's.... frustrating and I'm not sure what to do about it. I was wondering if you had any tips or if I'm just doomed to the cacophony of dogs who do not know how to stop? *I mean I am a little worried for the dogs too because the one keeps jumping near the fence and I am so worried a paw will get snagged in the fence on the way down, or like running behind their shed where there is a lot of crowded stuff. I just don't want these dogs to break their damn legs with excitement you know????

If you’re comfortable enough with it the easiest option would be to talk to the owners, say you’re really interested in dog training and was wondering if you could try to practice on their dog’s to resolve the backyard barking! Most people are quite embarrassed when their dogs behave that way and are more than willing to accept free help provided they aren’t being shamed or blamed for the behaviours they feel bad about. That would definitely set you up to be able to work on this easier, be able to establish a relationship with the dogs and get permission to give them treats/ know if they have any allergies to be able to work on that.

Usually the easiest management from the owner’s side is just to teach a solid come inside cue, where you would be quite far away and be able to call the dog back in for a huge jackpot, gradually working your way closer. That’s usually a pretty quick process that doesn’t resolve the barking but does end it in the moment with a lot less stress happening on both sides.

If not depending on your setup there’s a few things you can do depending on the cause for the barking. It’s going to be a lot of trial and error to determine what is motivating the dog and what’s going to work.

The first step is to find the distance you can be that doesn’t trigger them. Experiment with it just being you out there, just your pup, perhaps just the jingle of a collar, you out of sight but making some sound, visible but no sound, see if you can isolate what triggers the barking on an individual level and if there’s a distance you can be at that doesn’t start the barking. This could mean opening the back door and still being inside the house. The goal being to take the individual triggers at your safe distance and gradually work your way closer.

The challenge is sorting out what motivates them and what they want to achieve with their barking. For most dogs it’s to make people go away, for some it’s just an overstimulated state of mind from excitement. For fear/ yard guarding you’ll stay under their threshold and then walk away to reward the lack of barking or toss a treat/ get the owner to toss a treat depending on the dog.

For excitement you can reward the lack of barking at your under threshold distance with treat tosses, toy tosses, or even with you/your dog getting closer if that’s what they’re really wanting to have happen if you think it won’t trigger the barking to start in that moment. Alternatively if all they want is you/your dog to come play you can slowly close the distance and immediately walk away when the barking starts. This can be frustrating for the dog however and is not the ideal way to train it, but when you’re trying to fix a problem with extreme limitations like this it is something that can be considered. Important to know if you leaving is rewarding or punishing in this scenario though because if you going away is what they actually want then it’ll make the barking worse.

Goal being to reward the quiet and gradually be able to close the distance.

Behaviours can be complicated and there’s far more options than what I’ve listed here but hopefully it’ll give you some ideas!

[justfor2am]

Could we get some small rancher duo hurt/comfort?

The first death was always the most anticipated, and in this world in served two roles.

To see who the universe assigned together by way of slaughter, and who was the unlucky fool stuck with them. How ironic, (how predictable,) that the coal mine suffocated its poor canary.

The universe was funny in that way. Jimmy had not yet come to accept his fate: that of the first death, the hallmark of ruin for himself, the bell that tolled when all hope was lost. And yet here he was, standing at spawn watching his newly discovered soulmate attempt to smother out the last few fiery sparks of his own flustered frustration.

Tango was terribly embarrassed. Here they were, the one's the sever had long since regaled as the most likely to go first, and the world had knotted their hearts together without a hint of regret.

They lived with their mutual failings, and kept those words hidden from the other. It was awkward, clumsy, the way both were keenly aware that a false move would be more likely than not, another death, and yet the stumble of Jimmy's footsteps or muffled hiss of a stifled flame brought smiles to the other's face.

It was easy to care for one another, because who else will?

The second death was another unlikely happenstance: a desperate attempt to become strong, to sew magic into the few paltry items they had, became a quick cause for death.

Jimmy could feel the red in his heart burst open, and he remembered how much he hated the feeling. Tango felt it too, and their mutual disgust was kept quiet, like everything else. They sought revenge, but that, much like everything else in their little farmhouse of a home, was short-lived.

The first ones dead, yet again.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy spoke first, his specter hovering next to a familiar tombstone in their garden. "I didn't want things to end this way, I wanted to win, us to win."

