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thebearer · 2 months

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love, i found you |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: how anchovy berzatto came into your and carmen's lives. or the story of anchovy berzatto, dumpster kitten turned spoiled cat.

contains: mentions of animal being abandoned/ stray kitten. small, malnourished anchovy but nothing graphic (i won't do that to you i promise). mainly fluff. language. richie being a hater a little lol.

word count: 2.9k+

“Chefs, keep the stations clear-”

“-Has anyone seen Richie?-”

“-Jeff, I need more branzino for the seven fishes-”

“-Heard, Tina. There, uh, I think there’s some-”

“-Carm, have you seen the books for tonight?-”

“-Has anyone seen Richie? Richie! Where the fuck is he?”

A chaotic melody of screams meshed together in some kind of disarray of harmony, one speaking over the other, the sound of pots and pans clashing, hisses of sizzling food in them a backtrack to the madness.

“I’m right here, Sugar.” Richie scoffed, buttoning the front of his jacket. He patted your shoulder in passing, cheek pressing lightly to yours, muttering, “How’re you, sweetheart? Doin’ good?” In passing.

He was the first to notice you, even over Carmen. The rest of the staff bustling through the kitchen prep, trying to squeeze everything in before the family meal. Carmen had invited you to family, but you were starting to regret agreeing, feeling useless and in the way in the face of the hectic nature.

“Where have you been?” Sugar huffed at Richie, heels clacking in a stomp towards the office. “I have a million fucking things- oh, hey.” She paused, eyes lighting in a greeting when they landed on you.

“I didn’t know you were here. How are you?” Sugar hugged you, a soft side hug in greeting that you returned stiffly.

“I’m good. How are you?” You muttered, eyes still scanning the kitchen.

Sugar let out a dry laugh, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Ask me in about an hour.” She shook her head. “I have a million fucking things to do as I was telling Richie.” She turned, eyes narrowing pointedly at the man. “Only two dishwashers showed up tonight.”

“You’re shitting me.” Richie groaned. “That fuckin’ jagoff- take a chance on me, bullshit.”

“Yeah, so Neil needs to wash utensils tonight between the floor, ok?” Sugar jabbed a manicured nail into her clipboard.

“Is there anything I can do?” You squeaked, much smaller than you meant it to. Richie and Sugar turned to you, both blinking, like they’d forgotten you were even there. “Carm invited me to family, but I can help. I can wash dishes if you need me too. I don’t have anything else to do.”

“That would be-” Sugar nodded in a sigh, a small smile spreading across her face. “Did I ever tell you I love you? Seriously.” She turned to Carm, who was passing behind her. “Carm, don’t ever fuck this up with her, you hear me? I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Carmen muttered, and you knew by the drone in his voice he wasn’t listening, too consumed with other things, discarding vegetable scraps into the trash.

“This thing is fuckin’ full. Can they not- Oh, hey.” Carmen’s features softened at the sight of you, spine straightening gently. “When’d you get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” You leaned forward, his lips brushing your cheek softly in greeting. “I didn’t want to disrupt. You seemed… busy.”

Carmen snorted. “Yeah, uh, that’s a word for it. Busy, out of my fuckin’ mind because this trash is fuckin’ full!” He boomed at no one in particular.

“Now, I gotta take this out and replace it, and that puts us back, and every second counts, does it not, cousin?” Carmen rambled, glaring at Richie, yanking the sides of the trashcan off the rim.

“Look, I didn’t know that the two didn’t show-”

“-No, of course you didn’t. Can’t pay attention to shit-”

“-Alright, let’s bring it down.” Sugar lifted her hands, eyeing Carmen with a slight nod of her head towards you.

“Sorry.” Carmen muttered, eyes lifting to you. “Sorry, cousin. I-I’m just, we’re fuckin’ booked, an-and I’m so far behind-”

“-I’ll take it.” You squeaked, a little too eagerly. Carmen’s brows furrowed, you cut him off before he could finish. “No, seriously, you’re all busy. I’ll go take this out and then I’ll help make sure the utensils are ready.”

“N-No, I can’t ask you to do that. That would be shitty.” Carmen shook his head, pulling the trash bag out of the can.

“Good thing you didn’t ask me. I offered.” Your hand wrapped over his, squeezing his closed fist gently with a tiny grin. “Go, I got it.”

Carmen beamed, cheeks tinging pink. If he wouldn’t have been in the middle of the kitchen prep rush, he would’ve kissed you, pressed you right up against the wall and smooched you sloppy. Instead, he let you take the trash.

“Gary!” Richie called behind you. “Make sure you let her back in, alright? Just knock and he’ll let you back in. You’re a fucking life saver, y’know that?” Richie beamed, pushing the heavy steel door open so you could duck under his arm.

It was surprisingly warm- well, warm-ish for Chicago in the winter. No snow, no need for a heavy jacket but brisk enough for a chill. The dumpster lid was already flipped over, and you were thankful for that, slinging the bag over the edge, turning to go back inside.

You stopped, halting just as you’d turned. The tiniest squeak of a cry, desperate and alert. You turned scanning the alley walls, the corners by the dumpster until you heard it again, that same pitiful whimper echoing off the metal of the dumpster- inside the dumpster.

You hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t leave it, whatever it was, it sounded pathetic and in pain. Your eyes flickered back to the building, you could see Gary in the small window, head turned towards the others. They were so busy, you couldn’t ask Carmen or even Fak.

“I’ll be right back.” You cooed towards the dumpster frantically. “Just hold tight for me, ok? I’ll get you out, one sec.” It was silly, but you felt the need to say it, even if just for yourself.

Sprinting towards the door, you knocked on the glass rapidly. Gary pushed it open. “I need your help.” You stopped him before he could walk away. “J-Just for a second. I promise.”

Gary’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, are you- you’re ok?”

“Yeah, I mean,” You turned towards the dumpster. “There’s something in there. I think it’s a cat? I think it’s hurt.”

“A cat?” Gary’s eyes widened, still, he followed your furious pace towards the dumpster. “Wait, I-I don’t think- Lemme get Carm-”

“-No, he’s busy.” You shook your head. “It will just take me a second. I just need you to help me get down.”

Gary paused, watching you in complete awe- maybe horror- push off a discarded crate towards the ledge of the dumpster. “This is- no, this is fuckin’ crazy, I’m sorry. You don’t know what that thing has-”

Your small gasp cut him off, eyes rounding in awe. There in the piles of trash, a fuzzy blip of orange fur nestled into the black bags- a tiny, scraggly kitten, mewling helplessly.

“Oh my God,” You muttered. “It’s a baby.”

“A baby?” Gary gawked.

“A kitten baby.” You corrected, lip jutting. “I have to get it.”

“I really don’t think you should be doin’ this.” Gary looked back at the door then to you. “You can’t go in the dumpster, c’mon.”

“You want to go in instead?” You huffed, eyes rolling at his disgusted snarl. “Just- I’ll do it.” You leaned to the side, taking a deep breath of fresh air, swallowing down a gag at the expected smell.

Holding your breath, you let yourself fall into the dumpster, the squishy bags of trash uneasy under your feet. The small kitten whined, crying at the shift of your weight.

“This is fuckin’ insane.” Gary muttered, shaking his head.

“Aye, Sweeps, what the fuck?” Richie’s voice boomed, the slam of the door making both of you jump. “Take your smoke break later, you jagoff, I need your-”

“-I’m not-” Gary huffed in annoyance. “She’s in the dumpster.”

“Who?” Richie asked.

“Me!” You swallowed a retch, the pungent stench of the trash filling your senses as you crouched closer towards the kitten. At least it wasn’t summer.

“Why the fuck is Carmen’s girl in the dumpster?” Richie roared. “Carmen! Get out here now, cousin!”

“Why is she in the dumpster? Why the fuck are you in the dumpster?” Richie’s furious stomps were muted from the outside. You cringed, still trying to hold your breath, coaxing the small kitten into your hold.

The poor thing, so small- so fucking small. Shaking in your hold, crying and whining, but turned into the warmth of your palm. A cry bubbled from your chest, mixing with a gag at the smell.

“Cousin, what? What the fuck is-” Carmen bounded outside, stopping when he saw the top of your head pop up, out of the dumpster. “The fuck?”

“Your girl’s in the garbage.” Richie shook his head.

“Yeah, why the fuck- Baby, w-why are you- What are you doin’?” Carmen jogged towards you, hoisting himself over the side of the dumpster, arm extended for you.

“She found a cat.” Gary rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“A cat?” Richie repeated.

“A kitten.” You showed Carmen, pulling the small thing from your chest, where you cradled him close to you.

Carmen blinked at you. “You went in the dumpster f-for a cat? A cat?” He shook his head, confused. “Baby, that thing could have diseases a-and rabies and shit-”

“-He’s starving.” You countered, lip jutting in a firm pout. Carmen hated the way he could feel himself melting. The determination in your glare, ferocious yet soft.

“I could hear him crying, a-and I couldn’t leave him.” You shook your head, petting the tiny kitten’s soft fur.

“So you climbed in the trash?” Richie snarled in disgust.

“Climbed right in the dumpster.” Gary nodded.

“Alright.” Carmen looked over his shoulder at them, a pointed glare on his face. “Just- Lemme get you outta there, alright?”

“Here,” You handed him the small cat, carefully cradling him. Carmen hesitated, a grimace in his scowl. Your eyes narrowed at him, a warning. “Hold him gently.”

So he did, of course he did, it’s what you wanted. Passing him to Richie with the same snarl of instructions, pulling you out of the dumpster, a firm hold on your waist as you climbed back over.

Richie was passing you the kitten with a grimace of disgust, dusting his hands off dramatically. “There. There’s your garbage cat that can not come back in the restaurant. Cousin,” He glared at Carmen. “We don’t want another fuckin’ C. Get shut down for havin’ fleas or shit.”

Carmen glared at him. “No, he’s right.” You nodded. “Can you bring me my purse? I’m going to see if I can get him checked out. I’ll be back.”

“Let me come with you.” Carmen offered, motioning for Gary to go get your things, untying his blue apron.

“Carm, no. You’re busy. I can do it.” You shook your head.

Carmen rolled his eyes. “No, I’m comin’ with you. Last time I let you do somethin’ alone. End up in the fuckin’ garbage.” He snorted playfully. “Besides, I think there’s a place down the street. The vet has been in a few times. I’ll see if I can, y’know, coerce him to squeeze us in.”

“Coerce?” You lifted your brows playfully, petting the tiny kitten gently, trying to still his quivering.

“Yeah, coerce.” Carmen rolled his eyes, swapping his apron out for his jacket, handing you yours. “Give ‘im a free dinner or somethin’.”

“No fuckin’ way, no.” Richie shook his head. “Cousin, you’re already late- Sydney is pissed, and you’re not bringing that fuckin’ flea bag in here.”

You held the small cat close to your chest, still damp from his bath at the vet. Carmen’s coercing had worked, Dr. Vallenti had took the bribe happily, squeezing you both in for a check up. The tiny kitten, barely two pounds, malnourished and positively pitiful. You didn’t even have to ask, Carmen knew from the way you held him close to your chest, eyes rounding just barely when the vet asked if you’d be keeping him.

“Of course,” Carmen nodded easily, squeezing your knee gently. “Just give him whatever he needs for right now, and what we need t’get. We’ll get it.”

“He doesn’t have fleas, Richie.” You sneered, cradling the small cat in your jacket to keep him warm. His shake was down to a soft tremble, not as constant but still there.

“Yeah fuckin’ right, rabies then-”

“-Cousin.” Carmen sneered. Richie stopped with a huff, throwing his arms up and muttering something as he stormed away.

“Here,” Carmen muttered, a hand on the small of your spine, pushing you into his office. “I’ll grab you a bowl and a plate for his food, alright? You just, just stay in here, ok? Richie’s right, he can’t be out.”

“I’ll keep him in here.” You nodded, sitting in the small chair. “Do you have a towel?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab that too.” Carmen slung his jacket off, running a hand through his messy curls. “I, uh, I gotta get scrubbed up and put my stuff on, but if you need anything just yell, alright?” He ducked out to the small closet, snatching a towel and two dishes off the drying rack.

“I’ll be alright.” You hummed, fingertip tracing down the kitten’s tiny head. He purred under your touch, made your chest burst with warmth.

Carmen’s lips pulled in a smile, putting the dishes on the ground for you, shedding his own shirt. You were entirely enamored with the cat, that was for sure, not even a sideways, ogling glance at Carmen’s shirtless figure.

“Shit.” Your head snapped up, wide eyed at Carmen. “I forgot the dishes. I-I’m so sorry, I can-”

“-It’s alright, baby.” Carmen dropped his pants, biting back a smirk at how your eyes did drop this time. “Tina got her son and his friend to come in. We’re good, baby.”

“Oh.” You nodded, eyes lingering on his boxer clad ass, before back to the kitten. “Good.”

Carmen shrugged on his chef’s coat, walking over to you. “It’ll be kinda a late night.” His eyes softened in apology. “I’ll have someone run you a plate when we get outta the weeds, alright?”

“Thank you.” You muttered, head tilting back for a kiss. Carmen obliged, your lips pulling him in for a longer kiss than he expected, sweet- left his body burning with heat. “Thank you.” You repeated, eyes shining sweetly.

“C’mon.” Carmen whispered gently, shaking his head at you. “You know I would do anythin’.” He pressed a kiss to your head, looking down at the small kitten before he left.

“I think he likes it?” You whispered, on your stomach next to Carmen.

It was nearly two in the morning, the two of you just returning back to the brownstone you called home. Lying on the freshly laid tile of the kitchen, you watched the small cat explore the space.

“Yeah, think he’s gettin’ used to it.” Carmen muttered, shaking the small stick so the feather danced over the kitten, grinning when he’d scrunch and bat at it clumsily.

You pressed your head into your hand, watching the kitten prowl, ears finally perked up instead of flat back in fear. “We have to name him.” You blinked, looking up at Carmen.

“Yeah,” Carmen grinned. “Yeah, that-that would be a good idea, right?” He beamed playfully.

You smiled, gently petting the kitten’s back, smiling at how he arched into your touch. “I think it should be something kinda with the restaurant.” You suggested. “Since that’s where we found him.”

“Yeah? Like Bear?” Carmen muttered.

Your nose crinkled gently. “He doesn’t really look like a Bear.”

“No,” Carmen agreed, shaking his head. “More like a Garfield.”

You snorted lightly, rolling your eyes. “That’s such a gimme name.” You shook your head. “Maybe not the restaurant, exactly, but… similar?”

“Yeah? Like Trash Can?” Carmen muttered, lips curling playfully.

You gasped lightly, smacking his leg playfully. “No.” You huffed. “Something maybe with food?”

“Carrot?”

“No.” You pouted lightly, head tilting towards the small cat, occupied with Carmen’s sweatpant strings. “What about, like, Anchovy?”

“Anchovy?” Carmen snorted in amusement softly.

“Yeah, like the fish.” You shrugged softly. “And cats eat fish- well, in the cartoons they do, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know, baby.” Carmen grinned softly down at you. “You think he looks like an Anchovy?”

The small kitten turned, perking towards Carmen, padding happily over to him. Your face lit, glowing with beaming pride and adoration as Carmen scooped up the small kitten, let him rub his face into his chest sleepily- sweetly. You thought you might melt into a puddle on the floor at the sight.

