#Meanwhile I’m begging for another round

[saturnsorbits]

Insatiable girlfriend who’s exhausted boyfriend hands her off to his friends like… Please, do what you want with her, just bring her back tired.

[desperate-gay]

Frido, at home, wait you already knew?

This Is Forever

Fridolina Rolfö x fem!reader

“No no no no no.” Frido panics, having received an unwanted text.

She had everything set up.

“What’s going on, min kjærlighet?” You ask, rounding the corner from the kitchen to the living room.

“Our reservations were canceled due to a fire in the kitchen.” Your girlfriend sighs, typing rapidly on her phone for a reason you can’t quite figure out.

“We can always reschedule, baby. It’s not the end of the world if we just stay in tonight.” You try to reason with her, but Frido just shakes her head in response.

“It has to be tonight.”

Frido had it all planned perfectly.

She has since the day she knew she wanted to marry you.

Fridolina had just gotten home from an exhausting and excruciating day. Her body ached from the cold, the kind that settled deep in her muscles and refused to leave. Rain wasn’t common in Barcelona, but when it came, it made everything feel heavier.

She barely made it through the door before dropping her training bag by the entrance, her movements sluggish and shoulders slumped. She didn’t even bother taking off her jacket at first, too tired to do anything but stand there for a moment, exhaling a deep and weary sigh.

You noticed your girlfriend’s exhaustion immediately.

“Tough day?” You asked gently from your spot at the dining table, watching as she finally peeled her jacket off and placed it on a chair close to you while you took small bites of your food.

“That’s an understatement.” Frido puffed out, slumping right next to you and basically melting into the seat.

You gave her a soft, sympathetic smile. “Have you eaten?”

Frido immediately looked away from your eyes, hesitating on your question.

That was all the answer you needed.

Without a word, you pushed your plate toward the Swede. The plate contained your favorite dish, one you were just savoring moments ago. There may not have been much left, but it was warm and hers now.

“Eat.” You demanded gently, and when she opened her mouth to protest, you raised your hand with a soft shake of your head. “I’m not that hungry anyways.”

Frido didn’t believe you, not for a second, especially since she knew how much you loved that meal. But when she met your unwavering gaze, filled with quiet concern, she didn’t argue.

She hesitated at first, then took a bite. And another. And another, until she was fully immersed in the warmth of the food, the comfort of it sinking into her bones. She hadn’t even realized how hungry she was until now.

Meanwhile, you started rambling, about something random, something lighthearted, something meant to pull her away from the weight of her day. Your elbow rested against the wooden table, your head propped in your hand as you continued speaking, your voice an easy, familiar melody.

Frido kept eating, but she couldn’t take her eyes off you. She couldn’t shake the overwhelming, all-consuming, yet oh-so-welcoming feeling that settled deep in her chest.

This was love. This was home. This was forever.

And that was the moment she knew.

“Kjære?”

The blonde snaps out of her thoughts, removing her blank stare from her phone to you.

You watch as she clenches her jaw, fingers gripping her phone a little too tightly. She’s spiraling. Her mind racing, trying to come up with a solution to something she can’t control.

Her eyes are on you but her thoughts are somewhere else. She barely registers you taking a seat next to her, wrapping your arm around her waist and gently prying her phone out of her hands onto her lap.

“Frido, talk to me.” You beg softly, rubbing your hand along her side.

She exhales sharply through her nose, shaking her head. “I just—I need to fix this.” She grabs her phone again, typing something rapidly before groaning in frustration, tossing her phone onto the floor beside her. “Every place is either booked or closed by now.”

“Baby, it’s okay. We can just stay in and—”

“No it’s not okay!” She bursts, abruptly standing up leaving you slightly winded. The taller girl begins to pace in front of you with her hand running through her blonde locks. “Tonight was supposed to be perfect! I had everything planned—”

“Frido—”

“But then the stupid restaurant had to have a stupid fire. Den här jävla världen hatar mig.”

“You don’t need to do something extravagant to propose to me. I’d say yes even if you were in a trash bag!”

At that, your girlfriend finally freezes.

You tried to keep your mouth shut, but once Frido started shifting into Swedish—something she only does when she’s truly stressed—you knew you had to step in.

The tension in the air is thick as Frido stares you down, squinting her eyes while you guiltily bite your lip.

Finally, something clicks in her head, and her eyes widen. “Wait, you already knew?!”

“Maybe?” You say wearily, shrugging with your best innocent look.

“How? Did your sister tell you?” Frido shrieks, standing still in her spot with her hands waving in the air.

“No, Ingrid did not tell me. I did, however, overhear you talking to her a few days ago about a ‘big day,’ and then you accidentally left the box on your bedside table.” You admit, nervously biting the skin of your thumb.

“I— But I was so careful.” Frido murmurs in disbelief, more to herself than you.

“I know you had a whole plan, and I am so sorry that it—”

“Wait. You said yes.”

You stop mid-sentence, looking up at your girlfriend with a confused gaze. “What?”

“You said you would say yes even if I was in a trash bag. You want to marry me?” Frido asks, feeling as if she’s in a dream.

A smile etches onto your face before you finally stand up and walk over to the taller girl. Her eyes track your every step and once your arms wrap around her neck, hers meet your hips.

“Fridolina rolfo. I would love nothing more than to marry you.” You grin, leaning further into her and only leaving a small gap between your lips.

“Really?” Frido smirks, raising an eyebrow.

You simply nod before sealing your answer by latching your lips to her soft ones. The kiss is passionate and sweet but also laced with a hint of need, a quiet promise of forever.

Frido takes your bottom lip between hers before pulling back slightly, her tongue flicking against it teasingly. You immediately lean back in, but she stops you with a quick palm to your face.

“Wait right here.” Your girlfriend demands before running off, leaving you completely and utterly confused.

You hear a few things tumble and drop against the floor from your bedroom before the taller girl comes barreling back toward you.

“I want to do this semi-properly.” Frido states, kneeling in front of you on one knee. “Will you make me the happiest woman on this planet and marry me?”

Sure, you already knew this moment was coming—heck, you’d even said yes already. But that doesn’t stop the rush of tears from blurring your vision or the tremble of your lip. You nod rapidly, making Frido’s smile widen as she slides the ring onto your finger.

She stands up, taking your face in her hands before crashing her lips against yours, both of your tears mixing where your cheeks meet.

“I can’t believe I’ll get to call you my wife soon.” You sigh dreamily, staring at the new band around your finger.

“I can’t either. I can’t even believe I was able to pocket my best friend's sister.” Frido smirks teasingly, earning her a sharp smack to the chest.

“I’m gonna tell Ingrid you used her to get to me.”

“Don’t you dare.”

[tribalmajesty05]

Title: The Kiss Hunt

Roman Reigns x Reader

****

It was an unspoken rule by now—before every match, Roman needed his kiss.

No one knew exactly when it started, but somewhere along the way, it became part of his routine. Just like taping his wrists or putting on his vest, he wouldn’t step through that curtain without it. If you were nearby, it was easy—he’d find you, pull you in by the waist, steal a kiss, and head off to dominate in the ring.

But sometimes, you weren’t so easy to find.

Which meant he had to go on the hunt.

Tonight was one of those nights.

“Where is she?” Roman grumbled, already growing impatient as he stormed through the backstage halls.

Jimmy and Jey, sitting on a crate nearby, exchanged looks before Jey smirked. “Damn, Uce. You that desperate for your good luck kiss?”

Roman shot him a look. “You got a problem with it?”

Jimmy raised his hands in defense. “Nope, just funny watching the big uce go on a scavenger hunt for his woman.”

“Shut up,” Roman muttered, moving past them.

Jey laughed. “Whipped.”

Roman ignored them.

He checked catering.

Nothing.

The women’s locker room?

Naomi leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, amused as hell. “She left a few minutes ago. You really out here chasing her down, huh?”

“Where’d she go?” he asked, exasperated.

“Somewhere near the production area, I think.”

Roman groaned. He was already supposed to be at Gorilla in five minutes, but he was not stepping out there without that damn kiss.

Meanwhile, you were completely oblivious to the search party forming for you. You had stopped by the production area to chat with Bayley and Rhea when suddenly—

“There you are.”

You barely had time to turn before Roman was right in front of you, hands gripping your waist as he pulled you in.

You blinked. “Uh… hey?”

“I got a match,” he muttered, like that explained everything.

And for him, it did.

A knowing smile spread across your lips. “And what do you need before your match?”

He arched a brow. “You know.”

Bayley, standing off to the side, smirked. “God, you two are disgustingly cute.”

Rhea snorted. “Nah, this is next-level. My man’s been hunting you down like a bloodhound.”

Roman ignored them completely, his focus solely on you. “C’mon, baby. Don’t make me beg.”

Your heart flipped at the way his voice dropped, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “Beg? Now that I’d like to see.”

He huffed. “I swear to God—”

Before he could say another word, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. He instantly melted into it, his grip tightening on your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

The moment should have been sweet, romantic even—if it weren’t for the round of cheers that suddenly erupted around you.

“WOOOO! GET IT, TRIBAL CHIEF!”

You pulled back to see The Usos, Solo, Seth, and even Dean standing there, all of them grinning like they just walked in on a damn rom-com.

Seth cackled. “Man, he really couldn’t go out there without it, huh?”

Dean smirked. “You got this man acting like an addict.”

Jey nudged Jimmy. “I told you, Uce. Whipped.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up, all of you.”

Roman, however, was completely unbothered. He smirked down at you, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

You sighed dramatically. “I tolerate it.”

He chuckled, then leaned in to whisper, “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

Your face heated instantly.

The guys lost it.

“OH, HELL NO—”

“TOO MUCH INFO, MAN—”

“DAMN, UCE—”

Bayley covered her ears. “I did not need to hear that!”

Rhea just nodded in approval. “Respect.”

Meanwhile, Roman smirked in victory, pressing one last kiss to your cheek before finally backing away. “Alright, I’m good now.”

Jey threw his hands up. “Oh, now you good?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Man, if y’all ever break up, we’re done for.”

You crossed your arms. “Not happening.”

Roman smirked. “Damn right.”

And with that, he walked off toward Gorilla, leaving everyone behind to recover from the overwhelming amount of PDA.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Dean shook his head with a grin. “Man, y’all are something else.”

You just shrugged, smiling to yourself. Because honestly?

You wouldn’t change a thing.

[haikyu-mp4]

An assortment of babysitters

Iwaizumi brings his toddler son to work, for my Parenting event<3

requested by @moochiwoochi. word count; 504 – no reader

Iwaizumi is what many would call a Superdad. When he wore the holster with his toddler strapped to his chest, it looked like he was always meant to carry his son.

He looked no less natural in his dadness when he entered the gym one morning, greeting all the athletes on Japan’s national volleyball team and smirking when his baby made sounds that sounded much like they one day would be the same words he said.

The cooing from the athletes was immediate. “Good morning, tiny Iwa,” Hinata said in a babylike voice, not even greeting the actual trainer, while Bokuto made kissy sounds with his hands clutched together to contain the cuteness aggression.

“You brought backup,” Suna joked, holding the baby’s hand and shaking it, a tiny smile on his face.

“We will be doing circle practice today, let’s get started on setting up the stations!” He instructed, splitting everyone into random groups and making them set up each station for working out a different muscle or volleyball drill.

Usually, they would be in the gym with all the workout equipment, where he would definitely never bring his precious son. However, they would be in the big hall and do mixed practices like this once a week to give the muscles a more varied workout.

The athletes’ jaws fell loose when they saw Iwa put the toddler down on a baby blanket at one station, handing him a toy he liked before looking at them and resting his hands on his hips. “The babysitting station. Every time he cries, I’m adding another round.”

Hoshiumi’s laughter rang through the room and Kageyama’s gulp was practically audible, as he made eye contact with Ushijima who looked just as nervous. Meanwhile, Komori and Suna were grinning at the end of the lineup, already plotting to sabotage this baby’s first words.

They got started on the training, and Iwaizumi did his best to pay attention to all the stations while also keeping a keen eye on his baby. They were doing 2 minutes on each station, and the cute toddler pouted every time his babysitter changed, while the athletes cooed and tried to convince him not to cry.

It was going well until Sakusa and Yaku got there, one of the last groups before they would get a break. While Yaku held the boy and enjoyed trying to get him to walk, Sakusa stayed as far away as possible. Baby Iwa held his hands out for Sakusa, transfixed on his curly hair and begging to be transferred to the more reluctant babysitter. Yaku, a bit insulted that he wasn’t the favourite and also annoyed that Sakusa was so prickly, started yelling at the Jackal. Result? Baby. Crying.

Iwaizumi laughed, jogging over to pick his son up, predicting he’d want some food soon anyway. “That’s another round, guys!”

He could hear the athletes yelling at the last babysitters as he walked over to his bag, fishing out a bottle before turning back to them.

“Get back to it!”

masterlist

for the requester: thank you so much for the fun request<3

[gothamite-rambler]

Bernard's dad, Toby Dowd, sat with Tim and Bernard, offering advice on maintaining a long-lasting relationship.

Toby: Now, I too believe in love. I want to find that for myself someday.

Bernard (shaking his ice filled glass): That's what your son wants to hear from his married father.

Toby (cont'd): And I’m not against your relationship, but I have one piece of advice to share, words of wisdom from my gym teacher, Mr. Wilkins.

Bernard (dryly): Dad, I’m begging you, please don’t say this out loud again.

