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agent-yolk-writes · 3 years

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You're My Dad! Boogie Woogie Woogie! (Diavolo & Reader)

Ever wanted to call Diavolo your dad? No? Well too bad, I have the perfect fic for you down below!

AO3 Version Here!

If you like my writing, please let me know! My inbox is empty and it's hungry for OM content.

Bold = Diavolo's text

Italicized and Indented = MC's text

Like every natural disaster, it came without a warning.

It started off like every other day. Wake up, go to RAD, do student council duties, go home, sleep, repeat. Of course, there would be an occasional (read: frequent) occasion outside of the standard norm, but today was not one of those times.

“Here you go!” You handed Diavolo your latest finished report. “I’ve even separated the approved and rejected request forms and sorted them alphabetically for easier reading.” You said proudly. Sure enough, the Prince quickly thumbed through one of the piles and made a noise in his throat that sounded positive.

Next thing you know, he gives you one of his iconic smiles. “Excellent work as always, MC.” He tells you. “Your help is always appreciated! Thanks to you, we’ve made a tremendous dent in all this paperwork. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

The praise he was pouring on you felt so good. You try not to visibly react to it, but your brain dumped a massive pool of serotonin from his words alone. Hell, you can even feel your cheeks warming up. It always felt good to be praised by your peers, but there was something about the way Diavolo praises you that fuels you to work hard for the next one. While you were chasing that high and not wanting to be rude you simply replied with,

“Thanks, dad.”

And all of Devildom seemed to freeze over. You could hear Lucifer’s pen dropping to the floor behind you while Mammon choked on something somewhere else in the room. There were no sounds of papers being written or even talking. All eyes landed on you as the reality of what you said started to sink in.

Oh fuck, did you call the Prince of Literal Hell your Dad? Well, he’s such a huge guy and acts almost exactly like those kind-hearted fathers you always see on social media in your realm. It doesn’t help that your actual dad kinda sucks, so maybe this is projection at work. Sadly, the damage has already been done. You could see Diavolo’s face turn from confusion to amusement in a matter of seconds.

“I...I…” Your already red face got darker when you heard the faint snickering coming from Barbatos. Fearing that your rapid heart bursting through your chest, you can only manage to squeak a “Bye!” Before dashing out of the building and out of the academy.

So here you are, holed up in your honorary room at Purgatory Hall while your D.D.D. continues to blow up on the nightstand next to the bed. You couldn’t go back to the HOL, not immediately at least. You felt so embarrassed that you called your housemates’s semi-boss your father.

At least the residents at Purgatory Hall understood your human err. Solomon did give you some shit about it, but that was a given because, well, it’s Solomon. If he wasn’t teasing you about this, then you would have bigger fish to fry in Hell. Simeon was the most sympathetic person about your current predicament while Luke was just happy that you’re hanging out for a few hours. He can complain about the demons later.

You just hope this shitshow cools down soon. Maybe a nap will calm you down.

Hours have passed. Still afraid to look at your phone, your only indicator of time passing was Simeon coming up to your room with a tray of tonight’s dinner with a side dish almost overflowing with cookies courtesy of Luke. Bless these angels, both of them.

And sure enough, your phone stopped vibrating non-stop. Before you could deduce that the battery died, a singular buzz proved otherwise. Damn it.

Still, you couldn’t avoid the brothers forever. They’ll probably kick up another storm of messages since you haven’t replied to them initially. With a defeated sigh, you grabbed your phone and unlocked it. Let's see...143 messages in the HOL+Royals group chat, 103 messages in the HOL group chat, 87 messages from Mammon, 15 messages from Asmo, 10 messages from Lucifer, 5 messages from Levi, 1 message from Satan, 2 messages from Diavolo-

...2 messages from Diavolo. Sent a minute ago. Welp, no use avoiding him either since he’s the sole reason you’re even in Hell in the first place.

MC! Are you alright? You sure ran out of the room quite fast. I didn’t know humans could reach those speeds.

I apologize if I offended you somehow.

With a big gulp, you started writing back.

im okay! Hunkering down at Purgatory atm

if anything, I should be apologizing to you lol

Five minutes passed before he texted back.

That’s good to hear! (smiling devimoji)

Hopefully the brothers haven’t bothered you too much from this.

you have no idea.

(gurgle devimoji)

I have to say, you certainly caused a stir. I couldn’t help but wonder about something.

MC, do you see me as a father figure?

uh, no? If anything, I see you as a bother figure

cuz your always bothering me

God damn you, brain! Think before you speak for fuck’s sake! Quick, do something that'll lessen the blow!

lol

Nailed it!

(hehe devimoji)

I see.

I have been called many things, good and bad, because of my position. Being called dad is a new one.

It’s certainly not...unpleasant.

He’s going to kill you at this rate. You know he will.

ill make sure not to do it again. sorry chief

tho im sure i caused a riot during the meeting

No worries!

And you left it like that. Your mind was pulling blanks on how to respond. You could figure it out as you reply to the others, but you really don’t have the mental fortitude to face them now that Diavolo is embracing his new moniker happily.

And of course, think about the demon prince and he shall appear. Again. What he sent made you groan into your pillow.

How about this weekend we can talk about what human fathers normally do over some sandwiches and tea?

...that sounds nice

Great! Looking forward to it!

(smiling devimoji)

Even though this whole ordeal was embarrassing, you couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of your future meetup. While your actual dad had no redeemable qualities about him, there were always memes.

Curling up in your bed, you begin your hunt across the Demon Web with a VPN that lets you access human websites in order to bring your A-Game this weekend.

Maybe this turned out to be a good thing, after all.

#my writing #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me & reader #om #mc swd #swd diavolo #obey me swd #shall we date #diavolo & reader #obey me diavolo #diavolo #diavolo x mc #diavolo & mc #obey me mc

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theastrophilearchitect · 3 years

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How I fixed my sleep schedule.

I’ve always gone through phases of insomnia. It’s an endless cycle of can’t sleep, get tired, sleep too much, can’t sleep again. It’s frustrating. I would never wake up at a regular time and, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d end up miserably forcing myself to stay up later to make sure I actually slept once I went to bed, instead of doing that half-dozing semi-conscious crap.

I think a big part of the reason so many people have dysfunctional sleep schedules is just because beds are comfortable. That’s it. They’re comfortable, warm, and you just don’t want to get out of them. Weekend lie-ins are great, but they screw up your sleep during the week. That’s the hardest part of this: if you want to sleep regularly, you have to be regular, regardless of what day it is.

Please bear in mind I’m no medical professional and this won’t work for everyone, it’s not a universal cure to insomnia, this is just how I did it. But, if you are struggling, it’s probably worth a try.

1) Pick a wake-up time. To fix your sleep schedule, you first need to figure out how much sleep your body needs. This means fiddling with bedtimes and wake-times, and people generally have more room for flexibility with bedtimes - they just have more free time at night. So, you need to adjust your bedtime to figure that out.

Pick the time you want to wake up in the morning (I’d recommend some time around or after sunrise - getting up, probably earlier than you would otherwise, is hard, and doing it in the dark isn’t going to do much good for your mood or willingness to get out of bed.) and stick to it. I don’t care if it’s Saturday, get up. Same time, every morning, every day of the week.

2) Count back 7 hours. Generally, people need 7-9 hours of sleep a night. The goal here is to gradually increase the amount of sleep you’re getting, until you hit the right amount, and it’s best to start with an underestimate. You’ll be tired for a few days, but if you start with an overestimate, you then may not be able to sleep and this whole thing just won’t work.

So, take your wake-up time, count back 7 hours, and make that your bedtime for the moment - e.g. if you want to get up at 7am, go to bed at midnight. Again: every day of the week.

3) Put your alarm across the room. Alarms are hard to get up to. You hate the noise, so you shut it up, and go back to sleep, because you’re warm. I’ve been that person, setting an alarm every five minutes for an hour and still not getting up.

