#yesterday a dad dragged his kid to the reference desk and he was like my kid needs to read more

[moregraceful]

As someone in library school who also wants to be a reference librarian, I love a research tangent!! And hearing about it!

omg I'm so sorry I just called our profession cringe. That was not directed at you, I promise. New librarians are our future!! If you're interested in reference in public libraries, feel free to ask me questions! I've been working in public libraries in various capacities for the past ten years and have spent about half of that working either partially or fully in reference positions so I for better or worse am great at research tangents and overthinking every reference question I have ever had. (Prior to that worked in an academic library, but in a conservation lab as a student assistant so have zero real world knowledge of how academic libraries work lol.)

[starstruckwillows]

♡ good cop, bad cop - n.w ♡

requested by 🐍<3 i absolutely love this, may be my favourite thing i've written in ages

nancy wheeler x fem!reader, tired!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, set before s4, exhaustion, suggestive?

nancy steps in when you're about to fall asleep standing

dustin had started the cop analogy.

in reference to the four older kids that babysat them, there were two pairs. robin and steve, you and nancy. between the two former, there was no distinction. but all the kids agreed that you were good cop, nancy was bad cop.

which is why they begged you to take them to the arcade. you were tired already, and you had an essay to finish writing, but then will said, "please, it's my last week before we move!"

funnily enough, that excuse also had you dragged into the cinema, the park, the wheeler's basement, the park again because el left her bag, and then the library.

by the time you'd dropped them all home, your alarm clock read 10.24pm.

you still had an essay to write.

the rising sun cast shadows through your window, pronouncing the dark half-moons stamped beneath your eyes even further. they cast a slope across your nose in the new light, following the hair spread across the desk you'd fallen asleep at, too exhausted to crawl into your own bed.

a knock at your door stirred you, as you removed a piece of hair from your eyelid via confused blinking.

"c- come in?"

you weren't expecting to see brunette curls around the side of your door, and a perfectly manicured hand leaning against it.

"nance? hi..." you didn't want to be rude and ask what she was doing here, but you were almost definitely sure you didn't have plans today.

she smiled, approaching you and kissing your forehead briefly, "morning, your dad let me up. i've got coffee and bagels."

at the mention of breakfast you sat up properly with a stretch, gladly accepting her offerings.

you yawned, "do you have anything to do today?"

there was still a slightly giddy, affectionate smile on her face, as she let her thumb run a course over the sleepless stains under your eyes. you tried not to lean into her touch, but your deprived brain failed.

"no, darling, i've got the whole day free. we can just relax, unless you're busy?"

you shook your head to indicate your availability and let her move to face your back, arms around your midsection. she noticed the tension in your tired body as she bent down to whisper, a slight rhythm to her voice, "when your parents leave, we've got the whole house and a lot of the day... bet we could come up with some way for you to relax."

despite yourself, you smiled again and leaned into her, curling your hand around her arm, "that sounds good."

not even twenty minutes later, you were curled into a corner of your couch while nancy fiddled with the television. your hair had been brushed, your clothes from yesterday swapped for fresh ones, your face washed and teeth brushed. beginning to feel slightly more alive.

"i'm gonna grab something from the kitchen, i'll be back in a second love."

they didn't even knock. will hung at the back, seemingly unsure about the home intrusion, but clearly powerless to stop it because mike was on a mission.

he stood before you as you sat up and put your best attempt at joy on your face.

"morning guys." you repressed a yawn.

mike waved, "hi. can you drive us to family video?"

you frowned lightly, "can't steve?"

"nah his shift was too early, we weren't up in time."

you bit your lip, picking up your car keys with a sigh, "alright, but he can take you back."

they nodded amicably, will and dustin offering you a speedy thanks. they hadn't noticed nancy in the doorway with her arms folded.

"guys!" she wasn't shouting but there was a clear tone involved, "no, no way. you dragged y/n around all yesterday, and gave her like two hours to sleep. leave her alone."

mike threw his hands up, "nancy! she already said she would."

"don't care, get out. and knock next time you heathen."

grumbling under his breath, her brother shot her the finger, half-smiled at you, and left. dustin, lucas and will trailed after him, mumbling their thanks to you as they went.

chucking your car keys back onto the table they'd rested on previously, you sagged into the sofa. nancy joined you, and her hands went to yours.

"thank you," you were barely whispering, but she was paying enough attention to your lips to figure out what you said.

she didn't answer you in words, simply tugging your head towards her chest and returning your focus to the television.

-----

taglist:

@anordinarymuse @kingshitonly

[songtoyou]

Chapter 8: Wine Before Whiskey

Tolerate It

Paring: Modern!Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Story Rating: R (No minors should read this fic).

Word Count: 2,827

Warnings: None

Description: Tommy Shelby is the owner and CEO of Shelby Company Limited. Starting out as a Bookmaker, Tommy had big ideas to expand his riches. In the past ten years, the company has grown rapidly to expand its business ventures from bars to producing alcohol, manufacturing motor vehicle parts, and exporting. One of the richest men in Great Britain, Tommy Shelby, has it all. Unfortunately, the death of his wife, Grace, left the multi-millionaire mogul alone and depressed. He needed someone to fulfill his needs and deepest darkest desires.

A/N: I wanted Tommy and Rose to connect on a more personal level in this chapter. I wanted them to become comfortable with each other outside of the bedroom. I don’t want their relationship to be solely about sex. 

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Tag list: @owenniasstars​

Wine. A nice tall glass of wine. That is all Rose wanted to cap off the day. She decided not to respond to the text messages from her friends or mother. Rose was not in the mood to come up with some bullshit excuse for being photographed out with Tommy. Also, it was not their business, and she didn’t need to justify anything with an excuse.

With a glass of wine in hand, Rose sat on the couch in the living room with her feet up. As Rose flipped through the television, the front door opened and slammed shut.

When Rose saw Louis rush up the stairs, she called out to him, “Hey, Louis!” He ignored her. Sighing, Rose got up to follow her son upstairs.

“Louis,” she spoke through the door while knocking. “Is everything okay?” Still nothing. “Louis, honey, what is wrong? From the way you slammed the front door, you seem upset. Did something happen at school today?”

Louis opened his bedroom door to come face-to-face with his mother. “Did something happen at school today,” he said mockingly. “How about the fact that my mother was photographed out with a rumored gangster. Or the fact that some of my classmates are referring to you as one of Tommy Shelby’s whores. You know he has been rumored to date escorts mom. Did you not know when you first started seeing him? In fact, how did you even meet him in the first place?”

Shifting from one foot to the other, Rose looked down at the floor. She was too embarrassed to meet her son’s accusatory gaze. “All of that stuff, the rumors about Tommy, are just that, rumors.” Rose felt sick lying to her son. “And Tommy isn’t a gangster. He is a businessman.”

“That is not what I hear. There is a whole sub-Reddit about how he really earned his millions. I should show it to you. Maybe it would rethink your association with the man,” Louis rambled on. “How did you get introduced to him anyway? It isn’t like you both run in the same social circle.”

Rose sat down on the bed and drew her knees up. It was her way of buying time to formulate a believable response, or rather lie. Thankfully, she had already thought up different scenarios that would be the most believable.

“Do you remember that business trip I took with Linda back in March? It was to a conference up in Birmingham, the educators and practitioners conference,” she explained, which that part was actually the truth. She did go to a conference up north with her boss back in March. However, here comes the lie, “Well, Tommy was there as well. He just showed up unexpectedly. He wasn’t on the agenda, but he gave a speech, something about…I don’t know, I can’t remember. I wasn’t really paying attention. But it was at one of the social networking gatherings where I ran into him. We talked most of the night. He asked for my number, which I gave him, not thinking he would actually call. But we have been in contact for a while. It was only recently that we have gone on dates.” Again, all lies. Rose started to feel sick. She could feel bile began to rise in her throat.

Sighing, Louis folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his desk. He still wasn’t looking at his mother. “It’s all weird. You never really dated. Or not date so out in the open before.”

“Is one of the reasons why you’re upset with me dating is because of dad? Are you still hoping your dad and I get together?” Rose asked, concerned about what he would say. She wished Louis weren’t so hung up on the idea of her and Nick ending up together. It was never going to happen. 

He only shrugged. “Is it so wrong that a kid would want their parents to be together?”

There wasn’t much she could say to that concept. “How about we get pizza for dinner, okay,” she suggested hoping to move on from the subject.

“Fine. I got homework to finish up,” said Louis defeated. The look on his face broke Rose’s heart. 

“Alight. I’ll tell you when the pizza arrives. The usual?” she asked.

“The usual,” replied Louis nonchalantly while opening his school books and notebooks.

Rose left his room and walked down the stairs. She hated herself at that moment.

While Rose waited for the pizzas to arrive, she decided to send a quick text to Tommy.

As Tommy sat at his desk looking over contracts, it would be another late night at the office; he received Rose’s text. 

Rose: Tommy, we need to talk. Can I stop by your office around 3 PM tomorrow?

The message took him by surprise. He wasn’t expecting to hear from Rose or for her to ask to meet up with him.

Tommy: Yes, you can stop by. However, instead of 3:00, let’s meet at 4:00.

His reply back was his way of maintaining control. He found it rather amusing that Rose felt comfortable requesting, or rather ordering, Tommy for a meeting. Tommy was tempted to ask what the meeting would be about but didn’t really think too much of it. 

If the meeting turned out to be fruitless, he could end with Rose bent over his desk and punish her for wasting his precious time. The thought was already getting him hard. 

Leaning back in his chair, Tommy began to rub his hardness through his pants. Taking his cock out of his pants, he began to stroke back and forth. As Tommy continued to stroke, he only thought of Rose, which was unusual. Whenever Tommy was pleasuring himself alone, he would always think of Grace. He would picture his wife on her knees or bent over his desk or taking her up against the wall. It was always Grace.

But now, Tommy was picturing Rose. He saw her face clearly in his head. He imagined Rose under his desk pleasuring him with her mouth and hands. He wanted Rose bent over on his desk, taking her from behind, on the floor, the conference table, against the wall, and the floor. Tommy began to realize he wanted Rose all of the time.

At that thought. Tommy soon began to worry about why Rose asked for a meeting out of the blue. He began to wonder if she was regretting their arrangement due to being in the press. However, Tommy told Rose that being in the press was likely, and she appeared to understand that fact. No, something must have alarmed her. He would find out what it was. He would get it out of her one way or another. Tommy wasn’t going to let her go that easy. 

Friday! The day Father Time preferred to drag on and on. The hours on the clock appeared to move slower and slower, Rose noted. She was at work catching up on what she missed yesterday morning. It was the usual task; looking over budgets, setting up meetings, working on meeting agendas, finishing up the minutes from past meetings, and making sure the office was stocked with supplies. It was the same thing every day. Nothing changed, and the more she stayed at the job, the more fed up she became. Rose knew she needed to get out there and look for a better job. One that matched the college degree that she worked hard to obtain. A job that paid well where she would no longer have to be an escort to make a living. 

However, the money Tommy was offering to Rose was better than any standard 9 to 5 job could offer.

When 3:15 finally rolled around, Rose gathered her belongings and headed to meet Tommy. 

“Ms. Turner!” someone shouted at her. 

Thankfully, Rose knew that voice. She turned around to see Isaiah with a megawatt smile, waving her over to his car. 

“Let me guess, Tommy sent you to deliver me to him?” Rose questioned sarcastically. “And I told you to call me Rose.”

“Yes, he did, and yes, you did. Come on, we don’t want to be late,” Isaiah answered and opened the passenger door for Rose. She got in the car.

“You saw my son take the car this morning and let Tommy know, huh?”

“Yep,” was all Isaiah said and began to drive out of the College’s parking lot. 

With the way Isaiah drove, he managed to make it to the building that held Tommy’s office in half of the time. He smoothly moved the car around the building’s underground parking garage. 

“Okay, we are here. You can take the elevator to Tommy’s office,” he instructed and told Rose which floor to select.

“Thank you, Isaiah. I appreciate it. I figure Tommy is going to ask you to take me home?”

“That is to be determined. He might want to take you home himself. Have a nice evening, Rose. Take care,” said Isaiah and waved goodbye.

She selected the floor instructed by Isaiah and waited. Tommy was on the building’s top floor, so the elevator continuously stopped and let people on and off. When the elevator finally reached her destination, the doors opened. Rose only saw a few people pass by. There was no one at the front desk, so she stood by and waited until someone showed up.

Looking at her phone, it read 3:50. She still had ten minutes to spare. “Rose, hi. How are you?” She turned to see Andrew walk towards her. 

“Andrew, hi. I’m good. You?”

“Same. Can I get you some coffee or tea?” he asked. “Mr. Shelby is finishing up a call at the moment. Please, have a seat.”

“Okay. Water would actually be great, thanks.”

Andrew managed to get Rose’s water before Tommy emerged from his office. However, he was not alone. He was followed by a very tall and lanky man with a full beard and similar hairstyle to Tommy, but longer on top. 

“Arthur, continue to keep me posted on Changretta,” Rose heard Tommy whisper but pretended not to hear anything. She made it look like she was too preoccupied with her phone to notice the two men not far from her. 