Toby: You both need to hear it if you want to keep a strong relationship.

Toby stood up, slowly raising his index finger as Bernard looked down, embarrassed. Tim sat back, ready to hear this supposed "inspirational" advice.

Toby: Never get married! No matter who you're with, it will only ruin your life. Joy will slowly fade! The life you had before is gone, and you will never feel—

Bernard (raised his voice): Dad, for the love of God, that coach got arrested for trying to meet a 14-year-old at a Super 8!

Tim (tilting his head): Was he married?

Toby: He was.

Tim (jokingly): Well then, Bernard, I think that’s pretty sound advice. Clearly, marriage is the reason he turned into a deviant.

Bernard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Toby, meanwhile, snapped his fingers and pointed at Tim.

Toby: He gets it! Tim, I had you wrong. You’re odd, but you seem to have some sense.

Tim (not taking this man seriously): I try to maintain some sense since I work in a very no nonsense field.

Toby: I respect that.

Bernard: If there’s a God, why hasn’t He smitten this house yet?

Toby: Bernie, quit being so melodramatic. Tim, would you like another drink?

Tim: Sure, Mr. Dowd.

Toby (shouting): Esmeralda! Bring another round of cola! El Chapo!

Esmeralda (with a Boston accent): I told you, El Chapo is the name of a Mexican drug lord. I was born in Boston, and none of my family is from Mexico, I’m Guatemalan! But I will bring three colas.

Esmeralda left, a tight smile on her face. Tim covered his mouth, trying to hide his laughter. Toby followed her into the kitchen, complaining about her attitude.

Bernard: This is funny to you, but you’re dealing with a tame version of him.

Tim (taking Bernard’s hand): Yeah, but it’s especially funny since you don’t live with him anymore. Only another hour.

Bernard: This five thousand bucks is worth it. It’s worth it.

Tim (comforting): Yes, look on the monetary bright side.

Bernard: It’s what’s holding my brain together.

[quinnynation]

driving me crazy ᯓᡣ𐭩 sam golbach one-shot

pairing : sam golbach x doberman!reader

summary : sam confesses his feelings to dobie in an interesting -yet flattering- way

warning/extra tid-bits : language, mild crying, kissing, i think that's all?

word count : 2,758

divider credit : pics from pinterest ,, brown gradient lines from @mikeykuns

“Sam, move to the left.” Dobie said, digging in her pocket for a handkerchief to wipe the camera lens with; mentally sighing at the fact that the one day the boys had booked rooms at the Crescent Hotel- it decided to rain. The blonde man furrowed his brow, “Why?” He asked defiantly.

Dobie’s eyes squinted at the man, “Because you and Kris are both blonde. It looks better if you stand next to Colby and Kris next to Ce.” She explained before picking up the camera again. 

Sam grumbled a bit before moving- earning laughter from both Kris and Celina. “Whipped!” Celina yelled out jokingly, now making Colby laugh. Dobie smirked, watching Sam’s face redder through the lens of the camera.

Meanwhile, Sam’s heart felt like it was about to pop out of his chest and throw itself right into Dobie’s arms. 

She did have nice arms.

Sam waved away his thoughts; begging his brain to let him focus on anything but the way his heart fluttered everytime Dobie ordered him to do something. He knew that when Dobie said move, he was going too. When Dobie said jump, he was going to ask how high. When Dobie said-

“Sam! Do the intro!” 

“Sorry!” The blonde blinked before beginning the intro to the video.

After meeting with the cat manager of the Crescent Hotel and grabbing their room keys- the group were set to actually explore the hotel.

 One of the main downsides to making “spooky” videos in Dobie’s opinion was that the stairs almost always looked creepier than the inside of an elevator thus the four were beginning their trudge up the long flight of stairs.

“This screams haunted.” Sam said, looking up at the spiraling staircase. Dobie opted to only point the camera up, feeling slightly nauseated by the vibes of the hotel- a common occurrence for her. 

“It just keeps going!” Colby amused, eyes bright with excitement as he followed Kris and Celina up the stairs. “You okay?” Dobie asked, putting the camera down for a second as she noticed Sam fell behind.

Sam stammered for a response, a mixture of nerves and excitement in his belly- He felt like a teenage girl speaking to her crush for the first time.

“Y-Yeah, I’m good.” He tried covering up, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Dobie eyed him up and down, “Does your foot hurt? I can carry you.” She half-joked, making Sam’s heart race once again.

“You can’t carry me.” Sam rebutted, despite knowing she could and would. Dobie quickly moved towards the blonde man, causing him to let out a playful shriek as he ran up the stairs- catching up with the others.

Dobie chuckled softly, focusing on filming the art on the walls before joining the group.

“This literally-” Kris cut herself off, “Sorry but, it’s very shining vibes.” She continued. Dobie agreed, pointing the camera down a hallway. “It’s giving reeedruuuummm….” Dobie made her tone gravely and high-pitched, earning a round of laughter.

“We have a giant tricycle!” Celina commented, earning a confused look from the camera-woman. “How do you have a giant tricycle?” Sam asked, equally as confused.

“We don’t need to talk about that!” Celina joked, putting her hands on her hips and acting serious. Dobie’s laugh echoed down the hallway, etching a smile onto Sam’s face.

The five friends made their way to their rooms, deciding to start with room 202. 

One of Dobie’s least favorite part of her job was that she couldn’t always bud in with commentary Sam and Colby held with their guests, she was in charge of holding the camera and getting good shots- not laughing at Celina’s jokes.

It was really hard when Celina was hilarious, though.

Once the five finally entered the room, Dobie made sure to get a couple medium close-ups of details she found intriguing; certain pieces of art, the detailing of the decor, etc etc.

“You guys got a god-dang suite! This is sick!” Sam gawked as his blue eyes looked around the room, pointing at the window that Celina was staring out of. Dobie smiled at the blonde’s excitement as she filmed Colby and Kris near the bed, “So he’s gonna stand right here and be like, NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE-” Kris joked as she stood at the foot of the bed.

Dobie and Colby laughed, “That’s how I seduce men.” The woman commented, earning a couple of surprised faces from her friends- in the corner of her eye, she could’ve sworn that she saw Sam blush.

“So uh…we’re gonna be in this bed…together?” Celina began patting the fresh linen on the bed, staring into Kris’ eyes. “We are…” Kris smirked, “Ooh…” Colby teased, making Sam chuckle.

Dobie made sure she got both women in the shot, already visualizing how Sam would edit the footage, he’d probably add in some stupid saxophone noise.

Kris looked towards the camera-woman, winking and tilting her head towards the bed. “I mean…if you get lonely Dobie…” She joked. Dobie pretended to blush, waving a hand at the platinum blonde as if to say “Oh stop it”.

Sam felt a bit silly for the way his shoulders sunk in and his smile melted away. 

The sun had long set and the five friends had just finished their first tour of the night. Now, the group was standing outside in the chilly night, trying to see the ghost of a woman who’d apparently thrown herself from the balcony of Kris and Celina’s room.

Dobie laughed softly, never a dull moment with her boys.

 “Did we miss it?” Colby asked Sam as the blonde pulled out his phone. Sam checked the time, 10:44.

“We fucking missed it.” Sam frowned, making Dobie’s head shoot upwards. “Are you serious?” She asked, looking between Colby and Sam. The blonde shook his head, laughing- “M’ just kidding, it’s 10:30 to 11:00…so maybe we’ll still catch it.” He explained.

Dobie rolled her eyes and shook her head as she followed Kris, Celina, Sam and Colby to a better viewing area. They seemed to be the only one’s out at the moment; which was nice.

It was sort of peaceful outside the Crescent Hotel. The greenery and landscaping still held an homage for the time the hotel was built, but with a cleaner modern feel. It was much better than inside, at least in Dobie’s opinion.

As Dobie finished setting up a second camera on a tripod, she heard Celina ask her if she had touched the light switch in their room. Dobie shook her head, “No? Sam, did you?” She asked- knowing for a fact that Colby or Kris hadn’t.

Sam shook his head quickly, each friend looking at each other with a puzzled expression on their face. The light-switch conversation continued for a few minutes, every repeating the same questions they’d already been asked- or had asked someone else.

“I can check the footage before I go to bed.” Dobie offered, shrugging her shoulders to motion to her backpack. “Maybe we’re just stupid.” Colby joked, making Dobie stifle a laugh as she moved around the friend group to get everyone in the shot.

“Yeah, maybe we’re stupid or maybe it’s haunted.” Kris quipped, not taking her eyes away from the balcony. “I am…scared now.” The platinum-blonde girl said, keeping her sweater-covered arms wrapped around her body.

Just as Dobie crouched down to check the tri-pod, she startled as she heard Kris let out a gasp followed by an “Oh my god!”.

Dobie quickly glanced towards the balcony, her heart sinking into her stomach as she saw a figure in the window of Kris and Celina’s room.

“Holy shit!” She yelled, standing up and reaching for her hand-held camera- praying she’d caught it on one of the devices.

“What?” Sam, Colby and Celina asked the two girls. Celina moved to place a comforting touch on Kris' shoulders. Kris instantly began apologizing for scaring the group, turning away and shielding her face; Dobie took this as a sign to not focus the camera just on her.

“What? What happened, what did you see?” Colby stammered, his brain moving too quick for his mouth to keep up with. Kris spilled out a string of “No’s”, claiming that if she said it- it made it true.

“I saw it too, Kris- it’s…it’s fine.” Dobie attempted to sound comforting, though she’d never been the best at it- she would always try, especially for her friends. Kris’ teary eyes turned to Dobie as the others began asking what it was. 

Kris held onto Dobie’s arm tightly, now having an unspoken bond- Dobie laughed softly as Kris practically used her as a human shield from the paranormal. 

“What did you see?” Celina repeated, her eyes glancing between the two girls and the window. Dobie pointed at the window with her free arm, “There was someone in the window.” She explained, Kris nodding in agreement. 

Slowly but surely, Kris’ cries turned to laughter as she calmed down- finding it funny how she started crying whilst Dobie managed to stay level headed.

“It’s not like- uncommon for me to see that.” Dobie chuckled, Sam and Colby nodding in agreement; distant memories of the horrors that Dobie had seen throughout her life flashing in the back of her mind.

“Is that your first time seeing something like that?” Colby asked, sincere eyes looking towards Kris. The girl shook her head, “No, it’s not.”. “You’ve seen them before?” Dobie asked genuinely. 

Kris nodded, “When I was younger but…only twice.” She let out a shaky breath- finally stabilizing her breathing.

The Crystal Dining Room had a sort of air to it that just made Dobie feel…weird. Not in the spiritual sense, it just felt so…formal. 

Formal and Dobie did not mix.

Her back hurt from how stiff she stood and she could tell her camera-work was lacking because of it. She listened closely to their tour guide, Eddie, talk about the different types of paranormal experiences that took place in the dining room but she just couldn’t seem to pay attention.

Dobie really should’ve paid attention though.

“I don’t want to do this.” She grumbled as Sam put his soft hands onto her waist. Colby, Kris and Celina laughed- continuing to make mocking “Aww” sounds as the two swayed side to side.

“What’s the point of this?” She asked, Sam would’ve answered if he could think of anything other than the deep cherry scent of Dobie’s perfume.

“To attract ghosts!” Celina called back, making Kris and Colby laugh. Dobie’s brows furrowed as Sam nearly tripped over her foot, “Let me do it.” She said firmly, in that tone.

That stupid tone that made Sam go dumb. 

Sam’s heart beat faster as Dobie’s hands moved onto his hips, her firm grasp sending a shiver down his back. Suddenly, Dobie was swaying them side to side; allowing Sam to kinda just…follow.

The blonde hated how…peaceful it allowed him to feel. He trusted Dobie, admittedly, he had since the week he met her. She took zero shit from other people and had put herself in more than one dangerous situation all in the name of a “good clip”.

Of course he trusted Dobie as a friend but this…this type of trust felt different. 

Before Sam could ponder how it felt different, Dobie pulled away and pointed towards the cat ball that was now flashing red and blue.

Sam did his job, playing up his reaction ever so slightly. Not for the camera but for him- in some hope that if he focused on the flashing cat toy, he’d forget about the butterflies that were currently doing cartwheels in his stomach.

Dobie let out an exhausted sigh as flopped onto the bed- glad to finally be done with filming for today. She stretched her arms for a few moments, praying that tomorrow they wouldn’t ache from carrying around the heavy camera all day.

Colby was in the shower, taking ridiculously long- as usual. Sam was already uploading the footage onto his laptop; hoping it would reduce the chances of any files corrupting.

“Dobie, do you have the footage from the ballroom?” Sam called, pulling Dobie out of her half-dozed state. The girl sat up, immediately grabbing her backpack from the side of the bed and placing it next to Sam before falling face-first into her pillow once again; earning a laugh from the blonde boy next to her.

Dobie let her eyelids fall shut, another sigh escaping her lips as she rolled onto her back. Sam’s lips formed a smile as he watched Dobie’s breathing move her ribcage move up and down rhythmically, she looked so…soft.

Which was a complete 360 from her normal, rugged self.

“It’s rude to stare, Sam.” Dobie’s words made Sam’s face as red as a tomato- the man instantly began to stammer out an apology and explanation. “I’m sorry- I- You just- I was-” 

Dobie’s laughter eased Sam’s nerves- yet only deepened the blush on his cheeks. The girl sat up, using her elbows to support her upper-body as her eyes interlocked with Sam’s.