“Alright.” Carmen laughed lightly. “Think you’re right. Think he’s an Anchovy.”

“Anchovy Berzatto.” You hummed, crawling between Carmen’s spread legs, petting the tiny cat. You smiled so brightly at Carmen, his own cheeks burned, flaming under your radiant affection.

Your lips caught him again, pulling him in for a sweet, longing kiss over the small kitten’s head. Your hands in Carmen’s hair, pulling him closer and closer, kissing him like a lifeline- it made his head swim, chest swell with adoration.

Anchovy chirped, teetering on a meow and yawn, little paw stretching in Carmen’s hold. Your forehead pressed to Carmen's, you ducked down to coo at the small kitten, moving to sit in between Carmen’s legs, your back to his chest.

Home with your little family, complete with the little kitten, Anchovy Berzatto.

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tackytigerfic · 10 months

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Fledgling

Some scrap words I won't be using for another fic, repurposed for the @drarrymicrofic prompt Hatch. Anyway, this is another dads Drarry piece (i know i know). Newborn Albus and newborn Scorpius, tired fathers, both recently separated. Harry struggling a bit with life as a parent. No major warnings that I can think of but do please let me know if there's anything. Unbetaed

ETA: actually re CW there is mention of an unwanted/unexpected pregnancy. Pls do proceed with caution if that's a tricky topic as I don't delve into it with the nuance it deserves. As to my stance, i am firmly pro-choice and it's not the sort of topic i usually take lightly.

Harry hadn’t thought the sling thing through before he left the house, and now his whole back is aching and he keeps whacking people with the unwieldy changing bag that won’t stop slipping off his shoulder. Albus is weeping noisily, one side of his tiny face pressed against Harry’s t-shirt, his new-blue eyes shutting and opening in bewildered exhaustion. Looking down into the sling, Harry can only see the fluffy top of his head, the fuzz of eyelashes, the slack weight of his plump cheek, but he can feel the tear-wettened patch of fabric spreading. They're both exhausted, the heat of summer making Harry's back prickle with sweat under the straps of the sling.

Harry's at the farmers market off Diagon, trying to buy vegetables. He doesn’t actually want to eat a vegetable, or indeed anything that involves chopping or cooking or making any sort of effort at all. In fact, what Harry wants is to go home and lie alone, in total silence, on the sofa in the back parlour, where the air is always cooler, and drink a very cold beer, and eat nothing but Monster Munch and Dairy Milk for dinner.

However Harry has to buy, cook, and eat vegetables, not just because he has to set a good example for his children, but also because if he dies of scurvy then he’ll be no better than his parents were, having a kid they were too young for, then going off and getting themselves killed. Though at least Harry's boys would have the Weasleys, which means they’d be loved at least, which is more than Harry was, and now his eyes are prickling with self-pity and guilt, and Albus is crying so hard he’s hiccuping, and god, Harry needs some sleep. But he won’t get any, because Molly can only keep James for another twenty minutes, and Harry has to get his grocery shopping done, and then it’ll be bathtime and bedtime and another broken night, and so the cycle continues, a relentless loop that might feel like a time-turner is involved except that Harry somehow manages to find brand new things to feel absolutely grim about every single day.

He sighs, pokes at a flabby-looking aubergine, then remembers how much work he’d have to do to make it taste good and just grabs some carrots instead. His hands are already full, the changing bag swinging and banging against his hip. Albus’s little legs are squirming in rage now, his whole body in muscular rolling motion against Harry’s chest.

“Please, baby,” he whispers, kissing the damp little head. “Please just calm down.”

He reaches for a butternut squash, and the bag swings forward and drops into the crook of his elbow, hitting the vegetable stall. Somewhere below him, a point he can’t actually see over the lump of screaming baby, he hears the hollow thumping noise of something falling and hitting the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a cabbage trundling onto the footpath, then another and another. The man who works at the vegetable stall gets his wand out and starts Accio-ing the fallen cabbages, giving Harry an unimpressed look which he extends to the baby in the sling. Harry feels suddenly enraged, and he drops the carrots so he can bring his hand up in front of them, a protective shield against the horrible man’s disapproval, and now the other shoppers are staring too, a woman with a bored-looking teenager giving Harry’s strewn carrots a pointed look as she bends to pick them up off the ground.

Harry can’t bear it anymore, hating himself, hating the people shopping like their worlds haven’t come to a standstill like his has, hating the great fucking changing bag and the carrots and even, for one awful shameful moment, the crying baby, and he moves further down the street to where there’s a break in the stalls, a mercifully unoccupied bench, and a busker playing some sort of multi-horned instrument that is making enough noise to drown out Albus’s wailing. He sits, carefully, so Albus is higher on his chest with one plump cheek against Harry’s fast-beating heart, and closes his eyes.

“Here,” a voice says, and Harry opens his eyes to see a plume of green feathery leaves, a hand clutching… is it the bunch of carrots? And then he looks up, beyond weary now, and it’s Malfoy there, because of course it is. “I saw you dropped these.”

Malfoy sits down uninvited, just sags down onto the bench next to Harry and lets the bunch of carrots fall on the seat between them. Harry hasn’t seen much of him since school, though he knew Malfoy had got married, and he’d definitely seen something in the papers when the baby was born. He looks awful, Harry thinks, too pale even for him, with sickly blueish shadows under his eyes. His hair is long, curling round his ears, slightly damp at the temples from the heat. He’s wearing a shirt that has some sort of greyish white stain all down the front, and the points of his collar are soft and floppy in the heat, like a puppy’s ears.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Harry says.

“I just want some rest,” Malfoy says, and he stretches his legs out in front of him and tips his face up towards the sun, closing his eyes. His throat is one long bared line, and in the crisp afternoon light Harry can see the fine glint of stubble all along his jaw where he clearly hasn’t shaved in a while.

“This doesn’t quite seem like the right place for resting,” Harry says. “This one won’t shut up, for one.” He looks down at Albus, his throat tight, then back at Malfoy. “Sorry. For the noise, I mean. I’ve tried everything and he just won’t stop.”

“Oh.” Malfoy waves his hand vaguely in Harry’s direction, eyes still closed. “I can’t even hear him, really. It’s practically a holiday for me, hearing a baby crying that isn’t my own. Not my problem, for once. No, this one here is the reason I need a rest.” He opens his eyes as though it costs him effort, and jerks his head to the side. There’s a pram parked there, the old-fashioned silver chassis winking in the sun, gleaming hood drawn up to shade the baby inside. Harry can barely see through a haze of brightly coloured sun protection charms, anti-hex shields, and elaborate cushioning charms. The pram looks like something Harry had seen in old photos Petunia had, like a relic of some half-forgotten time, but Malfoy puts a hand out almost proudly and rests it on the handle, rocking the pram back and forth slightly.

“He’ll only sleep if the pram is moving,” he says, sounding grim. “And I’ve only just got him to doze off. If he wakes up now, I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it.” He looks at Harry, eyes wide, and places a hand to his mouth as though he wants to snatch the words back.

“Give us a proper look, then,” Harry says, and Malfoy gently lifts the shielding charms for a moment as Harry leans over a little to peer over the edge of the pram to see the baby. He's small and pink and not at all pointy, just a soft squidgy-looking bundle under a light summer muslin, with an almost invisible sheen of hair the same silver as Malfoy’s on his little head.

“That’s Scorpius,” Malfoy says, and he’s grinning a little, gazing distractedly into the pram as though he can’t quite help himself. Harry feels abruptly and surprisingly fond towards him. He’s seen that expression on his own face in countless photos of him with the boys.

“He’s cute. Interesting name.”

Malfoy goes pink, which makes him look a bit more like his old self, Harry thinks.

“It’s a family tradition,” Malfoy says stiffly. “And I happen to like it. And anyway, you can’t exactly talk, naming your child Albus.”

“Hey, no,” Harry says. “I wasn’t being— I mean, sorry if I sounded sarcastic or something. I really do like it. There were three Harrys in my form, at my old school before Hogwarts. I would have loved something different. I always wanted a cool name like Rocket or… Trent or… McGuyver, or something. I’d have loved to be called Scorpius.”

“You’re making it worse,” Malfoy says, though his lips are twitching. “Trent? Honestly, Potter.”

Then, as if compelled by curiosity, he leans over towards Harry and gently eases down the side of the sling so that he can look in at Albus from the side. Harry wonders what the baby must look like, in this heat, having been crying for so long, but Malfoy’s eyes soften and he smiles into the sling like he’s forgotten Harry’s even there, and Harry feels that irrational glow of pride he gets whenever anyone admires his babies. He’s mine, he wants to say. I made him.

Albus, as though sensing he’s being looked at, takes in a huge gulp of air with a sweet little wheezing sound and then, miracle of miracle, falls silent.

Harry and Malfoy look at each other over the baby’s head.

“Oh my god,” Harry mouths, and Malfoy mouths back at him, pointing into the sling, “He’s asleep!”

Harry isn’t sure how long they sit there. He thinks he might doze off for a while, though he can’t be sure. When he opens his eyes, Malfoy is still there beside him, resting his head on the back of the bench, pushing the pram wheel idly with one foot so that the whole thing rocks gently back and forward. He must sense Harry moving, because he yawns hugely and then blinks at Harry, or maybe into the sun, which is now setting behind Harry. At some point, the street musician must have moved on, because everything has the quiet, winding-down hum of early evening.

“This idea might be utterly mad,” Malfoy observes in a whisper, since both babies are, miraculously, still asleep. “I don’t know, since I’m so sleep-deprived I think my sense of reason has been affected. But would you possibly like to do this again sometime?”

“What, present each other with root vegetables and then fall asleep next to each other on a public bench?” Harry asks, amused. “No one could ever say we don’t know how to have a good time, I suppose.”

“Are you lonely?” Malfoy asks abruptly. “You seem lonely. Is that okay to say? I was watching you, you know, trying to buy your vegetables, and you looked about as miserable as I feel, and guess what? I was glad. That’s why I came to talk to you. I don’t think I’d have got the courage up if you’d been just standing there in the sunshine all golden and dewy and— and healthy looking—” He waves a hand dismissively in Harry’s general direction, the gesture somehow taking in every exhausted cell of Harry’s body. "Which, by the way, you do. Which is bloody unfair. But you also looked absolutely bloody livid and like you were about to cry.”

“I was,” Harry admits, because if Malfoy is oversharing, he might as well too.

“And I was glad,” Malfoy finishes, with a vicious satisfaction, and sits back. “I would have assumed you’d be really good at this, like you are at everything. No, no, I don’t mean you’re not a good father, Potter, anyone can see you’re hopelessly devoted to your offspring. I just meant, you looked like you were struggling. That you weren’t enjoying yourself. It was… refreshing. Reassuring, in a way. Like I’m not the only one who’s not a natural at this.”

“Albus was an accident,” Harry blurts out, covering the baby's ears carefully with his hands, though he's so deep in sleep he doesn't even stir. “Ginny and I were already separated. She had taken the job in Wales. She didn’t even realise she was pregnant for months, because she was training so hard she thought that’s why she felt tired all the time. And when she told me, I was so happy. She was crying and crying, she hates crying, I don’t know if you know that about her, probably not. But she just couldn’t stop, these big tears sliding down her cheeks. She was completely in shock, and I didn’t care at all. I wanted him, so badly, straight away. I could barely believe I got to have him. It felt like everything I had ever wanted, and that was all that mattered to me at that moment. And now he’s here and it’s like I’m being punished for it. It’s so hard, Malfoy. I’m on my own most of the time. Ginny was meant to have them at weekends, but she’s so busy and I don’t really want them going all the way to Wales without me just yet. And Ginny can’t fly after a week of broken nights, it would be too dangerous. So it’s just me, most of the time, and I’m so bloody lonely. Some nights when I’m up with one of the boys I just stand at the window and look out, just to see if I can find another house with a light on, so I feel like I’m not the only person in the world.”

“Wow,” Malfoy says. “That is a lot to be carrying around with you. Emotionally speaking, I mean, though it looks as though you’re overburdened physically too.” He eyes the changing bag with distaste. “Honestly Potter, are you a wizard or not?” He swings a hand over the bag, and Harry sees the tip of his wand sliding into his hand before Malfoy does a complicated little shivery wand movement over the bag. Then he sets his wand tip to the shoulder strap of Harry’s sling and performs a mild sticking charm, giving the sleeping lump of Albus a little pat before he sits back again. “There, that should hold until you get home.”

“Home…” Harry feels a familiar lurch in his stomach, the knowledge that he has forgotten something crucial but can’t quite put a finger on it. “Oh my god, Malfoy. I was meant to be at the Burrow to collect James at five o’ clock. What time is it? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. If I’ve made Molly miss her Witches’ Institute meeting she will hex me sideways.”

Harry stands, Albus wriggling and grumbling at the sudden movement and then subsiding back into sleep. The sling feels secure, more comfortable around the tired muscles of Harry’s shoulders. He grabs for the changing bag, which he lifts easily with one hand, the dead weight of it now lightened.

“Wow, Malfoy. What was that charm you used on the bag? It’s actually manageable now.”

“It’s a variation on the Feather-Light charm. Same principle and same incantation but a slightly different wand movement. Makes the results a bit more stable.”

“Nice.” Harry slides the strap of the bag onto his arm. “You’ll have to show me. Next time?”

“Next time,” Malfoy said, then grins, a sudden and charming smile that shows his nice teeth and makes him look younger and somehow softer. He has a dimple, Harry notices, tucked right into the dip next to his lip, easy to miss unless you’re really looking.

“Great, I’ll owl you. And Malfoy— Thanks. For the bag, and listening to me, and… well, everything.”

“And for the carrots.” Malfoy picks up the bunch with a flourish, the delicate green fronds quivering at the movement as he hands them to Harry. “You mustn’t forget those.”

“Well, I think I’m going to get a takeaway,” Harry confesses. “But I shall make sure to put these carefully into the salad drawer of the fridge so that they can moulder away gently there for a few weeks.”

“As is right and proper,” Malfoy replies, very seriously, then the slight quiver of his lips turns to a grimace as a squawk arises from the pram.

“Once more unto the breach,” he says, already moving towards the pram, reaching in to where the blanket is rippling from tiny kicking legs. “I’ll see you soon, Potter.”

“Good luck,” Harry says, tempted to pat him on the back or shake his hand, but catching himself at the last minute and realising how odd it would be to just start touching Malfoy all of a sudden.

He sets off for the Leaky, hoping that that queue for the Floo won’t be too long. At his chest, Albus sleeps on, and Harry feels the tension leave his shoulders, somehow unburdened.