“Esme is working on it, Tom. She is having trouble with a few firewalls, or whatever she called them, but assures she can crack ’em,” Arthur shared. “Said she would get a file on your desk by Monday.”

“Okay, good. That is good. I’ll talk to you later, brother,” Tommy responded, patting Arthur’s back.

Arthur said his goodbye and left for the elevators. Tommy turned towards Rose.

“Rose,” he spoke to get her attention. He motioned with his hand for her to follow him into the office. 

Closing the door behind him, Tommy told Rose to take a seat.

“Your text seemed rather…urgent,” Tommy began as he poured himself a whiskey. He offered on to Rose, but she declined. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, well…no, not really. I…uh…I don’t really know…” Rose began but was having trouble forming the words. “I don’t really…oh my God, it’s my son. He isn’t too keen on the idea of me ‘dating’ you. He saw the pictures. Apparently, some of the kids at school were making fun of him because of them. I have friends asking questions. Even my mom saw them, and I don’t talk to her at all. Everything has gotten out of hand. I mean, I wasn’t quite expecting this kind of outcome. It is a lot to take.”

Gulping down the whiskey, Tommy proceeded to pour another one for himself and one for Rose. 

“Drink,” he ordered, handing Rose the glass that held the amber color liquid, which she took and gulped it down. She placed the now empty glass on Tommy’s desk. “Feel better?” 

“Not really. Can I ask you something? It is kind of a personal question, but I’m asking you for some advice,” Rose asked and continued when Tommy gave her the go-ahead to proceed. “You have a kid yourself, a son. When I originally agreed to our deal, I never fully thought of the consequences that could occur. I didn’t think of how it would affect my child. To put it blankly, he is upset that I’m with you. It’s all about his stupid dad and wanting us to be together. So my question to you is, how do you go about lying to your child?”

Once again, Rose caught Tommy completely off guard with her question. That was not what he was expecting. The fact that she had the audacity to bring up his son didn’t even bother him as it would if it were anyone else. He was craving a cigarette at the moment. “My son, Charlie, spends most of his time at boarding school. He is only home on holidays and special occasions. When I have my son with me, he only wants to spend time with his cousins or me. He never really gave my ‘relationship’ with Lizzie much thought. To him, she was only daddy’s friend. Plus, the observation skills of an eight-year-old doesn’t quite compare to the observation skills of a sixteen-year-old.”

Tommy had a point, Rose thought. She motioned to him if she could refill her glass of whiskey. With Tommy’s go-ahead, she got up and poured herself a drink. This time Rose took small and sat back down.

Taking in a deep breath, Rose mentioned, “You’re lucky. It is so much easier when your kid is younger. They don’t ask so many questions or notice things that don’t add up. You can tell them pretty much anything, and they’d believe you. But when your kid gets older, prepare yourself for the questions he will no doubt ask.”

She looked up when Tommy sighed. He was leaning in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Charlie turned eight back in February. He is beginning to ask me questions about his mother, like where she was from and if we can visit the town, how we met, what made me attracted to her, all that stuff. The one question that scares me…” Tommy began, but Rose could sense hesitation. 

“He’s going to ask why did mummy have to die?” Rose finished for him. Tommy only nodded his head. “I don’t envy you on that part.”

Quite soon filled the office as Tommy and Rose sat in silence and sipping down whiskey. “Who was that guy that in here earlier?” Rose asked to kill the silence.

“That was my older brother, Arthur,” Tommy answered. “He and my younger brother, John, both own a couple of bars and clubs around England. They have been working on a new line of Peaky Blinders Vodka to go with our whiskey and gin brand.” 

“You really dabble in everything, don’t you. Where do you go from here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should try my hand at politics, eh. An MP to go with my OBE” teased Tommy with an exceedingly rare boyish grin on his face. Rose noticed that Tommy’s smile was rather sweet and brightened his facial features. “Yeah, that is exactly what my family needs is me in politics.” 

Rose softly scoffed, “I don’t think we need any more millionaires in politics, no offense.”

“No offense taken,” Tommy chuckled and downed his drink. He got up to grab his jacket and swung it on. He took Rose’s glass and finished it for her. “Come on, let’s go.” 

Tommy grabbed Rose’s hand and pulled her up from the chair. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to dinner. We can talk more there,” Tommy proposed and guided Rose out of the office. 

“I won’t be able to stay the night if that is what you were considering,” she stated while in the elevator.

“Not what I was considering,” uttered Tommy, honestly. He put his hands on Rose’s shoulder and turned her to face him. “Only dinner.”

“Only dinner?”

“Nothing more, nothing less,” Tommy replied, placing a soft kiss on Rose’s lips. He entwined his hand in Rose’s and walked her to his car.

He took Rose to Bar 61, London’s most famous Spanish tapas restaurant. When they were seated, Rose liked the relaxed and upbeat charm of the establishment. She was surprised that Tommy chose the place since it was more family-friendly rather than high-end/upscale. But the man before her was always full of surprises. They sat in a more secluded area of the restaurant where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Tommy ordered a bottle of wine for them to share. He raised his glass for a toast. “What are we toasting?” Rose asked with a smile.

“How about to good health and new friends,” Tommy suggested and clinked his glass with Rose’s.

“And to new adventures,” Rose added, now with a sly smile on her face.

“To new adventures,” Tommy repeated, and they clinked their glass again.

[jmeelee]

Trick or Treat (You look good enough to eat)

Derek didn’t mind working Halloween night.  It was notoriously dead (pun intended), lacking the usual pain-in-the-butt patrons, and gave him time to catch up on his year-end book orders.  Cindy made him a double batch of her famous salted-caramel brownies as thanks for covering her shift, and proceeded to show him no less than thirty pictures of her one-year-old dressed in a bumblebee costume.  “It’s her first time going trick-or-treating,” she said for the umpteenth time.  “I’m so grateful I don’t have to miss it.” He hummed politely at the pictures (he liked kids, just, you know, not thirty pictures of the same one) and snatched the proffered plate of caramel-chocolate goodness, mouth already watering.

“Trick or treat, smell my feet.  You look good enough to eat.”

At first, Derek thought the statement was directed at him.

The words echoed through the silent, almost-empty library like a tomb. The digital clock in the bottom right corner of his monitor read 5:39 PM. The only other staff working tonight were two elderly clerks clad in sparkly pumpkin sweatshirts and the teenage page who was too old for Halloween but still wore a cat-ear headband. 

Derek glanced up from the computer, over the top of his black-rimmed glasses, mouth set in a firm, no-nonsense line.  It was his best librarian face, the one he slid on to deal with censorship challenges and patrons who loved to loudly announce, “I’m a taxpayer!” when the movie they wanted to borrow was already checked out. But the guy—tall, wiry, with shaggy brown hair in need of a cut—wasn’t trying to sweet-talk Derek at all. 

Shame.  He was devilishly handsome, and just Derek’s type.

Instead, cute-guy was buttering up the bowl of candy corn sitting on the circulation desk, next to a festive sign with smiling black bats proclaiming, “Bat-ter take one before they’re gone!” A grin stretched his generous mouth, dimpling into pale cheeks dusted with tiny dark moles.  He reached a long-fingered hand into the orange plastic dish.

“I wouldn't do that,” Derek warned, voice soft but commanding. 

The patron tore his laser-focused attention away from the sugary treats, large teddy-bear brown eyes going wide when they landed on Derek’s face. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. He dropped a single tri-colored kernel back onto the heap, cleared his throat and slowly reeled in his hand. “Oh, uh…sorry? I thought the sign said they were free.”  

“They are,” Derek informed him. “But they’ve been sitting here since my shift started at noon, and about a dozen kids have dug through them.” Derek inclined his head and lowered his voice, tone intended to strike terror. “And Dave, too.”

The candy corn caper’s eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned a little further over the desk.  “Is Dave the monster who made you work on Halloween night?”

Derek took great satisfaction watching the guy’s reaction.  “No.  He’s a regular who always picks his nose.”

“Gross,” the cute guy said, looking at the bowl with a grimace.  “These things are terrible, but they’re my favorite and I couldn’t resist. You really did me a solid.”

He stepped away with a sad sigh. Derek found himself not wanting to break the spell, so he added a flippant, “Trust me, you’re better off buying a discount bag in a day or two.  Less chance of contracting the plague.”

The guy threw his head back and howled with laughter, the sound liquid and warm, hitting Derek’s veins like a double shot of espresso, giving his heart palpitations. “Well, thanks—“ big brown eyes slid down Derek’s face, his neck, catching on the magnetic name tag clipped to his tan cardigan—“Derek, for saving my life. Unfortunately, there’s no corn-syrupy goodness lurking in my near future.”

He gestures to a young, brown-haired boy bedecked in a DJ Yonder outfit, quietly pulling puzzles out of the activity bin. “I’m Stiles, and that’s my son, Jordan.  He has some pretty serious food allergies. I only have partial custody, but I don’t keep anything in my house that might cause a reaction. He’s anaphylactic to most nuts and has celiac disease.”  Cute patron—Stiles—shrugged, holding his large hands away from his body in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Hence why we’re visiting the library on Halloween, instead of Trick-or-treating.”

Derek blinked, brain working overtime to absorb the information dump.  Cute guy.  Lickable moles.  Pornographic hands. No ring on his finger. Sweet, well-behaved kid. Single dad.

“You guys didn’t want to hit up some Teal Pumpkin spots?” Derek asked.

Oh.  Add adorable nose crinkle to the list.  “Some... what?”

Derek spun forty-five degrees in his chair, kicked off the file drawer and rolled to the reference shelf, where he pulled down a green binder.  

“Impressive.” Stiles raised an eyebrow as Derek glided back to the desk and stood, opening the binder and handing it to him.  

“A lot of people are starting to provide non-food treats for trick-or-treaters since food restrictions are so prevalent.  It’s called the Teal Pumpkin Project.  You put a teal-colored pumpkin on your porch, and add your house to the online map.”  Derek pulled a copy of the local map and an informational brochure out of a laminated sleeve. “This map was printed yesterday morning.  You can have it if you want.” 

Jordan looked up from his puzzle, eyes hopeful.  “Can we go, Dad? Can we?” 

Stiles turned toward his son, face softening, and Derek found himself wondering how it would feel to have such unadulterated joy directed at him.  “Sure, dude.  Let’s give it a shot.”  Jordan hooted, fist-pumping the air. 

“Thanks again,” Stiles said, waving the map between himself and Derek.  “I can’t believe I’d never heard about this. You’re a lifesaver.”  

Derek shrugged, half-satisfied at providing excellent customer service, and half-guilty for not wanting Stiles to leave so soon. “That’s what I’m here for, to help you find information.”

“And to protect me from contaminated candy corn.” Stiles winked, and Derek’s stomach swooped like he’d eaten one-too-many brownies. “Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear cardigans.”

“Have fun tonight,” Derek said to both of them in parting. It was the first time in ten years on the job that he didn’t want a reference interview to end.  “And be safe.”

Jordan dragged his father toward the automatic doors, and Derek definitely did not lean over and covertly check out Stiles’ retreating back side from behind the staircase to the second floor.

If he hadn’t been paying such close attention, Derek might have missed Stiles halting them at the door with a soft, “Hey bud.  I forgot one thing.  Wait here for a second.” As Stiles turned and jogged back to the desk, Derek quickly grabbed some loose papers from the desk, shifting them around in his hands and burning holes in them with his eyeballs.  Too late he realized one sheet was upside down.  

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles asked, a little breathless.

Derek cleared his throat and laid down the paper armor. “Yeah?” 

“I know stuff like this probably happens to you all the time, since you look, you know…” Stiles gestured to Derek’s face and broad, sweater-clad shoulders.  “Like that. And I promise I’m not trying to be creepy here, though technically Halloween is the perfect night for creepy-”

“Stiles,” Derek expertly interrupted.  “How can I help you?” 

“I was wondering… I was hoping…” He took a deep breath. “I have to drop Jordan off at his mom’s tonight at 8:30, and if you’re free after work…”

Derek exhaled the manic butterflies tickling his ribs.  “You want to go trick-or-treating?”

Stiles blinked, then burst out in a cackle loud enough to rival a witch. “As long as it involves you, me and some caffeine, I’m game for anything.”

Derek scratched at his bearded jawline. “Well, there’s a live ghost story reading happening at the coffee shop down the street.  It starts at 9:00.  I could meet you there?” 

And oh. So that’s what it felt like to have Stiles’ soft, happy look directed at him.  It felt frighteningly good.   

“It’s a date,” Stiles said, backing away, smile big enough to make sweet little laugh lines crinkle around his eyes .  “See you in a bit.”

Derek munched another brownie and watched the swing of Stiles’ slim hips as he walked away.  

Yeah.  Definitely good enough to eat.

[saveyourblood]

Prodigy | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: “I find it amusing that we’re all pretending to be normal when we could be insanely interesting instead.” – Atlas.

The one where you're a prodigy, so is he, and he's the only person alive who makes you feel normal.

x

Notes: IT TOOK ME 20 MINUTES FIGURING OUT HOW TO UPLOAD THAT GIF YALL BETTER APPRECIATE IT I- This is actually an idea I originally had for a screenplay (kind of a modern ‘Doogie Howser’ gender-swap thing), but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how well it would work as a Spencer Reid x Reader fic. So, if you like it, PLEASE, let me know, because otherwise, I'll probably just scrap this entire thing lol. 

Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: none I can think of. 

Song: Birthday - Gia Margaret

You were out shopping with your friends, like most normal teenagers did on the weekend. You and Idol hit up a few clothing outlets, dragging Jax along.

“Can’t we go somewhere we all like?” Jax whined.

Idol’s arms were already covered with bags. You, on the other hand, had two with only a few items.

Idol turned to Jax, a blank look on her face. “You mean something you like?”

He shrugged, crossing his arms.

She sighed. “Look, we’ve been over this: the first half, I get to do all of the girly things with Y/N. Then, you get to do all the nerdy stuff with her.”

“You guys divvy up the time you spend with me?” you asked, laughing to yourself.

“We have to!” Idol defended.

“You’re so busy with work, we go weeks without hanging out as a team,” Jax agreed. “Hanging out with Idol all the time is boring.”

Idol punched him in the arm.

“I’m sorry, guys, but believe me, I feel the same way,” you said. “Everything’s just been… crazy. Someone just quit, and we’ve been busier than usual. I’m lucky I got these two days in a row off.”

“Speaking of which…” Idol said, linking her arm with yours. “We need to find you a dress for homecoming.”

Jax groaned.

“How about I work on finding a date first,” you chuckled.

“No, no dates! We’re going as a group,” Idol scolded.

You were about to make a witty remark when someone called out.

“Help! We need help!” A frantic woman shouted.

You dropped your bags and started running.

Eventually, you found a bunch of people standing around in a circle. Some had their phones out, others looked around, like Superman would appear out of thin air. You were no Superman, but in some ways, to some people, you were a hero.

You made your way through the crowd, unafraid to shove people aside. Some people made noises or remarks, but mostly, they let you move past. Breathless, you mangled your way to the center of attention.

“Please, please,” a woman sobbed on a man’s chest. He was completely unconscious, laying flat on the food court floor.

“Everyone, back up!” you instructed. “Someone get an AED!”

You knelt beside the man, pressing two fingers to his neck. While you felt for a pulse, you also monitored his chest for breathing. Then, you looked up to his wife. “Please, ma’am, give me some space. I need to start compressions.”

Someone who looked like a family member pulled her aside. Using one hand to stabilize the other, you began pressing two inches deep in the center of his chest. Your movements were fast, and the power behind them came from your entire upper body.

“Who are you?” The wife asked between cries.

“Damn AED is taking too long,” you muttered under your breath.

You stood back, raising a fist about a foot above the man’s chest. Then, in a swift motion, you brought your fist downwards, striking him in the lower third of his sternum.

With a gasp and a cough, the man jolted back into consciousness like he was startled during a deep sleep. “What happened? Where am I?”

You laughed with glee. “You’re in the Pallor Heights Mall; your heart stopped. Clearly, it’s working now.”

A frightened employee stumbled through the crowd, clutching the AED like it was a lifeline.

“We don’t need that anymore,” you said casually. “But, if you could call an ambulance, that’d be great.”

“Who the hell is this girl?” someone in the back of the crowd said.

“She’s our best friend,” Idol said proudly, “the teenage MD.”

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

    “I want an ECG, CBC, and an angiogram done yesterday,” you said as the patient was rolled into the ER. “His heart needs to be monitored at all times.”

“Y/N, what do you think you’re doing?” the head of ER, Dr. Cabello, asked.

“Hubert Riaz, 52-year-old male with no previous known heart conditions collapsed at the mall,” you explained.

Cabello pulled you aside. “And you were at the mall because…”

“...because it’s my day off?” you finished. “Look, Cabello, I’d love to chat, but there are some tests I should be running.”

“Actually, you should be at the mall, or at home,” he corrected. “You know why?”

“Because it’s my day off,” you grumbled.

“Go home, Y/N, before you have to stay,” he instructed, before following the paramedics as they rolled Mr. Riaz away.

Before you could do anything, Mrs. Riaz pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she cried before going to join her husband.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, but she was already gone. That didn’t stop you from smiling.

You looked up to find a familiar face. “Dad!” you called out, jogging to catch up with him. “What are you doing in the ER?”

“What are you doing in the hospital?” He frowned, looking at a chart.

Eli Abner — the best Cardiac surgeon on the East Coast, maybe the entire country. He also happened to be your father. In a weird way, you balanced each other out: he was famous in the world of medicine, you were famous in every other world. People didn’t stop him on the street to ask him about his high school and college career. You couldn’t say the same.

“I asked you first,” you said.

“I was called down for a consult, 50-something male collapsed in the mall,” he recalled. “Your turn.”

You couldn’t fight the grin on your face. “Guess who revived him?”

He raised his eyebrows. “AED?”

“Precordial Thump,” you corrected.

His face morphed back into a frown; it was his default expression. “Percussion Pacing isn’t recommended for out-of-hospital use.”

“How about: ‘Good job, Y/N! You saved a life today, Y/N!’” you said.

As if on cue, Idol and Jax entered the ER.

“Dr. Abner!” Jax called with a smile. She was of course referring to your father — you couldn’t remember the last time someone at the hospital called you that.

“Hello, Jax,” he said, formal as always. “Idol. It’s good to see you both.”

“Sir, could you please tell your wonderful daughter that she’s not supposed to be here on her days off?” Idol asked.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Eli repeated. “Go, enjoy your time off.”

    A few hours later, and you were confident your two best friends wished they left you at the hospital.

Rather than going back to the mall, you opted to just go home. Apparently, Jax and Idol weren’t bored of you yet, so they followed you upstairs to your room. Unfortunately for them, you saw this as the perfect opportunity to rant.

“What the fuck is wrong with those two?!” you shouted, pacing across your bedroom. “It’s like they wanted me to go away.”

“They want you to have a life outside of your job,” Idol said. She was laying on your bed, propping up her head with one arm. “Is that really such a crime, Y/N?”

“It’s like they don’t want me to be a doctor,” you corrected. “Cabello couldn’t wait to just swoop in and get the poor guy away from me. Not to mention, he didn’t even call me ‘doctor’ — he said ‘Y/N’, like I’m his kid. Oh, and don’t even get me started on my father!”

“I won’t,” Jax said, playing with a model skull that sat on your desk.

“He didn’t say anything good about what I did. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I saved a guy in a mall food court, and my he criticizes my method,” you continued, ignoring Jax’s remark. “God, what a dick! Both of them! Both of them are dicks.”

Idol sat up with a sigh. “You know what you have to do, right?”

“If you say ‘let it go’, I swear to god, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

“You’re a doctor: you should know girls don’t have nuts. Oh, also: you’re a doctor!” She said. “And you’re 17. They feel threatened, Y/N. That’s why they don’t give you any credit! They’re amazing doctors, but they’ll never be amazing teen doctors. Not like you could be.”

“Alright, genius,” you said. “What do I do?”

“For being a prodigy, you can be really dumb sometimes,” Idol groaned. “You be amazing.”

“Wow, thanks for that, Idol,” you said sarcastically. “Thanks for enlightening me. I feel so much better.”

“You didn’t let me finish, bitch,” she said, standing up. “You have to be amazing, and you can’t be afraid to talk about it.”

“You want me to brag about my accomplishments?”

“You’re a good doctor, right?” She asked.

You nodded. “I like to think so, yeah.”

“Then make them know you know,” Idol said. “They only push you over because you let them. Don’t.”

You leaned over to look at Jax. “Do you know what the hell she’s talking about?”

“Treat others how you’d like to be treated,” he summarized. “When Cabello and your dad are being dicks, be dicks back.”

“Good advice. Thanks, Jax.”

“Wow, if only I had thought of that!” Idol said sarcastically before flopping into your bed in exasperation.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

    You flipped through a few records in your favorite Vinyl shop, The Rusty Spoon. They sold new and secondhand records, all of which you loved dearly. You mostly bought new ones, as your favorite artists were more modern, but you liked to look through and occasionally purchase the classics. You had yet to buy a damaged record, as the store provided a turntable at the register to try any second hand vinyls.

As you thumbed through the discounted albums, you found a cover that was an elegant shade of red. The top corners had intricate golden designs. A thin line of the same color stretched the width of the cover. You pulled it up from the rack to get a good look. An oil painting of a familiar face decorated the front. In a fine, cursive font read ‘The Best of Beethoven’. After a moment of consideration, you tucked it into the crook of your arm, which already held 3 records.

“You listen to Beethoven?” A gentle, curious voice asked from beside you.

You looked over quickly, not realizing someone was next to you. Your eyes trailed upwards to meet the gaze of a young man — he couldn’t be older than 25. His hair was straight and tucked behind his ears, which propped up the frames of his dark glasses. His jawline was square, and his body was scrawny. He had the strap of a bag across his chest, which was covered by a red sweater vest.

His eyes widened, and he took a step back, raising his hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he stuttered out. “My name’s Spencer. I’m sorry.”

You chuckled softly at the idea that he could come off as threatening in any way. You also laughed because he looked cute when he was frazzled.

“It’s okay,” you promised, then offered him your hand. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

He rubbed his hands on his pants nervously.

Without a second thought, you lowered your hand. “I get it — hands are kind of disgusting. It’s actually safer to kiss a stranger than shake their hand, ya know, considering the pathogens,” you said without thinking. You closed your eyes and laughed in embarrassment. “I can’t believe I actually said that.”

“That’s why I don’t shake hands, actually,” Spencer responded. “Most people don’t understand.”

“It’s a biology class you never forget,” you joked.

“Biology? You must be smart,” he remarked kindly. “What are you going to school for?”

“I want to be a doctor,” you replied after a moment. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t something you wanted to keep talking about, either. Once people learned you were a child prodigy, it was like they forgot how to speak. “What about you? Are you still going to school?”

“I have a doctorate in Mathematics,” he replied.

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. You don’t look old enough to have a doctorate.”

“I was in an advanced program,” Spencer responded.

You knew a thing or two about that.

His eyes drifted to the albums in the crook of your arm. “You listen to Beethoven?” He repeated.

You chuckled, somewhat nervously. “Is that so unbelievable?”

“No! No, I uh, I think it’s great,” Spencer assured, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s a fantastic composer, one of history’s finest.”

You nodded. “I’m sure Für Elise will be on here, but I’ve heard good things about Symphony No. 9.”

Spencer smiled, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. Somehow, they made him look even more charming. “It ends with the chorus to Friedrich Schiller’s ‘An Die Freude’ poem.”

While having a photographic memory made you remember far more than the average person, sometimes, it felt like all the information in your head — useful and not — got muddled together. When it came to passive facts, it sometimes took you a moment to recall. But, when you did, your eyes lit up and you smiled uncontrollably.

“Ode to Joy!” you exclaimed in realization. “Wow, that’s so cool.”

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You fished it out, glancing at the notification. You got a text from your father, reading ‘When will you be home?’.

“I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” Spencer asked genuinely.

You put your phone back in your pocket and smiled. “There’s a coffee shop down the street. Can I buy you a drink?”

Spencer smiled.

    Sitting in a coffee shop, laughing with a man you barely knew, sipping a latte that was impossible to make yourself… it was the closest you ever felt to being normal.

The two of you talked about everything and nothing. You asked Spencer if he lived in town, he said he was in New York on work. He asked if you had a job, you said you worked at a hospital in the city. He assumed you were an ER technician or a CNA, you didn’t deny. You knew you should feel guilty for lying to the poor guy, but in the grand scheme of the conversation, it didn’t seem to matter. You were able to talk to him freely and easily, and it wasn’t just about your degree or how you completed high school in the span of 2 months.

By the time you looked down at your watch, you realized hours had passed. A waitress had kindly swapped the two of you out for plain, black coffee, and she regularly made her rounds to refill your mugs.

“It’s already 3 o’clock,” you said in shock, looking at your watch. “I promised my friends I would meet them for dinner.”

“I should get going too,” Spencer agreed, somewhat sadly. “Work never does itself.”

You threw down a twenty dollar bill, knowing it was enough to cover the bill plus a tip. Still, Spencer reached for his wallet.

“You said you live in DC, right Spencer?” You asked.

He nodded.

“You’ll pay next time, then,” you said with a smile.

You weren’t sure what made you feel so bold all of a sudden, but clearly, it was working. Spencer grinned and looked down before nodding.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

    “Where were you?” Your father asked the moment you got through the door.

You slung your backpack onto the couch. He didn’t even bother to look up from his laptop as he spoke to you.

“I was out,” you replied simply. “Idol, Jax and I ate dinner together.”

“You said you’d be back from shopping at 3,” he retorted. He wore his glasses on the tip of his nose as he observed the screen sitting in his lap. Your father was by no means an ugly man, but the manner made him appear older.

You shrugged. “Plans change. Public transportation is unreliable on a good day.”

Your dad finally looked up for the first time in the conversation. He observed the gift bag in your hand. “What’s that?”

“A little something from Jax and Idol,” you replied. “They saw it and thought of me.”

“That’s nice of them,” he said before getting back to his work.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “really nice.”

“What’s that, dear?” Your father asked as you walked up the stairs.

“I said I’ll be in my room if you need me!” you lied.

Of course it was nice to get a gift from your best friends. However, it was even nicer to get one from your sole parent. Hell, you’d even accept some acknowledgment.