“You just…you looked soft.” He finally spat out, making Dobie’s head tilt in confusion. “Soft?” She asked, laughing at how unlike her the word was. 

Sam hummed, turning his attention back to the footage uploading onto his laptop. “Usually you scare me.” He shrugged, before he realized what he said. Dobie threw her head back as she laughed, now fully sitting up and leaning against the headboard. 

“I scare you?” She asked, eyes practically demanding Sam to look at her. Sam nodded, “Not in a…bad way…I like it.” He admitted sheepishly, he wanted to peel his eyes away out of embarrassment but there was a silent command from Dobie to keep his eyes on her- so he followed it.

Dobie smirked, her eyes trailing up and down Sam like she was sizing him up- Sam hated how it made his hands squirm. “You like that I scare you?” She asked, amused by the man’s words.

Sam bit his lip before nodding, Dobie raised an eyebrow and Sam realized she wanted to hear him say it. 

“I…I do. It makes me feel…” Sam trailed off, his thumb coming up between his lips as he gnawed on the skin around it. Dobie put a stop to that quickly, grabbing his wrist and pulling it away from his mouth before interlocking their fingers together.

“Feel what?” She pressed, subconsciously leaning in closer- Sam didn’t mind.

Sam didn’t mind at all.

“I dunno…I guess, sometimes I just feel like I have to do everything. Y’know?” He explained, his breath hitching as he felt Dobie rub her thumb over the back of his hand. “Finding haunted places, ordering equipment…talking to ghosts…” Sam laughed at the last one- so did the girl next to him.

“Colby helps but, still.” He shrugged before continuing, “I have to make so many decisions all the time.” His eyes were cast downward watching Dobie’s thumb-pad dance around his skin. Dobie thought his eyelashes were beautiful.

“When you tell me to do something…” Sam let out a shaky breath, gulping down the nervous lump in his throat. “You don’t say it like it’s a choice, you’ve already…” Sam thought over his words for a few moments.

“You’ve already made the best choice for me, I just have to follow it.” He said bashfully, smiling at finally being able to put words to the emotions he felt.

Dobie’s smirk formed to a smile, “I’m glad you trust me enough to do that.” She replied honestly. “But if you ever don’t want to do something, you can say no.” The girl made sure to tell Sam.

“Bossing” Sam around was only fun when they both liked it.

Sam nodded quickly, “I know! That…that only makes me trust you more.” He breathed out an excited laugh- realizing just how much better he felt with his feelings out in the air.

Dobie lowered her head slightly and Sam knew what that meant. She wanted him to close the gap between them.

So he did.

Their lips connected and Sam melted into her, allowing Dobie to set the pace and length of the kiss.

It was deep and passionate, but nothing too crazy. It was their first kiss after all.

As Dobie pulled away, she kept a hand cupped on Sam’s cheek- smiling widely at him. Sam let out a soft breathy laugh before pushing his laptop away and quickly curling towards Dobie; desperate to be in her space.

a/n : i actually hated this until the very end and considered scrapping it

[worseforwords]

Danger

(Alessia Russo x Reader)

Chapter IV of Marshmallow

Four minutes. That’s how long it took for Alessia to say something that made your head spin when you saw each other again for the first time after Paris. You were in the changing room, unable to stop yourself from eavesdropping on the conversation on the other side of the room after Beth asked Alessia about the weekend you spent together in the city of love. “Yeah, it was really romantic. It almost felt real in a way.”

Her words caused you to perk up in an instant, and you could hear big, dramatic gasps emanating from Beth, Vic, and Kyra. “No, not like that, you idiots,” she quickly added. Of course not. Of course, it wasn’t like that.

The next few weeks once again revolved around finding the right balance between you and Alessia which was tougher than it seemed at first. You consciously distanced yourself from Alessia, even though you valued the friendship and connection the two of you had built over the past two months.

About three weeks in, you started feeling like you finally had things under control. You saw each other in training, talked and laughed together, but you always kept it light and casual. Both of you mostly fell back into your usual friend groups, so avoiding her outside of football wasn’t that hard, although you had to come up with excuses a few times in the process.

You were really feeling more confident in your own defences, so when Leah begged you to finally join a team night out again, you said yes. After all, you had started to run out of reasons not to, and obviously, you couldn’t tell her the real one.

The night out at the bar with your teammates was exactly what you needed after a long week of training. As you entered the lively bar, the sounds of laughter and music welcomed you. The atmosphere was electric, and you could tell it was going to be a memorable evening.

Leah wasted no time in rounding everyone up for a round of drinks. “First round’s on me!” she exclaimed with a mischievous grin, already heading towards the bar as you followed closely behind.

Meanwhile, Beth and Viv found a cozy corner booth for all of you to sit. Katie, true to form, was already causing a scene, engaging in animated conversation with the bartender as she ordered a round of shots for the table. “Make ‘em strong, mate!” she called out, earning a chuckle from the rest of the group.

“Katie, you’re going to get us kicked out before we’ve even had a chance to sit down,” Beth teased, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Relax! I’m just trying to spice things up a bit,” Katie retorted with a wink, earning another round of laughter from the group.

As the night progressed and the drinks kept flowing, Katie’s suggestion of playing a drinking game was met with enthusiastic approval from the group. The game started innocently enough, with rounds of laughter and playful banter filling the air. Laura was the first to lose a round, and she accepted her fate with a grin, downing a shot with flair.

Next up was Vic, who groaned dramatically when she lost. “Alright, no more shots for me. Hit me with your best dare,” she declared, rolling her eyes playfully. After a brief debate the group decided she had to do a TikTok dance all by herself on the empty dance floor. Brave as she was she did so without much hesitation, before sprinting back to the booth and falling into a fit of giggles in embarrassment.

After a couple of rounds, the alcohol had clearly taken its effect, and the laughter grew louder with each passing moment. The first few rounds you were on top of your game, and admittedly also a bit lucky. Luck wasn’t on your side forever though, and as the alcohol started taking its effect on you too, you eventually found yourself making more mistakes and losing a round.

Having had plenty of alcohol by now, you too decided on doing a dare instead of a shot. As everyone started discussing what they could have you do, Katie’s voice cut through the chatter, “How about you tell us how good of a kisser Alessia is!”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you shot a startled, somewhat angry glance at Alessia, who met your gaze with an apologetic expression. You hadn’t realised anyone beyond the two of you knew about your intimate moment in Paris. 

Alessia’s eyes then darted to Vic, who was busy shooting daggers across the table at Katie, who remained grinning, awaiting your response. It dawned on you how naive you had been to think such a juicy secret could remain between just the two of you in this team, but you couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed in Alessia. Though you now realised she likely saw the kiss as nothing more than a funny anecdote, and you couldn’t blame her for that. Unlike you, one sloppy kiss hadn’t left her longing for more, wanting to do it again every time you moved your lips to speak. She didn’t think about the feeling of your hands caressing the back of her neck every time she caught a whiff of your perfume, and she sure as hell didn’t imagine being trapped against a wall anytime you leaned into her before a corner. She wasn't pathetic like that. And neither were you, of course.

“I’ll take the shot instead,” you declared, tossing it back before excusing yourself and swiftly heading towards the toilet. You splashed some water on your face, and waited a while, hoping the topic of conversation would change whilst you were gone. Stepping back out after a minute, you found Alessia waiting in the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her expression apologetic as she placed a hand on your arm, indicating her sincerity. “I was stupid enough to think that would spread this quickly.”

“It’s fine, really,” you replied as you turned away, intending to rejoin the team, but Alessia’s grip on your wrist stopped you. “Wait—” she said and you turned around expectantly just as she tripped over her own feet and stumbled towards you, letting herself be caught by you. 

“Oh hi,” she said, her face now mere centimetres away from yours, and the familiar smell of her breath mixed with the smell of alcohol messed with your brain. “Maybe we should… you know— practice being girlfriends again, in case your parents show up or whatever,” she suggested with a grin, prompting you to steady her on her feet. She was clearly very intoxicated, more so than you and you realised there was no use in explaining to her again that your fake relationship was over. “Let’s head back inside shall we?” You suggested, avoiding her gaze as you turned away from her once more. 

“Yes! Let’s dance,” she exclaimed excitedly, following behind you.  By the time you arrived, your teammates were already dancing the night away, and you quickly made your way over to Leah, distancing yourself from Alessia.

“Mate, are you okay?” Leah asked, concern evident in her voice as she observed your expression. “You look proper floored.”

“Yeah, all good,” you lied, forcing a smile. “Nothing to worry about,” you tried to reassure her. Leah remained quiet for a bit, looking you up and down then scanning your face, seemingly unconvinced. “Well, great,” she replied finally, crossing her arms. “Now why the hell didn’t you tell me the two of you kissed?”

“Oh, that,” you began, trying to sound casual. “It didn’t mean anything, okay? So just drop it, please.” The annoyance in your voice caught yourself off guard and you quickly shifted your gaze to the floor, in fear of Leah’s reaction. “Jesus, all right,” she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Didn’t mean to step on your toes, mate.”

“Sorry Lee,” you groaned with an apologetic smile, although you knew she wasn’t really mad at you. She knew you were upset but she also knew you were as stubborn as a mule when it came to being vulnerable and talking about your feelings. She rolled her eyes dramatically and said, “Yeah, whatever. Let’s just have a good time and forget about it, alright?” 

You danced with Leah and some other teammates for a while before some of them headed to the bar with the promise of yet another round of drinks. Alessia seized the moment, pulling you into the centre of the lively crowd. The atmosphere was charged with energy, and Alessia, unburdened by inhibitions, twirled you around with an infectious grin.

As the music intensified, Alessia’s movements grew bolder. In the dim light and pulsating music, she closed the distance between you, her hand lingering on yours, and her body moving in sync with yours. You swallowed hard as you realised your intoxicated state inhibited you from doing anything but enjoy this moment.

At one point, the music slowed, and Alessia’s hand found its way to the small of your back, her gaze locking onto yours. She leaned in, a hint of mischief in her eyes, and you tensed, any questions you had getting stuck in your throat as you anticipated her next move.

Alessia’s lips brushed against your cheek, dangerously close to a kiss, but as you looked over her shoulder, you noticed Leah raising an eyebrow at you from where she stood across the bar. The realisation of what was happening hit you like a jolt, and you instinctively pulled back, breaking the intimate moment. A wave of conflicting emotions surged within you—temptation, confusion, and the desperate need to regain control. And you ran.

Leah caught up with you after a few minutes. “Hey! Wait, Y/N,” she called, grabbing your shoulder to slow you down from behind. “I don’t want to talk about it, Lee,” you groaned.

“Fine, don’t talk. But you’re not going home alone. I’m calling us an Uber,” she declared, and you knew there was no changing her mind. “Fine,” you sighed.

As you and Leah settled into the Uber, the ride was uncomfortably quiet. Each passing streetlight cast fleeting shadows across Leah's face, highlighting the concern etched into her features and her clenched jaw. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet her gaze, opting instead to stare out of the window as the city blurred past.

When the Uber pulled up outside Leah’s apartment, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation. Following your friend inside, you sank into the welcoming embrace of her sofa, feeling the weight of her gaze like a physical pressure.

Leah wasted no time, her voice cutting through the silence with unwavering determination. “Alright, out with it,” she demanded, her tone firm and uncompromising. “You’re not getting any sleep before you tell me what’s going on.”

At first, you scoffed at her blunt approach, your defences rising instinctively as you crossed your arms and stared at the wall. But beneath Leah’s steely exterior, you could sense the genuine concern and care in her words, and a part of you longed to unburden yourself to someone who truly understood. “I don’t know what to tell you, Lee. Nothing’s going on.” You briefly paused before quietly adding, “That’s the problem…”

“This is about Alessia,” Leah stated. Clearly, it didn’t matter how vague and distant you acted; she would always see right through you. “Y/N… that didn’t look like nothing to me.” Her voice was softer now, as she took a seat next to you.

“Well, it was,” you stated, and with a heavy sigh, you relented, the floodgates opening as you poured out anything and everything that had happened between you and Alessia in the past two months and how you felt about it. How you felt about her.

Leah listened intently, her expression softening as she absorbed your words, offering no judgment, only support. As you spoke, if only slightly, you felt a flicker of relief wash over you. And as the tears flowed freely, Leah remained by your side.

When you were done speaking, she held you as you shed a few more tears, until you felt your eyelids grow heavy. “Let’s get you to bed,” Leah softly stated as she took you to her guest bedroom.

The next morning, you woke up feeling a bit groggy but grateful for Leah’s help and care. When you entered the kitchen, she was still nowhere to be seen, so you decided to cook up a nice breakfast to thank her. You knew her kitchen like your own, as you always had to cook for her when you visited, not trusting her with it one bit. By the time Leah walked into the kitchen, you noticed her eyeing the food on the table with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“I made breakfast,” you offered with a chuckle, knowing all too well Leah’s lack of culinary skills. “Figured I’d return the favour. I can’t handle feelings without you, and you won’t have anything to eat without me.”

Leah raised an eyebrow in mock indignation. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to take cooking lessons,” she retorted, grabbing a slice of toast and taking a bite.

You both shared a laugh as you sat down to enjoy the delicious breakfast you had made. You ate in silence, and despite the weight of yesterday’s conversation still lingering in the air, there was a sense of peace and understanding between you.