The trick to getting out of bed at your alarm is really not letting your body realise how warm it is. Wake up, get up, immediately. And the best way to do that is by putting your alarm, whether it’s a clock or a phone, across the room. It’ll go off, wake you up, and you, immediately wanting to silence it, you’ll get straight of bed without mulling in the warmth, and you’ll be more willing to stay out.

It sucks, but it works.

4) Wait a week. It takes around a week for your body to adjust to a new sleep pattern, so you might not really know whether or not it’s enough sleep until then. Since 7 hours isn’t enough sleep for most people, you’ll probably be sleeping right up until your alarm goes off. You’ll probably be tired during the day, but it’s ultimately worth it, and, besides, that’s what caffeine is for.

5) Adjust. After the first week, make your bedtime half an hour earlier. Wait another week. If, after the week, you’re still sleeping right up to your alarm, make it another half hour earlier, and repeat, until you start naturally waking up just before your alarm. When you wake up naturally at the time your body’s used to, it means you’re getting enough sleep.

Ideally, you should wait a week between each bedtime, but, if after you’ve got to at least 7.5 hours, you’ve been going to bed at a certain time for a few days and are still tired, you can adjust slightly early. But not until after at least a couple of nights.

6) Exercise your willpower. Honestly, it gets harder once you’ve worked out how much sleep you need, because when you wake up before your alarm, you do have a few minutes to enjoy the warmth of your bed. Even if you keep putting your alarm across your room (which I would highly recommend), it can make you want to get back into bed. You have to force yourself not to.

As a person who makes my bed every morning, after quieting my alarm, I have to go straight back to my bed to make it, because I refuse to let my alarm blare as I do that. Personally, I keep a water bottle with my phone across the room, which I chug from once the alarm’s off. I also open my curtains because it wakes me up, then I make my bed.

When you wake up before your alarm across the room, it’s all down to your will.

7) Adjust as necessary. The amount of sleep you need does change throughout your life, so, if your sleep schedule stops working for you, adjust it. Work it out again.

If there’s a specific morning or night in which you have to wake up early or go to bed late, that doesn’t meant change the unnecessary one - if you have to go to bed an hour late, wake up as you usually would, and vice versa. It’s a little tiring, but worth it.

If the time you need to wake up changes, feel free to adjust the whole schedule. You need to wake up an hour earlier than usual from September, wake up and go to bed an hour earlier. It’ll take your body a few nights to re-adjust, but it works.

Waking up earlier is genuinely fantastic. I find it makes me more energetic throughout the day, and gives me so much more time. I hope this can help someone.

#blog #blogging #blogger #sleep #sleeping #sleep schedule #fix #hack #hacks #life hacks #sleep hacks #sleep hack #life hack #self help #self care #health

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itchyboogers · 4 years

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hello comrades

my name is grace. i'm gonna be honest right now, not sure exactly what this post is. just because i can't function without order, i'm gonna make a list of reasons why i'm sharing my story:

to spread awareness

because i need an outlet

many of my friends suggested i share this

simply to entertain whoever might take a look at it

just in case, because of my paranoia, i’m saying right now i don’t want any witch hunt. i feel like saying this is really reaching in terms of how many people are gonna read this, but my concern insists. this is gonna be a long article, so i’m putting the little “read more” thingamabob right here.

trigger warning, for like, everything

about me; prologue?

as you saw above, my name is grace. i’m 19, and this is a very personal experience that i’ve gone through. first, let me introduce everything that’s wrong with me. i have high-functioning autism, and throughout my life my autism has been the root of my downfall. ever since 2nd grade i’ve gotten the short end of the stick. you always hear about prodigy kids whose grades and social lives falter as the years pass, i am 100% one of them. this story isn’t necessarily about me, but i’ve been through some shit, son.

i have a family that is more supportive than i could ever ask for, i’m not gonna lie and say that my at-home life was miserable - because home was my safe place, and public school was where i fought my battles. i was a very eccentric kid and while my autism has limited me, it has also given me the ability to think outside of the box, blah blah blah so i’m grateful for it as well.

by the time i got to 6th grade, things went way more south than i thought they could go. i was a bit of an edgelord back then so i was skipping 4th period with my friend in the locker room. we’re dicking around, looking in lockers, climbing the stalls, being stupid kids. somewhere along the line we jump into the topic of sexuality, and she tells me she thinks she might be bi. i said that wouldn’t change anything about us, and that i might not like boys at all.

she told me about her parents not agreeing with the whole gay thing and she wasn’t even close to thinking of coming out of the closet because her parents would disown her. real fucked up, but it happened back then still quite frequently. i promised her i wouldn’t tell anybody and that i wouldn’t even think about outing her to anyone, and we gave each other a cute little friend hug, it was cute.

about 3 days later on the weekend, we’re texting and a small argument boils between us and another friend in a group chat. it starts to become a bigger argument, because kids are stupid and dramatic, and i definitely was. she ended up kicking me out of the group chat and i cried myself to sleep (i know lmao). i went to school on monday and i immediately get called into the principal’s office, regarding sexual assault claims. she lied and told the school faculty that i tried to touch her inappropriately during that time we skipped class in the locker room. she also got her friends to tell everybody.

long story short i became severely depressed, gained weight, got my head shoved in a toilet filled with piss by some 8th graders friends with that girl’s older sister, and started self-harming to suppress my urge to hurt other people. my meds got switched around (it’s why i gained weight) and i ended up switching schools because a public school had an IEP i think it was called? anyway

blah blah blah countless school stories and misfortunes blah blah blah crohn’s disease blah blah blah ambulance sent to the school all that jazz. it’s gonna hurt too much if i talk about PRLC, but basically there was a low-funded school for kids who wanted a second chance due to disability, drugs, ect. it was out at a wildlife preservation park with all sorts of animals, i met my best friends there, became the person i am today, ect. but staff changes ended up changing the school for the worse and eventually i got dismissed.

very long depression period, i got kicked out from the school i used to call a second home back in 2018 and this cycle hasn’t ended yet, to this day. i’m hoping writing this will give me some closure or something, because writing about my misfortunes online has sent me opportunities in the past. i am not a perfect person, i never have been, and i can still name many things about my psyche and outlook on life that i’d like to someday change.

the main course

this is where i start talking about somebody that i won’t mention by name, but i’ll call him music boy for convenience. in december of last year i got to see my favorite band live for the second time, the first being april of 2018. i love this band with all my heart, and i’m not going to mention them by name. but after the concert i was going through some heavy post-concert sadness, and i wanted to share my love and appreciation so i find a semi-active discord server dedicated to said band, and i join. i make some friends and acquaintances over a span of 2-3 months.

marijuana got legalized in my state this year, something i had been anticipating for a long time, ergo from january 2020 to the beginning of april 2020, i was in a constant state of stoned off my ass. nobody saw sober grace until the late days of april. i was not in any way able to make proper decisions regarding, say, a relationship. and it was really obvious that i was high, nobody would have thought otherwise.

after i get home from a birthday vacation to arizona on february 2nd, i start going in the voice chats for the server. i would say in the general chat something along the lines of “sick, i’m super baked i’m gonna go bother the voice chat” and i end up in a group chat consisting of most of the server members that are “of age” (so not too many). at this point i’m barely aware i’m making friends, but one person in the group i really happened to resonate with. her name is Christina, and she’s to this day my number 1 mom friend and goblin sibling. <3

i meet a handful of more people in the group chat (we called it the “after hours”) and we have a lot of fun doing different activities over discord. for example we all decided to sign up for club penguin online (which is now proven to be run by a predator, i believe) and we all battled each other in card-jitsu. or i would share my screen as i went on Omegle and did goofy high shit on there and met people under the “memes” or “weed” tags.