All you wanted on your 18th birthday was to be seen, and your dad couldn’t even seem to do that.

Once you closed the door to your bedroom, the tears began to flow. In anger, you picked up the ‘anatomically correct’ gummy bear figurine you got last year on your birthday. The clear case was obviously that of a gummy bear, but on the inside was a skeleton and colored organs. It was equally creepy as it was cute. You loved it.

But, in a moment of rage, you picked it up and threw it on the floor. The case popped open and the pieces split apart. The skeleton dismembered, the organs shifted from their place to the floor. You joined them there, curling up into a ball as you sobbed quietly.

You’d put the pieces back tomorrow. You’d do the same with yourself.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

    “Pediatrics wants you back on their floor,” Cabello remarked.

The two of you stood at the front desk, reviewing a few charts. Hospital staff, paramedics, and strangers swirled around you — there was never a dull moment at Carabine Memorial’s ER.

“Everyone wants me,” you said back, flipping to the next page.

Cabello was silent for a moment, which wasn’t his normal behavior. He always seemed to have a reply or a retort of some kind. You smirked in success. Maybe your friends’ advice could get you somewhere.

“Your Senior Resident thinks you haven’t picked a specialty yet,” Cabello continued.

“I’ve been in the Emergency Department for 2 years,” you replied, closing your binder and handing it off to a nurse. You finally looked at your superior. “I don’t want to be a surgeon, I want nothing to do with palliative care or cardio, and pediatrics isn’t my strong suit. The ER makes sense for me: it’s fast, reliant on instincts, and I get to see a little bit of everything.”

“But is Emergency work what you want to do, Y/N?” Cabello asked, leaning against the counter.

“Is it what you want me to do?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “Or are you trying to get rid of me, Jason?”

He moved back in shock. “It’s Dr. Cabello,” he corrected calmly.

You took a step forward. “It’s Dr. Abner.”

Very rarely, you were grateful for a swarm of people to come through the ambulance bay doors. In that moment, however, you were. And apparently, the universe picked up on that, because it wasn’t just paramedics that stormed in — several police officers came in with them.

“Where is the department manager?” One officer called.

Cabello approached, and you followed suit.

“I’m Dr. Cabello, the Director of the Emergency Department,” Cabello declared. “What do you need, officer?”

“We believe this boy — Joshua Parker — is the second victim of a serial offender,” the officer described in a low voice. “I can discuss details later, in private, but for now, I need you to know the basics.”

“Which are?”

He glanced around briefly, before staring at you.

“She can be here,” Cabello said, surprising both you and the officer. “Aside from me, Dr. Abner will be Joshua’s primary physician as long as he’s in this department.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to punish you or not. Regardless, you didn’t object.

“Joshua shows signs of serious trauma and PTSD,” the officer explained. “The only way we got him into the ambulance was by sedating him. Once he wakes up, odds are, he’ll become violent again. You should prepare your staff.”

Cabello nodded, before turning to you. “Go, make yourself useful,” he instructed, “but only use whoever you have to. Don’t smother the poor boy with unnecessary nurses or aids.”

You nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

    The police officer was absolutely correct: once Joshua woke up, it was almost impossible to do any work on him. He wouldn’t stop screaming, especially the words ‘let me out’, and whenever someone tried to touch him, he began to thrash around. Once another resident and a nurse managed to hold his arm down for an IV, he began biting at them. It was equally heartbreaking and scary.

After consulting with your senior Resident, you decided the only way to get any work done on Joshua was to sedate him for a second time. While it wasn’t necessarily good for him, neither was the violent behavior he exhibited when conscious. Sedation seemed like the lesser of two evils.

When Josh was unconscious, you and Cabello managed to work efficiently. You meticulously pulled at splinters buried in his skin, while Cabello dealt with several puncture wounds all over his body. Where his skin wasn’t red and blotchy, it appeared to be a faint purple color. The whites of his eyes had gone yellow and the muscles in his legs and arms were atrophied.

“Someone put this boy through hell,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Cabello snapped off his gloves, throwing them in the trashcan by the door. “I’m not assigning you any more patients this shift,” he said. “Joshua is your top priority.”

“Understood.”

Cabello nodded, then stepped out.

   Joshua was asleep for at least 3 hours after his second round of medication. You spent most of that time in his room, researching ways to help him once he woke up. Eventually, Cabello came in with a distraught couple, and without saying anything, you knew they were his parents. You decided to give them some space.

“A few agents from the FBI are here,” Cabello said as the two of you walked to the front desk. “They want to talk about Joshua’s condition.”

“I can handle it,” you assured.

“They’re just down the hall. You three can talk in the conference room.”

You stuck your hands in the pockets of your scrub top, walking down the hall with a sigh. Compared to the rest of the department, it was calm; hardly anyone brushed by you, and the steady buzz of noise turned into a faint chatter the farther you walked.

When you finally looked up, you stopped dead in your tracks.

The hair, the sweater vest, the glasses… you’d recognize him anywhere. When Spencer met your gaze, it was clear he remembered you too.

In that moment, you really wished he hadn’t.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

    Notes: Like what you read? Let me know! Feedback seriously keeps me inspired to write <3

Want to be tagged in future parts? Shoot me an ask!

[dragonindigo245]

Muffled

Tags: N/A

Warnings: Transphobia, a dash of angst but mostly light hearted stuff.

Summary: Virgil Nix hasn’t spoken once to his friends he’s known for 9 years. He is mute from his overwhelming social anxiety but around them he can finally feel safe.

————

-Elementary school, 5th grade, January of 2010-

“Hey? Who’s the new kid?”

Logan didn’t bother to look up from his book. “And you expect me to have this knowledge?” Roman shrugged. “I dono. He’s quiet like you.” Logan scoffed at this. “I am not quiet. I speak quite often.” Roman rolled his eyes. “Fair... Actually speaking of that, the new guy hasn’t talked once. Not even when he was asked to introduce himself yesterday. Just pulled his hood up and it stayed like that all day.” Logan glanced at the new shadow in the corner of the class. “He’s looking at us you know. You could just talk to him instead of discussing him with me.”

Romans’ head snapped up to meet the figures heterochromic eyes. He quickly looked back at his desk and Roman turned back to Logan. “You know what? I’m just gonna say hi.” Logan finally looked up from his book properly. “I couldn’t have thought of a better plan. You are a true genius Roman.” Roman held back a laugh. “Yeah yeah. I know it was your idea.”

Roman approached the desk in the corner with the figure and posed dramatically. “Hello there! My name is Roman! I couldn’t help but notice your keen interest in our conversation.” The figure held up a hand in a jester to wait and opened a black notebook with a big storm cloud on the front. He flipped through the pages filled with words and stopped at the first blank page he reached. He grabbed a pen from beside him and began to write.

“I couldn’t help but notice your keen interest in my presence.”

They turned the notebook so Roman could read it. He chuckled and waved a hand in dismissal. “Touchè. What’s your name, dark one?” They tapped the pen against their notebook nervously before writing, “I go by Virgil. I like that name better though.” Roman smiled and extended his hand dramatically. “Well then Virgil, Lord Of Darkness...” He rolled his tongue at Virgil’s name. “Would you care to join me and my friends? The professor shouldn’t be in for another ten minutes or so!” Virgil pointed at Logan curiously. Roman nodded in confirmation. “Yeah that’s one of them. The others will be coming in soon! What do you say?”

Virgil played with his hoodie sleeves and nodded. Roman pulled him up out of his seat and Virgil barely had time to grab his notebook and pen before being pulled away. Logan looked up from his book at the slam of Romans hand against his desk. “Salutations Roman... and...?” Virgil opened back up his notebook and pointed to his name. Logan put his own book down and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you Virgil. I apologize for our conversation about you right in front of you.”

——————

-Preforming Arts College, Sophomore Year, December of 2019-

“Oh Ur-sulk-ula!” Virgil rolled his eyes and looked up from the couch. Roman loomed over him with a mischievous grin. “You know what today is?” Virgil pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the notes app. There he typed, “It is Wednesday my dudes.” Roman chuckled at the reference. “Okay yes. I’m meaning what do we have to do today?” Virgil’s mind began to race. What was he forgetting? What was going on? Was he in trouble? Would his other roommates insult hi-

“Calm down there Meanie in the Lamp.. I can see worry painted all over that white foundation. Today is our day off!” Seemingly on cue Patton opened the door and he walked in with Logan, talking about some sort of animal. Roman ignored them. “Today Patton planned the board game day! I hope you got your game ready because I’m about to crush you!”

Virgi sneered and typed into his notes quickly, ��Bring it on Fairy-fail Prince.” Roman gasped and held a hand to his chest. “You wound me emo!” Patton tisked at them. “Virgil, inform Roman that you’re-” Patton held up a board game labeled “SORRY!” Virgil snickered while Logan acted as if he was insulted. Patton’s smile traveled over to him. “Oh come on Logan! You know making dad jokes is my-” Patton now held up a board game labeled “LIFE!” Both Roman and Virgil broke out laughing while Logan visibly cringed.

Patton looked down at Virgil on the couch. “What game did you pick?” Virgil typed in “That’s a surprise for the end of the day.” Roman laughed. “I bet your game is not nearly as glamorous as mine.” Virgil rolled his eyes amused. They would just have to wait and see.

—————

-High school, 10th grade, April of 2015-

“MY DAUGHTER SHOULDN’T BE DISADVANTAGED LIKE THIS!!!”

“Mrs. Nix, I assure you that we were unaware. Your daughter claimed she was male so we treated her as such. I do not see why she couldn’t identify as one but if you say she was lying for attention and truly isn’t trans, I will make sure her teachers know.”

“WE WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!”

Patton looked to the open office door next to his locker. Something was going on in there and it wasn’t pretty. He finished putting away his school stuff and curiosly peered in. There were three people Mr. Sanders or the principal, a tall and frightening woman, and... Virgil? Virgil’s hood was over his face and his sleeves were pulled up over his hands. He was visibly panicking and nobody had noticed.

The tall woman glared at Mr. Sanders and slammed her hands into the table. “IF THIS HAPPENS AGAIN I WILL PERSONALLY ASSURE YOU THAT THIS ENTIRE SCHOOL WILL BE SHUT DOWN!! Veronica, Go to your class unless you have something to say on the- I’m not reading some words out of your dumb notebook. You can speak just fine.” Virgil put his notebook away and got up to leave the room.

He almost got out the door before he realized Patton was standing right in front of him. The two adults didn’t seem to notice them. Patton glanced at them to make sure before tucking Virgil under his arm and leading him away.

They walked down a few halls and came to a taped off classroom. Stepping inside, Patton sat Virgil down. “Hey Virge... you doing alright? Think you can write for me what happened or are you too panicked?” Virgil curled his knees up to his chest and nodded. He slowly opened his bag and took out the notebook (which had a blank page bookmarked) and a pencil. “My mother just interveining intervening with the school. I just messed up is all.”

Patton read over the page and sat down beside Virgil. “Well... even if you messed up... I’m sure it’s not that bad! If you tell me what happened then I’m sure we can work it out!” Virgil nodded and stared at the paper for a few minutes, seemingly trying to write with his eyes. Eventually, with the help of Patton rubbing his back, Virgil picked the pencil back up.

“My mom hates that I’m trans. She claims it’s a made up thing and I’m lying to spite her and make her look bad, that being trans isn’t real and I will always be female. I messed up when I went to my dads for the weekend and asked for surgery to make me... less feminine. My dad was on board but my mom wasn’t. I should have just stayed quiet.”

Virgil barely finished writing his last sentence before Patton barreled into him with a hug. He almost fell onto his other side but caught himself, returning the hug as soon as he could sit back up. They hugged quietly, barely feeling the passage of time.

Patton eventually forced himself out of the hug but immediately took both of Virgil’s hands. “Virgil... Your mom is either going to have to accept who you are or she is going to have to suffer silently. I will not allow her to hurt you like this. You are allowed to be whoever you want to be. She has no say in who you are. The only person who has a say is you. We should go tell Mr. Sanders though.” Virgil nodded and immediately pulled himself back into a hug with Patton. Once again they sat silently.

Everything else could wait. For now this was all Virgil needed.

—————

-Preforming Arts College, Sophomore Year, December of 2019-

Evening came by quickly, too quickly for Virgil’s taste. Patton looked up from the Monopoly box as he shoved the lid back on. “So what game next? Oh! Virgil what about your game?”

Virgil’s head snapped up and he smiled nervously. Patton’s expression changed to the worried look of a parent. “It’s alright Virge. I’m sure we’ll love it.” Virgil nodded his head and moved to the floor. He dragged out a box from under the couch that he set on the table. A hush fell on the room as everyone stared at it. There in bright white words across the box read “Taboo, The Game of Unspeakable Fun”

Logan was the first to speak up. “Virgil... Do you know the rules of Taboo?” Virgil smile grew bigger with nervousness. Roman looked around. “I don’t? What could be so bad about it?” The room was quiet for a few more moments before Patton answered his question. “You have to speak in order for the game to work.” Roman looked back at Virgil in shock. “What?!? You picked a game you can’t play?”