#Not to start going on and on about craft #but it's incredible how much i've learned about writing in the few years since I started creating fics #i feel much more in control of my process #and also find it easier to work and rework a piece #it's been so useful since i started writing original work #good for patches of writer's block too #as i can go back to older pieces and see how I can tweak and mould them into something closer to what i want them to be.#i mean it's a constant learning process right?#but it does feel like i *am* learning #which is very fun #anyway #drarry #drarry microfic #rowing and writing

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lexie-squirrel · 1 year

Text

Sherlock Holmes is autistic

- “...he had contrived, with that cat-like love of personal cleanliness which was one of his characteristics”. (HOUN) - “I have [...] an abnormally acute set of senses” (BLAN) - “My friend, who loved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand” (SOLI) - “I was never a very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixed much with the men of my year" (GLOR) - “Who could come tonight? Some friend of yours, perhaps?” “Except yourself I have none, - he answered. - I do not encourage visitors” (FIVE) - “...his disinclination to form new friendships...” (GREE) - “Without having a tinge of cruelty in his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long over-stimulation. There was no trace then of the horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration, but his face showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees the crystals falling into position from his over-saturated solution” (VALL) Low empathy - “He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits“ (CREE) - “He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases [...] Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner” (MUSG) - “He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge “(STUD) - “...never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon celts, arrowheads, and shards” (DEVI) special interest/infodumping - “'My dear doctor,' said he, kindly, 'pray accept my apologies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch” (SIGN) low empathy - “Arrest you!' said Holmes. 'This is really most grati - most interesting. On what charge do you expect to be arrested?” (NORD) low empathy - “We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a library where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious researches in early English charters” (3STUD) special interest - “My friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man” (3STUD) - “Holmes could talk exceedingly well when he chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession of subjects - on miracle plays, on mediæval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the warships of the future - handling each as though he had made a special study of it” (SIGN) special interest/infodumping - “His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors” (STUD) - “He is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him” (STUD) - 'Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes - it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects” (STUD) low empathy - “He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge” (STUD) - “He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and drew me over to the table at which he had been working” (STUD) personal space problems - “With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room, and closed the door behind me” (REDH) personal space problems - “...his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair...” (DISA) stimming - “He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture” (BRUC) stimming - “He began biting his nails and staring blankly out of the window” (STOC) stimming - “Yes, I have been guilty of several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for example, is one "Upon the Distinction Between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos." In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette, and pipe tobacco, with coloured plates illustrating the difference in the ash” (SIGN) special interest - “'Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound of his footstep” [...] “I was myself somewhat uneasy when through the long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread...” (SIGN) stimming - “...in his nervous restlessness, he could not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him” (THOR) stimming - “He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century” (STUD) special interest - “When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee” (STUD) stimming? - “But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally obvious. There is as much difference to my eyes between the leaded bourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of an evening halfpenny paper as there could be between your Negro and your Esquimaux” (HOUN) special interest - “'You are hungry”, I remarked. “Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since breakfast”.''Nothing?'' “Not a bite. I had no time to think of it” (FIVE) eating problems - “...for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night” (STUD) a shutdown? - “My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition” (NORW) eating problems - “But how do you know that it is hereditary?” ''Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do” [...] “He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the books in some of the Government departments“. [...] . There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. [...] My brother was one of the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere”. [GREE] autism run in families - “We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins” (CARD) special interest/infodumping - “For two hours the strange business in which we had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he was entirely absorbed in the pictures of the modern Belgian masters. He would talk of nothing but art, of which he had the crudest ideas” (HOUN) special interest/infodumping - “I remember that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus” [...] “As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject” (BRUC) special interest - “Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,' murmured Holmes, without opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information” (SCAN) - “Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime” (FIVE) - “The first day Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently made his hobby - the music of the Middle Ages” (BRUC) special interest - “An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction” (MUSG) - “Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind would go for days, and even for a week, without rest” (TWIS) sleep problems - “The mere sight of his excellent appetite was an assurance of success, for I had very clear recollections of days and nights without a thought of food” (VALL) eating problems - “You are knocking yourself up, old man,' I remarked. 'I heard you marching about in the night”. ''No, I could not sleep”, he answered” (SIGN) sleeping problems - “I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them” (NORW) sleep problems

#шерлокиана #Sherlock Holmes #Autistic Sherlock Holmes #ACD Holmes

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bwabys-scenarios · 10 months

Text

Reunited

Part 29

Illumi x Reader x Feitan

part 28

part 30

A/N: this chapter is a little short because it’s at the very end of feitan and readers backstory. I was going to go ahead to the present time but it didn’t look good, so I scrapped it. The next chapter will go back to present time!!

warnings: This is not proofread at all 🫶

taglist: @tsukilover11 @mercyboluthecrazychicken @sxyriii @shidoni-san @living4tomrua @lemonslut @honeylunalove @sugarrushdaydream @canthebest1 @whorermoviestar @fabitheraven @ashdownunderscorebeloved @astresoleil

if you’d like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment a red heart ❤️, make sure you’re able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)

Two weeks passed by quietly, nights spent staying up late watching movies and anime together.

Feitan was still gone most of the day, but he’d come home for lunch to eat with (Name). He wanted to spend as much time with her as possible while still training his body and nen.

The last week of his stay, (Name) became a lot clingier, her hugs and touches increasing by the day.

Feitan would let her slide for the most part, but being touch sensitive, he’d toss her onto whatever soft surface available to get her away from him. He didn’t want to spend his last week with her locked away in his room with a boner.

(Name) was currently crouched in her garden, pulling out weeds and watering the vegetables. It was Thursday, only a few days away from Chrollo arriving.

Or so she thought.

“Hello, (Name).”

The girl was spooked, nearly falling onto her her plants, but thankfully she’s caught by the back of her shirt. “Woah there, careful dear. You’ve been tending to this garden so diligently, wouldn’t want to crush them, hmm?”

(Name) turned to see a man smiling down at her, wearing an obnoxiously large coat while (Name) sweater in her tshirt and shorts.

“Are you okay?”

The man blinked down at her. “Okay? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you are very strangely dressed for the weather. Your chest is out and you’ve got a coat on. Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

He smiled, clearly amused. “That sounds lovely.”

(Name) lead the man by the hand inside, pouring him a cool glass of lemonade and making him a sandwich. “How did you get all the way out here? You know it’s not safe to wander in the country alone.”

She scolded him, setting a ham sandwich down on the table. He watched her with a patient smile, trying to hold back a laugh.

The girl was as kind as Uvogin had said. Not many people invited strangers into their house for snacks because they were dressed strangely.

“I can walk you into town after my friend gets home. If I leave without him he gets all grumpy. I think it’s because he’s protective, but he won’t admit it.”

She giggled to herself, munching on her own sandwich. Chrollo hummed in response, sending Feitan a quick text to say he’d arrived.

Chrollo took a sip of his lemonade, weirdly enjoying the soft atmosphere of her home. It felt homely, not a house but a home, somewhere people lived their lives instead of staying the night. (Name) reflected her home, her eyes bright and smile wide.

Having only spent a total of ten minutes in her presence, he was beginning to understand Feitan’s attraction to her.

The sound of someone running across the porch caught (Name)’s attention, Chrollo already knowing by their aura who it was.

“Feitan, you’re home e-“

“Boss.”

Feitan took a second to breathe before speaking. “Thought you were coming Monday.”

Chrollo shrugged, sipping on his lemonade. “I finished my job quicker than expected, so I decided to come early and… observe.”

(Name) tilted her head at the two, looking between them before dropping her sandwich.

“You’re… you’re Chrollo!!”

The man gave her a smile, leaning against the table.

“Guilty.”

Feitan groaned and flicked her forehead. “Why let him in without knowing? Stupid girl.”

(Name) whined, holding her forehead. “He looked like he was thirsty… and he’s like really handsome.”

She whispered the last part, but Chrollo heard. “Why, thank you.”

Feitan frowned at her words. “Handsome men kill too, dumdum.”

(Name) crossed her arms. “I’m mostly kidding. He just… didn’t have a malicious vibe, if you get what I’m saying.”

That peaked both of their interests.

“What you mean by that?” Feitan asked, leaning against the counter. She hummed.

“Well, when I meet someone new, they either have a good vibe or a bad vibe. I can almost feel when someone has malicious intent. I felt it when you saved me from that man that broke in.”

Feitan glanced at Chrollo, signaling that they would talk about this later. “I see, (Name). That’s quite interesting.”

Chrollo pushed his empty lemonade glass and plate to the side, (Name) quickly grabbing both and refilling his drink. What a considerate host!

“Do you need somewhere to stay while you’re in town? You can have my bed or the pull out cou-“

“He can have my bed.”

Feitan waved to his room, folding his arms over his chest. (Name) nodded. “Yeah, you can just sleep with me then!”

The shirt man’s face went red and Chrollo just smiled at him.

“Oh.”

That’s all Chrollo had to say, and somehow it was worse than being full on teased.

“Thank you for opening your house up to me, dear.”

——————

“So, your girlfriend seems like she’s close to awakening her nen.”

Feitan glanced at Chrollo from his seat on (Name)’s porch, scoffing. “Not my girlfriend.”

Chrollo rolled his eyes. “Uh huh. What do you think her nen would be?”

“Does it matter? She won’t be needing it.”

Chrollo hummed. “Humor me.”

Feitan sighed, watching (Name) swim along the river.

“… probably specialist. She’s unique. Not like anyone I’ve met before.”

“Really? Is that good or bad?”

Chrollo already knew the answer, just by the way a Feitan looked at her.

“… good. She’s a good girl.”

(Name) surfaced, yelling out to feitan.

“Feitannn! I saw a fish again!”

“Don’t have to tell me every time.”

She pouted. “I’m going to anyways!”

She dipped back under the waves, Feitan snickering at her words.

When (Name) had her fill of swimming, she walked onto the porch, her bathing suit dripping water. “Feitan, did you see where I put my towel?”

She scurried around the porch, bending over to see if it was under the table. Feitan glanced from her butt to chrollo, who was also looking. The shirt haired man stiffened.

“…”

Feitan ran inside and grabbed her a towel, quickly wrapping it around her. “Third time you forget.”

(Name) sighed, snuggling up under her towel and letting herself warm up under the sun. “Sorryyy!”

The girl dries herself off, then dropped her towel onto an empty seat. She pulled on her pair of shorts and stepped into her flip flops.

“Do you boys want to go blackberry picking with me?”

——————

(Name) let chrollo borrow one of her shirts, telling him it was way too hot to be wearing that big coat, and if he did just looking at him would make her pass out.

He walked out of her room wearing a black shirt with sailor moon on the chest, seemingly unbothered.

“Didn’t know you had black clothing.” Feitan said, carrying a basket in one hand and (Name)’s hand in the other. The path to the blackberry patch was covered in roots and potholes, (Name) having already tripped and scraped her knees twice.

If Chrollo weren’t there, he would have just carried her, but he had an image to keep up.

“Feitan, what’s your favorite color?”

“Black.”

“Ah, of course. Mine is-“

“Pink?”

“How did you guess!?”

Chrollo barely holds back a snicker. When he changed in her room, almost everything was pink, from her walls to the strawberry rug by her bed. Feitan shrugged his shoulders.

“Lucky guess.”

Although Feitan tried his best to act like holding her hand was a chore, when she’d trip, he’d hold onto her, his eyes soft as he steadied her. Chrollo watched this with great interest, his hands in his pockets.

Feitan wasn’t exactly the type to help someone, and he’d only ever held another persons hand when absolutely necessary.

“We’re here!”

The three look out upon a large bush of blackberries, spanning across the woodland. (Name) let’s go of Feitan’s hand to walk forward, humming as she checked the blackberries to make sure they were ripe enough to pick.

“Alright, let’s split up!”

Feitan takes a basket and walks off without another word, knowing the drill by now. Once he’s gone, (Name) loops her arm with Chrollo’s and pulls him away.

“I thought we were splitting up?”

He chuckles when you pout at him. “We will, I just need to talk with you first.”

“I see. Talk away.”

(Name) set her basket down and began picking berries. “Why don’t we play a game? I ask a question, you have to answer truthfully. Then you can do the same for me.”

This was perfect, Chrollo needed to question her anyways. “Sure, but if a question is too much I will not answer.”

“Fine with me. First, how do you and Feitan know each other?”

“We are childhood friends. My turn.”

He crouched down next to her and plucks a berry from her hand, throwing it into his mouth.

“What do you remember about your childhood in meteor city?”

(Name) doesn’t answer at first, and when Chrollo turns to look at her, his usual confident smirk falls from his lips.

She didn’t look angry or sad, she just looked… empty.

“I… was taken from the residential area when I was three years old. I don’t remember a lot, just a nice, but strict man in a… church I think? There were other children, but they were mostly older than me, so we never got to play with each other. There was this one girl though, who I remember.”

She placed another berry into her basket before smiling softly.

“Sarasa. That was her name. Her face is fuzzy, but I remember she had this fluffy purse and… Chrollo?”

The man was staring at her with wide eyes, his hand absentmindedly reaching out to grab her wrist. “Say that name again. Please.”

(Name) glanced down at his hand before answering. “Sarasa. Is the name familiar?”

His hand trembled slightly when he pulled it away, running his hands through his hair before he regained his composure.

“It is. So you knew her, huh?”

(Name) nodded, her smile brightening slightly. “Does that mean you do?”

He looked down, his smile faltering. “I did.”

The way he said that made (Name)’s stomach turn. She didn’t have to ask, she knew that something bad happened.

“When I was taken, they… they did a lot of things. Most of it has been blocked out, supposedly as coping mechanism. But the things I do remember…”

Her body began to tremble, her smile becoming a little less effortless.

“You don’t want to know, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

Chrollo watched her from the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening. He usually didn’t care about people outside of the spiders, but this was someone that had been close to Sarasa, someone that cared about her enough to be shedding tears for her.

“I see. Your turn to ask a question.”

She turned to look at him, wiping away her tears.

“Are you okay?”

Chrollo was taken back by her question, quickly shooting back at her. “Why do you ask?”

Her hand grasped his, the man looking at her hand quizzically, but not moving away.

“You seem… so tired. Emotionally, and physically. Wouldn’t you like to rest?”

This surprised him. “I…”

In so few words the girl had reached into his heart and pulled back the walls he had built up to keep prying eyes out.

Who was she? What kind of power did she possess to make the Head of the Phantom Troupe’s lip quiver like that of a child?

She didn’t say anything, just gave his hand another squeeze before letting go.

No tears fell, but for a moment he could feel them welling up in the corners of his eyes. Even in his movement of small weakness, Chrollo’s eyes remained dry.

“Last question.”

(Name) didn’t look at him, but gave a nod to show she heard him.

“Would you be interested in joining our band of thieves?”

She’s quick to answer, a smile pulling at her lips. “I don’t think I would make a very good thief. I’m slow, and my strength doesn’t compare to the others I’ve seen in your group.”

Chrollo laughed. “I see. Is that a no, or…”

“It’s a ‘not now’. Maybe when I’ve passed the Hunter Exam I’ll take you up on your offer, but for now I’ll stick to being a law abiding citizen.”

She winked, dropping another handful of berries into her basket. Chrollo watched her, taking in the moment. It was quiet besides the sound of birdsong, (Name) breaking the silence by picking up her basket and standing.

“Okay, now we split up.”

She handed him the basket she kept underneath hers and walked off in the opposite direction Feitan took.

“You hear all that, Feitan?”

The short man stopped using In to hide his presence, walking out from behind the thick brush.

“Yes… she and Sarasa…”

He had the smallest of smiles on his lips. Chrollo nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to do some research to see if her claims are true, but at least from what I could see she wasn’t lying. Of course, the truth will come out once she meets Pakunoda.”

Feitan leaned against a tree. “… so we meet her again?”