in this after hours group chat, one of the active members was music boy. he was the owner of the server dedicated to the band i love. why music boy? because he wants desperately to become a famous musician. there’s something about music boy that’s... ‘different’. i don’t know if anyone knows what i mean when i say, his energy was awry. the best way to describe music boy is kind of mean, but it’s the only way i’m able to express how this guy is as a person. i can best describe him by saying he expects his life to play out as a WattPad fanfiction, him being the main character.

just so you get the main point, this one time i was on Omegle dicking around ha ha funny random people, but music boy was silent. he then typed in the chat that he was gonna go on Omegle himself and do something painfully unfunny, he said he was gonna get his guitar and use that as a prop to “vibe check” people on the website. it wasn’t funny but everybody (me included) was sort of brainwashed into thinking he could do no wrong. don’t know how he got me to laugh at that, especially with his delivery of the joke.

yet, he didn’t want to “vibe check” people, i know that now - he just couldn’t stand when he wasn’t the center of attention. so he left and told a mod, who was also in the group chat, to join the server voice chat with him. and he announced that he was streaming himself vibe checking people on Omegle. the iffy part about that is that the entire reason he made the after hours chat was to keep NSFW stuff off the server, and it was basically prompted by me streaming myself messing around on Omegle and seeing a lot of (pretty expected) male genitalia. i’m not gonna explain that any further because anybody with a brain can understand why that was a confusing move on his part.

eventually february 14th came by, and i, being as high as i was, decided to send music boy a bunch of goofy valentine’s day cards, like the ones that were popular in 2013. i kept sending them because at the time i thought it was so funny, and i’m a natural flirt when i’m stoned. keep in mind everybody knew they hadn’t seen me sober yet, the joke in the server was basically 'when is grace not high?’ so it was evident that my decision-making process was impaired.

for some reason music boy wanted us to all play DnD, even though half of us didn’t know or give a rat’s ass how to play. i would make stupid jokes, and everybody would laugh, but music boy would exaggerate, he would go ‘oh thats how it is? is that how this is going to be’ or some unfunny shit like that because he thought every single joke or reference that anyone made had something to do with him, because, you know, he is the main character, after all. he eventually made a really embarrassing big deal about him ‘accepting my valentine proposal’ and then he went to bed i guess.

the next day or two is a blur to me, all i remember and know is that Christina knew that he was taking advantage of me always being super high, but she didn’t want to assume anything. like she had always seen me make a joke and then would see music boy turn that joke sexual, even when it was nearly impossible to make a suggestive joke out of what i originally joked about, which to be honest was probably my flawless Sméagol impression. but he would repeat the Gollum voice and say something unfunny that we all laughed at.

basically, if you haven’t caught on, music boy is a major egotistical narcissist that cannot stand having somebody that isn’t him being paid attention to. he told me his “dream” (that's TOTALLY gonna come true, by the way) was to go to a concert of the band the server was dedicated to, but he would show up in a custom made shirt that said “[lead singer of band] IS A THOT” and then the band’s guitarist would point it out and laugh because it’s SO funny and then get the lead singer’s attention, who would pull music boy on stage and challenge him to pehen he would start serenading the crowd and all the girls’ panties would instantly get soaked, all the tabloids would hear about it, and the band would jizz their pants, and he would become an overnight sensation.

here’s where stuff gets dodgy. i’m not claiming this is abuse, because i don’t have experience with abusive relationships, and i’m not in any place to assume that i understand what it’s like to be in one, but my friends have told me that he mentally abused me and took advantage of the state i was in. somewhere along the line he would, in the group call, tell his sob story about how all his friends ghosted him and tried to cancel him because of some sort of misconduct accusation in a previous server, and how i was his savior for putting my trust in him and believing his side of the story and he said some things about becoming a happier person because he met me, and it was all very unnecessarily dramatic and extremely manipulative disregarding if he noticed he was doing it or not.

I.E.

“and... then I met this girl... this really weird girl! then i saw her face, and i thought i loved her, but i found out she only liked girls and i lost all hope but then out of nowhere she sends me valentines cards! and now shes my valentine”

or some really really stupid gay shit like that, it’s the best i can imitate him without gagging or getting sick. then eventually (eventually being equal to ‘within the first week of meeting me’) he hEsiTaNtLy asks me to, like, idk be his e-girlfriend. he knew i was baked to oblivion and wasn’t in a proper state to make up my mind on anything serious but then again am i the main character?

no.

music boy is the main character.

if i’m being gut-wrenchingly honest here, i only genuinely liked the idea of being in an e-relationship with music boy for a day or a day and a half. the entire time i was just stoned out of my mind and not thinking as i normally do, i was nonchalant until april fools day when all hell broke loose in the server. on a live stream, the lead singer of the band made a suggestion that he was in the server that music boy made. and dear God, you would have thought it was the second coming of Christ by the way music boy reacted to it.

he was being unbelievably hyper, even for someone with ADHD. he was hauling his uncanny-valley looking forcibly ripped body around his room like a genetically mutated spider monkey, banging his head against his bed, stopping mid-sentence to play a quirky chord on his handy dandy acoustic guitar while he looked in the webcam and made a quirky blank face. it was like watching a six y/o meet Iron Man, even though there was nothing really to be too elated about.

he made an emoji for it and everything, he even posted on the “Official [band name] Discord Server”’s instagram account, but it was just a video of him, and the thumbnail was his goofy ass face, the whole video was just music boy saying unfunny shit trying to lowkey promote the server while flexing at the same time, something like [lead singer] we know you’re here!! you are welcome here my lord idk lmfaooo

but at this point i was becoming too sober to stand by silently and watch this moron suck his own toes, i wasn’t gonna act like his music was good and i wasn’t gonna act like he was gonna become a superstar without question. the breaking point was mostly when he almost came his pants and cried when the lead singer allegedly joined his server, but i came close to breaking when i started casually humming in the group call and hes like

Hold Up 👁️👄👁️ wait you’re so good... why are you so good? you’re like really good and i mean it!! you’re like, almost as good as me! but you know i have YEARS of practice you know haha but you’re like super good!

and then I decided to humor myself by showing him a cover i recorded and the first thing he said after listening to it halfway was “this scares me”, so that was a pretty big warning sign.

blah blah blah i cried for an hour after that then called him again just to break up with him because of my own mental health and he did handle this very well, not bashing him for that. i basically told him no we aren’t taking a break this shindig will no longer continue, like at all, ever and hes like okay cool yknow it hurts but ill get over it, and i really didnt expect that. because, he basically implied that if i left him he would k*ll himself.

i tried to keep the friendship going because i dont like abandoning people, but he slowly started getting distant from me, and the entire server kind of distanced themselves from me too, but at the time i only noticed music boy getting apprehensive with me. keep in mind (i keep saying that, don’t i?) i thought everybody in the server was cool with me making offensive-ish jokes because they had no problem with it during the time i was “with” music boy. then one day i get called out for talking about - i’m not joking - weed. i started ranting about how weed is my medicine and it was kinda silly to get so pissy over the devil’s lettuce but i dont think i made too big of a deal out of what i could have made.

couple days later im talking in the server again. i’m a very blunt person, my humor is very dry and it can tend to go over some people’s heads if they don’t have enough brain cells. i made a joke that i’d already made in the server before about me being r-word because autism and haha funny joke.

i get kicked out of the server.

at the time i was confused because i had no idea that i even said anything wrong. i messaged music boy a bit passive-aggressively because despite my confusion i still had a vague idea of what was happening. i said something like "was i too edgy" and like 3 minutes later he responds "you were making a lot of dudes uncomfortable”

mcscuse me bietch?