Everyone turned to Virgil searching for some kind of answer. Virgil took careful, deep breaths and closed his eyes. After multiple breaths he opened his eyes and quietly replied aloud, “I feel safe enough to speak around you all now.”

Patton squealed and went around the table to hug Virgil. “OH MY GOODNESS! VIRGIL THAT’S- YOU ACTUALLY SPOKE!” Logan sat strait up while Roman put a hand over his own mouth. Patton started crying and laughing, burying his face into Virgil’s hoodie, who returned the hug back slowly as a grin spread across his face. “Yeah... I did.” Patton hugged him even harder at the end of his second sentence, so hard it looked painful. If it was then Virgil didn’t react.

Roman got up from his spot and wrapped his arms around Virgil, lying his head on the emos purple hair. Logan wasn’t far behind in the hug pile. They didn’t dare move for a long while, happy to finally hear their best friend voice himself.

[missmeikakuna]

So, Apparently, I Find Fairies Hot Chapter 2

Rated: T

Fandom: Original Fiction

Relationship type: Male/Male

Description: You know those movies and TV shows in which an effeminate gay character has a crush on the popular jock? Strike that, reverse it.

Daniel is technically popular at school but fades into the crowd. After an injury at footy (Australian football) practice, he is forced to focus on improving his grades, starting with English. Luckily, the new kid in school knows a lot about Shakespeare and is willing to tutor him. Now if only this new guy wasn't so attractive.

CONTENT WARNING: Homophobic slurs are used. Also, there are some sexual references but nothing too graphic.

Chapter 2: Is it gay to read a play?

Daniel sniffled, rubbing his nose. As he walked home he scowled at every flower he passed. He was walking alone, looking at his phone several times a minute in case Eddie cancelled. 

He gasped a little when he felt a weight on his shoulder. He turned around and saw a grinning Eddie with his hand on his shoulder, moving forward from the momentum of running.

‘I may as well walk with you,’ he explained with heaving breaths. ‘That way I can get to your place straight away and we can study a bit earlier.’ He took a closer look at Daniel. ‘Why do you look so grumpy?’

Daniel sighed. ‘Spring. Fucking hay fever.’

‘That’s a shame. I love Spring. It’s like all the plants are rising from the dead. That and Halloween’s in Spring.’ Daniel chuckled. ‘What?’

‘Rising from the dead? The only thing that’s rising is my impatience for all this pollen.’ A sneeze.

Eddie turned to his side but continued walking the same direction. ‘Are you taking any medicine for it?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just being whiny.’

‘You really should take care of yourself. If you don’t, you’ll end up in the doctor’s office or worse, you’ll be miserable all season.’ Eddie leaned in even closer, not noticing how Daniel’s body tensed up. ‘So, what do you do besides footy… and sucking at Shakespeare?’ Daniel glared at Eddie. ‘What? Okay, to be fair I’ve always sucked at sports. Or does surviving a mosh pit without being squished or trampled to death count as a sport?’

‘I, uh… don’t do much outside of that and watching TV. I need more hobbies. Speaking of which, what did you have on last night?’

‘Corpse Windmill was on and it was their last performance before they head back to the Netherlands. They’re this really obscure comedic technical death metal band. They debuted in 2004 as a reaction to postmodern notions of-’

‘I think I get the point.’ Eddie pouted and Daniel’s heart twisted. ‘Uh, well, actually, instead of telling me about the band you can tell me about that technical metal stuff.’

Daniel halted as if a record had just been scratched. ‘You listen to metal?’

Eddie pointed at his face and laughed. ‘Why are you so surprised? It’s obvious by the name I gave myself. Eddie’s the mascot for Iron Maiden, and Ironpoe’s a combo of Iron Maiden and Edgar Allen Poe, who’s the best gothic writer; you cannot change my mind.’

Daniel frowned at his hands. Into his pockets they went. ‘I don’t know much about metal.’

‘What do you listen to?’

‘Pop and Rap mostly.’

‘Well, there is rap metal but it doesn’t have the best reputation. I’ll try and find a really good artist and show it to you.’

‘Thanks. I just thought you’d listen to, I dunno, songs you’d play in a gay bar.’

‘What songs do they play at a gay bar? I’ve never been to one.’

Daniel looked at the ground. He sneezed. ‘Oh. I haven’t either, obviously, but I imagine they’d be the songs that go ‘doof doof doof doof’ or ‘ins ins ins ins’. I dunno.’

Eddie laughed so hard that tears began seeping out if his eyes. ‘Say that again.’

Daniel bit his tongue.

Eddie scoffed. ‘You’re no fun.’

‘Sorry.’

The two took the rest of the trip in silence.

Eddie took a good look at Daniels home, which was a two-story grey concrete monstrosity with big glass windows and a sizeable garage. The garden was covered with ferns, a palm tree casting a shadow over the sand-coloured cobbled driveway.

When they stepped through the front door, the duo saw Daniel’s mother standing by the kitchen counter, a phone up to her ear and a scowl on her face.

‘Why hasn’t he fired her yet? Honestly, if I have to work with her one more time…’ Eddie waved at her. Daniel’s mother failed to notice him. 

Daniel grabbed Eddie by the arm and dragged him to his room before he could do something to grab her attention. 

Eddie struggled not to turn up his nose when he saw how messy Daniel’s room was. Underneath the unmade bed was a pile of dirty dishes that had been shoved there. Posters of half-naked women were placed across the walls without a thought to making their heights match. However, one part was as clean as Mother Theresa’s criminal record. The desk seemed to have never been touched.

The two boys pulled their copy of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ out of their bags and sat on the bed. 

‘Okay, first I need to properly assess the damage,’ Eddie said. ‘Could you read the bit we read yesterday again? Actually, read it from here.’ He pointed to the start of the first miniature monologue by Robin.

Daniel took a deep breath. ‘The… king… doth…keep…his-’

‘You can stop now.’

‘I didn’t even finish the first senten-’

‘I’ve heard what I need. I think you’re reading it word by word, even though in real life the words in a sentence should flow together. Try reading the whole sentence before speaking.’

‘What if I get a word wrong?’

‘You keep going. In the theatre, you can’t just stop or slow down if you don’t know what to do. You’ve got to improvise. With Shakespeare, it’s tougher since everybody already knows the lines but the show must go on.’

Daniel did as he was told and smiled when he finished a monologue. When he saw that Eddie’s expression didn’t match his, he frowned.

‘You don’t need to put on a posh voice. Shakespeare’s plays were performed in front of commoners, so everyday people were able to enjoy it.’

Daniel gulped before repeating the monologue. ‘Now what the hell did I just say?’ he asked.

‘Okay, so you’re a fairy jester talking to another fairy. According to you, the king of the fairies is having a party and he’s mad at his wife because she kidnapped a child and now pays lots of attention to the child, making the king jealous. Now read it again with that in mind.’

Daniel nodded. After he finished the monologue, Eddie clapped. Daniel grinned. ‘Now let’s talk about themes,’ Eddie declared.

He taught Daniel the same things Dr Daylings said but rephrased them to be more relatable. Daniel nodded in understanding the whole time.

Eddie looked at the time on his phone. ‘Oh my god, sorry for lecturing you for so long. Let’s take a break and just hang out or something.’ Daniel lied down on his back and sighed in relief. ‘Was I that annoying?’

‘No, you were really good. Where did you learn so much about Shakespeare?’

‘I’ve watched his plays live a lot.’

‘Makes sense. So, um, I have a question. Don’t take this the wrong way.’

‘Well, now I’m worried. What is it?’

Daniel bit his tongue for a moment before continuing. ‘Why do you act so… stereotypical? Like, you almost look like a chick. I mean, you’re clearly not because chicks are hot and… I mean, not that you’re not hot, but… I didn’t mean that that way!’

Eddie spat with laughter. ‘Jesus, you’re blushing!’ He breathed slowly to calm his laughter. ‘I’m just being myself.’

‘But how can you be so open to people you’ve just met?’

Eddie was silent for a few moments as he pondered the question. ‘Well, some gay people can’t really hide it. It’s too obvious. So why should I bother? I know some gay guys just act like regular guys, but I’m just not that. I was always kind of girly. When I officially came out to my parents, they had this bored look on their faces. It kind of pissed me off, not gonna lie. I mean, thanks, Mum and Dad! What, was all this fear for nothing?’

‘When did you know you were gay?’

Eddie chuckled. ‘Oh god. I think it was the cashier at the café my parents took me to every week that made me realise it. He was so cute. Of course, nothing was going to happen between us because he was around fifteen and I was seven, plus I’m pretty sure he was straight.’

Daniel put his hands in his pockets, still lying down. ‘Do… all gay guys know they’re gay that early?’

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t…’ He frowned for a second before smiling again.  ‘I don’t know any other gay guys outside of the ones I see on Drag Race. Oh, I did meet a bi guy once at an Iron Maiden concert. He didn’t look super stereotypical, but when we were waiting for the show to start I saw he had a pink, purple and blue pride bracelet.’

‘Bi?’

‘You know, bisexual. Bisexuals are… wait, you probably already know that. Phew, I guess I can stop a lecture before it starts.’

Daniel was silent as the image of his old friend spiralled into his mind like a tornado before spinning away, leaving a destroyed mood in its wake.

‘Let’s get back to studying,’ he grumbled.

The next day had English class. After asking the class who wanted to read a part, Dr Dayling’s eyebrows jumped up when he saw Daniel’s hand up.

Daniel read a monologue, constantly looking at Eddie for approval. Eddie gave him the thumbs up and a smile.

Dr Dayling nodded. ‘Well done, Daniel. I have no idea what fairy used their magic on you, but you should thank them.’

During lunch, Daniel invited Eddie to sit on the couch with Daniel’s other friends. James glared at Daniel, but he didn’t notice.

‘Shit, we’ve got PE after lunch, don’t we?’ Eddie asked. James nodded. ‘How do I get fitter?’

Daniel smiled. ‘Well, my gym has a free trial for new members.’

James snickered. ‘What, so he can stare at all the guys in the shower?’

Daniel wanted to respond to that, but he kept his mouth shut. Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously? Jock guys aren’t my thing anyway.’

A quick, sharp pain pricked Daniel’s heart.

Just as quick was a girl’s response. ‘You watch too many American movies. We don’t have ‘jocks’ here.’

Eddie ignored her and continued ranting about homophobia, making everyone near him groan except for Daniel, who could no longer pay attention to anything Eddie said.

[toomanysweaters-moved]

June 3rd, 2019

Clip, clop, clip, clop... Noelle’s hoofed footfalls tapped up the sidewalk, followed by the sound of the little red wagon being dragged behind her; carrying the many, many spoils of her birthday celebration; video games, treats, flowers, a hand-woven doll, a whole cake... and a lot of wonderful new memories.

Even still, while her mood had skyrocketed ever since getting even just one gift... her smile started to fade as she approached the imposing black gates that oh so often barred entrance to her home, thanks to her mother’s... ‘forgetfulness’.

Green eyes stare up at the bars as she came to a stop in front of it, buckteeth softly digging into her bottom lip... wondering if she should just head back up to Kris’s house. Like she had yesterday, not even bothering to try to get inside before... but, no, that would be rude of her to do.

She could deal with getting locked out again. Just like any other day.

Fruitlessly as it might be, a hand reached out to give the gate a tug... her eyes going wide as it came open without an ounce of resistance; it was unlocked.

... she almost didn’t think to actually walk in for a moment, too surprised at the sudden change to what had become her routine. After a solid amount of silence, though, her brain starts working again and she quickly scampers herself & her presents inside... closing the gate behind her, for once.

And after the walk up to her actual front door, she found it unlocked, too. Part of her wondered if they’d been robbed, but as soon as the door was open she could see that wasn’t the case; the house was pristine as ever. Still no sight of her mother, though.

Not that she was... entirely opposed to that, sad as it is. Hence why she tried her best remain quiet as she brought her gifts inside; putting the cake in the fridge and setting up the new Nintend0 in the living room before grabbing an empty vase for her flowers and carrying the rest of her gifts up the stairs to her room. Thank Santa for carpeted steps...

Her gaze fell upon the closed door to her mother’s study as she rounded the top of the stairs, stopping to listen... sure enough, the usual sounds of her ‘going about her business’ could be heard; the distinct sounds of a wineglass clinking against her desk being the most prominent among them.

Eyes fell to the ground and, with a shake of her head, she skulked to her room, sliding it open and quickly slipping inside. Eager to put her gifts away.

A smile managed to grace her face once more as she set the flowers on her bedside table and the plushie made in her dark world likeness on her pillow, taking a moment to just sit there and enjoy the fond memories they brought.

Until the silence was broken by sudden “Good evening.” from behind her.  The sound of which made her instantly spin around and straighten her posture.

“G-good evening to you too, mom!” She sputtered out, arms crossing behind her back instinctively as she faced her mother; stood in the doorway, wineglass in hand, and a red bathrobe wrapped snugly around her small frame.

“You didn’t come home yesterday. Are you trying to worry me into an early grave, young lady?” The white rabbit asked, seemingly in jest, as she waltzed in; looking her daughter up and down. “Where were you?”

“Oh, um... I’m sorry, mom! I didn’t mean for that...” Noelle said, quick to swallow any gripe she may have had at the thought she’d actually be ‘worried’ about her. “It’s just... K-Kris... they invited me over for my birthday!