Eventually, Leah broke the comfortable silence, her tone serious yet gentle. “Listen. I know there’s no way in hell you’re taking my advice on this,” she began, “but just for the record, I think you should tell her how you feel.”

You couldn’t help but shake your head, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “I can’t, Leah,” you admitted, the weight of your words heavy in the air. “She’s happy with Dan, and it wouldn’t be fair to her. Besides, I’d rather be friends than nothing at all.”

Leah sighed, her expression softening with understanding. “I get that, I really do, but you’re torturing yourself by letting things go on like this,” she said, her voice laced with concern.

Leah’s words stuck with you the rest of the day as you replayed the events of last night in your mind. She wasn’t wrong; this was torture for you.

By the end of the day, the solution seemed clear to you: avoid Alessia altogether. Confessing your feelings to her was not an option, and being around her hurt you. So, really, avoiding her was the only sensible thing to do.

The following week, you did everything in your power to make your plan work. You sat opposite to wherever she was in the changing room and in meetings, and left immediately after every training session. You stopped hanging out with teammates altogether, fearing she might join in. When Lotte mentioned she was coming over to your shared apartment, you quickly made up an excuse and left for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t easy, and frankly, it was painful when you felt her trying to reach out to you. She would attempt to start a conversation, and you would suddenly make a beeline for Leah or pretend you didn’t hear her. One time, she even sent you a photo of a new type of chocolate pretzels she had found, which you ignored. When she asked if you wanted to talk, you ignored that too, and it hurt.

Nevertheless, you knew in your heart this was the only way to keep the both of you from getting hurt, and so you persevered. That was until after two more weeks of avoidance, the inevitable finally happened.

Your alarm went off early that morning after not having had much sleep. The night before, Alessia had suddenly shown up at your apartment, stating she was there to meet Lotte. She had asked if you wanted to join them for dinner, and you made up an excuse and left. You didn’t return until much later, when the only light visible through the curtains was the little nightlight in the living room, and you knew the coast was clear. You stirred for a long time before finally falling asleep, having spotted Alessia’s coat and shoes in the hallway and knowing she was lying on the other side of the wall you were staring at.

You didn’t have training until later that day, but you decided on an early alarm so you could escape the apartment before anyone else would wake up. You quickly threw on some joggers and a sweatshirt and kept your morning talk in the mirror short and to the point. You felt a sense of confidence wash over you as you realised you’d managed to prevent yet another encounter with the person you had been avoiding for weeks. 

All that confidence left your body in an instant however, when you opened your bedroom door to be met with a pair of widened blue eyes already staring at you. “Hi,” said Alessia, a shy smile on her face.

“Morning,” you said dryly, “you’re up early.” You didn’t really want a conversation with her, but at this point, small talk seemed unavoidable. “I, uh, couldn’t sleep anymore,” she replied. You brushed past her to grab your shoes and sat down on the edge of the sofa to tie the laces.

“Hey, Y/N?” She started hesitantly, causing you to look up at her, dreading whatever she was about to ask you. “Do you want some coffee? I just made some.” 

“Oh, no thank you. I was just about to go for a walk actually,” you answered, avoiding her gaze by focusing on your shoelaces again. “Oh right, of course,” she said quietly. The discomfort she felt was clear in the way she moved, the tension in the room palpable. You felt your eyes starting to water as your emotions overwhelmed you. The disappointment written on Alessia’s face, the way your body tensed up with every word she said, and the fact that you still had to fight the urge to kiss her right then and there, it was all too much.

“Enjoy your walk,” she said softly as you disappeared into the hallway. You grabbed your coat and keys and finally left the house. 

As you were trying your best to fight the tears now brimming your eyelids from falling down your cheeks until you had at least rounded the corner, you heard a different voice calling your name from behind you: Lotte. And she didn’t sound happy. “What are you doing?” Her tone was like a shout but her volume that of a whisper, given how early it was.

“Taking a morning stroll,” you replied quietly without turning around hoping to leave it at that. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about Less. She really wants to talk to you but you’ve been avoiding her, ignoring her. I have no idea what’s going on with you but I can tell this is hurting her, and after all she’s done for you—” she stopped abruptly when you turned around to face her and she noticed the tears now rolling down your face. You saw the hesitation in her eyes. Lotte was not an angry person. In fact, this was the angriest you had ever seen her, so you knew you had really messed up. She scanned your face for a little longer before asking, “Can you please just tell me what’s going on?”

“I— I really can’t, I’m sorry.” You felt an immense sense of guilt wash over you. These past few weeks you had hardly given it any thought how your actions were affecting others. You had decided this was the best thing to do for everyone involved, but of course Alessia did not know that and she had had no say in the matter.

“Okay,” Lotte mumbled hesitantly, “okay, but will you at least talk to her later? You can’t avoid her forever, Y/N,” she stated, and you knew she was right. You took a deep breath before accepting your fate and telling her, “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

You opted to save the talk for after training, giving both of you some time to prepare. Lotte relayed the news to Alessia and assured to spend the night at her boyfriend’s place, granting the two of you some privacy. 

You spent your morning trying to figure out how to tell her what was going on, struggling to come up with the right words. The day went by fast and training, albeit awkward and tense, also flew by. Before you knew it, you were back home, bracing for the dreaded conversation.

Alessia seemed unusually uncomfortable, fidgeting with her hands as you walked into the familiar living room in silence. “Tea?” You asked and she nodded as she got settled.

Returning with two cups of tea minutes later, you took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. You sat in silence, both of you playing with your teabags for a while, contemplating how to initiate the conversation.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice hesitant. “I, uh, have been wanting to talk about the other night, you know, at the bar” she began, her words coming out slowly and anxiously. Weeks had gone by since that night, but you had not given her a single chance to talk about it since. “I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable or crossed any boundaries.” 

You waved off her apology with a small smile. “It’s fine,” you reassured her, not really wanting to think or talk about that night anymore, since you knew it was just a drunken mistake to her, and so much more than that to you. “Just... caught me off guard, is all.”

Alessia’s expression softened, like she somehow knew exactly what you meant by that. She took a deep breath before blurting out three words you had never expected to hear her say.

“Dan is gay,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “His parents are... well, they’re really homophobic.” As she spoke, you could see a mixture of pain and embarrassment etched in her features, the weight of her words heavy on her shoulders.

Your confusion must have shown on your face, prompting Alessia to continue, her words tumbling out in a rush. “And, well, my parents were like yours. They kept asking when I’m going to settle down with a boyfriend,”

As Alessia spoke, the pieces started to fall into place, and you listened intently as she unraveled the complex web of her relationship with Dan. “We were really good friends, Dan and I," she explained, “And we get along well, so we came up with this... arrangement.”

She paused, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing. “We decided to pretend to be together,” she admitted, pausing again to finally look at you. “To make everyone around us happy.”

“We just get each other so well, you know?” she added, her voice small. “And we already spent so much time together, so it wasn’t hard to pretend.”

You thought about what she said. Somehow, suddenly everything made sense but at the same time nothing did. After a moment of silence, you finally found the words to break through the heaviness in the air. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” you asked, your voice gentle yet curious.

Alessia hesitated for a moment before responding, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I was embarrassed, I guess,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “And all I wanted was to focus on my career, so this seemed like an easy way to get everyone to stay off my case too.”

She paused briefly before continuing. “I love the friendship I have with him,” she explained, a hint of sadness in her voice as she looked at you. “And I never really felt the need to be more than friends with anyone anyway, so this has just always felt like it was enough for me. Well, until—” she stopped speaking abruptly, her words trailing off into silence.

“Until what?” you pressed, your curiosity piqued by her sudden pause. But Alessia shook her head, her expression guarded. “Nothing, never mind,” she replied, avoiding your gaze.

The conversation lapsed into silence again, the unanswered question hanging between you like a heavy fog. “Okay… so why are you telling me this now?” you asked, breaking the silence once more, your voice soft.

Alessia shrugged, her eyes flickering up to meet yours. “I don’t know, I guess I felt really bad about lying to you all this time,” she confessed, her voice tinged with regret. “Since we’ve gotten so close. Not many people know. In our team, it’s just Lotte actually. I really value our friendship, Y/N.”

As you sat there, letting everything she had just confessed sink in and trying to make sense of what it all meant, you suddenly noticed how uncomfortable Alessia looked. You quickly scooted over to her side of the sofa, prompting her to look up at you.

Reaching out, you placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for telling me, Less,” you said gently, offering her a reassuring smile. “You know you have nothing to be embarrassed about, right? Especially since I did the same thing with you.”

A small laugh escaped her lips, a hint of relief flickering in her eyes. “Guess we’re both experts at this fake relationship thing, huh?” she remarked, the tension in the room easing slightly.

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, now it does make a lot of sense why you came up with the idea in the first place,” you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

Alessia smiled, the embarrassment slowly fading from her features. “Well, it seems to have worked for both of us,” she quipped, her tone lightening.

Taking a sip of her tea, Alessia seemed lost in thought for a moment before meeting your gaze once more. “Thanks, though,” she said sincerely, her eyes softening. “For understanding, and for not judging me.”

You returned her smile with a soft one of your own. “There’s nothing to judge. I think it's really nice of you to do this for Dan,” you added.

Alessia’s smile widened, a touch of warmth in her eyes. “Thanks, Y/N. Means a lot.” She paused, clearly wanting to add something else, her smile fading into a frown. “So… are we okay?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” you said genuinely. You didn’t exactly know why yet, but somehow you felt a sense of peace about the whole situation after the conversation you had just had.

“Good, I’m glad,” she said, a relieved sigh escaping her lips. “Cause I’ve missed hanging out with you. I was really glad we had become such good friends, and I was afraid I had ruined it all by not being honest.”

“You didn’t,” you reassured her. “I was just a little… confused,” you added, hoping to leave it at that.

She nodded. “Yeah, I get that. I hope this cleared some stuff up then.” She sent you a warm smile. As the conversation wound down, Alessia glanced at the clock, realising the lateness of the hour. “I should probably get going,” she said, rising from the sofa with a small sigh.

You nodded in understanding, standing up as well. “Yeah, no problem,” you replied, walking her to the door. Before she left, Alessia turned to. “Good night,” she whispered with a grateful smile on her face as she pulled you in for a warm hug.

“Good night, Less.”

[michelle-is-writing]

Aspen, Johnny Knoxville

Word Count: 1.3k~

With how much Jackass has travelled over the years, you’d think making hotel reservations would be easier. However, it is the jackass guys we’re talking about, and even though my husband is one of the sweetest and most caring guys, he’s included in that jumble. Then again, Johnny was one of the very first members of Jackass; so the bar for common sense never started out very high.

“There’s no way I’m sharing a room with him,” Dave states as he points at Pontius, obviously upset with the hotel’s recent revelation. “Why should we all have to share a room, huh? Why can’t we just go to another hotel?”

“Because this is the one we booked, and the floor we have only has big rooms with double beds,” Jeff states, already tired of Dave’s constant complaints. “Now just shut the hell up.”

Meanwhile, Johnny and I remain silent as everyone discusses their roommate plans for the next few nights. The guys decided to go to Alaska for an upcoming skit they’re wanting to do, and already, some aren’t happy thanks to the harsh weather change.

“Well, I already found my roommate,” Johnny points out the obvious as he pulls me closer to him by my waist. I only giggle up at him as the guys groan around us. Many years of marriage later and the guys are still waiting for our honeymoon phase to be over. Unfortunately for them, I don’t think of it as just a 'phase’ that will go away sooner or later.

Playing along with him, I gasp dramatically and slap his chest gently. “You'd choose me over Steve-O? What?” I joke making him snicker as he only tugs me closer to him. I’m not much for PDA, but I’ll happily accept the little bit of warmth coming from Johnny’s hold.

“Oh, honey, I’ll always choose you,” he assures me, his face barely inches away from mine as he grins coyly. His face is so close to mine that I can even smell the cinnamon gum he has in his mouth - the same gum I watched him take out of my purse right before we got here.

Before I can stare back at Johnny’s smirking face for any longer, Bam’s voice interrupts us, sarcasm clearly laced in his voice. “Can you two just not for five fucking seconds?” He complains, the guys fake gagging around him to match his attitude. However, Johnny and I just look back at each other with unfaltering smiles on our faces.

Thankfully, the guys are able to get their rooms sorted out, allowing all of us to head up to our rooms and get comfortable. We’ve been on the road for who knows how long because somebody had the great idea to go to Aspen for some stunts. After all of the driving and harsh temperature changes due to it being late at night, you’d think Johnny would want to go to bed or just relax, but nope. Not Johnny.

It’s only after a couple rounds that Johnny is happy, and I can’t say I’m unhappy as I thoroughly enjoyed those couple of rounds. However, I can say that these rooms are pretty small, and I have no doubt that the walls are thin as well.

“I’m so happy I married you,” Johnny murmurs to me after everything, making me smile despite the growing embarrassment gnawing at me. There were several times where my ears caught the immature laughter of the guys outside, and even though we tried to keep quiet, a few moans slipped out here and there.

“I think they heard us,” I point out to Johnny in a quiet voice, but I don’t think it reaches his ears.

“You’re so stunning,” he responds, making me roll my eyes.

“Johnny, I’m serious!” I tell him, sitting up in bed. “Get up and make sure no one is outside of the door or anything, please?” I practically beg him, earning a similar eye roll back.