NOBODYYYYY in the general chat had told me that i was making them feel uncomfy whatsoever, and i dont think anything could have implied that anyone was in any way uncomfortable, and with these social situations i’ve explained to everyone in the after hours chat that sometimes i don’t get social cues. i’m autistic!!! it’s a very rare occurrence when i’m able to ‘read the room’. i thought they knew that but they decided to have a private staff meeting and they all agreed it was best to BAN ME from the server.

the thing is if i had been messaged, if i was let known that people were bitching about me calling myself r******d then i would have definitely complied. i can understand people feeling a bit weird when i make fun of myself using no-no words, and i’m definitely willing to stop saying a certain thing if it genuinely makes somebody feel uneasy. but nobody said anything about it to me. not a single word.

considering the server has gone to a snowflake kingdom since my exit, i’m not too upset about being kicked out. what i am upset about regards him knowing i wasn’t in a proper state to make any decisions. decisions including NSFW decisions that he hinted at for about 5 minutes before i stopped saying ‘ehhh i don’t know if i’m comfortable with this’ and he didn’t have to beg for coochie anymore. i’m honestly lucky because i can’t remember most of what he coaxed me to do, because if i think about it too much it gets traumatic and i start feeling nauseous.

Christina has been in the server just to tell me what new bullshit has been going on in the rules, and the ever-expanding list of things that you aren’t allowed to talk about in the server, we have a good chuckle at it. i got high again about a week ago, and told my friends the audacity of what music boy actually had done to me and we all agreed to go under a vpn and raid the server, because why not, its funny haha goofy joke. we were having the best time and i was about to piss myself laughing when one of my friends name-drops me and the whoooole gig is over. we get kicked out and Christina pretends to act like she had no clue what was going on, so she could stay in and screenshot this:

she didn’t know how badly that term in itself would send me down a long overdue psychotic episode because about a year or two ago, i was getting concerned that i might have anti-social personality disorder, the ‘proper’ term for a diagnosed psychopath. it ended up nonconclusive, so i don’t necessarily believe i have it, but for some reason him calling me that word really fucked me up. but here’s a pretty funny and cringy sequence of things he typed in to get his cult of teenagers to feel bad for him.

don’t go looking for this person, don’t go looking for the band, i’m just sharing my story because maybe somebody could benefit from my experience being told. i’m trying to jump over this long ass hurdle that’s kept me in one place for wayyy too long, i’m hoping that sharing this endeavor could help my psyche, and perhaps push me forward and lead me towards gathering up the courage i’m missing to finally study for and take the GED test, graduate, and put public school and it’s challenges behind me.

if you read this long and want to talk to me about it, by all means, ask questions, make jokes, ask for more goofy ass screenshots of how i’ve made fun of him, more drama queen music boy tales, because we have a handful, trust me.

i don’t expect anyone to read this or necessarily care about this, but if you’ve come this far, from the bottom of my heart, do not date a musician. and, of course, thank you for reading. but still, don’t date a musician. especially if it’s a man. mega especially x2 if you’ve only known them for less than a week.

add me on roblox i’m user xulue i’m a funny gal and im a pro gamer

stay safe out there, be kind, and for the love of God don’t bring your guitar to the voice channel <3

#xulue #tw: manipulation #tw: self harm #tw: drugs #tw: slurs #narcissist #npd #mental manipulation #mine #taken advantage of #autism #impaired judgement #my ex #discord #discord server #personal

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vamillepudding · 5 years

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Bad Bargains Part 2

Everyone’s reactions to this were so incredibly flattering, thank you so much !! This is part 2 and what I hope to be a semi-satisfying ending to this story. (Again: Also up on Ao3) I tried writing comfort, but it ended up being angst, because I’m a moron

Enjoy !

Before the doctors take Tommy into the emergency surgery, his hand catches Alfie’s wrist. The drugs haven’t taken effect yet, but his mind feels fuzzy anyway as he asks: “Will you be there when I-“ He catches himself before he can actually finish that question, already regretting that he opened his mouth in the first place. It would seem that two – three? – days in captivity were already enough to lower his defences, to make him careless. Fuck. Hopefully Alfie hasn’t even heard him right.

Or he’ll blame it on the morphium that he can now feel slowing down his thoughts. Is Alfie saying something? He can’t make out the words. But if Alfie doesn’t want to stay, then that’s fine, he decides, and gives in to the sweet promise of nothingness for the next hours.

The sun has set by the time Alfie is done dealing with the immediate aftermath of that rescue mission. Ollie has disappeared off to god knows where (if God were in the habit of knowing such trivial things or, indeed, things in general, which in Alfie’s experience he isn’t) and everyone else has finally gone home.

It turns out that Jon Bailey owned a couple of Birmingham race tracks that are now Alfie’s race tracks. He doesn’t feel bad about this. If he hadn’t taken this opportunity to expand, someone else would have.

Now that all is over and done with, he just wants to go home. Home means London, means Camden Town, but at some point along the line, it has also begun to mean Tommy. So if that means spending some time in Birmingham, so be it. His people can handle things on their own for a few days.

To make good on that decision, he goes straight to the Shelbys’ house where he lets himself in with the key John foolishly left lying on the kitchen table yesterday, and enters Tommy’s room before anyone can spot him and complain. Tommy is reading the newspaper, because of course he is. Probably reckons that the worst thing about his capture is that he’s no longer up to date on which politician screwed up again.

But then he lowers the paper to look at the intruder, and Alfie thinks that no, not even Tommy can be that casual about what happened, not with a bruised face like that, not with that look in his eyes.

“And suddenly there came a tapping. Did Arthur let you in?” His speech isn’t slurred. Alfie doesn’t know why he thought it might be, after the surgery that would have taken care of that cheekbone. Tommy’s words are as clear as ever, able to tear a man to shreds if he isn’t careful.

“’Tis the wind and nothing more, except it’s also me, coming to check that you haven’t ripped those stitches out yet and gone back to work.”

“Not just yet,” Tommy says. “Don’t suppose you’d agree to bring me a glass of that whiskey over there? – No, didn’t think so” he adds when Alfie instead takes the bottle from the table in the corner and pours its content onto the floor.

“So,” says Alfie, sitting down on the chair next to the bed and leaning his cane against the wall, “how are you feeling?”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know perfectly well. “Wanna know what I think?”

“Not particularly,” Tommy says coldly. “Maybe you should go, eh? Been here far too long.”

“Fucking hell. That’s a nice way of saying thank you, that is. Better get some more sleep, this perpetual state of wakefulness can’t be good for you. Or the people around you, for that matter.” The chair isn’t very comfortable, but it’ll have to do. Alfie makes sure to take off the hat and his overcoat before making himself at home.

“I think I asked you to go.” Tommy is doing his best impression of a man ready to kill someone with his bare hands. Alfie is overcome by the sudden urge to kiss him, but has a feeling that any attempt to get close to him would result in a fist to the face. Not entirely undeservedly, perhaps. So instead he just props up his feet on the edge of the bed.

“Can’t go while it’s cold outside, mate. I’ll fucking freeze to death in this weather.”

“It’s summer.”

“Oh, I’m cold-blooded. You don’t want to send me into my own personal damnation, do you, Thomas?” Alfie asks as he takes off his waistcoat, too, and pointedly closes his eyes.

Later that night, he is woken by a scream, and promptly falls off his chair.

Tommy is thrashing and turning. It’ll only be a matter of time until he opens the gunshot wound if he carries on like that, so Alfie gets up and does the first thing he can think of, which is to physically hold Tommy down and force him to cease his movements. At first, it seems to work: Tommy goes still instantly. But then the shaking starts, and now Alfie is starting to think that maybe his method wasn’t the best course of action after all.

“Tommy,” he tries. “Wake up, love.” More shaking. He almost wishes that it really were winter, that he could blame this on the cold. Tommy’s eyes snap open after a few more agonising moments of waiting. “You weren’t there, earlier,” he says, the words barely more than a hoarse whisper. “I asked if you’d be there, and you weren’t. I thought-“ He doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Alfie to know exactly what he thought. This isn’t a conversation either of them need to have right now, though.