I know, should’ve told you first, I’m-...” Her apology is swiftly interrupted by a audible ‘Oooh!’ from her mother as her wandering eyes caught sight of the doll sitting atop her pillow, red eyes going wide as she walked over to examine it.

“Little Kris didn’t make this for you, did they?” She said, absolutely enamored with the hand-stitched plush’s quality... and how adorable it’s outfit was! 

“U... um, no, that was from someone else at... at school.” I mean, it wasn’t technically a lie, but it still sounded like one regardless. “Kris got me... well, got us a new Nintend0! It’s downstairs if you want to-!”

And once again, the poor girl gets interrupted- her oddly excited mother reaching over the bed gingerly snatching one of the flowers from the bouquet on her nightstand. “Now these are from Kris, I bet! I recognize his father’s flowers anywhere!” Her rabbit nose twitches as she gave the flower a sniff, an uncharacteristic smile on her face as she slid it back into the vase.

Noelle... was visibly confused at this point, and couldn’t do much more than nod as she sat down on the bed beside her, clasping her hands together in silence. This was, like... really weird. But,  also kind of nice? Almost felt...

“... they asked you out, didn’t they?” 

! ! ! ! !

“E... excuse me?” Her voice came out as a squeak, face flushing pink and her nose glowing bright at the sudden jump in the level of questioning. “On a date, sweetheart. Why else would they give pretty girl like you a bouquet?

Unless they inherited that habit from Asgore, which I doubt.” 

Oh, they’re doing this. This is what they’re doing now. Sweet Santa Claus... “Well... n-no, they didn’t, they... they were just being nice...!” She’s stammering now, and her mother’s squinted gaze certainly isn’t helping.

“... hm. I suppose he did inherit it, then.” The white rabbit said, taking a sip of her whine... not sounding at all convinced of that fact, but she knew her daughter wasn’t lying so there was no point arguing with her. She’ll give it a month.

Finally. She’s finally given a moment to breath....

“Then who did ask you out, hm?”

“ WH... WHA... HOW DID YOU...?!”

An amused chortle from her mom broke the poor girl’s squealing, interrupting her for the third time in the span of a few minutes. “Well, I didn’t. Until now.”

... the fawn’s eye twitched. Once, then twice, then finally the poor deer collapsed onto her pillow in utter defeat, while her mother sat there sipping her wine smugly over her. All too proud of her successful interrogation.

“So, who was it~? A boy from your class? It better not be that Nerdly kid. I’ll kick his ass. You deserve better than that.”

... blink, blink. Her ears couldn’t help but perk up hearing such a familiar sentiment from a completely different source... had she been talking to dad lately? “... n... no, actually, it was... well...” Stars, this was gonna be weird to-

“So it was a girl, then? Interesting. Gotta be something really special if even the girls wanna ask you out, hon.” The... praise(?) was accompanied by a gentle little clap of her paws, apparently pleased with this realization... leaving her daughter utterly perplexed. “You... you don’t mind?”

And there’s that chirping laugh again.

“Mind? Sweetheart, if things had gone just a hair differently in college I’d have been the one married Toriel and Rudy’ be off growing flowers with Asgore.

How is she, by the way? Bet the dinner she served last night was delicious.”

... the only response she got was her daughter screaming into her pillow after the mental images she’d just put in the poor girl’s head. Not that she minded that, either; why else would she throw something like that at her?

She gives the fawn a moment to work it out, patting her shoulder as a comfort, even as the amused smile was still on her face. “So, really, who’s the lucky girl?”

... deep (pillow) breath. Noelle manages to pull herself up, snatching up the doll Ralsei had made her and hugging it tightly before, sheepishly, getting out an answer. “S... Susie. Her name is Susie...” And now she’s blushing again.

For once, the impish look on her mother’s face fades away; red eyes widening and her head tilting at the answer. “... Susie? Susie Touchdown?” Legitimate surprise oozed from her tone, making Noelle shrink... in fear that might be an actual problem. The fact her mom knew of her only made it worse.

So, she just nodded in silence.

... but, no lecturing to have a ‘better judge of character’ or anything of the type came. Instead...she just whistled. Like... in a cartoon.

“Really didn’t take you for the bad girl type, hon! Suppose that’s what runs in our family~!”

She just... winked. Was that in reference dad’s attraction to her or her attraction to Toriel? Who knows, certainly not Noelle, nor does she want to know. She’s... just confused and... sort of happy?

Having a pleasant talk with her mother was... something she missed. All she could do was just... laugh. She’s giggling, to be specific. And Carrolle is giggling with her.

“Oh hon, I’ve got the perfect outfit! She’ll love it; trust me!” The rabbit practically hops up from her seat, bouncing all the way to her room; gong off about how you ‘don’t wear dresses on the first date’ and how she ‘knows Susie’s type’...  It was fun. Noelle was about to follow... when she noticed something.

A tiny, gift-wrapped present; right where her mother was sitting. Ears twitch, looking between the present and the door... before grabbing it.

Doesn’t take her Gyftmas-trained hands long at all to get through wrapping paper, or the little box within it... green eyes widening at sight inside.

It was... a key. 

A spare key.

[the-stories-in-my-head-95]

Our Little Secret

Bruce Banner x Daughter!Reader 

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary/Request- I kind of want where the reader is a teen and has a father-daughter relationship with Bruce and hulk doesn’t hurt her And she all strong, sassy, not showing emotion and like dumbs herself down in front of everyone else but not with Bruce she shows her true funny, smart self something like that idk it’s sorta specific sorry. And a peter Parker x reader.

Message- Here’s the second fic rec! It’s from @ihaveamaskon

Word Count- 1385

You had a secret, a secret that only one other person on the planet knew. You’re smart, really smart, like you have a higher IQ than Tony Stark smart. You’re strong to and bullet proof, your brains and strength were things you inherited from your dad Bruce Banner. But you hid these traits away from the outside world, at the urging of your father. He wanted you to blend in and stay safe, according to him it was bad enough that had a target on your back because of who he was, he didn’t want people to go after you because of your own talents as well. So you took it to the extreme, you acted dumb, like a complete air head.  You continued this even when you and your Dad moved into Avengers Tower. But in your defense if was really funny and it always made your Dad laugh.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Friday says as you walk

“Hi, FRIDAY!” You say in your high pitched sing song voice. “So when is JARVIS coming back?”

“He’s not. Remember, Honey? Jarvis is in Vision now.” Tony says in a soft voice.

“Oh! You were promoted? Maybe you can show me where your old office is!!” You ask Vision. This has been a ‘game’ you’ve been playing since you first arrived, you act like you think Jarvis is a man in a room with a microphone in an office. Everyone sighs and Tony launches into a patient explanation about how JARVIS and FRIDAY are AI’s.

“Come on, Y/N, you can do your class work while I work in the lab.” Your Dad says.

“Ugh, internet school is sooo hard.” You groan. Then you follow your dad out of the room and down to the lab.

“So how’s your experiment going?” You dad asks as you enter the lab.

“Pretty good, the cells are reacting like I hypothesized they would.” You say as you move to your section of the lab, dropping your voice down to its regular octave.

“I still can’t believe my kid is getting her PHD in her teens.” You dad murmurs.

“Well I get my smarts from you, so I don’t know why you’re so astonished.” You say as you look into your microscope.

“Tony’s worried about you.” Your dad murmurs after a couple of minutes of silence.

“Why?” You ask.

“On our date yesterday he was telling me about all of these programs and therapists he found for you. He wants to help and he kept talking about getting you all these tutors and specialists. He thinks you need to socialize with people your own age. He even offered to pay to send you to private school.” Your Dad murmurs.

“Aww, he does care.” You say.

“Of course he does. He refers to you as his step daughter, you know.” Your Dad says.

“We could tell him, you know.” You say.

“Soon.” Your Dad murmurs.

“Dr. Banner, Tony and a guest are requesting entry into your lab.” Friday says.

“Let them in, Fri.” You say before you move to the desk with the open laptop you have set up.

“Hey guys, this is Peter. He’s the new recruit.” Tony says.  “This is Bruce and Y/N Banner. I thought Peter could help Y/N with her school work, since they’re in the same grade.”

“That’s a nice thought, Tony. But Y/N is doing fine.” Your Dad says.

“Well, maybe they can just hang out. Y/N, you don’t really have any friends your own age right?” Tony asks.

“Right!” You say.

“Okay, it’s settled then!” Tony says as he claps his hands. “Here’s some money go have fun.” He murmurs as he shoves a couple hundred dollars into your hand.

“Thanks, Tones!” You squeal and then you grab Peters hand and drag him out of the lab.

“So, where do you go to school?” Peter asks as the two of you wait in line for ice cream.

“Online.” You say. Then the two of you start talking about classes and other things. Peter was nice and funny and took everything you said in stride. He wasn’t treating you like you were dumb either- even though you were acting like you were. Eventually the two of you have to go back to the tower.

***

It had been a month since Tony introduced you to Peter. The two of you hung out constantly and Tony couldn’t be more thrilled about it. He always had this huge smile on his face when he saw you and Peter talking quietly to one another.

“You and Peter are getting close.” Your Dad says as you work on your dissertation.

“Yeah, he’s really nice and funny.” You mumble. Then the building shakes. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” Your Dad murmurs. Then men with guns storm the lab and drag you and your dad into the common room. Everyone is handcuffed or knocked out. They shove you onto the couch and you look to your dad, his skin is rippling green.

“Dad.” You murmur.

“It’s fine.” He grunts out. All of the men are focused on tying your Dad up. So you rush them, knocking 3 of them out immediately. Then the remaining men turn to shoot you, all of your fathers teammates start to yell and scream, but the bullets just crush as they hit your skin. The entire room falls quiet and you finish knocking all of the intruders out. You turn to your Dad- who was mid transformation. You wait calmly.

“Hello.” You say as the Hulk grunts.

“Y/N/N.” Hulk says.

“How’ve you been? It’s been a while?”

“Good. How school?” Hulk grunts out.

“Pretty good, I started my dissertation this year.” You answer.

“Good. Y/N/N strong like Hulk, smart like little guy.” Hulk says.

“Yeah, I got the best of both of you.” You say as you smile. You glance over to the rest of the rest of the Avengers. Their all staring at you with shocked expressions. Tony and Peter both look betrayed. “I need Dad back.”

“No, I protect you.” Hulk grunts out.

“I know and you’re so good at that, but I need Dad back now.” You say and Hulk nods and starts to shrink down and the two of you share a panicked look.

“What the heck was that?” Tony yells. Then you and your Dad explain everything. How you were actually a super strong, bullet proof, genius and everyone accepts it with a quick nod and they leave the room, taking the intruders with them.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I-I thought what we had….Obviously I was wrong.” Tony says as his shoulders slump. Peter hadn’t said anything he was just looking at you with a funny look on his face.

“We were going to tell you- both of you- soon. It’s just we’ve gotten so used to it. It was the best way to protect me growing up.” You say. “Tony, you’re amazing and I’ve wanted to tell you the second you asked Dad out, but it-.”

“I-I get it. I’m hurt, but I understand. Growing up with a target on your back must have been rough and I’m sure having people underestimate you has saved you more than once. I’m glad I know now, think of all the cool stuff we can invent together- as a family.” Tony says as he slings an arm over your shoulder.

“Thanks….Pops.” You say and Tony’s grin gets even bigger. Peters still staring at you and Tony notices.

“We’ll leave you kids to talk.” Tony says as he wraps his arm around your Dads waist to lead him out of the room.

“Hey.” You murmur as you sit down next to Peter.

“So, you’re smart.” Peter murmurs.

“Yeah, like really smart.” You say as you grin at Peter.

“S-So you lied?” Peter asks.

“Kinda, but if it makes you feel any better. I’ve wanted to tell you the truth since the day we met.” You say.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. I-I think I’m falling in love with you.” You murmur and Peter gasps and then he gently pulls your face to his and gives you a chaste kiss.

“Hey, Parker, stop kissing my kid!” Tony shouts from the next room. You pull away from Peter as you chuckle.

“Would you go on a date with me?” Peter asks.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” You murmur before pulling Peter back into another kiss.

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[gaiatheorist]

Food, again.

I’m in one of my precarious states in terms of Mental Health, or Emotional Well-being, or Warm and Fuzzies, or whatever we’re supposed to be calling it this week. I’ve been driving this clapped out bus of a carcass long enough to recognise the warning signs of an impending crash, to be fair, it’s not surprising at all that I’ve ‘lasted’ this long, it’s me, isn’t it? (The counsellor is supposed to be exiting me today, after more-than-double the number of sessions he’s meant to allocate. At the last session, he dropped in “A lot of people wouldn’t have come through what you have.”, and I had to bite back “I’m not ‘through’ it, I’m ‘in’ it.”, and respond “Resilient and tenacious, aren’t I?”, which reminds me of Creepy Carpet Tile Man telling me “You’re like a social experiment, to see how far a person can be pushed, and still remain functional.”.) Without self-diagnosing too much, I’m dealing with a set of external circumstances that aren’t particularly pleasant, and I’m too bastard stubborn to just give up, and live under my duvet. This ‘Nervous Breakdown’ is dragging its arse like a dog with worms.