“…fine.” Johnny groans after a few seconds, shuffling out of bed before throwing his pants on begrudgingly. After doing so, he heads to our hotel door and unlocks it before peeking his head out and turning to look down the hallway. My eyes watch him closely, waiting for the inevitable pin to drop.

“Hey, guys, if you could keep the noise down, I’m a little busy in here,” Johnny decides to yell out, making me completely freeze in the bed.

“Why the fuck are you talking?!” I hear Bam yell back, “We’ve had to suffer for the last thirty damn minutes hearing you and (Y/n) go at it like animals in there!”

As if I wasn’t already covered up by all of the blankets because of cold, I scoot myself farther underneath the covers to hide my burning face. I’ll never be able to live this moment down with the guys, and I’ll never let Johnny forget it either.

My brain doesn’t have enough time to register the blankets being lifted up behind me before a surprised shriek leaves my lips feeling a cold body jump in bed behind me, equally chilly arms wrapping around me and pulling me close at the same time. Instantly, I recognize Johnny’s hold from anywhere and shrink more into my blankets with an embarrassed giggle. “That was mortifying, PJ!” I murmur, earning a loud laugh back from him. He knows when I use his actual name, I’m not joking around.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Johnny apologizes, nuzzling his nose into my neck as he gently rocks us back and forth in the bed. “I didn’t realize the guys were standing out there… not saying it would have changed much, but-“

My laughter cuts Johnny off from saying anymore as he begins to join me in my giggling fit. It’s only when Johnny begin to nuzzle his face into my neck that our laughter begins to die down, causing me to turn over toward him. With our noses almost touching, I smile at him as I continue to get comfortable in Johnny’s hold. The whole time, he stares at me intensely, making me lift a questioning brow at him. “What?” He asks, shuffling his body even more against me. “Can I not stare at my stunning wife?”

Hearing the descriptor from earlier leave his lips once again, I only smile at him before closing my eyes. As I do this, I take a deep breath before pushing my head deeper into the pillow beneath our heads. For a few seconds, the room remains quiet (all except for the loud music still coming from the rest of the guys’ rooms), but Johnny soon breaks that silence. It starts with the rustle of the covers before his hand rests itself on my hip and he speaks up.

“Do you feel okay?” He asks, making me reopen my eyes to look back at him. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”

I love these moments where Johnny’s sweet and caring; we might be married, but I still find my heart beating faster in the moments where Johnny shows that tender side of him as he always has to be the jokester or prankster of the group.

“No, I’m okay, honey. I promise,” I tell him before pressing a soft kiss to his lips to seal the promise. However, before I can pull away, Johnny moves a hand behind my head and kisses me back fervently. This lasts for a few more seconds until he pulls away with a small sigh.

“You know I always want to make sure,” Johnny reminds me, earning a nod back from me. With that, we’re finally able to relax together with nothing else worrying us; however, once again, it’s Johnny who ends up breaking the silence in the room.

“After this, I have realized I cannot go anywhere else without you again,” he tells me, a smirk evident in his voice. “Ready to fill out your passport, babe?”

[siriusblackloml]

Day 3 - Hermoine Granger (Kinktober 2023)

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1200+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: swearing, eating out (MDNI 18+)

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist┊Day 4

Your naked body rubs against Hermoine’s clothed one as both your lips devour one another. She’s hovering over you as you lie on the bed so gracefully, completely nude while your legs are spread in a way that silently asks your girlfriend to get a move on already. She had taken off her own shirt and skirt, but barely had time to process taking off the rest of her undergarments before you were pulling her by the neck into a heated kiss. It was intense, messy, and rough as the two of you swirled your tongues and bit bottom lips. You gasp at the feeling of Hermoine’s hands running up and down body. Fingers carefully fluttering over your perky nipples, down your stomach, all the way to your round thighs. The knot in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter the longer she touched you.

Just the mere thought of Hermoine licking your pussy and swirling around your clit makes your mind go blank for just a split second. You dig your fingers into the bed sheets as she starts to trail kisses down your chest and stomach. However, she takes a bit too long for your liking. Hermoine pulls away from your stomach and starts to kiss your jawline, inching closer and closer to your lips. Body on fire from every kiss she leaves behind, you start to squirm underneath her power. You let out a deep huff, craning your neck to the side to pull away from your girlfriend’s intoxicating lips. “Can you just fuck me already?”

Hermoine rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue, making your stomach explode with butterflies. You knew that this meant she would (hopefully) start doing exactly what you wanted. Hands still on your thighs, she gives them a quick squeeze and closes the gap between both your bodies by swiftly kissing you. She bites your bottom lip, making you moan softly in the process. In a cocky tone of voice, she responds, “You’re such a little brat sometimes.”

No matter how much you might whine about her taking too long, and no matter how many times Hermoine will tease you for it, she’ll always cave in. She spoils you rotten.

“I’m sorry, Hermoine, I just want you to…well, you know!” You confess, smiling ear-to-ear. You keep your legs spread, however, and interlock your ankles together behind her back as to keep your girlfriend in place above your body.

Hermoine is amused by your behavior. You could practically feel holes burning into your skull the way she stares at you for so long. She likes to just take everything in at one time; the desperation in your voice, the spit covering your mouth, the way your eyes are begging her to fuck you like a toy. She bites her bottom lip and says to you, "I hope you know I plan to push you over the edge and make you feel like heaven is on earth. It’s only adequate that I treat my baby like she’s a princess.”

Something about her ability to talk so intelligently has you completely engrossed. Not that you weren't before. Under your bottom, you could feel a patch of dampness soaking the bed sheets. Her words alone make you a miserable, drenched mess.

One last time, Hermoine kisses your chest and starts to shimmy her way down towards your wet hole. You make sure to loosen your grip on her around your ankles so she has room to move. Meanwhile, you lean back even further into the pillows and sheets and sigh blissfully. This is exactly what you were wanting. Memories flash across your mind of the first time you and Hermoine ever did anything so dirty together. It was both rough and beautiful at the same time. The first time your girlfriend was slipping her tongue within you struck you as surreal. She has a way of getting you to finish in minutes, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

She knew exactly what to do to make you itch. It usually started with the whispers in your ear, then the kissing up and down your body. It all led up to this moment where she would finally treat your pussy like it was a candy meant to be eaten. Her hot breaths on your inner thigh leave you whiny again, repeatedly begging her like it was a mantra. “Please, please, please eat me out! Please, Hermoine!”

She finally shuts you up by pressing her mouth against your hole. Hermoine flattens her tongue against your folds and licks at the slick that was spilling out of you. You exhale a breath you hadn't known you'd been holding. You gasp at the sensation of her tongue working like clockwork in between your folds. She was moving everywhere that made you whimper with delight, up and down, side to side. "My, my, you taste so good," she murmurs against you, "I adore eating you out."

You can barely choke out any words the more she laps at your pussy. You throw your head back and let out a strangled moan, shutting your eyes tight as you enjoy the wondrous sensation. Her tongue caught you off guard, resting flat on your skin and licking broad stripes from bottom to clit. Hermoine's lips make harsh sucking noises as she extends her tongue to poke your sensitive nub. You can feel her giggle against your hole as you cry embarrassingly loudly, muttering under your breath at how fantastic it feels.

“Oh my- fuck, Hermoine!” You whine as she starts to suckle at your clit over and over again.

As she inserts her tongue inside you, a surge of delight washes over you. Your brow furrows in pleasure as Hermoine ravishes your cunt, sucking it over and over. The feeling in your stomach tightens as your body shakes with ecstasy. You'll soon be on fire merely from Hermoine's power.

"Fuck! Yes!" You practically scream, slowing down after being smacked with such a powerful surge of pleasure.

While your body shakes from the ultimate high, Hermoine pulls away from her spot on the bed. Her cheeks and chin were dripping with wetness and it only made her cute smile all the more sexy. Hermoine finally came around and promised exactly what she threatened you with earlier; you swear your body was in heaven right now.

“Wow, baby. You took me so well.” Hermoine giggles, pushing herself up from the bed to sit on her knees.

With your pointed finger, you motion for Hermoine to come closer to you. She lays her hands and knees on the bed to crawl towards you as she hovers over your body. You cup her cheek with your hand, pulling her into a wet kiss. Juices flood your mouth as the two of you fight for dominance with your tongues. You smile and hum to yourself as you taste your wetness on your tongue. As Hermoine pulls away, you can’t help but move your hand from her cheek to behind her back. You unclip her bra and watch as the undergarment falls forward, unleashing her beautiful breasts.

You tell her in a sultry tone and with a small wink, “I think it’s my turn to help you now.”

TAGLIST: @calmspencer, @baddiebbarbietngz, @slytherclaw1978, @serendipitous-fernweh, @pandanation24, @rachelreallyroars, @tinafuentes, @chvmpion-jack, @ethereallovr, @godknows-shetried, @waggoth, @ellieswhor3, @wildestdreamers-tv, @faefaes-world

[berrypass-de-murdler]

3 - 48 A Detective Club Rally

Here is a Cartoonverse map of Drakonia, I'll do Elsewhere once I'm done with book 3 :D

These maps take like 40 minutes to make even though they're so basic

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Logico trusts Irratino to send a call for help to the others, begging them to come to the Detective Club. Irratino shows Logico some of the responses.

“We will going to the convention. I am always here for you. I love you.”

Some responses are a little threatening over text, but of course she means well.

“IT’S A GOOD DAY TO GO DO THAT, IT IS!” 

No one knows why Dr. Crimson is talking like Yoda. And finally…

“Can I come? :)” 

It’s Dame Obsidian. Why would she want to come help the detectives? Logico and Irratino exchange glances, but say no words. Eventually, Gico grabs the phone and replies.

“Fine, just no murder.”

There’s a “...” for a long time, but she finally answers, “Wtv”

Later, they all arrive at the Detective Club. Logico steps up to a podium, prepared for a speech. 

LOGICO: Everyone! Thank you very dearly for coming today, even if I don’t understand why. As you know, Irratino and I are being hunted down by representatives from TekCo Futures, and they plan to hold us hostage in TekTopia. We are doing everything in our power to stay away from them, and we need a solid plan to get them to stop.

As he’s speaking, he can’t help but stare at Crimson. She looks significantly less deranged than before her near-death. Could she have a greater value for life now, or is something very, very wrong?

Before he can contemplate that any longer, a crowd of human protestors floods through the door!

PEOPLE: END THE DEDUCTIVE! END THE DEDUCTIVE!

Irratino grabs Logico. Where did these bloodthirsty humans come from?? But the threat doesn’t last long - Logico hears a dying gasp, and all of them run away (except for the dead one).

UMBER: Oh god… Oh good god… That was so scary?

Crimson comforts the child. Logico drops to the round and rolls, frustrated by the lethal interruption.

UMBER: I wanna go outside… I wanna go outside. IRRATINO: All right, all right, it’s okay…

He takes her outside, and she hides in the grass. Meanwhile, Dame Obsidian hasn’t changed her face expression since she got here. 

OBSIDIAN: You know, Deductive… I could have sworn that Dr. Crimson had a sign, and was joining in with the protestors. CRIMSON: OH!!!

She runs to a corner and rips her sign which read ‘DO IT YOURSELF’.

Just outside, Irratino has a little companion clutching onto him.

UMBER: Iwwatino… why did the peopwe, try to murder Logico. IRRATINO: I… don’t know.  UMBER: I thought everyone loves Logico. IRRATINO: Most of us love Logico. There are just some people that are… crazy. 

Irratino struggles to find words, since he doesn’t want to scare her, but he is shaken by the fact that these humans apparently wanted him dead.

UMBER: Let’s go take a human, and give him what he’s done. IRRATINO: ???

They go back inside, where Logico is confronting Obsidian. 

OBSIDIAN: Good job, Deductive. You figured out whodunit. LOGICO: I THOUGHT YOU AGREED NO MURDER!!

Irratino cringes at the thought that Logico actually believed her.

OBSIDIAN: I wanted to illustrate why we are all here - to protect our beloved detectives. But you have to be alert - I managed to kill someone while you were in the room. You have to know how to protect yourselves.

Logico falters sadly. Obsidian drops her soft expression to form another sly smile.

OBSIDIAN: You two are so cute, you know that?

Logico pouts and waddles over to Irratino. He hates when she’s right! 

UMBER: I’m glad you wanted to help save the deductives and friends Dame Obsidian.

The normally unflappable Sid is confused by the child, and heads off.

The end!

I don't have the faintest idea where baby umbah came from but omg

She has the most distinct voice I wish you could hear, because it doesn't sound like any other character I've ever heard

VERY deep unfeminine voice, very heavy British accent, and she has trouble saying Rs and Ls

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[starrstruck-xx]

when your servant is a little shite

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

Then Merlin looks at Gaius, who’s sitting there, eyeing him as if he knows what Merlin is going to do.

‘Merlin, no’

‘Merlin yes’

or

Merlin tests the limits of Arthur’s patience.

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

alternatively, ao3 link

original prompt

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4 (you're here), PART 5, PART 6

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

Arthur is waiting for a trial.

Earlier that day, a woman had come crying at the castle gate. Begging an audience with the king. She brought her son’s corpse, blaming it on her neighbor.

He cried innocence when the guards dragged him from his home into Camelot’s cell. And so here they are, in the throne room, airtight, waiting for their trial.

Merlin knows the truth; of course he does; he did his own investigation behind Arthur’s back. He sort of had a plan for how this trial would play out, and he hoped he could execute it.