Chrollo raised an eyebrow. “Of course we will. She’s your woman, is she not?”

Feitan sighed. It was getting harder to deny the obvious truth.

“Not my woman but… mine.”

Chrollo shrugged. “Whatever. She’s yours, so make sure you take good care of her. If she’s telling the truth, she was close to Sarasa, so that makes her an honorary Spider.”

The two went their separate ways to pick blackberries to keep (Name) from getting suspicious. Feitan crouched down, thinking back to the first time he’d met her, before he really knew her.

He cursed his stupid past self, spitting on the ground in annoyance. Feitan had hurt such a sweet girl, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to truly forgive himself.

Even if she did.

——————

“Wow, that’s um… that’s a lot.”

The three gathered at (Name)’s house, the two having come back and forth when their baskets got full.

“You two were supposed to just fill a single basket, not several.”

She looked over her counter to see it covered in baskets and bowls of blackberries.

“Got more so you sell them.” Feitan replied, popping one into his mouth.

She giggled, pulling the basket he’d been snacking on away. “Don’t eat too many, you’ll get a tummy ache.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling again. Chrollo didn’t know the last time he’d seen Feitan this relaxed, if ever at all.

“I’ll go and wash some fresh sheets for you. Feitan?”

He looked up.

“You’ve got a little…”

She swiped his cheek with her finger and stuck it in her mouth. “Black berry juice on your cheek.”

Feitan stared at her with his mouth parted slightly, unable to speak.

Chrollo pretended he wasn’t paying attention, his nose buried in a book, but he’d caught Feitan’s face flush. He smirked from behind his book.

————————

The next few days passed quickly, the day for Feitan’s departure finally arriving. (Name) woke up early to make a big breakfast and prepare lunches for the two to take with them.

She’d promised chrollo as much jelly, jam, and syrup as he could carry, which according to Feitan was a lot.

She and Feitan had been sharing a bed again, the man following her to the kitchen to watch her cook.

He’d been clinging to her side all morning, holding onto the sleeve of her shirt as she walked around and gathered ingredients. She found it cute, so she didn’t say anything.

“Feitan, I’m going to miss you.”

He gripped the sleeve of her shirt tighter, not able to meet her eyes.

“Miss you too.”

Her eyes widen slightly. For Feitan, that was basically telling her that she was someone he cared about.

“Aww, Fei!”

She pulled him into a hug, peppering kisses on his cheeks. He didn’t pull back, but he did stiffen and grip her shoulders. Taking her affection was getting easier, but it would always make his heart race and his palms sweaty.

“Used nickname.”

(Name) hadn’t even noticed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask-“

“It’s okay. You can use it.”

His eyes were soft, cupping her cheek as he stared at her lips.

Feitan wanted to kiss her right now, to have a memory of her lips on his before he was gone for god knows how long.

“Um, should I leave you two be?”

At the sound of Chrollo’s voice, feitan was across the kitchen in less than a second. (Name) blinked, then tilted her head. “Leave us be? Why?”

Feitan held a hand over his chest. Had he… almost kissed her? He’d been so close to her lips meeting his, just about to close the gap in between them before Chrollo interrupted.

And for that, he sent Chrollo a glare.

She exchanged numbers with Feitan before he left, promising to send him pictures of the kitten as she aged.

And that was that.

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hinaypod · 1 year

Text

PSA: Here Lies Love Musical

Many of you listeners are probably Filipino, and may have seen this:

And maybe you're excited about it. Wow, an all-Filipino Broadway cast!

But what you have to understand is that this entire show is like salt on an open wound to the Philippines right now. Imagine if Hitler had a musical following his hopes and dreams, treated him like a silly little man more than a genocidal dictator, and also if Hitler had a kid who just came back into power.

That's what this musical is. It's an affront to all Filipinos who not only suffered through Martial Law, but suffered through the extreme economic crash caused by the Marcoses stealing billions from the Philippines.

It treats Imelda as a silly airhead rather than a ruthless, vicious, lying convicted criminal and dictator who clawed her way back into power and dodged getting arrested "because she's a frail old lady".

The only way this musical WOULDN'T glamorise Imelda is if it had a presentation at the beginning and end showing images of the people who died of starvation during the Marcos regime, who were raped and murdered, who disappeared and were kidnapped during their curfew. If it has a call to action saying the current president of the Philippines, Bongbong Marcos, needs to be removed because of his actual criminal convictions that the electoral body ignored and then scrapped.

Otherwise, it's just "what if we pretended Hitler's victims weren't real and we had a good laugh about it".

If you'd like more information, check out the Martial Law Chronicles Project and Martial Law Museum. I won't be posting the triggering imagery from that era, but I will post some quotes below from survivors:

EXTREME TRIGGER WARNING - Descriptions of RAPE, TORTURE DURING THE MARCOS MARTIAL LAW ERA PARTLY OVERSEEN BY IMELDA MARCOS

“They had a gun and they threatened me to answer the question, otherwise they [would] shoot [me].” - Etta Rosales

They ordered me to remove my blouse and they applied electric shock on my breast. Electricity went through my body until I couldn’t take it anymore. - Trinidad Herrera

“They would scare me again by touching me and breathing down my neck and then I felt something like naihi ako (I peed). I figured it was blood because at the time I did not realize I was two months pregnant.” -Fe Mangahas

Maria Christina Rodriguez said her captors burned her skin with cigarette. Her fingers were swollen because of bullet-pressing.

Maria Christina Bawagan said her thighs were hit until they looked like rotten vegetables. She was sexually abused, with her captors inserting objects into her vagina and touching her breasts while blindfolded. She said she may never know who exactly tortured her, but she clearly remembered their voice.

[source: Martial Law Chronicles Project]

#imelda marcos #trigger warning #here lies love #tw rape #tw torture #tw dictatorship

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fictoculus · 11 months

Text

౨ৎ what their bedrooms would look like...

send a request!┊masterlist┊taglist applications

FEAT... thoma, tighnari, venti, diluc, itto (+shinobu)

A/N... this is modern au!

✧ thoma.

i feel like thoma would actually have a really messy room, despite being the best cleaner known to man. with him being so busy polishing the floors of the kamisato mansion until they practically shine - not to mention the countless chores and errands he runs - it's almost impossible for him to catch his breath, leaving him absolutely exhausted by the time he throws himself onto his bed. it's almost ironic how he has cleaning supplies neatly lined up on his dressing cabinet collecting dust.

furthermore, a problem arises. thoma isn't the type to be able to say "no", therefore i think he'd probably end up with people coming over to his apartment. his more-than-messy bedroom, along with almost every other area of the apartment, means he and his visitor(s) are confined to the kitchen and living room, which - unfortunately - are not separated.

however, it could also be the complete opposite. with thoma having speedily completed all of the "assignments" set for him that day, he may find himself roaming the streets with nothing to do. after running around the city day after day, nothing seems new to him anymore, causing him to resort to cleaning his apartment searching for some form of entertainment.

✧ tighnari.

now, obviously, tighnari would have a lot of plants throughout his house, whether they're sat in pots upon the windowsill, or hanging precariously from the ceiling by a few strings. however, despite the countless amounts of greenery, his small home is perfectly clean; not a fallen leaf in sight. a stray petal spotted by him has no chance of survival, and would immediately be thrown into the composter along with any other scraps he finds.

he would also have a large garden surrounding his cottage-like house, with an abundance of greenery including trees, countless breeds of flowers, and even his own little veggie patch that he uses to grow not only vegetables, but herbs too.

towards the back would be a greenhouse, full to the brim of exotic and rare plant breeds which he often buys abroad. he keeps them there to study them, refusing to use the internet for information and relying purely on his own knowledge and the countless books he has in his basement-library. the amount of books he owns is so great, he would have to stack them besides the "library" door, leaving his home looking quite messy, but he doesn't seem to mind; he's a strong believer in "organised mess".

✧ venti.

i don't know if this is slightly random or strange, but in my mind, i think venti would make an excellent weather broadcaster; he has a strong passion with the wind, as well as a somewhat special connection, and so i think it's actually quite fitting.

in his room would be covered in charts, showing different areas of the world and little diagrams along with them of weather tendencies, levels of rainfail, and more; it wouldn't be much of a surprise to see multiple globes in his home either. despite not actually providing the information, venti wooul still enjoy studying the topics he speaks about, explaining the stacks of factual documents on his desk, facing the window of course so he can gaze out of the window and observe the beauty of mother nature's sky whenever he pleases.

in the far corner of his room, the spot in which the sun shines in the late afternoon, is a stool, his lyre sitting atop it. though it is an uncommon instrument to play, venti is more than just passionate about it's beautiful melodies, the way the strings vibrate to the perfect pitch every time, blessing the ears of those who walked by his window.

✧ diluc.

even in the real world, diluc still has a passion for the art of brewery, this hobby being so apparent that he would have his own "bar" in the basement of his home. he would have loved to take his love for brewery even further and turn it into his job, but in order to help provide for his family, including his partner, 2 children, and 3 cats, he needed a better paying job than a barista, and so ended up with an office job. as boring as it may be, he truly believes it's worth it.

his family's home would be of an average size, small enough to be homely, large enough to be comfortable. the kids would have their own rooms, though they wouldn't be massive. he and his partner would share a bedroom, as well as a bed, which would always be kept tidy by his obsessive nature for cleanliness and organisation, though a little clutter won't bother him.

i think it would be quite a basic home, what you'd expect for a modern day family, though there would be little relics spotted around the house, usually framed or kept in protective glass cases, that he'd taken an interest in over the years.

✧✧ itto. (+shinobu)

itto would 100% be a drummer. don't even ask me why, he just is. he would have quite a worn drumkit in the corner of his bedroom, which somehow withstands his passionate beatings for hours on end (put your dirty mind away); proving him to be not only a professional drummer, but also a professional upstairs neighbour, or just neighbour in general. practically all the apartment building can feel the vibrations of his rhythmic drumming, none of the inhabitants necessarily enjoying his musical outbursts.

his love for beetles still carries through to the real world, as well as his passion for the strength of geo. these likes of his are represented throughout his apartment, with beetles molded from stone scattered as decorations; the sizes, colours, and shapes ranging massively. he often volunteers at the local scouts club during the summer to take the children into the forest and (attempt to) catch bugs together.

shinobu, arguably his closest friend, shares the apartment with him, as well as the interest in music. her room is on the other side of the apartment, containing a wall dedicated to guitars (electric and acoustic) and basses. it isn't rare for the two of them to have recording sessions together; they are in a band together, after all.

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you'd like me to write next!

#genshin #genshin headcanons #headcanons #thoma #thoma headcanons #tighnari #tighnari headcanons #venti #venti headcanons #diluc #diluc headcanons #itto #itto headcanons #shinobu #kuki shinobu #shinobu headcanons #kuki shinobu headcanons #.typingptera

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azulas-lightning-bolt · 2 months

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im cooked. school is kicking my ass.

but yk who’s cooking? mako. that’s right, I have more to yap about him cause he’s my boy !!

so this post is gonna be shorter because I just wanted to share: mako is 100% an incredible cook. you give this man scraps he will put gordon gd ramsey to shame. I know in my heart that when they first became orphans (mako was eight, bolin six) bolin was THE pickiest eater. he didn’t actually care too much about what was in his food, but if you told him it was vegetables or if it wasn’t in a pretty shape he would not eat it. or if it was cooked three minutes too long? not going in this kid’s stomach.

so mako, willing to raze the world to the ground for his baby brother, learned to cook anything they got just right and make it into little smiley faces or sectioned into neat squares. bolin loved it. as he got older and started helping pull scams and stuff he got less picky (recognizing some of the desperation of their situation, despite mako shielding him to the best of his ability) but mako still made stuff look cute and presentable and at that point he’d just gotten so good at cooking whatever he had that bolin couldn’t complain if he wanted to.

cooking turns into his love language for the krew and asami is actually pissed that the fuckass rich people restaurant she took him to as an (apology?) date is genuinely mediocre in comparison to mako’s cooking. she’s like,, you were so impressed. why. you literally cook so much better that date was actually ass in retrospect with this information. and mako’s just like ?? you bought me a whole suit ?? no one has ever spent sm money on me ???

also he absolutely goes on autopilot and makes little smiley faces and kiddie style meals sometimes. the first time it happened korra poked fun, but asami and bolin beat her ass when mako refused to cook for them for two whole weeks. they were SUFFERING, korra.

he still does it but they don’t say anything. js giggle to themselves when he’s not paying attention 😭

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lovelylogans · 9 months

Text

the parent trap

CHAPTER ONE: prologue

Across the world from each other, two very different families help two very similar boys pack their bags.

Seven Pembroke Lane was not a home particularly accustomed to chaos.

Indeed, any passerby who would happen to peek into the window of the right side of the duplex bedroom that overlooked Pembroke Lane, London, England, likely would not see anything amiss.

A bed unmade, the only spot of mess in a spotlessly tidy room; a suitcase on top of it; a closet cracked open; a man in a suit folding clothes, another man in a suit frowning down at a notepad, an old man with his face hidden behind a newspaper, and a young boy rifling through his dresser.

But in the world of the Jameses, this passed for very chaotic indeed.

For Roman James, aged 11, for the very first time in his young life, was going abroad for the first time.

Alone.

Not entirely alone, naturally; there would be other children at Camp Walden for Boys, likely all eager to spend eight weeks away from their own overbearing parents, and camp counselors to supervise them all.

But Roman knew none of them. So he was quite anxious that he would be very alone indeed.

All three of his guardians were not particularly helping matters, though they were certainly trying to.

“Let’s run through my list again, shall we?” says the man who has been frowning down at a notepad and thoughtfully editing it—and the contents of the suitcase—for the better part of a fortnight.

“Hang on!” Roman says, seizing a crumpled, ripped photograph and tucking it hastily out of sight from three pairs of supervisory eyes, grabbing something else as cover, and rushing over to his suitcase. “All right, now that I’ve got—erm—my jumper.”

“A jumper?” Roman’s father says, frowning. “Darling, it’ll be summer. It’s quite a bit warmer there than it is here. I doubt you’ll need it.”

“What if it gets cold on the plane?” Roman protests. “Or at night! It gets cold at night, Dad.”

“A jumper is on the list, Janus,” Logan, Roman’s uncle (to be precise, Dad’s cousin and Roman’s first cousin once removed) says, tapping his pen against the notepad.

“Oh, all right, all right,” Dad says. “Give it here, then, I’ll fold it for you as you go over the list, go on.”

Roman, happy to have it off his hands, promptly passes it over as he tucks the photograph up his sleeve; a magic trick learned from his cards-loving grandfather.

“Very well,” says Logan, adjusting his spectacles on his nose. “Minerals?”

“Check,” Roman says, pointing.

“Vitamins?”

“Check.”

“List of your daily fruits and vegetables?”

“Check, check.”

Logan arches an eyebrow. Roman grins up at him.

“Check for fruits, check for vegetables.”

“Sunblock? Lip balm? Shampoo, conditioner, body wash? Insect repellent?”

Roman punctuates each with a nod and a point.

“American dollars for you to get snacks at the airport, stationary, stamps… photographs of your father, grandfather—”

Roman begins rifling through his suitcase.

“And uncle,” Dad adds.