I can’t ‘fix’ myself any more than I already have, I have plateaued at ‘superficially functional’, a fair approximation of an adult-human, albeit one who has brain injuries. Not that anyone would know, unless I told them. I’m ‘surviving not thriving’, and, while I do still have enthusiasm for some things, they’re quite a narrow range of ‘things’. “Get a hobby”, “Join a group.” “Go out for a walk somewhere nice.”, aye, those suggestions are helpfully trotted out by people who don’t have brain injuries, they don’t mean to be insensitive, they’re just suggesting what they think they’re supposed to. ‘Normal’ situations, to everyone else are profoundly debilitating to me, and explaining that, repeatedly, is exhausting. (Yes, I could get some little cards made up, with “I’m not being ‘off’ with you, I have brain injuries.”, and a list of my common symptoms, but I fear that people would either start asking me even more questions, or, worse still, start talking to me in the loud voice, with the small words. I’m difficult. Appearing ‘normal’, with brain injuries, is difficult.)

I do have brain injuries, and fluctuating Mental Health, what I also have, in a Liam Neeson voice, if you please, is ‘a very particular set of skills.’ Apart from being able to sneak up on people, which is fun, and being able to cross-reference, and apply pre-existing knowledge at a speed that freaks people out, I have an uncanny ability to ‘get underneath things.’ (You at the back, stop laughing, I don’t mean hiding underneath other people’s desks.) I used to flippantly describe that ‘particular skill’ as “I can get where water can’t.”, and, begging for gin on Fakebook aside, it’s the reason I’m not dead. Hyperbole? I don’t think so. The Universal Credit unemployment benefit I’m on, while my PIP disability Tribunal comes through, doesn’t cover my outgoings. It never did, I used my own money to make up the difference at first, and I’m just about to run out of ‘Trust Fund’ payments from my Employment Union, I won’t be coy, it’s a ‘hardship grant’, and, when that runs out, I will start to accumulate significant arrears. (Did you know that utility companies can apply for deductions to be made directly from benefits? I didn’t, until last month, when the water board took a breakdown of my income/outgoings, and noted that, paying my rent, and keeping my phone and internet on, for work-search, and emergencies, what with me being single-and-disabled, left me £40 per month for food. “Instead of £38 per month, you could pay £7.70 per week, would that be OK?” Would £10 per month for food be OK, let me think about that one?) 

I’m effectively ‘shoplifting, but only from large chains’, here. (I’m not ACTUALLY shoplifting, stand down. Some people will be shoplifting, I’ve seen one hell of a spike in ‘security’ vacancies over the last year or so.) Utility companies are corporations, while it’s not ideal for me to go into arrears, they have back-up funding, I don’t. Last month was the first month of arrears, well, technically THIS month is the first month of arrears, when you stop your direct debit, the companies automatically bill you for the payments until the end of the tax-year, asking for money for services you haven’t used yet, which is why I didn’t cancel the utility bills until now. See “Getting where water can’t.”, hopefully I’ll have sorted out the disability benefit before my utility providers can sort the paperwork to take me to County Court, if not, I can evidence to the judge that you can’t pay £749 out, when you only have £662 coming in, and use the StepChange debt advice service templates to offer a ‘temporary payment arrangement’ of £1 per month. Delightful, isn’t it?

All of that is background noise, but it is impacting on my Mental Health, my ‘work coach’ is going to refer me to the DWP ‘Work Psychologist’ at our next session, my money is them telling me I would be in better emotional health if I was working. I know that. This vile predicament I’m in now isn’t a ‘lifestyle choice’, it’s me trying to fight my way through the unfit-for-purpose UK disability benefit system. I’m exceptionally high-functioning on some levels, but not at full-time capacity, I need to work part-time, to compensate for my deficits, but I can’t afford to work part-time on minimum wage. If I’m compelled into full-time work, there is the potential for my known-disability to place myself or others at risk of harm. The bit of DWP that deals with PIP doesn’t communicate with the bit of DWP that deals with UC, my work-coach is really sweet, but, if ‘the system’ kicks in, I could be compelled to apply for jobs that I know I’d be unsafe doing. What a mess. I don’t know how many times I’ll be able to evidence that a job is unsuitable before incurring ‘sanctions.’ (Reason for referral to UC psychologist: UC.)

Background noise aside, I know I’m heading for one of my periodic ‘dips’ in emotional well-being, the symptoms are stacking up. I’m laughing at myself, because my ‘solution’ is very much one of the symptoms as well. To get a little bit personal, without boring you with all of the details, my sleep-pattern is wrecked, I have no energy, very little enthusiasm for most things, lots of “Don’t want to.” days, and a noted increase in urges to self-harm. I’m not standing on the motorway bridge, I never will be, but, yet again, I need to catch myself on this slide before I hit the bottom. (I genuinely CANNOT hit the bottom, as much as that niggly little voice in the back of my head whispers that being sectioned under the Mental Health Act would trigger appropriate support. I don’t believe that it would, I think it would trigger a short stay on D-ward, where I’d be medicated into the same state-of-compliance as the other patients. I’ve visited D-ward a few times, the staff are stretched beyond capacity to cope, I’m not planning to add to their burden.) 

The symptom/solution? A ‘project’. Yes, I know, I bang on all the time about the ex and his ridiculous ‘projects’, I can’t use my shed, because it’s full of his project-crap, and the spare ‘bedroom’ (That you wouldn’t be able to fit a bed in and open the door, I’m probably bedroom taxed on a large cupboard, there.) is also full of crap that he’d bought and then bored of. As is about 3/4 of the loft, oh, and there are two canoes and a ‘spare’ door for his 4wd in the back garden, it’s like living in Steptoe’s yard. My Dad visited me this week, he does ‘projects’ as well, and, while I usually just think ‘knob-head’, and move on, having a different stinky-man sitting in my house, telling me about a greenhouse he was building, and how one of his Facebook posts had “more than 200 likes!” (It was a two-line comment, starting a heated debate about he US president, and it had typos that made me twitchy, I’m not selling myself back to my father as admin, though.) 

Dad banged on for about 300 years about tomatoes. In fairness to him, he doesn’t know I’m allergic to raw tomatoes, and, if I want to keep open the prospect of eventual inheritance, I’m probably going to have to accept occasional carrier-bags of surplus tomatoes. (Nasty side-thought there, not my half-sister on my Dad’s side, and her ponies, and multiple trips overseas, but the fact that my half-sister on my Mum’s side was given their old house when they inherited my Step-father’s maternal home. Oh, and my brother’s extortionate wedding in Greece. I cut off my nose to spite my face in terms of family, I’m gritting my teeth gradually increasing contact, but it looks like I’m smiling.) I will accept the surplus tomatoes, albeit not as enthusiastically as I accepted the birthday gin. What I’m doing here is what I always do, I’m advance-planning for a summer-glut of tomatoes, after almost two years of not having horrible tasteless-mushy ‘Moneymaker’ tomatoes from the Father-in-law occupying fridge space. I’m advance-planning sauces that can be frozen, and chutneys that can be preserved, because eating raw tomatoes makes me really ill. 

I subconsciously started preparing for the likely fruit/veg glut from my Dad yesterday, with my first venture into pickling. ‘Back of the salad drawer pickle’, because one of the peppers had a soft spot on it, and I’d already meal-planned how to make one pot of soup last me all week, without sacrificing a pepper. (Must remember to give the kid the better of the two griddle pans I have. griddle-seared peppers are great.) The ‘project’ isn’t pickling, or soup, or pickle-soup. (Terms and conditions apply, we’ll see if I fall far enough into the rabbit hole to start making pickle-soup.)  The ‘project’, inspired by a Twitter conversation at daft o’clock this morning, insomniac Twitter has some fantastic brains in it, and mine, is ‘Nowt thrown out.’ (I’m a Yorkshire lass, I’m allowed to say ‘nowt’ instead of ‘nothing’, for comedic effect.) When I prepare meals for the kid and I, there are always ‘leftovers’. That’s not actually sloppy portion-control, it’s deliberate now, with the combination of a very low income, and a disability. “Cook once, eat twice.” is now the accepted normal in this house, because the additional effort I need to put in to remain safe whilst preparing food is a drain on my already-diminished resources. ‘Leftovers’ mean that there’s always something immediately available, or something that can quickly be re-purposed. That can be as simple as the kid and his friend having leftover (home-made, from scratch, get me) pizza for breakfast the day after I’ve made it, or more involved, like that time the ‘leftover’ pizza sauce appeared in four different meals. (There’s a side-rant bubbling up about a recent internet issue about the packaging-plastic on pre-prepared vegetables, the insinuation being that EVERYONE who buys pre-chopped food must just be lazy. No, some of us are disabled, the bags of pre-chopped vegetables in my freezer are thumb-savers, as well as life-savers sometimes.) 

As I plate up meals for the kid and I, I’m already planning what to do with the remnants. (Admittedly, I don’t think I’ll repeat the ‘Everything left from the fake-away bunged on one tray, with the last of the pizza sauce, and some more cheese’ experiment, that was a Thursday, I don’t usually cook on a Thursday, so I hadn’t ‘planned’ it as such, it was just that there was food ‘left’, and I can’t afford to throw it away.) When the kid isn’t here, I’m even more frugal in my exertions with ‘preparing and cooking’, if anyone from the PIP-end of DWP is reading this. Actually, if anyone from the UC-end of DWP is reading it, that’s probably relevant, too. Hello, DWP, I’ve had the same pot of soup for every meal this week, you can make that work by only eating once a day, my hair is falling out, my fingernails are splitting, my skin is dull and flaky, I’m hardly ‘polished for job interviews’ right now, because I’m probably malnourished. That’s very ‘me’, I have a hell of a lot of food in the house, but I’m rationing it, because I don’t know how long it will have to last. Welcome to 2018, the siege-mentality chapter.

Everyone is ‘feeling the pinch’, and there are no indications that the current trajectory of domestic affairs in the UK will improve any time soon. Food costs are increasing, the cost of everything is increasing, but very few people have an income that is increasing in proportion. There are various incentives on-going in the UK to reduce wastage, but that’s not going to have much of an impact immediately. People in general are used to having a wide range of food readily available, and throwing away far too much of it. (The ex was a swine for it, he’d throw out things that had “Gone bad.” despite not actually having checked whether they were still OK. It became evident, over a period of years, that he had no sense of smell, there’s nothing quite like trying to work, and having someone shove a carton of milk under your nose. I married a gibbon, who once fished a packet of Quorn slices out of the kitchen bin and ate them. Yes, they were sealed, but I’d binned them because they were a month past the use-by date.) That’s what some people won’t understand at first, that ‘best before’ might as well say ‘buy more.’

Retailers might be paying lip-service to the whole ‘reduce, re-use, recycle’ idea, but they’re not going to kill the golden goose of ‘best before’ any time soon. Some people don’t know how to ascertain whether food is spoiled, so that little date on the packaging is taken as the expiry date, then edible food is thrown in the bin, and replaced by more food that might well follow it. There is information out there about ‘best before’ and ‘use by’ dates, but the big supermarkets aren’t really shouting it from the rooftops, the Co-op IS trialling a scheme of a 10p “Don’t be a binner, have it for dinner!” selection of ‘expired’ canned and dried goods, but the scheme is limited to 125 stores in the east of England. The cynic in me wonders how prominently displayed the reduced goods will be, before the Co-op declares the scheme is closing due to poor take-up.

I was browsing ‘recipes for leftovers’ yesterday, no particular reason, as I didn’t have any leftovers to use up. I’m not counting the last portion of soup in the slow cooker as leftovers, that’s meal-planning. The results of my internet search made me angry. Everything makes me angry, and, on reflection, looking at the recipe sections on the websites of major supermarkets was the wrong place to start. (I’d started there because I couldn’t risk the sudden pop-up of video-adverts on independent sites, it’s a brain damage thing.) Supermarkets don’t *really* want you to use up leftovers, what they want people to do is keep buying more than they can use, and throwing it away on the mystical ‘best before’ date, then replacing the thrown-away product with an identical one. Oh, and that thing that’s on 3-for-2, and one of those ‘New!’ things in the display near the checkout. The supermarket recipes-for-leftovers were deliberately complicated, and, in most cases, required ingredients that people might not have ‘in the house.’ Wahey, I have a portion of ‘whatever’ in the freezer, I’ll have a look for ideas of what I could whip it into. Oh, wait, I don’t have any saffron (I do.) or any fresh rosemary (there’s some in the freezer, I need to clean the bits of rosemary out of EVERY bloody freezer drawer.), better pop back out to *Insert supermarket here* to pick some up, ooh, a 3-for-2 on something I didn’t go in for, what a bargain. (It’s only a bargain if you wanted 3, and you can use them...) 