“What’s taking them so long?” Arthur asks from his throne, and Merlin shrugs.

Arthur sighs, staring intently at the door. Five minutes later, they hadn't arrived yet. “Did we get the time right?”

“Yes, twelve on the dot sire, they’re late." Merlin said

It’s not an unusual occurrence; there was that one time they had to cancel a trial because the witness didn’t show up. They were later found dead in the forest.

Arthur stands and says, “I’m going to look for them.”

Merlin immediately stops him, sitting him down on his throne. “My Lord, you must remember, patience is key.”

“What use does the key have if the problem isn’t here yet?”

Right, that was a bad analogy. But Arthur can’t go outside because, well, let’s just say Merlin prepared something that he didn’t want Arthur to see. Merlin starts to think of ways to keep Arthur in place.

They’ll come eventually, Merlin is confident. But for how long, he’s not sure.

Merlin looks at the door, still tightly shut. Hm. And then he looks at Arthur and the empty throne beside him.

Oh.

Well, Merlin had been wanting to test this theory for a while, but he couldn’t do so without looking absolutely disrespectful and rude. And truthfully, he still feels embarrassed about the stunt he pulled at the second annual economics conference.

But seeing Sir Lunard and his friend’s faces after the conference brings him joys he cannot describe. They’re here too, in the corner of the room, probably gossiping about Merlin again. I can’t blame them.

Merlin looks at the empty throne again. Mulling over his choices. Well, this might be rude and disrespectful, but at least it kept Arthur sitting.

So Merlin pats Arthur’s shoulder, giving him what hopefully is a reassuring smile before he goes to sit on the Queen’s chair. If the court wasn’t looking at them, they’re staring now.

Merlin could already feel another round of lecturing tonight from the old man across the room.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” Arthur asks for the third time that week.

“I am sitting, sir, because my legs are tired." that was the same excuse as last time. “And I want to see if what you said about the chair being as hard as ‘Gwen's flooring back when I disguised myself as a peasant’ is true.”

Arthur's face gapes like a fish, trying to make sense of what’s happening, but before he could argue, the group came in, the mother and a man, accompanied by a set of guards.

The mother was hysterical, and the man was pale. Meanwhile, the guards are silently questioning Merlin’s position on the queen's throne. It would have been funny if not for the dead baby on the floor.

“My son, my poor son,” she cried loudly, sniffing into her cloth.

“I didn’t do it!” The man cried and did not question why there are two men sitting on the throne when there’s supposed to be one king.

“Now let’s just be calm." Arthur was caught off guard by the mother’s wail, holding her son’s body close to her chest.

“This rascal snuck into my house to steal my gold, and he killed my son! How could you do this? He’s only a baby!”

“I didn’t do it! I swear it's my mother’s name!” he begs, kneeling on the floor. “You have to believe me, your majesty, this woman is framing me!”

“How could you say such cruel things? The proof is there!”

“It’s not proof! It’s all lies!!” He said, gripping his hair so hard it might fall off his scalp. "Please, your majesty!”

“My son, your highness! My son is dead!”

“She’s lying, your highness!”

“Don’t believe anything that came out of this thief’s mouth.“

"Stop,” Arthur said, silencing them. Arthur massages his temple, thinking for a while, before he turns to look at Merlin. “What do you think?”

Merlin, having already figured everything out, said to him, "Well, for starters, Gaius, do you mind analyzing the cause of death?”

“Isn’t it clear? He gutted his throat! It’s all there to see!” she said

“It’s true, sir." Elyan said, presenting a bloody hatchet. “This was found at the man’s home.”

The court whispers loudly at this new revelation. Merlin leans on his hand. “Then I assumed you would have no problem if the court physician were to check his body.”

“Search all you want, you won’t find anything,” she laughs. Merlin nods at her, and Gaius goes to check on the baby. It took a few minutes before Gaius widened his eyes, obviously faking his surprise. “Why, he’s been poisoned.”

The mother stiffens. The court gasped, whispering loudly, “What type of Gaius?” Merlin asks him

“From the symptoms, I think it might be hemlock.”

“Interesting, thank you, Gaius.”

Gaius stands, and then starts to stare at him. 'Merlin, why are you sitting on the Queen’s throne? This is ridiculous even for you; get off there right now!’

Merlin nods, dismissing him, ‘No.

Gaius sighs, nodding before going back to the audience.

Merlin continues to address the court. “That’s an interesting revelation, but that certainly doesn’t prove anything. Sir Elyan, did you find any sort of potion while you were searching the thief’s house?”

"No, we did not,” he answers, connecting the pieces.

“I see. Now, may you please call Sir Leon and Lady Guinevere for me. They’re waiting outside.” Elyan nods, going outside to fetch them. Arthur immediately turns to him in disbelief, and Merlin shrugs, smiling.

Leon and Gwen both came in with a woman. Befuddled at Merlin’s position, but their faces turned grim once they saw the baby on the floor.

“We were called?” Leon asked

"Yes, Sir Leon, may you please introduce this woman to the court?” Merlin gestures to the woman beside him.

Leon nods. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the shopkeeper at the edge of town; she has something she wants to say,” Leon said, giving an encouraging nod to her.

She sighs, uncertain, looking at Merlin before she eventually says, “It was two nights ago... I usually don’t sell potions, but I encounter them on my journey. So as a shopkeeper, I keep it at the edge of my shelf. No one bought it for months, until... She looks at the mother and sighs.

“I shouldn’t have kept it; I shouldn’t even have sold it, but I did remember this woman coming to my shop late at night, as for the man, I never saw him in my life.”

“You liar!” She screams, launching at her, and the guards hold her down.

Merlin, completely dismissing her, continues to ask her, “And did she buy the potion?”

She was silent, looking at the woman in front of her, and then at the dead child, before eventually saying, "Yes,”

“Does the bottle that you sell have some sort of writing on it?” Merlin continues

“I remember it saying ‘hemlock’” She said she was unsure. The court is wild, whispers turn into full-on conversations.

“But I’m not sure; I could be wrong,“ she says as Arthur raises his hand to silence the court.

“No, it’s alright, miss; that's very useful information. Thank you; that’s very brave of you,” Merlin said, approving her.

“Now, I want everyone to take a look at this. Lady Guinevere, would you mind telling the court what you’re holding?”

She stepped forward, holding a clothed object. “I found this at her home. Everyone is so focused on the man’s house, so I searched at the mother’s house instead. I thought that we could find some new insights and this is what I found.” She said, showing an empty bottle with the word ‘hemlock’ written on it.

The mother has gone pale. “But—“

“I rest my case your honor” he said to Arthur, gesturing for the guards to hold her down, stopping her from attacking them

Then, Merlin turns to Arthur, who’s staring at him, too stunned to do anything. “What Merlin?”

“The verdict”

“Oh yes! The verdict!” Arthur said, standing in front of them. Merlin followed immediately.

“By the court of Camelot, you are found guilty of murder; does anyone have any objections?”

Everyone stayed silent, shaking their heads.

“I object! The king framed me!” She says this, pointing at Merlin.

"Um, no, I’m the King. He’s my…” He looks at Merlin. "He's, uh, he's—according to the laws of Camelot, you are sentenced to death.”

“WHAT?” She yelled at him as the guards dragged her away, cursing King Arthur’s and his lineage to come.

“Thank you, thank you so much, King Arthur. I am forever indebted to you!” The man thanked him, bowing at Merlin.

"Wait, no, no, I’m not—“

“I shall train and join your knight's sire! I realize now that it is my duty to protect you! Please wait for me, my king!" He said, grasping Merlin’s hand before bowing at Arthur. “Sir!”

But before they could say anything, he had already run off, probably to share his wonderful tale of King Arthur.

"He's never seen you before, hasn’t he?”

"No,” Arthur said, pursing his lips and staring into him. And it was at this moment that Merlin just remembered that he had been sitting on the queen’s throne for an indefinite amount of time, probably just insulting Arthur’s mom, his future wife, and his whole ancestry.

Merlin waited nervously before Arthur said, “Thank you, Merlin,” and walked off to brief the guards, like nothing had happened.

It seems like the court appreciation for Merlin has gone up, they no longer scowl when they meet him.

The next time they hold a trial, Arthur insists that he sits at the Queen’s throne.

“You’re the jury at this point; I might as well give you a special seat,” he said when Merlin told him the whole notion was ridiculous.

[mjonthetrack]

pressure

CHAPTER 117: "Y'ALL COME GET HIM."

9:43AM. Cliff’s townhouse in Staten Island. Post-round-too-many. She was shaking, spiritually and physically.

Taliyah lay flat on her back, hoodie long gone, the AC on blast but she was still sweating. Somewhere in the mess of discarded socks and twisted blankets was her dignity. Maybe. But right now?

She had nothing but Cliff’s voice in her ear, growling sleepy praises while his hand roamed down her thigh again.

“Baby, come on… one more. Just one.”

Her voice? Shaky as hell.

“Clifford, if you rearrange my organs again I’m gonna need a wheelchair and a prayer cloth—please let me live.”

But his big ass was already kissing down her stomach like the man had not just folded her like a card table five minutes ago.

She screamed silently, snatched up her phone from the floor, and texted:

📲 Group chat with the Wu Legal + Studio fam: Taliyah J. Nichols:

sos. please. someone come get this man. if he realign my spine one more time I think my walls may collapse and I’ll be left paraplegic. this man ain’t letting me REST PLEASE.

RZA:

🤨

Raekwon:

girl he in love, shut up and suffer 😭

Ghostface:

tell that boy to hydrate between rounds damn.

U-God:

i told y’all once he get her back it’s over for all of us.

Separately… she texted Mariah and Tamir too.

📲 Taliyah:

y’all come get your daddy please I’m begging you I am not invincible this is not a marvel movie I CANNOT TAKE ANOTHER ROUND I HAVE A SHOW TO FILM

Mariah:

LMAOOOOOOO girl I warned you 😭😭😭

Tamir:

you earned that step mommy d, don’t play scared now 💀💀💀

Meanwhile? Cliff came back from the bathroom with nothing but a chain on and a bottle of water, sipping slow like he didn’t just have her in a leg lock two hours ago.

“What you over there gigglin’ about, hm?”

Taliyah tossed her phone under the pillow like a criminal.

“Nothing,” she lied.

“Mmhm.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her ankle, then her shin, then the inside of her thigh, and she instantly started praying for strength. Or maybe medical leave.

“You still mine?” he whispered into her skin.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Forever.”

Later that night, the group chats were in flames again because someone leaked a pap shot of Cliff at Whole Foods with his hand in the back pocket of her leggings like they were on a honeymoon. Her face? Glowing. His? Smug and unbothered.

Shaderoom posted it with:

“Not Method Man outside looking like he just ruined her entire week and about to do it again 😭😭😭 #SoftLaunchOver”

Chapter 118 – “You Not About to Have My Kid Up in Here Like a Criminal”

Najir sat in the school’s front office, arms folded so tight it looked like he was physically holding in the rage simmering beneath his skin. His right knuckles were split, dried blood caked into the lines of his fist, and a bluish bruise was beginning to swell just below his left eye. His jaw clenched with every passing second. The principal sat across from him—nervous, awkwardly silent, and very clearly out of his depth.

The door slammed open.

Cliff stormed in first, Wu-Wear hoodie half-zipped, chains swinging, that unmistakable dad-with-a-mission energy in every stomp of his boots. But before he could even let a single “What the hell happened?!” fly—

Taliyah. Walked. In.

Not marched. Walked. But that walk had intention. Power. That red-bottom energy in a pair of plain sneakers. She breezed past Cliff, past the secretary who tried to offer her some useless hall pass form, and zeroed in on Najir like a mama lion clocking her cub in distress.

“Najir,” she breathed, her voice low, her brows scrunched into a mix of panic and protectiveness. “Baby boy, look at me.”

His head tilted up like gravity didn’t exist anymore. Tough-boy act crumbling just a little as he saw her—saw how worried she was.

She dropped to her knees right in front of him, cupping his bruised jaw with both hands. “You okay, baby boy?” she whispered, thumb stroking over the edge of his cheekbone, examining every inch of his face.

Najir nodded once. Stiff. Still pissed. “I’m good,” he muttered, but his voice cracked.

Cliff stood frozen behind them, arms slowly dropping to his sides as he watched this woman—his woman—show up and slide into her role like she'd been born for it. He didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. His throat was tight with pride and a little disbelief.

The principal finally cleared his throat. “We’re taking this very seriously. Najir was involved in a physical altercation, and we have to consider suspension—”

“Oh, you got me fucked up.”

Taliyah snapped up to her full height. Fire blazed in her chestnut eyes as she turned toward the principal. “You not about to have my kid up in here like a damn criminal while he’s sitting here with bruises on his face. Now get your ass in that nurses’ office and find me a damn ice pack or something before I take that nameplate and beat you with it!”

The office went dead silent.

The secretary dropped her pen. Cliff blinked. Najir… actually smirked.

The principal stammered. “Ma’am, that’s not—”

“No, no, no.” She pointed a sharp acrylic at him, stepping closer. “You sitting here more worried about suspending the Black boy who defended himself than figuring out what the hell made him throw hands. Who said what? Hm? You talk to that kid?”

Cliff finally found his voice, stepping forward, his hand resting gently at the small of Taliyah’s back. “T, baby…”

She exhaled hard, chest rising and falling. But she didn’t back down.