“Go back to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Fuck it, Alfie thinks, and gets into bed with Tommy.

When Arthur comes in the next morning to check in on his brother, he finds him still asleep, tightly wrapped into Alfie’s arms.

When he woke up in the hospital, the first thing he noticed was that Alfie wasn’t there. He didn’t even have time to time to panic about that, though, because then he noticed who was there instead.

Aunt and nephew looked at each other. It was Polly who spoke first.

“I wasn’t going to pay.”

“I know,” Tommy said.

“Arthur wanted to. But Shelbys don’t pay ransoms.”

“I know” he repeated, because he did know. Because he agreed. Because this was what Polly herself had taught him, once upon a time.

She moved to leave then, having delivered her message, but turned around one more time. “Don’t die. This family needs you.”

And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? Nothing of what Polly told him is news to him. He knew it when he was 10 years old, he knew it when he was beaten up by a bunch of men in a dark room, and he knows it now, two days after the rescue, when he’s lying awake next to Alfie.

No point in postponing it any longer. Might as well get it over with. After all, this is what Tommy has spent almost 48 hours working up his nerve for.

He reaches over and gives Alfie’s shoulder a shake, then another one until the other man grunts: “For fuck’s sake, don’t you ever sleep?”

“Alfie.”

There must be something in the way he said it, because the owner of that name now sits up, instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”

“You spoke to my family, planned to break into that warehouse. You needed them to do it. You must’ve spoken to them.”

“I did,” Alfie agrees, his wariness detectable even from the other side of the bed, every part of his body radiating vigilance.

“They told you the situation, but you must’ve already known about that. They told you the demands, but you must have had that figured out already, too.”

“What can I say? I’m a smart bloke. Always did get top marks in school, I did. Bet you did, too, eh? Yeah, I can see it in your eyes. You’re a smart lad, too.”

He doesn’t allow himself to get distracted. Not now. Not with this. “Polly told you that they wouldn’t agree to anything Bailey wanted,” he guesses. “She told you they would try a rescue if the benefits outweighed the risks, but otherwise, you’d be on your own.” It’s a shot in the dark, but just like Alfie believes he can read Tommy’s eyes, his own eyes, too, tell a story. “You have a business to run too. You knew she was right. So my question is, Alfie – what were the benefits of all this? What did you get out of it, eh?”

For once, Alfie doesn’t immediately answer. Then, slowly, like the words are being forced out of him:

“I did take over his racetracks, but-“

And just like that, he’s not in any pain anymore. He stopped taking the prescribed pills immediately and spent the past two days hurting practically all the time. Now he’s just numb. To test this, Tommy absently touches his cheek where they remodelled his cheekbone. Nothing. What a curious sensation. He pokes harder still and discovers that he appears to have lost the ability to feel anything at all.

“-stop that,” Alfie snaps. “As I was saying, if you’d fucking bothered to listen, I may have benefited a tiny bit, but really if you look at the grand scheme of things, it is absolutely fucking clear to any man who’s not a fucking moron that I did not come looking for you to gain some fucking tracks.”

“Of course not. You rescued me out of love, eh? The great Alfie Solomons, rushing to the rescue of the love of his life.”

“And what if I did?”

“Then I’d say you’re a liar on top of everything else.”

Alfie stands up so fast that his cane hits the floor with a loud thud. “Yeah, you know what, Tommy? Fuck you, mate.” And just like that, Tommy is alone again, thinking, absurdly and against all reason, that Alfie has never seemed more attractive than in this moment.

Sometimes Alfie wishes he’d drink. Everyone else in his life does (which isn’t that surprising, considering his place of work), and from what he can gather, it seems to be everyone’s favourite way of escape. Well, that, or sex, but neither of those are options.

So because Alfie isn’t in the habit of drinking or fucking people that aren’t Tommy, he just wanders through the depressingly bleak streets of Small Heath, thinking of the way Tommy cried out when the bullet hit him. It was a necessary move, and he’s always had good aim, but he keeps thinking of the What If – what if the bullet had struck just a few inches to the left, what if Bailey had moved in the last second, what if Tommy will now forever associate that scar with Alfie.

It's not a nice thought, but if Alfie doesn’t wallow in self-pity he’ll surely think of their last conversation instead, and then he’ll get angry.

He's trying so hard not to get angry.

They didn’t break up. It wasn’t a breakup. If Tommy thinks it is, well, then he is clearly wrong, isn’t he? Because if their relationship ever did end, it – alright. It would be exactly like this, wouldn’t it, seeing as Tommy is one manipulative son of a bitch and Alfie allows himself to be provoked way too easily. It would appear that even after more than a year, he still hasn’t learned his lesson.

Neither, apparently, has Tommy.

If he did drink, Alfie thinks this would be the moment where he’d down his glass of rum to prepare for the confrontation lying ahead. Things being the way they are, he’ll just have to choose the less dramatic route of simply walking back to the house.

That’s alright, though. For Tommy, he’d walk a lot longer if he had to.

He'd walk to the edge of the world and beyond.

Tommy ruins things. Usually with neither purpose nor malicious intent, but that doesn’t change the inevitable results. He ruins things, and one day soon he’ll have everyone whom he ever meant anything to pushed away. He’ll be all alone with his thoughts then, no one to distract him from them for even a minute, which is perhaps the worst kind of punishment there is.

When that happens, he’s not going to last very long at all.

In retrospect, he probably should have known that his relationship with Alfie wouldn’t last either. He did know, knew it from the very beginning. But then the occasional fuck turned into a weekly one, turned into spending whole weekends together, turned into surprise visits and late-night phonecalls and games of chess and taking walks and trying to figure out when Alfie’s birthday is and then spending a couple of weeks silently panicking about whether a gift would be inappropriate or appreciated.

Falling in love was never the plan, but then, neither were most things in Tommy’s life. And like most things, this, too, has turned into a monumental fuckup.

Alfie is probably on his way to London by now. He has half a mind to call Ollie. Just to inform him that his boss might be in a bit of a mood when he gets home. Then again, that would presuppose any hurt feelings on Alfie’s part, which Tommy isn’t too sure about. Annoyed that he lost a quick screw, maybe.

Maybe he’ll send a card soon. Just let Alfie know that their business partnership still stands. Or should he offer something more? Alfie did save him. Granted, he did it for his own advantage, but Tommy still owes him, and he can’t stand the thought of owing anyone anything. Perhaps he can give Alfie a better deal on the rum trade he has with the Peaky Blinders. Well, he’ll see. Next week will be soon enough.

He feels better now, his mind clearer. He has a plan, and plans are good. It’s almost like he’s finally regained control – over himself, his love life, the business, the whole fucking world.

All of this crumples to pieces when Alfie walks back in.

“Shut up.” As far as conversation starters go, this was one of his nicer ones. “I can look into that pretty face and know exactly what you’re going to say next, because I have recently acquired the power of mind reading. Funny business, that. So if you were going to tell me that you expected me to have hit the road by now, you can just shut your fucking mouth and listen.” Tommy, faintly embarrassed, stops himself from saying that exact same thing, and raises an expectant eyebrow instead.

Maybe this is where -

For once he doesn’t have a pessimistic prediction on what’s going to happen next. Whatever Alfie is going to say – there is no way it can make things worse somehow.

“I got you a gift,” Tommy blurts out, and Alfie stops dead in his tracks.

“You what?”

“A gift. For your birthday. I know it was in May, and that we don’t do this sort of thing, but Ollie told me, so I got you a gift.”

“It’s August,” Alfie says, dazedly, like the conversation has gotten away from him. Maybe it has, for the first time in his life.