"What're you sorry for?" was the reply, distant and foggy, the echos of cave walls revealing where Tango's soul laid trapped. "I was the idiot that got us killed, again. It's my fault."

"I'm cursed, Tango," Jimmy said with a bitter laugh. "Everyone knows it. I pretend I'm not but, but it just keeps on happening. Stupid canary curse," he scoffed, perching himself on the fence outside their yard. "It would've been nice to win with you. Show them all we're good for something."

"Of course you're good for something," Tango answered, the distant drips of cave water splashing down into caverns below. "We might not be the best fighters, but we had a home. We had a cow farm before anybody else did, and horses, and chickens."

"And a warden," Jimmy added in his head, a soft smile on his face.

Somewhere within the world, a bell tolled. "That'll be another pair," Jimmy murmured, looking up at the sky. He hoped that, wherever it was Tango was stuck, he could see a piece of the sky too.

"They always drop like flies after you go," Tango hummed. "Maybe that's it."

"Hm?" Jimmy turned his attention down to the ravine, and wondered how much blood it would take to stain it red.

"Your curse," Tango said. "Maybe you're not just the first to go because of who you are. Maybe you're the one that's keeping everybody else alive. No one dies before you," he thought aloud.

The two stayed in silence for a little while, mulling the idea over. Jimmy quite liked it, the thought that he was the one keeping green in the rest of the server's eyes, that his death wasn't just laughable; it was tragic.

Strangely enough, it made him feel wanted.

"Well, if I was to die with anyone else," Jimmy spoke up, "in a weird way, I'm glad it was you."

Tango laughed, low and scratchy, familiar and safe in so many ways. "In an even weirder way, me too."

[aromanticbuck]

Kim + the magic AU (absolutely inspired and influenced by my co-conspirator, @kitthekazoo)

“It’s okay, I promise.” “I’m scared...” “I know. This is scary. But you’re safe, now. Can you breathe with me?” “Yeah...” “Yeah? Good. You’re doing really good.”

The life that she was born into was easy. It wasn’t perfect, but it was comfortable. She could have grown up happily, gone to school, had whatever career she wanted. but that was before things got complicated. Magic flowed through her as much as blood did, the same as it flowed through her sister. And that wasn’t exactly something to be proud of in the world they lived in. A neighbor who saw too much made a call, and that summoned the police to their door, and there was very little they could do.

She was pushed out the back door and beyond the fence around their yard, told to be quiet not come out of her hiding spot until someone came to get her. Only no one did. She was alone through the night, shivering under the dripping leaves of the tree overhead, all the way until the sun rose again There had been a scream at one point, and other sounds she didn’t recognize, but the light of the day brought quiet again, and she was hungry, and tired, and she couldn’t sit around and wait for someone to save her forever.

It wasn’t that hard, getting stale scraps from bakeries that they weren’t going to be able to sell, and it kept her fed for a while. She was alone most of the time, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She could still take care of herself, and anyone else who got hurt while in the cold and the dirt. Her magic could make bruises disappear, and stop flowing blood from a scratch, and she learned how to mend cracks and breaks in bone. When the nightmares came, the ones that were filled with the sound of her sister screaming and the sounds she still couldn’t place, she used her magic to make that hurt less, too.

She made a reputation for herself, small but mighty in her own right, helping the scared people get more peaceful rest when it was safe to do so, fixing small injuries that wouldn’t be too obvious if questions were asked, soothing aching stomachs that were empty of food. There wasn’t much else she could do, not completely alone, not even when she found someone who was willing to watch her back, too. Her power wasn’t strong enough to do anything else, but at least she had a friend.

Mouse didn’t do the same things she did. He didn’t heal scratches and bruises, and he couldn’t help people sleep the way she could, but he did other things with his magic. He made sure they always had fire to stay warm at night, and made sure they always had food, and watched over her when she slept. He didn’t say much, or anything at all, but that didn’t really matter. He was her friend, and they trusted each other, and that was all they needed.

Until they had to run from a group of police, the team who found magic users and took them away, the same division that took her family away from her.

They ended up across the city, desperate and scared. They had so few options for what to do, nowhere easy to access to hide out for the night when the sun started going down, and they had to take a risk. It was a good plan, keeping the risk of danger as low as it could be - in a neighborhood like the one they’d wandered into, people were more likely to report magic to the authorities, especially someone who answered the door in full uniform.