“Y’all lucky he’s calm,” she hissed, looking back at Najir. “'Cause I woulda lost my mind if this was Mali or Dream. Don’t let me find out some lil mouthy punk said some disrespectful shit and you grown folks ain’t step in. He’s seventeen. He’s a kid. Don’t treat him like he’s a damn threat.”

The principal finally stammered an apology, excusing himself to go “double-check” the nurse's availability.

Taliyah sank back down next to Najir, sighing out slowly as she wiped the corner of his mouth with her sleeve. “Talk to me. What happened?”

He glanced down. “He said shit about you. Talkin’ reckless. I told him to shut up, but he kept going... sayin’ you was just some girl our dad was messing with, calling you names.”

Her lips parted, eyes softening, but she didn’t interrupt.

“So I knocked him out,” Najir finished, unapologetic.

Cliff couldn’t hold back his laugh-snort at that point. “That’s my son.”

Taliyah gave him the look. “Not helping, Clifford.”

She turned back to Najir, her tone gentler now. “Thank you… for defending me. But you gotta let me handle the words, okay? I can’t have you catching charges out here.”

“I don’t care,” he muttered. “You family.”

That did it. Her breath caught, and she blinked back a hot wave of emotion. She kissed the side of his head and leaned into his shoulder. “You gon’ make me cry in this office.”

Cliff looked at them both—his son, bruised but bold, and the woman who wasn’t biologically related to a single one of his kids, yet protected them like they were her own. He couldn’t have spoken if he tried. His heart was too full.

The nurse finally came in with an ice pack.

Taliyah pressed it gently to Najir’s face, rubbing his back while Cliff dealt with the paperwork. As they all stood to leave, Najir surprised her by grabbing her hand.

“You hungry?” he asked.

She smiled softly. “Starving.”

“Let’s get takeout. You can sit next to me,” he said.

“You mean the seat I bought with my own money?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that one.”

Taliyah laughed, slipping her arm around his shoulder.

And just like that, she wasn’t just “his girl” anymore. She was their girl.

CHAPTER 119 – “FAVORITISM? Y’ALL FAVORITIN’ HER!”

Cliff was leaned all the way back on that sleek black leather couch in Najir’s lil studio office — the space that doubled as a man-cave slash creative zone. Posters of classic albums lined the walls, vinyls stacked in a neat corner, and a worn hoodie with “WU” stitched across the chest was slung over the mic stand like a flag.

Najir sat across from him, one leg bouncing, holding his phone up sideways as he scrolled through pics.

“You peep this one?” Cliff asked, smirking hard as he zoomed in.

It was Taliyah — cotton tee knotted at the waist, curls down, no makeup, still drop-dead. She had a plastic fork in one hand, lifting food up to Najir’s mouth like he was three years old and not damn near grown. He was leaned all into her, eyes halfway closed like she was feeding him oxygen.

Cliff chuckled, phone already in hand. “I’m sending this to Tamir. Right now.”

Najir snorted. “He gon’ blow a gasket.”

Cliff didn’t wait. He opened FaceTime, hit Tamir 😎🧢, and it rang barely twice before it connected.

“Ayo!” Tamir answered, back camera first showing a bowl of cereal and a half-played Xbox game. “What’s good, Pops?”

“You tell me,” Cliff said, flipping the screen and aiming it straight at Najir’s smug-ass face, then to the photo on his phone of Taliyah mid-feed.

“NOPE. NAH. ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

Tamir was already yelling, flipping his camera around in record time to show his face full of betrayal.

“Y’ALL FAVORITIN’ HER! YOU—NAJIR! YOU NOT EVEN THE OLDEST!”

Najir was cackling, doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes.

Cliff was damn near crying too. “He mad mad.”

“I been knew Taliyah longer,” Tamir barked, standing now, shirtless, waving a spoon. “I took her to baseball! She fed mefries! And now you stealing my seat?!”

“Hey, bruh, she my girl too,” Najir smirked. “She said I’m her favorite.”

“YOU’RE LYING. Tell me she ain’t say that—Dad, tell him she ain’t say that.”

Cliff sipped from his water bottle, real chill. “I mean… she might’ve said he was cuter than you.”

“OH MY GOD!”

Najir was on the floor now, banging the carpet with one hand.

Tamir paced like a sitcom character mid-meltdown. “You see this? Y’all trifling. I’m the oldest son. I should be fed first. That’s like… a birthright or something!”

“Bet. Then you can change the baby diapers if I knock her up,” Cliff deadpanned.

Tamir dropped the phone.

Literally. The FaceTime landed sideways on the couch.

Cliff laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “Ayo pick that phone up! I ain’t done talkin’!”

Tamir’s voice came from offscreen, high-pitched and offended: “Not y’all turning this into a whole domestic empire without me! Don’t let her cook dinner for him before me, I’m swingin’!”

Najir finally picked the phone up and gave Tamir a real smug grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you a bite. Maybe.”

Tamir rolled his eyes and fake sniffled. “Tell her I miss her. Even if she betraying me and raising my brother’s blood sugar.”

Cliff smirked, leaning back as Najir said, “She already texting us about dinner tonight. We all pulling up.”

“Oh we all in now? Bet. But I get first hug or I’m keying somebody’s car.”

The FaceTime call ended with Tamir yelling something about “justice for the firstborn” and Cliff just shaking his head, chest warm.

Because in this weird, chaotic mess of lawsuits, exes, and viral scandals…

His family?

They were starting to feel whole.

CHAPTER 120 — “GROCERY BAGS & HUG ATTACKS”

The door creaked open, and the scent of jasmine, vanilla, and fresh air rolled in with her. Taliyah’s tiny 5'0" frame was nearly dwarfed behind the mountain of Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods bags in her arms. Reusable totes hooked over her wrists, she used her hip to kick the door shut behind her with a practiced little thud.

“C!” she called out, breathless but chipper. “I put my apartment on the market—AND I brought groceries!”

She made it barely three steps in before a pair of arms grabbed her from behind and she yelped, nearly flinging a carton of oat milk.

“AYO!” she squealed. “IF THIS IS A PRANK I SWEAR TO GOD—”

The grocery bags were swiftly lifted from her arms. When she spun around, ready to swing a loaf of brioche bread if she had to, she froze.

Mariah and Tamir stood grinning down at her like two giant-ass kids who had just stolen cookies from the jar.

Tamir held a bag in each hand like he was on “Chopped.” “You tryna carry all this solo? Girl, you got muscles under that hoodie?”

Mariah leaned in and grinned. “We knew you was moving in. Daddy already told us.”

Taliyah blinked, flustered, her eyes darting between them. “Wait, wait—hold on. Hold on! I ain’t officially moved in yet, I just… brought groceries and gave up my apartment for love or whatever. Don’t y’all start planning no TikToks of me sweeping in a bonnet.”

Before either of them could clap back with their usual antics, a soft squeal echoed from the hallway.

“TALIYAAAAH!!”

Taliyah immediately turned, her eyes lighting up as the smallest body in the house made a beeline toward her.

“Dreamie!” she gasped, crouching down just in time to catch the tiny torpedo that was Dream, Clifford’s eight-year-old baby girl.

Dream collided into Taliyah’s chest with the full force of a joyful kid sprinting at her favorite person. Taliyah wrapped both arms around her, squeezing tight, her curls flopping into Dream’s face as she peppered her cheeks with kisses.

“You miss me, lil mama? Huh?” she asked, rocking them side to side.

“I drawed you something yesterday and then again this morning and then again after cereal,” Dream mumbled proudly, her voice muffled against Taliyah’s hoodie.

“Aww, you got me in a lil art chokehold,” Taliyah teased. “I love it.”

Before she could even rise from her crouch, another body squeezed in from the side.

“Mooooove,” came a dramatic huff, and eleven-year-old Mali wedged her way right into the hug, arms wrapping around Taliyah’s waist like she belonged there.

“Girl, if you wanted a hug you coulda just said that,” Taliyah laughed, pulling her in. “Y’all about to have me crying and I ain’t even got my lashes glued right today.”

Mariah caught the moment on her phone with the speed of TMZ, already whispering, “This is exactly what the world needed.”

Tamir, on the other hand, was fake-pouting in the corner. “Wow. Not me carrying five bags and getting zero hugs. Y’all fake.”

Mali looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “You too grown for hugs.”

Dream giggled into Taliyah’s neck. “Taliyah not too grown though.”

“That’s right,” Taliyah said, arms full of love and eyes suspiciously shiny. “Taliyah got hugs for everybody. Even Tamir’s dramatic behind.”

“I heard that,” Tamir muttered with a grin.

The front door clicked again, and they all turned — Cliff walked in from the garage, hoodie low over his braids, keys in hand, eyes immediately scanning and locking on her.

His voice dropped, smooth and laced with that dangerous warmth.

“You home, mama?”

Taliyah, still crouched and surrounded by his kids, just smiled softly and said, “I guess I am.”

CHAPTER 121 — “LIFTED”

The late afternoon sun spilled through the huge windows of Cliff’s open-plan kitchen, bouncing off the stainless steel appliances and making the whole place glow like something out of a music video. The speakers were thumping soft 90s R&B—SWV, to be specific—and the smell of lemon pepper wings mixed with sweet plantains drifted through the house like perfume.

Mariah was at the counter chopping bell peppers like she was auditioning for Top Chef. Mali was on sweet tea duty. Dream was coloring at the breakfast nook. Cliff? He was by the grill out back, doing that serious dad squat in front of the flames like he was protecting national secrets.

Inside, it was chaos. Controlled chaos. Family chaos.

And in the middle of it all? Taliyah. Grinning, glowing, hoodie sleeves rolled up, hair in a bun, and absolutely outnumbered.

She was holding her own just fine—until suddenly, without warning, WHOOSH—

“AHHHHH!”

“Tamir! BOY!”

He’d come outta nowhere—snuck up while she was sipping water and before she could even blink, she was airborne. Screaming and laughing at the same damn time, Taliyah found herself tossed up like a rag doll onto Tamir’s broad-ass back.

“Tamir Clifford Walker Jr. PUT ME DOWN!” she shrieked between breathless giggles, smacking at his shoulder. “I can’t even touch the ground! I told y’all I was short!”

Tamir was cracking up as he jogged in circles around the island like she wasn’t a whole full-grown woman.

“You 4'11" in sneakers, ain’t nobody scared of you!” he teased, Dream trailing behind them yelling, “GIVE HER BACK!”

“I’m five even, don’t play with me!” Taliyah protested, bouncing slightly as he adjusted her on his back. “And you better not drop me, Tamir! I swear to God I will haunt you for the rest of your damn life!”

“You heavy for a lil person,” Tamir shot back.

“Say that again and you’ll be walking into traffic,” she quipped, trying to keep a straight face.

Mariah, filming from the sidelines with tears in her eyes from laughing, was yelling, “Tamir, if you drop her and Daddy comes in here and sees it—YOU on your own!”

Mali ran by, waving a phone. “This is definitely going on TikTok!”

Taliyah groaned dramatically. “Y’all better not turn me into a meme! I swear!”

“Girl,” Tamir smirked, adjusting her with ease like he did this every weekend, “you already went viral once feeding me cheese fries like we was on a romcom date, it’s too late.”

Taliyah buried her face in his shoulder and cackled. “Oh my GOD. Why did I even come back?!”

But she was laughing. Loudly. Freely. Genuinely.

It had been a long damn time since she’d done that.

And that’s when Cliff walked in. Through the sliding glass doors, brow glinting with sweat, black T-shirt clinging to muscle, holding a plate of sizzling ribs—and froze in the doorway.

He took in the scene: Tamir with his grown woman on his back, Mariah cheering, Dream now trying to climb Tamir also, Mali filming the entire circus, and Taliyah? Bright eyes, flushed cheeks, mouth wide with laughter.

And all he could do was smile.

“Y’all having fun or do I need to regulate?” he asked, voice low but amused.

Taliyah peeked over Tamir’s shoulder and shouted, “C, YOUR KIDS ARE MENACES.”

Tamir smirked. “She loves it here.”

Cliff met her eyes—and his voice dropped another octave. “So do I.”

Taliyah’s breath caught a little. Just for a moment. Just enough to make her heart skip.

And as Tamir finally let her down and her feet hit the ground with a wobble, she found herself right in front of Cliff again. His hand came to the small of her back like it belonged there.

“I missed you in my house,” he murmured.

She grinned up at him. “Well good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

The room kept moving, music playing, wings sizzling—but for those two? Time stood still.

CHAPTER 122 — “FAMILY STYLE”

The dining room table looked like something off a cooking show—long, mahogany, and filled end to end with every soul food classic you could imagine. Fried chicken with hot honey glaze, mac and cheese bubbling at the corners, collard greens with turkey necks, sweet cornbread, rice and gravy, green beans with potatoes, deviled eggs with a lil paprika sparkle on top. It was a spread.

The Wu-Tang playlist was low in the background, mostly instrumental so the laughter and conversation could shine over it.

Taliyah was seated right in the middle of the action, wearing an oversized long sleeve tee tucked into soft denim shorts, her legs crossed under the table, curls piled into a high puff on her head, and silver hoops peeking from beneath. She had zero intention of being the center of attention, and yet somehow… she was. Not because of drama. Not scandal. Not headlines.

Because she was bonded.

To them.

She cracked up, head thrown back, when Tamir mimicked her laugh mid-story. “Boy shut up, I do not laugh like that!”