“I know.” He’s had it since April, actually, but then on the day of Alfie’s actual birthday Alfie didn’t say anything, so Tommy didn’t say anything. He’s had half a mind to dump it inside the river a number of times. But he never did get around to it.

And then, something odd happens. Alfie starts to laugh. It’s the laugh of a man who feared he lost everything and discovered that this, indeed, is not the case. He laughs, and laughs, and when he’s done he comes to the bed to kiss Tommy on the mouth.

In the first moment, it’s like he’s back in that room, like this is one of Bailey’s goons taking liberties.

But there is no force and no blood, no bugs crawling under his skin at the mere notion of it.

Alfie, clearly noticing him freezing up, stops and pulls back a little in order to properly look at Tommy. He doesn’t ask if he’s alright, which somehow helps.

Is he alright? Tommy isn’t sure. During the whole time he was captured, it didn't seem like the situation was worth getting truly upset over. There were other things to do, like trying to escape and trying not to die.

Now, he’s achieved both of those. In a few days he’ll take up the paperwork again, and as soon as he can walk without keeling over, he’ll be back on the streets.

There is no question about this, no counterargument to be made. Tommy can move on, so he will.

And really, isn’t that what it’s all about?

So he buries his fingers in Alfie’s hair and succumbs to the kiss, and finally feels like he’s left that room behind.

Arthur knows that historically, he’s not been a great brother. One time, back in school, an older boy beat Tommy up. Just caught him after class, beat the shit out of him, left him lying in the mud. It should have been Arthur’s job to take care of this. He didn’t. Never got the chance to, seeing as the following day, Tommy took a razor with him to school and made that boy regret ever laying a finger on him. Said boy never did it again. Didn’t have any fingers left, did he?

The point is that Arthur wants nothing more than to keep his family safe. And ever since his mum let Arthur hold the bundle of blankets that was his brand-new little brother, the latter has been a part of that family.

Him getting kidnapped is unacceptable. And yet again, there is nothing Arthur could do about it. Again. This time, Tommy didn’t have a razor, but he had that insane guard dog also known as Alfie Solomons, who is just as deadly.

He knows, too, that Tommy would never blame him for his lack of action. Somehow, that makes things worse. Tommy should be angry, should be absolutely fucking livid about his big brother’s failure. But he isn’t, and hell if that doesn’t make Arthur feel even guiltier.

He hovers in the house until he hears Alfie leave Tommy’s room, waits until the other man has gone down the stairs, then puts his hand on the door handle – and hesitates.

He goes to the Garrison to have a drink instead.

On Christmas Eve, an old lady named Catherine Bailey opens the door to find a bouquet of flowers delivered to her.

#alfie x tommy #i'm still so surprised every time people tell me they like my version of Alfie #i always feel like he's the weakest part of my writing #so thank you !!

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ohlawsons · 7 years

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vidcalls | 04

[ RE: DRAFT DELETED ]

SUMMARY. Business might keep Sophie and Reyes separated after the conclusion of their work on Kadara, but that doesn’t mean they can’t take time for the occasional message or visit. Or: some f!Ryder/Reyes interactions post-Kadara, because Bioware didn’t give us enough in-game. Spoiler warnings will be marked at the beginning of each chapter. NOTES. in which reyes has thinky thoughts, sophie avoids thinky thoughts, and kheema doesn’t get paid enough for this shit. takes place directly after ch. 2. hey so guess who finally finished this chapter after literally three months. i’ve been so stuck on it but maybe this + doing a second playthrough with sophie will mean semi-regular updates LINKS. [ ao3 ] [ ffn ] [ sophie’s tag ] [ vidcalls tag ]

Love.

It was a word Reyes had almost let slip the last time he’d spoken with Sophie, when she’d been driving through Elaaden and called just to share the view. It was just a figure of speech, a meaningless phrase that held no significance. Not really. It had caught him off-guard, is all.

Things like that are why I love you.

He’d caught himself, had managed to redirect the conversation without any comment from Sophie; still, several hours later as he attempted to read through reports coming in from various agents, Reyes couldn’t quite clear his mind of the vidcall. What he had with Sophie was… it wasn’t yet at that point, he didn’t think. The problem was, he wasn’t sure what point they were at.

The two of them had spent a few scattered weeks together before removing Sloane, and in the months since then Sophie had only been back to Kadara once; in some ways, they were still testing the boundaries of their relationship, especially in the wake of Reyes’ confession about his involvement with the Collective. He was still adamant that he wouldn’t be keeping any more secrets, that he would be entirely open with Sophie and tell her anything she wanted to know. The problem, he was finding, was that Sophie didn’t seem to want that openness, and seemed even less interested in reciprocating. It didn’t bother him too much — Reyes was well aware that he still had a ways to go in re-earning Sophie’s trust, and besides, he wasn’t going to pry into a past that he had just enough information on to know was filled with pain and bad memories.

When Sophie felt comfortable enough to share, she would, and if she never reached that point, Reyes wouldn’t force the issue.

He was a patient man, and Sophie — as reckless and stubborn and impulsive as she could be — was worth waiting for.

“Are you buying anything, or are you just going to sit there and pout at my bar?”

Reyes looked up, finding a rather cross looking Umi staring down at him, one hand on her hip and the other planted on the bar. “I’m waiting for someone,” he lied, flashing her the most charming smile he could conjure up. There was some truth to it, he supposed, in that he was beginning to feel like he was constantly waiting for Sophie — for her next visit, next call, next message — but it was always easy to feign an unreliable business contact. “And I’m not pouting, my dear Umi.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and gave one hand a little wave. “I’m not running a charity here. Either buy a drink, or wait somewhere else.”

He made a show of inspecting the comm display on his omni-tool, checking the time before transferring a few credits to Umi. “If my contact shows up looking for me, let them know to be more punctual next time.” With a wink — and a grin at the asari’s resulting sigh — Reyes left Kralla’s Song, taking the long way through the port and giving himself plenty of time to organize his thoughts before returning to Tartarus and Collective business.

Falling into a slow, leisurely pace, Reyes let his gaze follow the Kadaran rooftops, running along the edge of darkening skyline. There was so much out there, and where before he would’ve only seen outposts and smugglers in the wastes of the Kadaran wilds, his mind now wandered to mountains and horizons and the wide open sky that seemed so much bigger away from the lights of the port; it was Sophie’s influence — her excitement and passion and fascination with the unknown — that had rubbed off on him, so that some part of his mind was always at least a little bit occupied with her.

(Sophie would love this view, when he was meeting a contact out in the mountains above some of the sulfurous pools that dotted the sprawling plains of the Kadaran wastelands. If Sophie were here, that definitely would’ve turned into a fight, whenever he was faced with a disagreement, whether business-related or a simple misunderstanding at a bar. Hard to believe that Blasto collectibles count as contraband… but Sophie would probably appreciate if I got my hands on some, when a strange but profitable shipment crossed his path.

He even occasionally woke with her on his mind, an aching amplified by the sense of sleeping in an otherwise empty bed. She always apologized for calling in the middle of the night, but some part of him didn’t care — not when it meant her voice was the first he heard upon waking.)

There was no sense in denying that he cared for her, or that he trusted her unconditionally, or that when she was gone he missed her to the point that it was almost embarrassing — except it wasn’t, because he didn’t care and it was Sophie and anyone with any sense would’ve missed having her around — but he was stuck on this one little word, on love, because he wasn’t quite there yet but he was certainly headed in that direction. There was something off about it, something he couldn’t quite place; maybe it was the fact that they’d actually spent so little time together, or that he’d promised to be completely open with her and she hadn’t seemed interested, or that he knew Sophie wasn’t in the same place and trying to breach the subject before she was comfortable would be the very opposite of helpful.

When Reyes reached Tartarus, his thoughts were even more scattered than when he’d left Kralla’s Song, and it was with some hesitance that he forced it all out of his mind in favor of Collective reports.