“Of course,” Roman says, holding up a modest stack of photographs; if one looked very closely, they could see a ripped scrap secreted out of a sleeve and tucked carefully between an image of Grandfather reading the newspaper in the study and one of Uncle Logan absorbed in a novel.

“Clothes—that, we checked yesterday—raincoat, wellies, trainers, socks—”

“—accessories, including rings, bracelets, bracelet-making supplies, and earrings,” Dad says, reaching out to gently tweak his son’s ear, pierced to match his own, done on an outing on Roman’s most recent birthday the prior October.

“… all right, I think that’s everything,” Logan says.

“Not quite,” Grandfather says from the corner, tucking away his newspaper and pulling out a plastic-wrapped little box with a red bow on top; Roman laughs, recognizing the size and shape on sight.

“A spanking new deck of cards,” Grandfather announces, depositing the box into Roman’s hands. “Perhaps you’ll actually find someone on the continent who can whip your tush at poker!”

“Well, I doubt it,” Roman says with an absolute lack of modesty, taking it and tucking it carefully between the photographs and pillbox with minerals, vitamins, and minor fixes for every possible malady he could contract. “But thanks.”

“Now, you remember,” Logan says. “I’ll be taking you all the way to the gate to drop you off, but if you change your mind about wanting me to come pick you up and fly back to London with you, I’ll only be a phone call away.”

“I’ll be fine,” Roman says, trying to inject his voice with a bravado he cannot quite muster up to actually feel.

“If you’re sure—”

“I am,” Roman says. “Thanks, really. But it’ll be all right!”

He closes the suitcase with a solid sense of finality.

“And you’ve all promised to write,” he says, pinning each James with a stern expression he hopes does Logan proud. “You’ll have to tell me every little thing that happens around here, especially anything new!”

“I doubt there’ll be much new here,” Logan says. Roman attempts to make his expression even more stern.

“But yes,” Logan amends, “of course we’ll write.”

“Of course!” Grandfather echoes.

“It’s only eight weeks,” Dad says, smoothing a hand over Roman’s freshly trimmed hair. “Not that much can change in eight weeks, my darling.”

Roman gives him a look that says he very much doubts it.

⁂

Parker Knoll in Napa, California, was very much accustomed to chaos, and if any passerby had managed to traverse the miles of greenery and grapevines to peek into the topmost window of the bedroom that overlooked the Parker’s personal backyard, they would absolutely know it.

“Remus Parker, where on earth did you put the sunscreen? I just brought it in here not ten minutes ago!”

“Aw, Virgil, how should I know?” protests the half-visible Remus Parker in question, aged eleven, who has squirmed under his bed up to his waist. “We’ve been chucking everything I own into that duffle for hours! Ask Pa!”

“This room is a black hole, I swear to God,” Virgil mutters, rolling his flannel up his elbows and putting his hands on his hips, surveying the mounds of dirty clothes, discarded books, empty water bottles, and various tchotchkes. “If I were a bottle of sunscreen…”

“Oops, sorry, Virgil! Remus is right, I know where that went—hang on—”

The father in question buries his arm up to the elbow into the duffle before emerging triumphant. “Already packed!”

“Okay, well, put it back, that’s one thing done,” Virgil sighs, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why did we leave this to the day before?”

“‘Cause—”

“No, not you,” Virgil says, pointing to Remus’ lower half. “I know why you didn’t start packing early, packrat, I’m talking to your procreator.”

“He’s leaving tomorrow?” Pa says, his eyes immediately beginning to well up with tears.

“That’s why,” Virgil sighs. “The crying. That’s why.”

“For eight entire weeks?!” He continues, rapidly choking up.

But Pa is rapidly distracted by what would be a crying moment by the intrusion of a well-loved, four-legged creature bounding into the room.

“Sammy!” Remus yells, wrapping his arms around the golden retriever’s middle and promptly attempting to haul him up onto the bed, into the duffle; Sammy, well used to such antics, simply hops up onto the bed. Remus, undeterred, yanks open his lime green duffle bag as wide as it will go.

“No, no, you are not bringing Sammy—”

“But Sammy would be so useful at summer camp!”

“Give me one reason how Sammy would be useful at summer camp, instead of staying here where he has tons of food and land to run around on and people to play with him that he knows and likes,” Virgil says, his hands on his hips.

Remus wavers from where he’s trying to zip Sammy into the duffle without pinching his tail.

“...homesickness,” Remus decides.

“Oh, you are not—”

“Homesickness,” Pa says, his voice cracking with the emotion of his baby boy potentially experiencing homesickness, pressing his fingertips under his eyes in an attempt to stave off tears. “Oh, Remus—”

Virgil pins Remus with an expression that says look what you’ve done. Remus attempts to communicate what I’ve done, whose idea was it to send me off to summer camp for eight weeks in the name of social enrichment?! The one crying! but he probably isn’t as successful.

“Aw, Pa,” Remus grumbles as Pa pulls him in tight for a hug. Remus rolls his eyes, mostly as a show for Virgil, but he doesn’t make any movement to break away from it.

He can’t help it if his dad gives the best, tightest, warmest, most affectionate hugs ever. What’s he supposed to do, not savor it? He takes pride in being a little freak of nature, but he’s not that much of a freak.

“You don’t have to go if you really, really don’t want to, kiddo,” Pa says, taking a moment to ruffle Remus’ hair, upsetting the white streak he’s been religiously maintaining despite his otherwise general aesthetic of unkempt ruffian-ness since his birthday the previous October, before he lets go.

“I do wanna go,” Remus says. “Seriously. I mean, where else am I gonna be able to canoe and fence and learn how to use tie-dye in the way that’s gonna stain the most clothes and play poker and—?”

Pa’s lip is still wobbling.

Remus decides it’s time for a failsafe in how to keep sincerity away from him. So he guides his father’s hand to Sammy’s soft, thick fur.

“Pet Sammy,” he orders. Pa obligingly begins to pet Sammy, laughing a little as Sammy tries to lick the tears off his face.

Remus tries to smother a grin at the sight and so returns to attempting to fit his entire body under his bed.

“Virgil’s right—Sammy’s gonna stay here because you’re gonna need him, clearly, I’m going to do just fine at camp,” Remus says, then, under his breath, “oh, I know I left it down here somewhere—”

Pa snuffles, but pets Sammy. Virgil narrows his eyes in suspicion.

Remus interrupts by popping out from under his bed with an old, tin lunchbox, slightly ajar, clutched tightly in his hands. “Found it!”

“Found what?” Pa asks, thrown off his impending crying jag by an immediate sense of well-earned parental suspicion.

Remus grins up at his father, snapping the lunchbox shut before anyone other than him can get a peek of half a photograph sitting on top of the pile of contraband. “Stuff.”

“Do I want to know?” Virgil says wearily.

“Probably not!”

“Then I won’t ask,” Virgil mutters. “Patton, you’re the one who’s dealing with it if the counselors call because Remus tried to blow up a cabin.”

“You think I could blow up a whole cabin?!” Remus cries out, clearly flattered. “Just with a measly little lunchbox?”

“No blowing up cabins,” Pa says hastily, reaching out to fondly chuck his son’s chin. “No blowing up anything, for that matter. Like you said, they’ll have a lot of stuff for you to do that doesn’t involve mass destruction.”

“All right,” Remus says, leaning his chin down onto his father’s fingers with as much force as he can manage. “Fine, no mass destruction.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, squirt,” Pa says, pressing a kiss to his forehead, even as Remus groans and squirms and promptly tries to wipe off his forehead, as if ridding himself of any essence of genuine sentimentality.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to cause plenty of trouble without resorting to mass destruction.”

“That’s what we’re afraid of,” Virgil groans wearily, reaching out to calmingly pet Sammy for himself.

masterpost | next chapter

#my fic #my fanfic #tpt fic

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cloudcountry · 10 months

Note

AAAAAAAA I’M HAPPY YOU LIKED IT SO MUCH!! :DD THANK YOOOUUUUU

HDBFGJD YES WE SHALL BEAT UP BEETHOVEN’S DAD TOGETHER 👊💥 And phew, I’m glad I was kinda right about there being kids mncvbmfg-

And yes, Beethoven and MC as friends!! 👏 He would absolutely dedicate a piece to them- He’d probably title it something like “The Beginnings of Friendship: Bagatelle”

I was cackling reading your commentary- I love your enthusiasm!!

Ngl, I was supposed to stop there at the dialogue pieces for Beethoven, but then I accidentally stumbled upon character cards for Ikevamp characters… And you know what I had to do 🧍 Yeah, I made a whole mock character card for him- (Only in text though- I don’t have any editing programs-)

~~~

Ludwig van Beethoven

The Fiery Maestro

Intense and emotional, the prodigy began playing in public at seven years old. He usually spends his days in the mansion’s garden or music room, thinking of new melodies. Despite his hot temper and sharp tongue, there’s a sense of loneliness hidden in him.

Birthday: December 16 [Fun fact: We actually don’t know the real Beethoven’s birthday,, he was baptised on December 17, so it’s generally assumed he was born the day before.]

Height: 162 cm

Occupation: Composer, freelance musician

Hobbies: Hiking through nature, billiards, card games

Dislikes: Dishonesty, lying

Specialty: Musical improvisation

Weaknesses: Cooking, math

Favourite food: Macaroni and Cheese

Hated food: N/A (Food is little more than sustenance to him. He doesn’t really care for it; if something’s meant to be edible, he’ll eat it. Though, he does prefer more simple dishes)

Vampiric Type: Lesser Vampire [I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what’s the deal with vampiric types, so I’m kind of going off of what I’ve read and pure vibes-]

“To tremble in my music is your honour.”

~~~

Ikevamp Beethoven 🤝 This Clavis Ikepri fellow

-Makes the most horrendous soup known to mankind

Jhbdfg But yeah!! Beethoven is straight up a horrible cook,, I actually made a mini scenario based off of this; One time, he was assigned to make dinner for everyone, and uh… The results were less than optimal- Beethoven spent almost two hours in the kitchen, huddled in front of a stove wearing a blue apron, and dinner was served. He made soup, which Doyle later could only describe was “more suited for charitable scraps given to dogs outside taverns.” The beef he did was half done, better suited for an animal. Vegetables floated in the ’soup,’ which was a mixture of water and grease, and the roasted meat looked like it was done in the chimney.

Of course, no one could say anything about it, because if they did, Beethoven would literally, viciously, mercilessly tear them apart, mostly verbally. (The last time he got really angry, he stormed off to the music room, banged on the piano for like thirty minutes [creating the loudest half hour of everyone’s life], and six piano strings were broken as a result.) So they just kept their heads low and tried to eat. They couldn’t do it. It was barely possible to even choke down a few bites, so they just stuck to the bread and fruit he provided.

He was never assigned to cook dinner ever again.

Vincent, about Beethoven: Whenever I hear such a man march behind me, I can’t help but get nervous. He’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure!

Doyle, about Beethoven: I like his music, no doubt about that. But, it seems like he conducts his music better than his own temper.

Oh, and one more thing about Beethoven!! You know how Beethoven’s speciality in musical improvisation? That’s not an exaggeration- Both the Ikevamp Beethoven and the real figure are actually really good at it-

[Note: Yes, this is based off an actual event]

Beethoven: Daniel Steibelt? …Hah! I haven’t heard that name in a long time. Yes, I remember him quite well. He once challenged me to a piano duel, where we both had to improvise.

MC: An piano duel?

Beethoven: Yes, though, to be more accurate, they were improvisation contests. These contests were a popular form of entertainment in Vienna’s aristocracy. One nobleman would support one virtuoso pianist, another nobleman would support the other. In the salon of one of the nobles, the two pianists would compete with each other, each setting the other a tune to improvise on, and the playing would go back and forth until a victor was decided.

Beethoven: But I digress. It was agreed that Prince Lobkowitz would sponsor Steibelt and Prince Lichnowsky would sponsor me. The improvisation contest would take place in Lobkowitz's palace.

Beethoven: Steibelt played first. He went to the piano, tossed a piece of his own music on the side and played. Steibelt was renowned for conjuring up a ‘storm’ on the piano, and I must admit, he did this to great effect. He received great applause, and it was my turn to play.

Beethoven: I picked up the music piece Steibelt tossed aside, his own work, and then I turned the paper upside down. I played that piece, sight-reading it backwards and I improvised, imitating and picking apart Steibelt’s so-called ‘storm.’ I played for more than an hour, and I didn’t notice that Steibelt left after only thirty minutes of my playing.

MC: He left before you finished?

Beethoven: Indeed. After he left, Prince Lobkowitz, the man sponsoring Steibelt, then said to me that he was so humiliated that he would never set foot in Vienna again as long as I lived there. What a foolish thing to promise.

[And ngl, it was kinda foolish! Beethoven lived in Vienna for the rest of his life, and true to his word, Steibelt never returned. Oh, but Beethoven actually played the first four notes of Steibelt’s piece before varying them… Those four notes would then become the impetus that drove Beethoven’s Third Symphony. That feels like rubbing salt in the wound at that point,,]

Jackdaw Anon 🐦

HAHSGFDH OFC I DID YOU PUT SO MUCH WORK INTO EVERYTHING YOU DO ITS SO ADMIRABLE :(( I WISH I COULD EXPRESS HOW EXCITED I FEEL EVERY TIME I READ THROUGH YOUR STUFF HSAGDFHASGD

beethoven's dad is gonna catch my fist in his mputh RAHHHHH

“The Beginnings of Friendship: Bagatelle” SSOUNDS SO FANCY :((( TAHTS SO KIDN OF HIM HELLO!!!!!

HE LIKES HIKING!!! HES SO REAL FOR THAT OMG and his weaknesses being math is so real.

PLS THAT SLITERALYY HIM EXCEPT CLAVIS DOES IT ON PURPOSE. EVERY BAD INGREIDENT IS INTENTIONAL ITS SO BAD. poor residents though :((( LIKE SORRY BEETHOVEN BUT ISAAC DESERVES GOOD FOOD GHSDFAHSDFAS

BEETHOVEN KICKED HIS ASS DAMN,..,., MUSICAL DUELS ARE ALSO SO FUNNY TO ME BECAUSE IT SEEMS SO DRAMATIC AND FUN LIKE??? two guys absolutely smashing the keys of a piano to figth each other is hialrious i want to wathc it so bad GAFSDHGASD

why are musicians so petty HEKPLP

#jackdaw anon <3 #🎹! ikevamp beethoven

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folkgirlhero · 2 years

Text

The Unbecoming of Elias Bouchard (M, ao3)

After about 1,000,000 years (10 months), my Michael/OGElias fic is finished! Hooray! Enormous shoutout to @blindbeta for doing a sensitivity read (and more, tbh) for me! Check it out here

Excerpt (from Chapter 4):

Some days it was like this:

“You’re too old to sit like that now, surely.” Michael commented, dropping two tote bags of groceries on the kitchen island and shaking off his coat.

Elias grinned where he was sat at the dining room table, chair turned the wrong way ‘round, chin resting on the chair back. “Counterculture ‘til I die, baby.”

Michael laughed and leaned over Elias where he was now frowning at his Perkins Brailler, trying to remember what his teacher had said about telling the difference between “i” and “e”.

“And how goes the memoir?” Michael teased. Really, tell the man you feel like Hemingway on the machine one time…

“It will be earth-shattering, so long as I can learn to spell my name right. Check for me?”