“Hello. We got lost. Can you tell us which way to go?” “Well, kiddo, where are you and your friend over there trying to get?” “We were over in downtown last night, but we can’t go back there. But we don’t know where we are.” “Come inside for a little bit. You can get warm, and have something to eat, and be on your way when the sun is up and you can see. Okay?” “Um... I don’t know if Mouse would want to do that.” “Why don’t you go ask him and see what he says?” “Mouse doesn’t talk.”

It was nice, having a warm meal that they didn’t have to summon with magic, and having a big bed to sleep in, even if they couldn’t appreciate it forever. Kim could feel the exhaustion in Mouse when she woke up the next morning, her magic enough to tell her that he hadn’t slept at all even in safety. But that could be fixed as soon as he was comfortable enough to rest again.

That took time, over a week passing before Trudy’s home was familiar enough for either of them to sleep without the use of her magic. It took even longer for her to use it openly. It could be dangerous, letting anyone see what they were capable of, and there were too many possibilities for what happened behind the closed doors of the facilities that magic users were taken to. They were killed, she’d understood that for years, but the how was still a mystery, one that she didn’t necessarily want to solve.

But she was allowed to help make dinner most nights, and the knife was sharp, and it was instinct to heal the wound as soon as she felt the blade move through her skin. Trudy was ready to help, to wash her finger in the sink and find a bandage, only there was no sign of injury by the time she reached over. And then Mouse was growing the flowers the same week without seeing if he was being watched, and their secret was out.

Nothing changed. They were still allowed to stay in the extra bedroom, and eat dinner at the table every night, and eventually that just became their lives. There had been paperwork to fill out and a nice woman to talk to about how she felt about living there, and about the room that she got all to herself, and it was nice. Once she became Kimberly Platt, she could practice magic in her room where it was safe and peaceful, learning new things from experience and from Mouse.

“Mouse says you’re our mom now. Mouse doesn’t say anything. I think it means he likes it here.” “That’s good, because you’re going to live here until you’re old enough to decide to leave and live on your own.” “I don’t remember my other mom. But I think she was nice.” “Well, I’ll definitely be nice.” “Neat. I think I like that. So can I call you mom?” “You can call me whatever you like.”

The changes in her magic were something she should have seen coming, really. It had happened to Mouse first, the magic slipping away only he could only do a few things, but better than before. When it happened with her, too, it should have been easier to handle.

The power slipped away and got stronger all at once, harder to control. She healed from injury without trying, helping soothe nightmares happened before she even realized what she was doing, even classmates’ anxieties about projects and presentations disappeared in an instant. She tried to be more careful, keep that kind of thing hidden, and eventually that part of it came easier, too.

“What are you doing, Kimberly?” “I’m not doing anything!” “Really? Because I can feel it all the way from the kitchen.” “Mom-!” “If you’re going to do magic in the house, don’t do it to manipulate my feelings. Practice on your brother if you’re trying to make someone less stressed out. I think he could use it.” “Fine...”

When she went through the police academy, finding the easiest way to stay close to Trudy for the sake of comfort and having someone to trust with the secret, Kim used her power to soothe herself. And then there were victims at almost every scene she was sent to, people who were scared, people she could help. So she helped them, as subtly as she could, and calmer witnesses meant clearer recollection, and better evidence, and cases were solved faster. She earned a reputation for herself all over again - small but mighty - working at her mother’s district, rising through the ranks and earning herself a position within the Intelligence unit in a matter of a few years.

By the time she got there, her brother was already an established member of the team, and it was harder to hide two secrets than it was to hide one. But they had each other, and the trust in their friends, and their abilities gave them the chance to help more people.

She was able to to something good with something that was always supposed to be bad, and that was all she wanted to do. She wanted to make the world better, safer for everyone, including magical fugitives, even if she couldn’t tell anyone exactly how she was doing it.

[slashyrogue]

AU-Gust Day 17: Annoying Neighbor

Will woke up to the dogs barking loudly and groaned, rolling out of bed and barely able to see as he walked to the backdoor by memory. He opened to let all seven of his dogs outside, their eager barks almost worse than the whined ones that woke him, and he sighed as he rubbed his eyes. 