Or, at least, he tried, but with every email and message and call his thoughts wandered back to Sophie.

[ Draft 1 of 3 ]

To: Ryder, Sophie ([email protected]) From: Vidal, Reyes (Error) Subject: Up for another party?

Sophie,

Kadara’s been calm lately. I won’t complain about the lack of raids or attacks, but I could use a little excitement. I’m thinking about throwing another party — and I know you like yours to be loud and crowded, but I was considering something a bit quieter. You, me, a bottle of wine? After dealing with the krogan on Elaaden, a night in has to sound at least somewhat appealing.

—Reyes

PS: if that’s too romantic, I could always be persuaded to track down some more Milky Way whiskey.

Two days later and Reyes was still mulling over the problem in his mind.

He’d talked it over with Kheema, and she’d scoffed and said something that his translator hadn’t picked up. “Ryder already knows,” she reasoned. “You laid out the truth for her, didn’t you? Even if you hadn’t, there’s no way you could hide… this.” She waved a hand in his direction and made a sound of indignance. “I’m not sure if it’s sad, or adorable.”

“Hide what?”

“Oh, Reyes.” She didn’t say anything else after that, simply giving her head a slow shake.

“What?” he repeated flatly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. Even at such a relatively early hour in the morning, the slow, steady beat of Tartarus’ bass-heavy music was bleeding into Reyes’ upper room; it wasn’t a song he was fond of, but the rhythm conjured up an image in his mind, one of Sophie dancing in the driver’s seat of the Nomad as they drove through the Badlands, singing along with the wrong words as Liam encouraged her from the backseat.

Pulling himself back out from his thoughts, Reyes glanced back up at Kheema to find her giving him a pointed look, lips down-turned into a frown that was more exasperation than disappointment. “You’ve talked of nothing but the Pathfinder since meeting her,” she sighed, “and here I was thinking you were holding something back. But you really haven’t figured it out, have you?”

“And here I thought we’d established that it isn’t helpful when you’re this cryptic.”

“I’m not trying to be cryptic. Just tell me, then — when it comes to Ryder,” Kheema challenged, “what? What is it that you want out of this?”

The question caught Reyes off-guard, and he looked away as he thought. When it came to Sophie — and him, and their relationship — he wanted… what? For her to stay on Kadara with him?

No. He frowned to himself, not missing the twitch of Kheema’s lips as she held back a wry smile. He couldn’t ask Sophie to stay on Kadara, in part because he knew she wouldn’t ever agree and in part because it wouldn’t ever be what she wanted; Sophie was too much — so much passion and energy and personality — to ever stay in one place, and she belonged out amongst the stars and the unexplored planets and not here, in a dirty port city filled with people who would never be good enough for her.

Like Reyes.

You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for, she’d told him once, in her quarters on the Tempest as they’d worked everything out after confronting Sloane. You’ve got a big heart under this rugged exterior. The most important part right now, though, is that I don’t give a shit. I never expected you to be a saint. I want you, and I mean all of you — even in a mushy feelings way. Look, you’re making me talk about feelings. If that doesn’t convince you that I’m serious, I don’t know what will.

It had convinced him; he believed Sophie when she said that she didn’t care, but that didn’t magically make things better. She knew he was the Charlatan, yes, and she had an idea of what that meant, but she didn’t know everything. Reyes had blood on his hands — mostly figuratively, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t claim responsibility for more than a few dishonorable kills — and looking the other way didn’t change that. By contrast, Sophie was the closest thing to the physical embodiment of hope that Reyes had ever seen; the entire Nexus looked up to her, as did many of the exiles, and a good amount of the angara. It was difficult for her to have such a burden on her shoulders, and she hadn’t ever been shy about confiding that much in him, but it all came so naturally to her and all of the positivity and dedication that she exuded was just so genuine that, for a moment, Reyes felt his heart clench at the thought of it.

“I want her to be happy,” he said slowly, finally able to take his feelings about Sophie and force them into words.

To his surprise, Kheema sighed, her expression twisting into one of dissatisfaction. “Well, I suppose that’s a start.”

[ Draft 2 of 3 ]

To: Ryder, Sophie ([email protected]) From: Vidal, Reyes (Error) Subject: Umi says “hi”

Sophie,

Kralla’s Song is losing business without you there to start bar fights. Umi and some of her regulars keep insisting that they’re glad the Pathfinder isn’t on Kadara anymore, but I think they actually just miss all the excitement you cause.

I know I do.

—Reyes

PS: To be clear, it isn’t the bar fights I miss. It’s you.

“I mean, can you believe it? Half the reason I even came to Elaaden was for the chance to fight a goddamned krogan overlord, and instead I’m working with her. Eugh.” Sophie’s image on the vidscreen disappeared momentarily as she leaned backwards, rubbing at her eyes.

Reyes looked up from his datapad, most of his focus once again aimed at the vid call. It had only been a few hours since he’d spoken with Kheema that morning, and he couldn’t shake the conversation from his mind. “You, Sophie Ryder, backed down from a fight?” he teased, forcing a lighthearted tone.

She shot back up, peering at him from between her fingers. “Uh, did you miss the part where I’m single-handedly ensuring the survival of the Nexus?” One hand dropped into her lap and the other raked through her wind-tousled hair as worry began to creep into her expression. “Wait — is everything okay? I didn’t call in the middle of the night again, did I? I should—”

“It’s fine,” he assured her quickly. “I just… There’s a lot on my mind.” A perfectly reasonable excuse, and one that happened to also be entirely true; Reyes had found Sophie occupying most of his thoughts, moreso than usual, and Kheema’s question had left him restless and unfocused. Opting for a bit more sincerity, he added, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about us, actually.”

“Us?” Sophie echoed, one eyebrow cocking upwards as the concern smoothed from her face. “I almost start a war with the krogan one time and you start having second thoughts? I should warn you,” she said with a grin, eyes alight with the sort of mischief Reyes’ missed, “picking fights is a habit I don’t plan on giving up.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“Good.” She paused, and when Sophie spoke again there was a hesitance to her words. “So… what exactly have you been thinking about? With us? Because if it involves sex I want to hear all about it, and if it’s… bad, then, you know, I would appreciate the heads up.”

Reyes schooled his expression into one that was carefully neutral, hiding the way that Sophie’s words stung; it was unintentional, he knew, but every reminder of Sophie’s discomfort and mistrust left Reyes cursing the way she’d discovered his Collective ties. He’d meant to tell her, and even if his good intentions had come far too late he was now doing his best to make up for it, by being as open with her as he could, every step of the way. “It’s not bad. Or, it doesn’t have to be. I’ve been wondering where this is going.” He did his best to hold back a frown, carefully watching as Sophie’s expression became more closed off. “If that’s even something you’ve considered.”

“I… sure!” Sophie flashed a lopsided smile, but her voice was forcibly chipper and her grin faltered and twisted into a grimace. “I’ve definitely… done some considering.”

He gave his head a slow shake; he hadn’t expected her to have put much thought into the future — or any — given how little planning ahead Sophie ever did. “It’s not a conversation that has to happen right now. It’s just a heads up, as you put it.”

“Right. Okay. Good, because you caught me off-guard, there.” Looking away for a moment, Sophie pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She looked thoughtful — if a bit uncomfortable, cramped in the driver’s seat of the Nomad. “Could it? Happen right now? Because if it did, I’d say this whole going somewhere thing sounds pretty good. I don’t know where the hell something like this goes, but one thing at a time, right?”

“One thing at a time,” Reyes agreed.

“I have thought about it, you know,” Sophie informed him quietly, resting her chin on her knees. “Any time I’ve had something like this before, I… It—” She paused, letting out a little huff of a sigh before continuing. “Most people like neat little relationships where you plan and commit and celebrate anniversaries and shit. I… I like how things are with us. It’s so…” she trailed off again, ruffling her curls as her expression twisted with thought.