And Michael did, and then started chopping vegetables for their dinner and Elias turned on the record player and went back to clacking away with his tongue between his lips in concentration. The quiet between them was comfortable as a warm quilt, patchworked with the worn scraps of who they were before, and when Michael walked by Elias to go to the pantry, he trailed a hand over his shoulder and Elias leaned into it, easy as anything.

Elias dug his socked toes into the carpet and inhaled the smell of onion and garlic sauteing in a pan and the soft sound of Michael singing to himself and it was perfect.

Then, other days were like this:

The sounds of Michael pacing his bedroom, rambling to himself, his manic bursts of laughter. Elias knew better than to go in and try to talk to him—these dark moods were just another part of their life now. Sometimes Michael was still his ray of sunshine, bright and eager to please and then a switch would flip and his laugh would turn mocking, or he would have a short burst of meanness, like a raincloud passing by, there and then gone. It was a small price to pay to get Michael back, to be allowed to keep him. But that didn’t make it any easier.

There was a crash that suggested broken glass and Elias huffed out a sigh and flipped to his other side, resisting the childish urge to stuff a pillow over his head. Michael—the old Michael—would have been much better at this than Elias was, if their positions were reversed. Michael had been much better; how many times had he held and soothed away Elias’s frantic energy?

It’s just. They weren’t—well, Elias wasn’t sure what they were and weren’t, exactly. They certainly weren’t in a relationship, at least not the kind they had been in when they were in their 20s. Elias would say “roommates,” if the thought wasn’t so depressing he wanted to fling himself off the roof, but, honestly, that wasn’t quite right either.

It felt like living with a total stranger, in many ways, except the total stranger knew a handful of the most important things about you and also you were still, inconveniently, in love with him. Also he was a little bit of a monster.

An enormous thud let Elias know that Michael had flipped over the guest bed again. He should really get up and go to him.

Instead, he groped around the bedside table for his earplugs. For all his growth, he was still a coward.

[don't worry, this has a happy ending :))]

#my fic #tma fic #michael shelley #michael distortion #og elias #ogelias/michael

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thenerdytomboy · 2 years

Text

Useful(S.o.C Chapter 2)

Word count:~1,100

warnings: none

...

He feels useless.

A week of rest should be more than enough before he could at least get up and help around the house, right? Vivek thought so, but Harriet and Fern disagreed, quite harshly in fact.

“Now I don’t know what kinda life ya lived out on that journey o’ yours, but ya sure as hell ain't straining yaself under my watch!” The yellow-haired woman had exclaimed when Vivek first tried to help Aspen and Holly with some of the lighter work, but even that seemed to be too much for him to take on in Harriets’ eyes. He had tried his best to reason with the woman, but she was as stubborn as the mule they had outside.

“Mrs. Wolfson-”

“Hun I’ve told ya, just call me Harriet.”

“Mrs. Harriet, I can assure you I’m perfectly fine! I can help with the sewing and cooking-”

“And have ya stabbing yourself with needles or standin’ in a hot kitchen for hours? No, I forbid it, ya still weak, and I ain't having ya pass out on us again! Need I remind ya of yesterday?”

Vivek cringes back slightly, remembering the exact tumble down the stairs she was referring to, “My foot slipped….”

“Yes, and ya damn near cracked ya head open again! Almost gave this poor old woman a near heart attack! Just take a few more days of rest, alright? Just t’ give this old bird some peace of mind. Ya can help me bake a pie then, alright?”

“...If it’ll give you peace of mind…”

“Thank ya, dear. Now up them stairs or to the livin’ room, I want you takin’ it easy! I suppose keepin an eye on Cassidy while she does some school work shouldn’t be too strenuous, if you’re really that hellbent on helpin’ ‘round the house.”

“I… I can do that, Mrs. Harriet.”

“Just Harriet is fine, dear.”

…

Vivek had to admit, he missed this. He missed the chatter of family, the laughter of siblings both older and younger as the dishes clanked at the dinner table.

Harriet had decided it’d be better to have Vivek sit down with them for dinner, now that he was no longer bedridden. He had been given a seat between Jonah and Aspen, and already his plate was loaded with various meats and vegetables. It all smelled remarkably good, and even though he had been eating the same as them this past week and a half, this time felt different. There was no rustle of leaves from wind or rain that would threaten to blow out his fire, no animals trying to take his food, other than the family cat Scruffles begging at his feet for some extra scraps.

Truth be told he was not very good at resisting those kitten eyes, so the fluffy thing would always run straight to him when mealtime came around. He tried his best to be discreet about slipping the little thing a bit of chicken every once in a while.

He couldn’t wait to try the rhubarb-strawberry pie he and Harriet had made earlier.

It was a shame that he’d be leaving all this behind soon enough. As much as he had come to enjoy his time here, he knew better than to stay in one place too long. If he got too comfortable, got too used to everything, he’d hesitate. Hesitate to return to his journey, hesitate to go seek out the knowledge he had originally left for.

He could already feel himself growing hesitant.

…

‘The pie was delicious.’

That's what the purple-haired man thought to himself as he quietly packed his bag in the now dim house. Tonight was the night, any longer and he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave, curse his red side…

Sometimes he wishes he had a bit more blue.

‘I just need to leave. I need to leave before I sink so far into all this love and understanding and get stuck. I need to travel, I need to learn more about the world,’ he thinks to himself as he silently grabs his things and puts them in his bag, ‘All of that time and effort of my journey will be wasted if I settle down now…’

A glance at Jonah sleeping on the floor near where he was crouched.

‘I know he said he’d come along but, I can’t let him risk his life. Not when he’s needed here. This is his home, his people, his family. He shouldn’t give that up for some stranger with a dream.’

‘It… Maybe I could come back and visit?’

‘...No, then I’d have to answer why I left, and I might not get away a second time. I’m gonna miss them though… Maybe I can at least leave something for the troubles.’

…

He had only been walking for a few hours when he heard that familiar voice call out his name.

“Vivek!! Wait up!”

He could’ve known from the footsteps alone that it was Jonah running after him. He wanted to run and try to lose him, but the brute was already caught up by the time Vivek was about to take off.

“Ya should’ve told me we were leaving last night! Almost didn’t catch ya!” He says with his usual smile, “Ma and the others were mighty sad ya didn’t say goodbye in person, but I understand it can be hard to do so sometimes! Ma loved the geode ya left, said it was going right on the mantle piece!”

“What? No! I left that so you could sell it, to take of care of the expenses of taking care of me for 2 weeks! I didn’t leave it for decorating!”

“Welp it’s too late, Ma has already made up her mind! ‘Sides we didn’t take ya in expecting payment! You being healthy and safe was more than enough for us.”

“...You didn’t catch up with me just to thank me for the geode, did you?”

“Nope, as I said, I’m coming with ya. Too much danger out in these lands for ya to be running around by yaself.”

“But your family-”

“-will be fine without me. Aspen said she’s been wanting to help Pa with the animals anyways,” the orange-haired man chuckles. “I told them long before ya ran off that I was goin’ with ya, they’ve been prepared for today for pretty much a week already!”

“Jonah-”

“So where to now? Can’t wait to see where you’ll be leading me, Viv!”

Vivek sighs, but smiles as he pulls out his map, “Well… there's this town about a three days walk from here…”

#Shades of Curiosity #Vivek #Jonah #oc writings #ryes writing #ryes ocs #ryes oc writing #ocs #writing

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sashi-ya · 2 years

Text

~ 🌸 Cherry Blossoms Over Wano Event 🌸 ~

Sfw ~ Sanji x F! Reader ~ Food for the Kids of Ebisu

tw: spoilers from Whole Cake Island. A little angsty. Super fluffy 💖

wc: 1.8K

Like this event? masterlist 🌸~

My dear @simp4ace here I am with your request my darling! I hope you enjoy this sweet little scenario of our lovely cook! Thank u so much for your support!! Love u! 🌸The request was:

@simp4ace asked: Can I have food for the kids of Ebisu with Sanji please? SFW and with F!reader if it's alright hehe

His golden locks flow with the subtle breeze of Ebisu city, and his smile shines brighter than the sun. Who is that Soba cook? The technique he uses to stretch the buckwheat noodles is strange yet looks as if he was a professional.

Every kid smiles with a big bowl of Soba in their tiny hands, they genuinely do, not because of the SMILE fruits effects, but because they are extremely happy. So many of them have never tasted a simple -yet exquisite- plate of Soba in their life and it’s sad to say probably not even a warm bowl of anything either.

“(Name) you should taste this! It is amazing!” a little kiddo from your town offers you some noodles with his chopsticks. “Thank you, sweetheart! Don’t worry, eat them all! I will get one for myself” you tell him, because even if the poor little child was famished, he was sharing his portion with you.

You keep walking over the arid and inert soil of your city that once was green and full of flowers, towards the Soba stand of that benevolent man who keeps cooking with a smile on his face, giving the kids as many plates as they want for free.

“Hi…” you salute him once you are close enough to see his face. Blue eyes like a deep ocean, fair skin, fancy looking brows, but a noble expression that makes you feel safe and warm by just looking at him. “Oh… hi, mademoiselle! What a beautiful woman you are! Do you want some Soba from my Soba stall?” he offers you, in the most chivalry way possible, and you could swear his eyes got hearts when he saw you.

You nod, because frankly your stomach growls and the scent of such gourmet preparations is making you hungry, really hungry. His soft hands graze yours when giving you a big bowl of soup. He points out that for you, carrots were cut in heart shapes. Truth is, he did the same for every kid, making them surprised and amazed to see vegetables in cute forms.

“Thank you so much, Sir. How can I pay you?” you ask, ashamed because of taking some food that might be just for the kids. “Your mere gorgeous presence has made me happy enough, it’s nothing! Plus, it is my duty to feed the starving people” he says, and then again that sweet beams shine its light over you.

You couldn’t help but smile too, all of you are used to Kaido and Orochi’s guards mistreating you, asking for huge amounts of beri you don’t even have, forcing you to eat scraps and rests and even contaminated water.

“Then I’ll help you here! Can I?” you ask, not only for how grateful you feel but also because you really wanna stay next to him a little longer. His cheeks get sprinkled in a pinkish dust, and his face shows how surprised he is from a girl to ask a simple question. “Y-you wanna stay here with me?” he mumbles, amazed.

You giggle, astonished. Why is he saying that as if nobody would like to be next to him? “Of course, sir! I wanna help, tell me what I can do and I’ll begin right now!”

He jolts, perhaps a little offended. “NO. Your soft hands, my lady, cannot be used for this. I don’t want you to work! Let me prepare you another bowl and a place to rest where the sun won’t heat your skin and damage you”

In no time he has put a stall in the shade and somehow you have already a place to eat like a princess. You can’t believe how helpful he looks, almost like a maître. It’s amazing. “I… Sir, thank you… but… at least, what’s your name? I’m (Name)” you ask, ready to dig in the second plate of his delicatessen.

“I am Sanj… I mean, Sangoro! Yes, the best Soba cook in Wano!” he informs you, with his hands at each side of his tiny waist. Buts it is fun to say, he was of course lying and no “Sangoro” lived in Wano. But he is helping the poor children, and there is absolutely no doubt he is a good man. Who cares why and how did he get here, the only thing that matters is his heart.

“Glad to meet you, Sangoro! I haven’t seen you around Ebisu before, but your presence here feels like a miracle. Many of these kids have perished because of hunger, so you can imagine how a blessing you are”

He turns around for a second and takes his forearm to his nose. Is he crying? “Sangoro, are you alright?”

Glossy blue eye looks at you, eye that hide something painful, a dark past perhaps. “Yes, my lady! I’m a hundred percent fine now that I have your company here” he lies, once again. But those are not bad lies, those are lies that have to be said. And it’s ok, it’s fine.

After many of the kids and old people have indulged in the blessing of his Soba noodles, Sangoro feels exhausted, yet he never shows it to you… oh but you can see it. “Sangoro, would you like to take a walk under the moonlight?” you offer him, realizing that your words had the effect to make his curly eyebrow twitch.

“Of course my lady, I’ll be glad to” he says, taking his hands to his nose immediately. A little red drop slips through his fingers, and you soon realize he is having a nosebleed. “Oh, Sangoro-kun! You are bleeding! Let me help you” you tell him, taking a little piece of clean cloth you usually use as a handkerchief to his face. Gently you push his hands off his nose and clean the string of red fluid coming out from his nostril.

You give him a sweet beam, those smiles that feel like a healing caress to your soul, without knowing your beauty was indeed the cause of his bleeding. “There, you must be really tired from working all day Sangoro-kun. Come on, let’s have a walk” you tell him, grabbing his sweet wrist and pulling from him.

He follows you, stumbling a little. He is not speaking, but only looking at the way your hair flows with the wind and the butterfly hair pin he hasn’t noticed until now. Your mother’s gift, a black and white butterfly that looks like it's flying around your hair whenever you use it. You have no wealth, but that is the most precious treasure you hold. And you chose to wear it today…

After walking into the forest, the side of the nearest pond where the inverted half-moon reflects, seems like a good place to rest. “Let’s sit here, don’t you think it is super pretty?” you tell him, as happy as ever. Sangoro, smiles kindly and nods. You don’t know if he is not into you or if he is out of words. In any case, you don’t mind. You just want to be with him at least for a little more time.

You dip the tip of your toes in the warm water of that pond, playing with some marimo moss balls floating around. “Marimo” Sanji mumbles and giggles a little as he sits on your side, and then looks at the moon. The silver light bathes his fine profile, from his pointy nose to the goatee on his chin. He looks more like a prince rather than a cook, but who are you to say either way? you haven’t seen a prince in your life.

You thought of saying something, but instead, you decided to say nothing. Contemplating in silence his beautiful face had its own lure.

Yet there was something that caught your attention earlier… when grabbing him by his wrist you noticed a mark on his skin, as if he had tight bracelets that he recently took off. “Could they be shackles? Was him a criminal? But… he looks so noble” you think, kind of freaking out since you have taken him to an isolated place with you.

“Uh… (Name)-chan… what a pretty hair pin” he whispers, pointing at your hair and breaking the mental state you were in. “Oh, it was my mother’s gift. It is really pretty, you are right!” you chime, trying to avoid the crippling need to ask about his marks.

But you just can’t close your mouth. You can’t…

“Sangoro… what’s with your wrists?” you ask, holding his hands softly and inspecting the marks under the white wash of the moonshine. The blonde widens his only visible eye and looks straight into the pond. A much sadder expression invades his face, and some tears form into his eyes.

You, desperately, -and frankly feeling guilty for making him sad- say to him he doesn’t have to tell you anything. But he insists, yet, never able to watch your face during his speech.

“So… uhm. My family… well not my family anymore, but you know those who are blood related to you. Let’s say I was forced to do some stuff and to avoid me escaping they put some bracelets on my hands, like those collars the celestial dragons use with their victims… the exploding ones, you know? I am a chef, my hands are sacred, I couldn't… I couldn’t lose them” he says, sobbing.

You tighten your grip around his hands and have the feeling he's talking about this for the first time to someone else since it happened. “I’m so sorry, Sangoro”.