He sat on the porch and watched the dogs, smiling as they chased each other, and when he saw Winston get close to the fence with a ball he swore. 

“Winston, no!” 

The ball hit the chain link fence and got stuck, which only made the newest member of his pack dig to retrieve it. 

A loud bang made Will flinch as he ran over, grabbing Winston’s collar to pull him back just as Mister Sanderson came marching out of his house. Sanderson had been a thorn in Will’s side for as long as he could remember - going on four years now - and he absolutely hated Will’s dogs. 

“GRAHAM! I SAW THAT! YOU KEEP THAT MANGY MUTT OUT OF MY YARD!” 

Will sighed as the other dogs whined, moving back away from the fence, and it made Will’s blood run cold how scared they were. 

Like Sanderson had done something to them when he wasn’t watching. 

“They weren’t in your yard, Mister Sanderson,” Will said, his voice shaking, “The ball just—” 

The older man leaned over the fence, his deep wrinkles like cracks in his skin, and he waved his finger out while pointing to the grass. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy,” he hissed, “It’s my grass and my yard. You keep those mutts away or…” 

“Or what?” Will said, his voice hard, “What will you do?” “What I have to,” Sanderson said, glaring, “What I have to.” 

Will whistled and got the dogs to come inside, shaking with rage. He hated that old man more than anyone on Earth, and there were days when he thought of just…no. 

No, he’d never do that. 

He fed the dogs, giving them extra for having to deal with his terrible neighbor, and went to take a shower. It was the weekend, sure, but this past week had been rough to say the least. His job teaching at Quantico was mostly routine most days but he’d taken up consulting on murder cases for Jack Crawford and the FBI. The latest, a series of murders of young women was weighing hard on him because he couldn’t quite get it right. 

But he didn’t want to think about that now. 

Will got out of the shower, dressed, and made himself eggs and sausage before sitting down for breakfast just as his doorbell rang. 

He frowned, checking the time, and saw it was barely eight. 

Who would come this early? 

He checked his phone again and saw no missed calls from Jack or anyone else. Will wasn’t very social, so it had to be a stranger, and when he got to the door he peeked out but couldn’t see much. 

So he opened it. 

And there, standing on his porch, was the most handsome man he’d ever seen. The man was wearing a powder blue dress shirt, khaki pants, and no tie but seemed underdressed even in the July heat. 

Will froze, blinking, and the stranger smiled. 

“Good morning.” 

He licked his lips. “I…um…mornin’,” he said, blushing, “I…can I help you?” 

The man held out a plate of cookies, neatly wrapped, and pointed just to the left. “I’ve been coming to meet all my new neighbors, but you’ve been absent every time I came to call.” 

Will frowned. “Neighbors?” 

“I live just…over there.” 

He sighed. “You’re Mr. Sanderson’s other neighbor.”

The man frowned, his friendly demeanor darkening. “Yes, he is…a rather…unpleasant…fellow.”

“To say the least,” Will said, laughing nervously, “I…” he took the cookies, “Thanks for this, I’ve been busy with work so I only caught the for sale sign coming down and the movers a few weeks ago. I…Lecter, right? I think that’s what I heard Mrs. Talbot say.” 

Mrs. Talbot was Will’s favorite neighbor, who lived just two doors from Lecter’s place. She was always so good to his dogs, and never failed to try to invite him in. 

Lecter held out his hand, and Will took it. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” he all but purred, “And you are?” 

“Will Graham,” he said, biting his lip nervously, “I…” 

Before he could finish Winston and Harley popped their little noses out the door, and he groaned, dropping Hannibal’s hand before whistling to get them back inside. “LAY DOWN!” 

“I see you have multiple canines.” 

“I…yeah, seven.” 

Hannibal blinked. “Seven?” 

“Yeah, I…BUSTER NO!” he yelled, “I…I gotta go, Dr. Lecter. It was nice meeting you, and thanks for the cookies but…” 

“Hannibal,” he was corrected, “Please call me Hannibal, Mr. Graham.”

Will smiled. “Hannibal,” he said, “Will, you…you should call me Will.” 

“Will,” Hannibal said, smiling, “I hope to see you again soon. This was…” 

“GET AWAY FROM MY YARD!” 

They both turned as Mister Sanderson ran out his front door holding a broom going after some little boys on bikes. Will sighed. “Someday that old man will get what’s coming to him.” 