A dozen words came to mind — fragile; distant; careless — but outwardly, he offered, “Unpredictable?”

“In the moment.”

“Oh?”

“If I want to talk to you, I just call. If I don’t, I don’t,” she explained, her discomfort finally seeming to lift somewhat. “We never have more than a few days together at a time, so we don’t ever waste time on plans that would just get fucked over by Nexus or Collective business anyway — we just do whatever sounds best right then. It’s like… this whole thing, it’s not about having a relationship, it’s just… about us.”

There was a bitterness to Sophie’s words that piqued Reyes’ curiosity, but he pushed it aside; it wasn’t the time, and besides, for the moment he was more interested in Sophie’s logic than the reasoning behind it. “So if I were to begin planning lavish date nights and elaborate declarations of my affections…?” He kept his tone light — casual but not quite joking — in an attempt to encourage this brief moment of complete openness from Sophie.

Her brow furrowed, and she simply watched him for several seconds, the silence just beginning to creep towards awkwardness when she finally spoke, voice barely audible over the vid call. “I don’t know.” Sophie’s demeanor was nearly impossible to decipher; she was clearly still deep in thought, but between the dim interior of the Nomad and the less-than-perfect connection, Reyes couldn’t gauge whether her hesitance was borne of discomfort or uncertainty.

“Should I try planning something and we’ll see how it goes in the moment?”

“I don’t think it would matter,” she said slowly, eyes dropping from the vid screen to stare at something out of Reyes’ view. “I think… I think I trust you, and I think you should know that, and I don’t want to ruin this by obsessing over the future.”

Something about her choice of words made things click into place for Reyes; an equally stilted conversation from weeks before came to mind, and all of Sophie’s rage at her father and grief over her mother became once again relevant in an entirely new way. Perhaps, he wondered, admitting that she feared following in her parents’ footsteps and sabotaging their relationship was the closest Sophie would get to admitting she believed they had a future, and one she wanted.

But that was a topic better suited to a conversation that didn’t take place over vid comm.

Reyes’ brow knit together and he studied Sophie’s image as he contemplated exactly how to answer. It ached, the way Andromeda seemed to continuously poke and prod at old wounds that Sophie had only haphazardly mended back in the Milky Way, and for a moment all he could think to do was to curse the Initiative and Sophie’s role as Pathfinder and his distance from her. All he wanted was to hold her and comfort her and help her in any way he could, but she wasn’t the sort to take the time to heal properly; no, Sophie would go down fighting, whether against the kett or against the memory of her father, without any backup or contingency plans.

In combat, all Reyes could do was stand at her side; now, however, he suspected he might be able to at least steer her from the topic that was causing her so much frustration. “Then I’ll do only the most spontaneous of planning, from here on out.”

“Bullshit.” The corner of Sophie’s lips curled into the slightest grin, and some of the spark returned to her eyes. “You breathe plans, Reyes. Just don’t… don’t make the relationship more important than us.”

He’d once been prepared to let her walk away, both for his beliefs and her own happiness; it would only be harder, a second time — especially now that they’d begun to mend the damage done when he’d confronted Sloane — but it was a path Reyes was prepared to walk if it became necessary. “That, at least, I can promise.”

[ Draft 3 of 3 ]

To: Ryder, Sophie ([email protected]) From: Vidal, Reyes (Error) Subject: Do Pathfinders get vacation days?

Sophie,

Think you can spare some time to come back to Kadara?

We never got the chance for a proper date night, and I’d like to have a conversation that’s actually in person.

—Reyes

PS: It’s nothing bad. Promise.

#reyes vidal #sophie ryder #otp: steal the stars #reyder #mass effect #andromeda #brooke writes things #fic: sophie #vidcalls fic

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samirgianni · 7 years

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Thornless Blackberries

If you asked me to list all the berries we can grow in Ontario in order of how much I like them, blackberries would be an also-ran. It isn't that I don't like them, it's just that I like most other berries better. However, over the last 6 years or so, as we have struggled to grow strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries, we've been eating lots of blackberries because they grow so easily and well. I'm starting to warm up to them... Our blackberries were brought by my mother-in-law when she moved here, so I do not know exactly which variety we have. There was a popular series of blackberries bred in the U.S.A. and given the names of native tribes; I suspect them of being one of those, possibly Apache, but who really knows? In some ways, it doesn't matter much because the differences between one variety and another are not that enormous, although Apache is particularly long-producing which makes it a good choice for home gardeners. Still, there are points to consider. Blackberries are naturally very thorny canes, but for over a hundred years now thornless versions have been commercially available. It makes them far more pleasant to pick and otherwise work with, no question! But thorny versions are still sold, so if you are shopping for blackberry canes, do check. After that, canes may be erect, semi-erect, or trailing. Ours are plainly an erect version, although that doesn't mean they don't arch enough to touch the ground if they are not pruned. Also, while these are often described as self-supporting, it makes a lot of sense to build them a trellis if you have more than one or two plants. They will be more tolerant of neglect than trailing varieties though. You don't, by the way, need to have more than one plant unless you want more fruit; they are self-fertile so even just one will produce fruit. One plant will also produce more plants. They tend to send out runners and in many ways the hardest part of growing blackberries is keeping them under some kind of control. They drop seedlings all over, too. At least any that come up in the lawn don't survive mowing. My impression is that most if not all of those seedlings will have thorns, so do try to remove them while they are cute, baby thorns. We mulch our row of blackberries with wood chips, which seems to suit them fine. They should definitely be mulched quite heavily. Mowing around them is the best way to keep them in check, so their bed should be surrounded by mow-able grass. They like full sunshine for best production. About 1/4 of our bed is lightly shaded though, and this works out reasonably well as it is the last section to start ripening - and also the last section to finish ripening, extending our picking time by a week or so. If our variety is Apache, they are supposed to produce over 5 weeks and we get at least 6 weeks of picking - it's pretty amazing, actually. They just keep coming and coming. Like most fruits, they are best in a warm, not too wet season although blackberries are more tolerant of - or require, if you prefer to put it that way - a certain amount of water. It has been warm enough this year for the fruit to be decent in quality, but I have learned to make a point of not picking them until at least 24 hours after a rainfall, or the fruit will be soft, bland, hard to pick, and spoil quickly. Unlike most things I prefer to pick them late in the afternoon when the sun has been on them all day for that final burst of ripening. Most descriptions you will find on-line describe them as ripening as early as June, but those are American sites. Here in mid-southern Ontario they start ripening in the middle of August, and go until the end of September. They match well in particular with the peaches and early apples that are in season at the same time. Blackberries are easy to care for. Mostly what they need is pruning and a little support. Since they are perennial, that "little support" does need to be sturdy. We put in 2 8' tall, 2" diameter metal poles, set 2' into the ground and held in place with post cement. (You dig your hole, dump it in, add water - voila, cement. They mix it up special for this purpose.) There are then 2 sets of wires strung between them and we weave the canes up through them to hold them in place. While the plants are perennials, each cane lasts 2 years. The first year they just grow; you pretty much ignore them. In the fall they should be pruned back to about 4' in length - the exact length will depend on what variety you have, but hopefully they will tell you - and the next summer they will send out a series of side shoots, which will flower and fruit. In the meantime, once the existing fruiting 2 year old canes have finished fruiting, they should be pruned out. Late fall is ideal, but you could leave it to early spring if you had to. Then you just keep repeating that cycle. Blackberry pests are rare - other than the birds. There are some diseases but decent air circulation and good soil quality will avoid most of them, and a little light fertilizing once each year will keep them in top condition. It's not quite plant them and stand back, but blackberries are an easy and satisfying fruit to grow. from Seasonal Ontario Food http://seasonalontariofood.blogspot.com/2017/08/thornless-blackberries.html

#Seasonal Ontario Food

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