This is where the ‘Poor people eat rubbish’ comments happen, and where I feel compelled to shout “No, we don’t!” I am living well below the poverty line, my UC is something like 1/3 of the national ‘average’ income. ‘Poor people just order take-away!’ ‘Poor people cannot cook from scratch!’ ‘Poor people think chickens lay cheese!’, OK, I exaggerated on that one a bit, but it wouldn’t surprise me. It’s the outsiders-looking-in thing again, yeah, you can’t see much if you look in here, because my massive telly is in the way of the window. “Don’t buy pre-packed, it’s lazy, it’s cheaper to buy from a farmer’s market!” One of my hands doesn’t work, and the farmer’s market is on once a month, in a town a £4 return bus journey away, do you really think I can carry a month’s worth of vegetables home on a bus? “Don’t buy from convenience shops, it’s more expensive, use one of the discount supermarkets!” Again, I live in a village that’s relatively remote, not as cut-off as some, but the £4 return bus fare for a ‘big’ shop at Aldi, or even the £2.50 back home if I manage to walk there are pounds no longer in my pocket for food. “Don’t use the ‘big’ supermarkets, it’s better to buy from small, independent retailers!” Mate, have you SEEN my High Street? We have a Tesco, more charity shops than I can count, some nail-bars, some take-aways, and about four billion hairdressers. There’s a butcher, I’ll just subsist on hooves and tripe, to ease my civic conscience, shall I?

Until you’ve made one slow-cooker of soup last all week, don’t get judgemental at me for using 28p own-brand dried mixed herbs, instead of hand-chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley. Don’t tell me that I’ll ‘ruin’ a dish by using sunflower oil instead of extra virgin olive oil, or that own-brand and budget-range foods are ‘cheap and nasty’. More than that, don’t assume that, because my weekly food allowance is roughly £10, I must be living on £1 ready meals, and white cider. 

My ‘project’, to distract myself from my ‘emotional well-being issues’ is something I dabbled with the idea of a while ago, but never got around to doing. I’m going to set up another blog somewhere, on the theme of ‘Nowt thrown out.’ When I speak to Approved Food about my kidnapped sausages (Better just not to ask about that.), I might ask about linking up, for ad-revenue as store credit. People who have always had plenty of food are going to need to reduce wastage, as costs increase. People who have ‘never’ cooked are going to have to learn. People scraping by on next-to-nothing might appreciate tips on how to make f*ck-all go a little bit further. I’ll feel like I’m doing something useful, and it’ll keep me out of trouble. Possibly.

[iheartgod175]

Lucky Break

A/N: Gasp! I’m writing stuff again? ON TUMBLR?! Could this mean that I’m almost done with school?

Yes. Yes it does. And to celebrate turning in my project, I present to you another Blazin’ Trails short.

This is a little idea I had yesterday in regards to Ricochet and Lucky. If you can't tell, I love the idea of Ricochet being a dad. And for time reference, this is two hours before "Confidence", my previous short.

Droop-a-Long neatly slid a piece freshly-cooked toast onto a plate next to the eggs and frutit salad, and then pushed the plate in front of his boss. "You go on an' eat breakfast, Mr. Ricochet."

Ricochet, who was normally perked up and energized, was staring down at his coffee mug. Melancholy was present in his yellow eyes. "I'm not hungry, Droop-a-Long."  

"Ya've gotta eat somethin', Sheriff. You haven't eaten anythin' in two days," Droop-a-Long said, concern in his voice. Simply stating that fact sent him into a state of worry.  

"I know. I can manage," Ricochet said. "After all, ya said that I did need to lose some weight."

Droop-a-Long didn't laugh at the joke. He sat in the chair across from Ricochet and watched as the rabbit picked up his fork and started to pick at his eggs. "Ricochet, you know that's not what I meant."

"I know...but I can't bring myself ta eat anythin',"Ricochet answered. "I haven't really eaten much of anythin' since Lucky was taken to the adoption center." He set his fork down, the melancholy in his eyes turning into full out sadness. "I should've taken your advice back then, Droopy."

"My advice about what?"

"About takin' Lucky in as my son," Ricochet answered quietly. "I should've taken that advice instead of takin' so long to make a decision. If I had, Lucky wouldn't have been kidnapped. He would've been safe."

"There's no guarantee of that, Ricochet-"

"I know that! Nobody expected Drag-a-Long's gang members to come in an' take Lucky back," Ricochet said."But even so..."

"Ricochet, don't blame yerself for what happened," Droop-a-Long said. "You were caught off-guard. We both were. Thankfully, we rescued him before they had the chance to take him to his pa an' break him again."

"I know that...it's just..." Ricochet put his ork down and sighed. "I don't know how to explain it."

"I know how. You miss 'im a lot, don't ya?" Droop-a-Long said.

There were a few seconds of silence before Ricochet continued. "Yeah. Reckon that old sayin's true."

"What old sayin'?"

"You never know how much you love someone 'til they're gone," Ricochet said. "I didn't know how much I cared for Lucky 'til those folks kidnapped him, an' after they took him into a shelter. Before I was all set to send him to one, but now...I-I'm worried, Droop-a-Long. I mean, are they treatin' him alright? Do they know he has nightmares every night? Do they know about his diet? Do they even care about it for one thing? It's so many questions..."

"You know somethin', Mr. Ricochet?" Droop-a-Long started. "Those are the kinds of questions that a father asks 'bout his son."

"Yeah...that's true," Ricochet said. "I guess...I guess this whole case brought out that father instinct in me."

"Well...how do ya feel about that?" Droop-a-Long asked. "Before, ya told me that you didn't want nothin' to do with bein' a pa."

"It's kinda confusin'. Sure one moment, I was worried an' frustrated an' overwhelmed with all sorts of thngs goin' on in his life. There were times where I wanted to kick him out," Ricochet said. He paused. "S-Sorry..."

"No, it's alright. I gets it," Droop-a-Long said. "Go on."

"But then...at the same time, it's rewardin'. I see 'im start to open up around people other than me. He starts to trust his family again. He starts trustin' in adults again. He starts ta act like a normal kid for once in his life. An' I think at those times, 'I did good'." A small smile came on Ricochet's face. "Bein' a father is the most confusin' an' complicated job in the world. But I wouldn't give it up for anythin'."

Droop-a-Long smiled back. "I figured you'd say something like that, Mr. Ricochet."

"Ya did?"

"I can tell how you took to takin' care of him. You've been a better father to than Drag-a-Long ever was," Droop-a-Long said.

"Aw, Droop-a-Long, you'll make me blush over here," Ricochet said.

The phone interrupted what Droop-a-Long was about to say. "I'll get it," Ricochet said, getting out of the chair and rushing to the desk. He neatly snatched up the receiver. "Sheriff PING-PING-PING! Ricochet Rabbit speakin'."

Droop-a-Long got up from the table, taking Ricochet's plate and his mug of coffee to place on the stove. It was then that Ricochet let out a loud gasp, almost making him drop the food in his hands. He whirled around, green eyes wide. "M-Mr. Ricochet?"

"Y-You've gotta be kiddin'…" Ricochet was still on the phone, his eyes wide. "Y-You really mean...?" There was a pause as the speaker kept talking. Droop-a-Long was about to ask what was going on when the sheriff leaped into the air with a loud "YIPPEEE!" that could've been heard from a town over. He settled back on the ground, his grin so wide it could've split his face. "That's wonderful! W-When I can I-" His eyes went wide for the third time. "Today?!...No, ma’am, I don’t have a problem with it! That’d work perfectly! I'll be there in two hours, no more, no less!" He hung up the phone and ran to Droop-a-Long. "Droopy, you won't believe this!"

"What's goin' on, Mr. Ricochet?"  

"Lucky's comin' home," Ricochet said. A few tears were shining in his eyes. "After a whole week of all this, Lucky's finally comin' home today. They're lettin' me adopt 'im as my son."

"Ricochet, that's great news!" Droop-a-Long replied. He smiled at the sheriff as he wiped his eyes. "I know you're gonna be a great father to Lucky, Mr. Ricochet."

"Thanks, Droop." Ricochet paused. "Shucks...what am I doin' standin' here for? I've gotta get ready! I've gotta get the whole office ready! Droop-a-Long, you start sweepin', I'll do the dustin', an' then I've gotta get changed before meetin' with the attorney!" He looked over at the table. "An' where's my breakfast?"

"On the stove, Mr. Ricochet."

"I'll have to eat that later," Ricochet said. "Come on, Droopy, get a-movin' on those chores!" And soon, he was racing through the office, heading straight for the hall.

Droop-a-Long sighed. He wanted to tell Ricochet that there was no need to worry, but he knew the sheriff well enough to know that it was fruitless to do that when he's like this. He strode into the main section of the office grabbing a broom. "I'm a-movin', Mr. Ricochet...."

[lalka-laski]

What were you doing yesterday at 8am?: Still asleep. Unlike today where I was already 2 hours into my workday at that time. Groan.

Whose bed did you sleep in last night?: My own

How long have you known the last person you spoke on the phone to?: That was Anthony a few nights ago when I called to wish him a happy birthday. I’ve known him for God... 13-14 years now? Am I old or what? 

About how long is your hair?: From the back it just about reaches my bra band. I’m in desperate need of a trim (and a root touch-up) but alas, we’re in a pandemic. 

If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?: I’d kill to go to my hair or nail salon. I’m also dying to go to my favorite Mexican restaurant/bar. I need some enchiladas and a margarita the size of a bucket! 

Does your name begin with a B, L, R, or T?: None of the above. Although some people call me Liz or Lizzie so actually, kind of? 

What were you doing an hour ago?: Sipping coffee and slaving away at my desk. (Not really actually. It was a chill morning and I didn’t do that much work because I’m so checked out of this place).

When was the last time you kissed someone?: This morning when I was saying goodbye to Glenn. I hate leaving for work while his lucky ass is still snuggled in bed. 

Do you think it meant anything to that person?: I know it does because when I DON’T kiss him goodbye in the mornings he gets sad.

Are your toenails painted right now?: No, I need a pedicure like nobody’s business. And I could’ve taken this quarantine time to paint my own nails but I suck at it and don’t have the patience. So it’s been au natural ever since! 

If so, what color?: How did you get your worst scar?: I fell off a ladder and had a nail drag across my outer thigh. It wasn’t as painful as it sounds. 

Are you on good terms with your most recent ex?: I’ve reached a point of indifference regarding him, mostly because I’ve found my true soulmate now and couldn’t be happier. He does reply to my Snapchats here and there but otherwise, we don’t talk.

Could you go a day without texting?: I honestly don’t think I could. I get anxiety when I’m away from my phone for extended periods of time. I blame my parents for that, as they have a tendency to flip their lids if I don’t respond “quick” enough. So I feel like I always need my phone on standby to avoid worrying them.

Who was the last person you rode in a car with?: Glenn & I went for a beautiful, scenic drive along the lake yesterday. It was really nice to get out of the house. Do you have any plans for the weekend?: It’s Memorial Day weekend but sadly, this year’s festivities will be a lot different than years past. Glenn & I are hoping to take a walk or a hike at some point, and then tomorrow night we’re having homemade garbage plates at my parents’ house. Should be fun!

Has anyone ever given you flowers?: I LOVE FLOWERS!!! 

What physical feature do you get the most compliments on?: My hair or my skin

Do you have a step-parent?: Nope

If so, do you get along with them?:

Do you have any nieces or nephews?: Glenn has a niece & nephew who I refer to as my own. And technically someday they will be, so... 

Are you wearing a watch?: Never 

Does your current/last job require that you wear a uniform?: Not my current one. It’s just business casual and you better believe I’m flexible with the “casual” part. 

Do people misspell your name often?: It’s never happened before. Elizabeth is a standard enough name that misspellings are uncommon. I suppose some people might spell it “Elisabeth” but... that’s whack. 

When will your driver’s license expire?: I don’t drive! Do you have any plans to see anyone special today?: Glenn is special to me and I’ll be seeing him in 5 hours. UGH, that feels so far away!

What was the cause of the last time you cried?: I’m permanently on the verge of tears and this pandemic has only exacerbated my weepiness. I cried yesterday because I left a plastic colander on the stovetop not knowing the heat was still on and it melted everywhere.

Are you in any kind of a club or organization?: Not presently 

Who is your 23rd phone contact and how do you know them?: Yeah that’s a lot of counting that I just don’t feel like doing

What would you do if your found out your mom was pregnant again?: That’s impossible. And also, ew?

Do you want kids of your own someday?: Someday, although lately I’ve been doubting my abilities (in all things, not just parenting). 

Do you live in an apartment?: Yep

Did you have a high school sweetheart?: As in, someone I dated & continued dating past high school? Sort of? But it’s not a fairy tale by any means.

If the last person you kissed proposed to you what would you say?: I’d say yes in a heartbeat. Although I’d be shocked that it was happening so soon!

Would you ever get back with one of your exes?: Never ever ever. 

Write a foreign word, and what it means: Kurwa- it’s a multipurpose curse word that can be used in any sentence & as any part of speech!

When was the last time you ate a poptart?: Funnily enough, just the other day! We were grocery shopping this week and saw PopTarts in the aisle and both made eyes at one another like “Yeah, we gotta.” 

What kind was it?: Frosted strawberry!

Do you have any friends of the opposite sex you can tell anything to?: Of course. Several. 

Do you trust all of your friends?: There’s certain friends I trust *more* than others, or friends I’d trust with specific information. But in general, all my friends are trustworthy. That’s why they’re my friends.

Where is your dad right now?: He’s probably at work

Are you wearing anything that belongs to someone else?: Hmmm nope

Is there anything you wish you could tell someone, but can’t?: Sort of

How do you feel about life at the moment?: It’s um... going?