“Oh yes,” Hannibal said, stepping back, “I’m certain he will. Have a good day, Will.” 

“I…” Will said, licking his lips, “You too.” 

Will closed his door, ushering the dogs to their beds before running to stare out the closest window. He saw Hannibal heading back toward his own house, not bothering to give Mr. Sanderson the time of day, and he sighed with a hand on the window sill. 

“Hannibal.” 

The name rolled off Will’s tongue like it was meant to be said by him, and he found himself for the first time jealous of his annoying neighbor. Sanderson was Hannibal’s neighbor, and Will had to be stuck on the other side. 

But hey they both shared the old man, so…that was one thing they had in common. 

He blushed, shaking his head, and headed back to his bed with a sigh. 

Who was he kidding? 

Hannibal was so out of his league he’d probably never see him again. 

Will grabbed a cookie and took a bite, groaning at the taste. 

“Fuck, that’s amazing.” 

Maybe he could bring the plate back tomorrow as an excuse. 

Will laughed, 

This was the last thing he’d expected today. 

But maybe that was a good thing. 

[acquariusgb]

Buddy 16th December 1997

TALKING IT OVER BY HILLARY RODHAM CLINTON It was love at first sight. Buddy, as most of America knows, is our new 3 112-month-old chocolate Labrador. Already, Bill and Buddy are inseparable. Having lived with us less than a week, Buddy seems to have adjusted quite nicely to life in the White House. He gets up early with Bill for a morning run and stays up with him late into the night. During the day, he seems happiest lying at Bill's feet in the Oval Office. We've been thinking about getting a dog for a year or so. But it wasn't until Chelsea left for college that we decided to take the plunge. We'd heard that Labradors were particularly playful and fun, and when Buddy came for a visit a few weeks ago, we knew that he was the one. Our first challenge was picking the perfect name. We've had no shortage of suggestions from the American people. Some of my favorites were Barkansas, Arkanpaws and Clin Tin Tin. One little girl came up to me and offered "Top Secret." We had to laugh when we imagined the President running around the South Lawn calling "Top Secret, Top Secret." Finally, we narrowed a list of hundreds of names down to seven. But we wanted Chelsea to have a say, so we waited for her to come home from college and meet the puppy before making a final decision. After hours of deliberation, we settled on Buddy. Buddy was the nickname of my husband's favorite Uncle Oren Grisham, who died last spring. He raised and trained dogs for over 50 years. One of Bill's favorite childhood memories is going to Uncle Buddy's house to play with his dogs. It just felt right to name our new pet after him. Buddy has a hard act to follow.  Our first dog was a brave and noble cocker spaniel named Zeke that I gave to my husband in 1979. Zeke had a mind of his own and a will to wander. No fence, no gate, no leash could keep him penned in. He'd bite or dig his way through or around any barrier. Sadly, his wandering caught up with him one day in 1990 when he dashed into the street and was hit by a car. We buried him on the grounds of the Governor's Mansion in Little Rock. We were reluctant to get another dog because we didn't think anyone could replace Zeke. One day, though, I took Chelsea to her piano lesson. There in the teacher's front yard were two little black and white kittens. When Chelsea reached out to them, the black one with white paws jumped right into her arms. We found out he was a stray and decided to give him a home. That’s how Socks came to live with us. Socks is an outdoor cat, but because of our fears that he would slip through the fence into the traffic and crowds outside the White House, he is kept on a long leash on the grounds near the Oval Office. Despite that, he still manages to carry on regally, chasing birds and squirrels out of his territory. Now, he --and we --have been joined by Buddy. So far, Buddy is thrilled with Socks, but the feeling is not yet mutual. My husband. however, is determined to negotiate a rapprochement, a reconciliation. perhaps even a historic shaking of the paws. Although we love Buddy and have from the moment we first saw him, we didn't make this decision or take on this responsibility lightly. Dogs, and especially puppies. need more than love. They need time, care and a suitable environment to grow and thrive. That’s why everyone needs to think very carefully before adopting what really is a new member of the family. We were luckier than most people to get a dog who was well on his way to being trained. He's got the run of the South Lawn and plenty of people to play with. He already knows some basic commands. Above all, he's got the most adoring pal you could ever imagine. I wish everyone could see my husband's eyes light up when his Buddy bounds down the hall to greet him.