“Actually, my name is Sanji” he confesses, now looking at you with a tear running through his cheek. “I knew you weren’t called “Sangoro” nobody has a name like that, you know?” you tell him, laughing a little and wiping the tear with your thumb. He giggles, laughing softly in between crying.

You hear for the very first time a sincere laugh from him, and it’s a beautiful melody of pureness and innocence. Something that motivated to take his wrists to your lips and plant two sweet kisses over them. “Thank god these hands were saved” you mumble. Sanji’s lips tremble, “yes, they were saved…” he beams.

Your eyes fix, and for a second or two none of you said anything. Maybe you just met him, but you felt like you already loved him. And you suspect he is feeling the same way towards you. Is it appropriate to kiss him? you ask yourself, biting the inside of your mouth until…

An alluring butterfly, with white wings and black body perches on your nose. The cute insect looks just like your hairpin. The image of it reflects in Sanji’s blue sky eyes and he slowly approaches his index to your nose, allowing the butterfly to rest now over it.

“Hi…” he says, smiling warmly at its graceful slow wing motions. You remain silent, in awe until the little cutie flies away.

“Sanji… can I kiss you kn0w?” you ask, sure this wasn’t the most romantic way of saying stuff and owning a playful laugh from the blonde.

“Yes, the butterfly said it was ok to do so” he laughs… 💖🌸~

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Text

Baby Steps (A Good Man)

A/N: Hello my sunshines! I’m back with another little installment of the AGM ‘verse with our favorite Javi and Dulzura! I love them so much and I’m glad y’all do too! I hope you guys enjoy! As always, comments and feedback are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged let me know! Xx

*can be read as a standalone or part of the ‘verse as a whole*

Pairing: Professor! Javi x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: language, pregnant!reader

A GOOD MAN ‘VERSE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

JAVIER MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Mrs. Peña?” the sound of your name still surprised you, despite the fact that the students had been calling you for several months now. A grin worked its way onto your face as you looked at the young boy who was watching you with wide, eager eyes. Putting your pen down, you motioned for him to continue, “will you come outside and play with us?”

“You want me to hang out with you guys?” you almost laughed at the idea that any kid deemed you worthy of spending time with them, “I thought teachers were lame, Mikey?”

“Some of them, but not all of them! You’re pretty cool,” he smiled and displayed his toothy grin. How were you supposed to say no to him? You nodded and stood up, taking the hand he was holding out to you, “besides we’re playing kickball and we need one more person!!”

“I should have known you were just using me for my exceptional skills,” you pretended to be hurt as he pulled out of the building and into the playground, where the sun was shining brightly.

Normally, you’d have turned him down, opting to get some work done during the lunch period, but decided you might as well indulge him and yourself. You really enjoyed the kids you had this year, and it was a gorgeous early spring day.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Turns out, kickball with a bunch of seven and eight year olds was not as simple as it seemed. They seemed to come up with all sorts of nonsense rules, and on top of it all, they happened to be extremely competitive. And yet...you were thoroughly enjoying yourself - and glad you had opted to wear jeans today instead of a skirt or dress. Javi had been particularly fond of the tight, high-waisted jeans that hugged you in all the right places, getting very handsy before you both had to leave for work. Typical Javier; not that you minded of course.

“Come on, give us a good one, Mrs. P!” Mikey yelled at the top of his small lungs as you proceeded to kick the ball that was rolled at you. You offered up a firm kick, but not one you would have used if you’d been playing with only adults. Taking unfair advantage was something you definitely didn’t want to do.

As soon as your foot made contact with the red rubber ball, you watched it whistle through the air before running to the first base. But...it was over before it started as you ran and then immediately proceeded to trip over your slightly untied shoelaces. You made contact with the hard earth before you knew and rolled your ankle in the process.

You landed with a mixture of an annoyed sigh and a loud oof as you chided yourself. You should have made sure they were properly tied before doing anything. The kids clambered around you, faces anxious as they tried to make sure you were okay. Physically you were sure you’d be just fine, but mentally your pride was wounded. Oh, to make a fool of yourself in front of a bunch of children.

“I’m alright,” you promised as you slowly rose to your feet; an instant tinge of pain shot through your ankle and leg as you almost lost your balance again. Maybe you were hurt… “it’s alright - you guys go back to playing and I’m going to go back to the classroom and sit for a moment. I might have twisted my ankle.”

They nodded, but gave you wary looks as you hobbled back inside the building. You should have remained the umpire and refused to play; you were obviously not coordinated enough for any of this. Slumping back in your chair, you rolled up your pant leg and hissed at the sight of the already swollen ankle. Shit.

“You’d better get that checked out,” Anna, one of the teachers from across the hall looked at you with a pained expression, “looks painful.”

“Nothing some rest and elevation won’t fix,” you insisted as you slumped against the back of the chair, “I’m too old for this! When did I become an adult?"

“Hey, at least they think you’re cool,” she huffed playfully, “they never ask me to play! But seriously, that looks pretty bad. And it happened at work, you know how they get about stuff like that.”

“Fineeee,” you groaned, “I’ll go to the school nurse.”

“I would recommend an actual urgent care or ER visit,” she raised an eyebrow, “besides, you know how Javi gets - he'll flay us all if he thought we weren’t looking out for you.”

“He’s...something else.”

“He’s amazing,” she reminded as you nodded in agreement. For how much of a worrywart he could be, you knew it was all out of love, “now go and get it checked out. I’ll handle getting the sub in and telling everyone. You have enough to worry about. Can you make it okay, or will you need a ride? Should I call Javi?”

“I can drive myself,” you promised, thankful it happened to your left foot and not the right, “I’m not going to bother my darling, overprotective husband just yet. Not until I can confirm that nothing is actually wrong. I don’t want him to stress over nothing, and I’m sure by the time he gets home tonight he’ll just be laughing at me and my clumsiness!”

“Alright,” Anna grabbed your purse and handed it to you, as you managed to slink out of the chair, “go get checked out and feel better. If you need anything at all, just call me.”

“Thanks for all of your help,” you hobbled towards the door, trying to keep as much weight off of your foot as possible, as Anna grimaced at you, “I swear it’s not that bad - worse than it looks.”

“Sure, sure,” she disagreed politely, “now quit stalling and go get help!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The white walls and bright lights of the exam room were enough to rattle your nerves, even if just ever so lightly. You sat on the examination bed and tried to keep yourself calm as you waited for the nurse to come back and begin examining you. Nothing but the distant sounds of people outside and the tick-tock of the aging clock met your ears. You almost wish you’d called Javier just to have some company. Shit.

“Mrs. Peña?” a kind looking woman, maybe around Javier’s age poked her head in as you nodded, “sorry for the wait, we’re pretty busy right now. You’re here for a rolled ankle?”

“Yeah,” you answered as you relaxed at her comforting presence as she came in and sat on her rolling stool, eyes immediately dropping your swollen and irritated ankle, “I was playing with my kids outside - kickball - and then tripped over my own damn feet and ta da!”

“Were you at home when this happened? Playing with your kids?”

“Oh no, I’m a teacher,” you quickly explained, a warm flush rising up your cheeks at the thought of children, “it was on their lunch break at school. I-I don’t have any children of my own.”

You weren’t sure why you felt the need to offer up a clarifying statement.

“I see,” she made a few notes before turning back to you, “it looks pretty bad, to be quite frank. I’m going to assume it wasn’t a break, a sprain rather, from how you’re managing, but we’ll need to do some x-rays to confirm. We’ll do your blood work as well just to make sure everything is in order. Before we do x-rays or anything - are you pregnant?”

“No,” you admitted, looking at your feet as you tried not to sigh. It had been on your mind recently, and you weren’t sure quite what to make of your own feelings on the matter. While you hadn't been actively trying, you couldn't help but wonder if it would ever happen.

“Any chance you could be?”

“Umm,” you twiddled your thumbs as you shrugged your shoulders, “I-I suppose. I’m not on birth control and my husband and I don’t use protection...we’ve been trying but not trying if that makes sense? But my cycle’s been regular so I highly doubt it.”

“Okay,” the scratching of her pen on paper was almost maddening as she was making notes and you just sat there. You could curse yourself for babbling on to her, but you couldn’t really help it. Besides, it’d be better for them to know all the details if they were going to x-ray and poke and prod you, “very good. Let me just go get everything and we’ll get started and a better look at everything. We’ll have you set and on your way in no time.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Here you go,” you scratched Stevie’s ears as you offered him a treat, a scrap of carrot from the vegetables you were chopping up for dinner, “what do you think, buddy? Should we tell him tonight?”

“Should we tell who and what tonight?” Javi’s voice startled you so much that you almost dropped your knife. You hadn’t even heard him come in, ever the sneaky DEA agent as he walked into the kitchen. A smile was on his face as he came over to you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “hi baby.”

“J-Javi,” you couldn’t help but melt into his touch, despite his surprise arrival, “you’re home!”

“Oh very observant of you, Dulzura,” he teased as he pulled back and started to undo his tie. It was only then that he noticed you weren’t wearing what you had earlier in the day; you were in one of his sweaters and a pair of joggers and… “what the hell happened to your ankle?!”

There it was - Javier switching into overdrive. You put everything down on the counter and turned to him, putting on your most innocent and sheepish expression. His large, warm hands found your face as he looked you over to make sure you were okay.

“It’s nothing, Javi,” you promised him, “I swear it. It’s just a bad sprain, but I went and had it looked at and they wrapped it and gave me pain killers. It’s umm...a stupid little story actually…”

“What happened?” he bent down and reached out to tentatively and delicately cheek the binding to make sure the nurse had properly tended to your sprain. He made a small sound of disgruntled satisfaction before standing up and waiting for a proper explanation, “why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, Javier,” you promised as he crossed his arms over his broad but acquiesced with a nod, “you’re so busy, and honestly, it wasn’t a big deal at all. Besides, Anna was ready to call you immediately, but I told her not to worry. All that happened was that I was outside with the kids and we were playing kickball and I tried over my laces, fell, and twisted my ankle. It hurts, but no fracture or anything.”

Javier’s lips twitched as he tried not to laugh, his shoulders shaking with effort as he just studied you, “are you....are you serious, Dulzura?”

“Don’t laugh at me!” you pouted as he started laughing at your dismal nod when you confirmed that that was what actually happened, “they thought I was cool and how was I supposed to say no to them!? I’m the cool teacher to them!”

“And look what that got you,” he snickered as you sighed heavily, “I’m sorry - I’m sorry. As long as you’re okay, that’s what matters. Whatever you need, just tell me the word and I’ll make sure you have it. I’ll take good care of you, Dulzura.”

“I know you will...you always do,” your heart raced as you tried to decide whether or not to tell him the rest of your revelations. But then he looked at you with those eyes, those soft brown, gentle eyes, and your heart melted. He gently pulled you into his arms as he kissed you again, chasing after your soft, sweet lips with his own, seemingly never able to get enough of you, “Javier, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you felt him smile against your lips, “what’s brought on your sudden declaration of love, mi alma?”

“I...I’m pregnant,” you blurted it out without even really thinking about it. Javier pulled back as a surprised expression crossed his features. He looked at you, seemingly in a state of shock, before opening and closing his mouth a few times, “Javi?”

“You’re pregnant?” he repeated as you nodded. It took about a moment for everything to finally come full circle as he finally realized what you had said. Immediately, an overwhelming wave of emotion came over you as you felt the back of your eyes start to sting with tears. He grabbed your face and slowly crashed his lips back onto yours and kissed deeply and slowly, “holy shit.”

“I know,” you beamed at him, “they asked before they did x-rays and blood work and then well...they discovered I was pregnant. I had no clue and then they told me and yeah - holy shit."

“That’s amazing,” he said softly, “pregnant....”

“I know,” you breathed him in and ran a hand through his dark curls, “I’m not far along, only like six weeks, so it’s still very early, but yes. We’re finally having a baby, Javier!

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around and held you in a tight embrace, “I love you so much.”

“You deserve this - everything. You are such a good man, Javier, and I am so honored to call you my husband, and the father of my child,” he almost melted under your praise as you traced along his features before resting your hand on his cheek, “I love you, Javi. I am so excited for this.”

“Me too,” he agreed, “this is everything - you are everything.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

3 months pregnant

“Dulzura?” Javier yawned as he wiped the sleep from his eyes as he got up and found you in the kitchen, peering into the fridge. You were in the mood for...something. You just weren’t sure what that something was. Everything sounded good but nothing seemed to satiate that craving you had deep within, “what are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, hoping you hadn’t woken him up by accident, “and I got hungry. I’m sorry if I woke you, my love. Go back to bed, Javier.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted as he shuffled into the kitchen and slowly pried you away from the fridge, “sit down, and let me make you something to eat. What sounds good?”

“Javier,” you did as he asked, padding over to the other side of the counter and taking a seat at the bar. You rested your head on your hands as he stifled a yawn, "honey, go back to bed. You're exhausted and you've got back to back classes tomorrow."

"They start in the late morning," he insisted, with a sleepy nod as you just laughed at him. He was such a stubborn man sometimes it drove you crazy - but you knew it came from a place of love and concern, "don't sleep well without you anyways. 's better when you're there."

"Oh, my sweet husband," he reached into the fridge and pulled out some cheese, butter, and your favorite pickled jalapeños. You watched in curiosity as he went to the bread box and grabbed the fresh loaf of bread you'd purchased earlier at the store, "grilled cheese?"

"Grilled cheese with jalapeños," he corrected, a lazy smile tugged up the corners of his mouth. You made a small sound of musing as you realized it didn't sound too bad at all, "and tomato soup, naturally. How does that sound?"

"Sounds delicious," you grinned eagerly as you leaned in to watch him work. You made a small sound of surprise as your stomach rumbled loudly. Apparently you were hungrier than you had thought, "apparently, my stomach and I agree. I think its your daughter that agrees."

At the mention of your baby, Javier paused and smiled, his eyes flitting to your barely visible bump. Some days he still couldn't believe that you were having a baby. You were his wife. What a wild world it was indeed; years ago he'd never dreamed he would have all of this. The Javier that once existed and refused to believe that there was any light in the world could never have pictured any of this.

But here you were. Continually proving him wrong. And he loved it all.

"Wait - how do you know we're having a girl?" he asked, suddenly wide awake as he raised an eyebrow at you, "I thought we still need to wait another month or so."

"We do," you grinned at him, "but I just know. I'm sure of it!"

"Well, you do have a fifty-fifty chance of being right…"

"I have a hundred percent chance of being right," you insisted as you reached over the counter and grabbed the jar of pickled jalapeños and fished a few out, and popped them into your mouth, "don't argue with your pregnant wife, Javier Peña. You of all people should know not to cross someone so dangerous."

He snorted with laughter, suddenly feeling much more awake as he sliced up cheese and turned on the stove, "and if we end up having a son?"

"Then we keep having more until we have a daughter and I am proven right," you plastered on a sweet smile, knowing it would wind him up. You'd never really discussed how many children you wanted or planned on having. It was just a sort of...whatever happens happens type thing. But, if you were being honest, you'd probably have given Javier as many children as he wanted. Your husband fell silent as he watched you for a moment before taking the jar away from, "nothing to add? Silence isn't like you, my love."

"We can have as many as you'd like," he promised, "you're the one doing all the hard work. If you're done after one, then it's fine for me. You already amaze me every day."

"Don't make me cry, Javier," your whole body soaked in the warmth and love from his simple words, "its getting really easy at this point, and you're taking advantage!"

"Sorry," he shot you a wink before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to your lips, "back to business."

"Hmm," you mused quietly, "I thought kissing me was business."

"I thought you were hungry?"

"Fine," you playfully huffed as he carried on cooking, "Javi?"

"Dulzura?"

"I love you," you beamed at him, the little smile that worked its way onto his face take your breath away - as it always had.

"I love you."

»»————-　♡　————-««

6 months pregnant

A huff escaped your lips as you tried to reach for the socks and underwear that had fallen out of the laundry basket. It was no easy feat when you couldn’t see your own feet anymore. But you were determined to get everything up and off the floor as you walked back towards your bedroom to put away the clean clothes. And you weren’t about to give up and ask for help - not yet anyway.

Instead, you opted to awkwardly lower yourself to the floor in order to blindly grab for the discarded items. But it was no use...this was almost harder.

“You alright, Dulzura?” Javier came in and found you struggling, cleaning his dirty hands off on a rag. He’d been working outside, getting the garden spruced up as the summer slowly came to an end, “can’t reach?”

“I can,” you stuck your tongue out at him as he huffed with laughter, but motioned for you to go on. Wanting to prove that you were right, and weren’t completely helpless after all. It hadn’t been easy having to give up a lot of the things you used to be able to do with ease as you progressed in your pregnancy. The fact that none of your pants would fit over your belly anymore had been a point of horror for you - it meant you were truly and actually pregnant, you were actually having a baby. You’d always known, but that had been what made it all extremely real. Every day you got closer and closer to your due date, it all became a little more real. Exciting - but terrifying.

Not being able to see your feet had been another blow. You could hardly get proper shoes on anymore, opting for easy slide ons, which were great for the warmth of summer and didn’t matter since you were on summer break along with your kids. It was almost as though Javier could sense your frustration, and he’d often silently help you with getting your shoes on in the morning. He never said a word, knowing he didn’t have to. He always told you he loved you in so many ways, often without saying it.

You tried to again, dangling your hand along on the floor as you tried again. After watching you struggle for a moment, Javier came over and grabbed everything in one foul swoop before taking your hand in his and helping you upright.

“Hey,” you pouted at him as he put the items back into your basket, “I almost had it!”

“I know,” he kissed the tip of your nose, “but I wanted to help. Why can I not help my gorgeous wife?”

“Your very pregnant and easily frustrated wife?” you teased as you started to walk towards the bedroom. He followed after you, swatting at your bum as you squealed in delight, “Javier!”

“Come on, mi alma,” he grinned, “let me help put everything away.”

“If I let you help, you’re just going to take me to bed and then I’ll have to wash the sheets again!”

“I’ve never heard a single complaint from you before,” as you set the basket on the dresser, he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist before settling a hand on your belly and gently rubbing it a few times. He pressed a few kisses to the side of your neck as you tilted your head to give him easier access, “there we go, Dulzura. Just like you like it.”

“You’re the worst,” you teased as you turned your head to kiss him, “you’re lucky I love you. And I’m seemingly always in the mood right now - they really weren’t kidding about pregnancy making you more horny. Although, I’ve never heard a single complaint from you before.”

“And you never will,” he promised, his low in your ear as you tried not to completely let your mind wander too far away, “do you have any plans for this afternoon, Dulzura?”

“N-no,” you managed to choke out as one of his hands skimmed along the waistband of your leggings. You knew exactly where this was going, and you were loath to stop him, especially as he slowly kept kissing you.

“Good,” he rasped, “because I have plans for you. Been thinking about you all day, especially in these tight leggings. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you honey?”

“Uh huh,” you agreed as his warm hand slipped inside and a shiver ran up your spine, “Javier. Please.”

“Don’t worry, mi alma,” he captured your gasp in a sweet kiss, “I’ll take good care of you.”

The laundry could definitely wait.

»»————-　♡　————-««

9 months pregnant

It was an early, chilling morning as you sipped on some tea as you sat out in the garden. It was probably too cold to be sitting outside, but you were handled up in blankets and didn't care.

Christmas was a few weeks away and you enjoyed peeking into the neighbor's yards to see what they all had going on for decorations.

"Are you sure you don't want to come inside?" Javier poked his head out from the sliding screen door, his brow furrowed in concentration, "its freezing! And I have breakfast!"

"I've got blankets and a baby keeping me warm," you reminded him, pointing at your large belly. You were due in a couple of weeks; how time had flown. He jokingly frowned at you, sticking out his tongue. Playfully rolling your eyes, you clambered to your feet and waddled over to him, "fine, hold on you big baby. This is because I want breakfast."

Javier was on his winter break from teaching and you were on maternity leave now and you definitely didn't mind having him around all the time. If you could have always had it this way, you definitely wouldn't have minded.

"I'm just looking out for you," he insisted with a pout as you pressed a kiss to his lips, "I talked to Papà. He's really excited to come in a few weeks - more like excited to meet his grandbaby."

"I'm not complaining at all," you insisted, knowing there would be many sleepless nights and chaotic days ahead of you, "we'll need all the help we can get. Hell, maybe we can convince Steve and Connie to come and visit too…"

"I'm sure we'll have all the help in the world between our families and friends, Dulzura," he promised as he took your hand and pulled you into the warm kitchen, putting a plate of breakfast for you on the counter, "I'm sure we'll get sick of having so many people around."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," you took a bite and smiled as Stevie laid by your feet. The whole house was warm and cozy, perfectly decorated for Christmas, with a huge tree and already lots of presents. Javier had really outdone himself this year, seemingly more in the Christmas spirit than you. Honestly, you were feeling a little bit out of it - being so pregnant would do that to you.

You watched your husband for a few moments, admiring his profile and lazy smile. Gods, you were still so in love with him. He felt you watching him closely, and turned to you, cooking a dark brow, "what's on your mind, mi alma?"

"Nothing much," you shrugged lightly, feeling a flush of warmth was over you at him catching you, "just thinking about how I love you, and how I'm glad you're here with me, that you knocked me up, and yeah. Are you…are you nervous Javi?"

"About the baby?"

"No, about the Astros' odds next season," you snorted as he groaned at your joke, "of course the baby. I'm just...so nervous. Like I feel ready to meet her, but I'm so scared that I'll fuck it up somehow."

"You still think its a girl?"

"Positive," you grinned at him - you'd decided not to find out the sex ahead of time, leaving it a surprise for both of you. You were still convinced it was a girl, Javier was undecided, "we'll find out soon enough!"

"Either way," he brought his plate and sat down next to you, "everything will be alright. You're going to be an amazing mother, Dulzura. You are everything."

"I love you, Javier," you beamed as he gently put a hand on your belly, "I know it'll be alright, but holy shit - I'm so nervous. Its getting so real lately. We're going to be parents."

"Parents," he repeated, "fuck."

"Who would have thought-" you were quickly cut off when you felt the baby flutter round. A small sound of surprise left your lips as you grabbed Javier's hand and placed it on your belly, "she's telling you not to curse."

He was silent for a moment as a smile spread on his features; despite having felt this many times by now, it still continued to surprise him. He couldn't even imagine how it felt for you, "this is...everything."

"I realized I didn't know what to get you for Christmas so I got you a baby instead," you don't know why it came to mind, but as soon as the words left your lips you brought into a fit of laughter - Javier joined in, a brilliant sound that you adored above all.

"Best Christmas present ever," he whispered before leaning in and giving you a gentle kiss - sweet from the syrup and pancakes he had just eaten, "I mean it. I love you both more than you will ever know."

"We love you too," you grinned as he stroked your belly, "I'm glad your class was the only one available and I took it. I'm glad you were a grumpy professor that let me into his office - I was able to work my magic and look where that got us."

He threw his back with laughter, his dark curls shining brilliantly in the light as his eyes crinkled in the corners. You'd never been more glad for subjecting yourself to his class.

"Me too," he whispered as he put a hand on your cheek, "you always were a stubborn thing."

"Some things never change," you stuck your tongue out at him, "I trust your daughter will be the same!"

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were humming to yourself as you shuffled around the kitchen and tried to put together a mid afternoon snack when you felt an odd sensation in your lower belly. It caused you to drop the knife on the counter as you held onto the marble and gritted your teeth. Stevie was at your feet in an instant, looking at you with concern.

"Its okay, buddy," you reassured him as the pain passed. Surely it couldn't have been anything too bad...probably just an end of pregnancy pain. Sighing at your nonsense worry, you reached for the knife again but before you reached it, the pain was back, "never mind, shit shit shit."

Trying to keep yourself calm, you leaned against the counter and tried to even your breathing. Contractions. Of course. You were due in a week and you still hadn't been expecting it.

"Javier?" he was down the hall in the second bedroom that had been converted into the nursery, putting away the final touches of clothing. Before he could respond, you felt an odd sensation followed by liquid running down your legs, "Javier!"

"What's wrong, Dulzura?" he rushed down the hall and back into the kitchen, worry etched onto his features as you stood there in shock and clutched at your belly, "honey-"

"My water broke," you said meekly as you pointed to your wet pants, "and I've had a few contractions - I think the baby's coming."

"Okay," he immediately kicked into gear as he remained cool and calm, despite wanting to panic and worry along with you, "its okay. I'm going to get the hospital bag, we'll get you in the car, Stevie to the neighbor, and then we'll go and have a baby."

"You make it seem so simple," you huffed lightly as you tried to channel his inner calm demeanor, "we'll be okay, right? I-I'm scared…"

"I know, honey," he promised as he kissed the side of your head, "you've done so amazing already, it will all be okay. I'm right here, okay? I'm just going to grab your bag and the dog and we'll go. Ten minutes and we'll be on the way."

"Okay," you agreed as he practically ran down the hall to get your packed bag, "we're going to have a baby, Javi."

"Indeed we are," he agreed with a small smile as he reached for his wallet and keys and stuff for the neighbor to watch Stevie for a few days, "we're having our baby."

Holy shit.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“You’re doing amazing, sweetheart,” Javier praised you as you squeezed his hand after another push. You groaned and gritted your teeth as you glared at him; this was absolute hell, “the baby’s almost there.”

“Shut up, Javier,” you hissed as you got ready for another push, “I am never letting you touch me again! You did this to me.”

“Hey - it was a team effort,” he reminded you in a vain attempt at a joke. Your death glare and the squeezing of his hand said it all, “sorry, Dulzura. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said as you took a deep breath, “but right now, I’m blaming this on you.”

“Fair enough,” he said as you pushed again. He was sure his hand was going to break.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It wasn’t much longer before you were laying back and holding the smallest bundle you could ever imagine in your arms. You were somewhere between crying tears of joy and exhaustion, as you stared at your newborn daughter in awe. Javier was sitting next to you, looking down at her, his own eyes glossy as he gently touched her cheek. She had the darkest eyes and a shock of dark hair, already taking after her father. She had come into the world squealing and crying but had fallen asleep almost as soon as Javier held her.

“I told you we were having a girl,” you teased him softly, “I was right. Look at her, Javier. That’s our daughter. We made her.”

“You did all the hard work, mi alma,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, “she’s beautiful.”

“Lucia Luna Peña,” you grinned at your husband, “it’s perfect. I love you both more than you could ever know. Javier...you really are everything to me - the best friend, best husband, and now the best father. She’s going to love the hell out of you, just like I do.”

He remained silent for a moment as he looked at the sleeping baby before looking back at you. His whole world was in his arms, and the thought of that alone was enough to overwhelm him with emotion. He’d never thought he wanted this - a “boring” job, a home, a wife, and a baby.

But here he was. And he had never felt happier, never felt more full of love and life. This was everything.

“I love you so much, Dulzura - you and Lucia,” he promised as he rested his head on top of yours, “you have given me everything, more than you know. Te quiero con todo.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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do-you-have-a-flag · 2 years

Photo

In Deep Water, Vic (Ben Affleck) and Melinda (Ana de Armas) have a marriage held together by sex, lies, and yes, snails. So who better to shed light on their complicated relationship than one of the mollusks Vic lovingly tends to in his garage? EW gets the inside scoop from Edgar the Snail (pictured below).

Saturday, March 5, 1:43 a.m. Vic came by late at night — after a party, I think. He smelled of apples and disappointment. He turned on all the lamps and interrupted me and Hortense during a private moment. The water misters were on, which refracted the light, sending a constellation of rainbows in front of Vic's now-smiling eyes. So what if he was intruding? At least we brought him joy. (And Hortense, as we all know, likes to be watched.)

Wednesday, March 9, 6:13 p.m. A few days later, I heard Vic and Melinda stomping around at dinnertime. There was a thump as he threw something angrily into the trash. Perhaps those bodega tulips Melinda came home with earlier? Anyway, while Trixie played "Old MacDonald" yet again, I heard Melinda storm off, probably with her customary bottle of merlot. Then Vic stormed off to meet a friend at a piano bar. You know who didn't storm off? Their overpaid babysitter, because no one remembered to call her to watch Trixie. (Who loves nothing more than this insipid Old MacDonald song which tortures me, though I do not technically have ears.)

Wednesday, March 9, 11:41 p.m. Vic returned a few hours later, smelling of scotch and disappointment. Still, he was considerate enough to help some of my friends who were having dryness issues. He gently held them under a stream of water until they felt relief. It seemed to calm him.

Friday, March 11, 7:02 p.m. Vic came by with that annoying screenplay writer, Don. They smelled of white privilege and disappointment. Vic begins to explain to him how we snails can climb a 12-foot wall to find our mates (I climbed 14 and a half feet for Hortense, but who's counting?). Don asked if he could smoke, but our protector would have none of it: "Please don't, it'll kill them." His loyalty is unquestionable. Don was eager to speak of murder and lie detector tests and a man named Charlie, but the misters came on and sprayed him. We all laughed at his foolishness.

Saturday, March 12, 6:33 p.m. Melinda's friend Tony came by for dinner. I had a bad feeling about him right away. "Nice space you got here," he told Vic insincerely, peeking into our temperature-controlled haven. "Are those snails?" (The powers of observation do not elude him!) Tony is clearly at a loss for words, but it doesn't matter. The look of utter love on Vic's face when he gazes into our tentacle eyes says what words cannot.

Saturday, March 12, 6:45 p.m. Hortense snuck over to the kitchen to see if there were any vegetable scraps on the floor and confirmed our worst fears: Tony, that scoundrel, suggested cooking a dozen of us! As an appetizer! But Vic, as always, was our guardian, our defender, the one thing that stood between us and Melinda's nefarious allusions to "garlic and a little butter." "The snails aren't for eating," he said evenly, keeping his justified rage in check. "Fun fact: You know you have to starve them, right? Before you eat them, you have to make sure their intestines are empty, otherwise, you'll poison yourself and you'll die." Perhaps a worthy sacrifice...

Friday, March 18, 6:45 a.m. Vic left early this morning on his mountain bike. (Why he wears button-down shirts for athletic activities, I'll never understand.) Shortly after, we got the surprise of our lives when Melinda came down to our room for the first time ever! She never gets up this early unless she has overindulged the night before. To our horror, she accidentally stepped on Hortense's cousin, Pam. Who's the murderer now? But she will not pay for her crimes. She never has.

---

With reporting by Clarissa Cruz