Tamir smirked, stealing a fried wing off her plate. “Yes you do! You go ‘HA HA HAA!’ like you just read the funniest tweet of your life.”

Mariah was giggling too, sipping her sweet tea. “Don’t lie though, Taliyah got the best laugh. It’s one of those contagious ones.”

Taliyah squinted at them. “Y’all only saying that ‘cause I bought dinner at the ballpark last week. Be for real.”

Tamir grinned. “And you fed me cheese fries like a lil prince. I do not forget these things.”

“Grown ass toddler,” Taliyah muttered with a smirk, lifting her fork again to his mouth. “Here. Be quiet.”

Tamir leaned in with his mouth open and a smug “aaaaah” like a whole child.

Across the table, Mali giggled and Dream squealed, “That’s so nasty, you’re too big!”

“You right,” Taliyah laughed, kissing her teeth, then turned right back to Dream, cool and collected like she’d done this before. “Here you go, Dreamie girl. Chicken’s not too hot anymore.”

She leaned over and cut the little girl’s chicken into small pieces, checking the temp before gently feeding her with the same fork. Then she kissed Dream’s cheek without even thinking.

Dream leaned into it, whispering a sweet “thank you” as she munched. Taliyah smiled softly.

Cliff watched the whole thing from the head of the table. His arms rested on the wood, fingers interlaced under his chin. He wasn’t saying a damn word. Just… looking.

Because this was it. This was the vision. A house full of noise and laughter, kids yelling over each other, food being passed around, Tamir arguing about hot sauce, Mariah setting the group chat on fire with live photos, Mali and Dream giggling at every single joke.

And Taliyah?

She fit like a missing puzzle piece. Not forced. Not faked. Family.

She reached to pour more juice into Mali’s glass and nudged Najir to stop zoning out with his AirPods in. “Come back to earth, baby boy. We still on dinner.”

He blinked, glanced at her, and smiled like he couldn’t even help it. “My bad,” he muttered. “This food hittin’.”

She grinned. “That’s ‘cause I made the mac. You welcome.”

Cliff finally spoke, voice low and warm like molasses. “You sure you don’t wanna move in permanently? I can build you a wing on the house.”

Everyone howled.

Tamir slapped the table. “NOT a wing, Pop!”

Mariah was already pulling her phone out. “Lemme go update Zillow right now.”

Taliyah smirked, face warm as hell but not hiding it. She met Cliff’s eyes and tilted her head. “You gon’ cook every Friday night if I do?”

Cliff leaned back, gaze lazy. “If you stay? I’ll cook every damn night.”

And for a second, everything froze again—like the room knew something sacred just got said.

She didn’t look away. Just nodded, soft.

“Then I guess I better start clearing closet space.”

Dream gasped. “You really movin’ in?!”

Taliyah winked. “You okay with that?”

Dream squealed so loud it shook the napkins off the table.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Doctor Who: Space Babies and The Devil's Chord Review. Because Why the Fuck Not.

I was watching the BAFTAs the other day. No, that’s not quite right. Let me try again: the BAFTAs were happening in front of me on a TV at someone’s house and I was powerless to look away. It may be the first example I’ve ever seen of a circle-jerk being staged in the middle of a car-crash: a whole fucking hall-load of people congratulating themselves on having shat out another year’s worth of insipid, uninspired telly (sometimes about Issues with a capital I, often about nothing at fucking all) while the entirety of culture burns to a cinder around them. What a bunch of arseholes. The highlight was confused non-arsehole Timothy Spall looking like he’d wandered on-set from a parallel universe and giving a rambling, unrehearsed speech about nothing in particular, which went on uncomfortably long and which I sincerely hope annoyed the tits off everyone else present. Meanwhile, the special award for creepiest moment has to go to Floella Benjamin (she of Round Window frame- I mean fame) staring straight into the camera and declaring her undying and unconditional love for the viewer. Made my skin crawl a bit, if I’m honest, like maybe she had a really powerful pair of binoculars and she’d be watching me the next time I went for a poop, whispering sweet nothings into the night air. Meanwhile, conspicuous by its absence from this glittering orgy of beige content was Doctor Who, the show I’m actually here to review! Now that’s a seamless fucking segue, innit?

The first two episodes of Who (2024) aired back to back this Saturday and, as both a lifelong lover of good Who and an overprotective psychopath who’d happily kill anyone whose ever besmirched it with a bad episode, it falls to me to judge this double-bill outing. Since I’m neither a grovelling fuckwit in the access media nor a knee-jerk reactionary pillock, I might be the only person on the internet who’s prepared to give you a genuinely unbiased opinion based on the actual quality of what ended up on screen. Don’t think that means this review will be reasonable or genteel in its tone, though: I’m still a stone-cold cunt with impossibly high standards. So, without further ado, let’s dive in. I’ll take a very brief look at the individual episodes, then try and figure out what they say about the series overall and where it might be headed.

First off, Episode 1: Space Babies. It probably isn’t the worst episode in Doctor Who history, but with a monster made of snot and a supporting cast comprised of talking babies, it may be the most wilfully and determinedly stupid. It’s a bit like it was made on a dare- like someone said to showrunner Russel T. Davies “I bet you can’t get away with an episode about of a bunch of infants trapped on a spaceship with an evil sneeze” and he was drunk enough to reply “I’m Russel The Davies! I can do whatever I fucking like, except use my legs for walking right now!” There’s some enjoyable stuff here- mainly Ncuti Gatwa having to simultaneously act well, but also not act convincingly enough to scare the actual, real live toddlers they used on-set. Meanwhile, the monster is very, very obviously a rubber suit with wonky fingers whenever it’s not a dodgy CGI effect. I don’t mind, per say, since wobbling sets and crap costumes are part of the charm of Who, but it does beg the question: WHERE THE FUCK DID ALL THE MONEY DISNEY PUT INTO THE SHOW FUCKING GO?

Next, Episode 2: The Devil’s Chord, which is mostly a vast improvement, though I do have some gripes. An entity calling themselves Maestro, created by the Celestial Toymaker, claws their way into the world via the mind of a musical genius (and the top of a grand piano) and begins stripping all melody from the universe, aiming to silence the Music of the Spheres itself and create a formal lament or dirge from the infinite sorrow: the ultimate artistic statement made using the ruins of a dead cosmos. On a purely conceptual level, it’s fantastically interesting, macabre and inventive. I also quite liked the Beatles cameos, since it takes place in the 60s, but they don’t really get a lot to do and it feels like an opportunity was missed to turn them into the emotional backbone of the episode. Surely Maestro should be a lot more interested in/hostile to these musical geniuses? Without her expressing the slightest inclination to single them out, there’s no sense of immediate physical threat, relegating all the menace to the conceptual level. There’s also not much reason for the Doctor to talk to them, so we’re deprived of the chance to see this new take on the character interacting with people other than companion Ruby Sunday and the odd talking baby (I really hope those aren’t going to be a recurring thing, by the way). Meanwhile, drag queen Jinkx Monsoon (who doesn’t seem to know that you don’t need a K if you’re going to add an X) does a passable job as Maestro. She’s got the over-the-top theatrics of a self-amusing supervillain down to a fine art, but she doesn’t quite have the presence to land her more serious lines. There’s no equivalent here to the spine-chilling “This is only a face, covering a vastness that will never cease” bit from the Tennant episode The Giggle. Which is a shame, because clearly Monsoon isn’t a bad actress, she’s just new at it and probably needed more coaching to land the heavy stuff.I do also have one other minor complaint: the musical number at the end isn’t good enough for an episode that’s all about music. They clearly wrote it especially for the show, but it’s just a bit rubbish and they could have just covered an infinitely more lyrically interesting Beatles song, couldn’t they? Fucking idiots. On the plus side, I really can’t emphasise enough how engaging the idea of the episode is. And we do get an amazing shot of London devastated by some kind of war in an alternate future, which was ace. Honestly, I know I sound like I’m complaining a lot about this episode, but it was actually a lot of fun. I just hope that the show hits its stride and preserves the good elements while evolving past the stuff that doesn’t work.

See, there’s a lot of positives here in the double-bill: there are interesting ideas and a fair amount of creative risk-taking, which- even when it doesn’t work- is evidence of a show willing to experiment and find what works. But there is also a huge, overarching problem that needs to be addressed before this latest Who reboot can hit its stride. Bluntly,if I had to describe this double-bill season opener using one word, I’d probably choose the word ‘rushed’. In both Space Babies and The Devil���s Chord, but especially the latter, the story zips manically from plot-point to set-piece and back again with very little breathing room in between. Jokes that ought to be set up early and then pay off later to create space and a sense of continuity just get told with mechanical, rapid-fire pacing and then forgotten (there’s a bit about changing the evolutionary history of the human race by stepping on a butterfly that flies past so quickly it’s barely worth a smirk). Characters who needed to be fleshed out just aren’t because there isn’t time to do that and also stage ridiculous musical number (as a result, there’s never much sense of threat. We know the show won’t kill off the Doctor or his companion, so the cannon-fodder who might die need to be well-characterised enough that we give a shit). Many of the effects look like they were thrown together in an afternoon because the production team decided to go for cheap-and-easy CGI over practical, tactile, more believable effects. Most egregiously of all, there’s even a certain obviousness to the way things look and function. Sometimes, it looks like the show designed its props and sets by going through a big catalogue of sci-fi and costume-drama tropes and places and then just picking out whatever matched best. Compared to the craftsmanship put into, say, WWII London in The Empty Child or the sprawling planetary library of Silence in the Library (both of which were realised on piss-poor budgets compared to current Who), it’s woefully disappointing.

Don’t get me wrong, Who is still worth a watch. Ncuti Gatwa’s a decent leading man, even if he hasn’t been given time to settle into the character thanks to the manic pacing of his adventures, and it’s obvious Russel T. Davies isn’t short of ideas, even if some of them are curate’s eggs of dubious quality. But if the show wants to get back to the height of its popularity, it needs to slow down and smell the roses a little. The production team need to be encouraged to do things the hard way, because it looks better. The plots need more talking and detailed character interaction to compliment the action and silliness. When something bombastic and over-the-top is happening, it needs to feel earned. Who people: start throwing in a few two-parters and de-emphasise the Disney money you’ve been given in favour of careful plotting. There’s something worth loving here, but it’s buried in quite a lot of bullshit at the moment. Get a shovel and dig it out.

EDIT: I would like to acknowledge that the thing about the Doctor being able to hear the show's incidental music is the fun kind of stupid and not the annoying kind.

[schrodingers-romy]

i’m dropping in to plague you with my thirsty thoughts so sorry in advance

thinking abt asking mitsuya for more rounds than he can physically go for … he’s out of breath feeling like an old geezer bc he’s panting and his back is sore, and he’s kinda worrying that he’s not satisfying you and that’s why you keep asking for another go … but in reality he’s just so fine that the more you see him sweaty and spent the more feral you feel … i could bite straight through a metal cage rn so sorry im dipping out now bye

ARSGFHSDF VENUS

Oh no I can imagine it perfectly...

Poor mitsuya is so tired, his back is aching from pounding into you for so long...he's so sensitive, bordering on overstimulated, but you keep asking for more, and there's no way in hell he's stopping before you're completely satisfied. So he grips the sheets next to your head harder and puts his all into reducing you into as much of an exhausted mess as he is now.

Meanwhile you are just as overstimulated, but seeing him like this sets a fire in you; you don't want him to stop until one of you passes out. Mitsuya is almost lying on top of you now, and you can feel the warm breath of every heavy pant wash over your flushed face. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his whole body glistens with it. His breathing is ragged and his face is flushed red, but he still fucks into you with all his might, just because you begged him to.

[arghdgsfh i can picture him so well i'm going to go insane he's so pretty and perfect]

[holydramon]

shin and sara are both menaces when it comes to mario party I think. like they’re the kind of people who actually actively practice every minigame to make themselves as good at them as possible. shin doesn’t always actually go for the win in the minigames most of the time though. he’s like “oooh I’m so bad at this minigame :(“ while Sara is like “I LITERALLY SAW YOU WIN THIS LAST GAME”. meanwhile sara is a perfectionist and lowkey wants to kill herself every time she doesn’t win a minigame. they also both watch long videos going over the best strategies for each map. they are the person who stares at the map for way too long on their turn as everyone else begs them to just roll already.

they also shine in the social aspect, with shin easily talking other people into targeting others (c’moooon sara may have less stars than I do, but she still has more coins! you should steal from her! if she gets to boo it’ll be a problem for everyone!) meanwhile sara is also good at making such arguments but also has the upside of being Actually Liked by Most Other People. that said she’s a bit less willing to throw everyone and anyone under the bus, unlike shin who has kanna as his sole exception.

pretty much every game comes down to those two with some exceptions. every time they tie they both demand another round no matter how many times it happens. everyone else is tired. they just wanted to play a fun video game. nao is quickly hiding the game of monopoly she brought in case they got bored of mario party.

[thewestern]

Chapter 5

Helplessly the Mick looked as Mayor Mockingbird seemingly gravitated toward the small stage. The band was in between songs. Did Larry intend to sit in? Another funny thing about him was that he played the banjo. It was sort of his calling card — a whistle stop parlor trick for all the yokels. Sometimes you had to hand it to him. City slick politicians would go to great lengths to achieve the au natural aesthetic of down-home folksiness. Dress in head-to-toe denim … climb up on some farm equipment … pose with a prize hog. ( … But enough about his wife … ) Heck, the Mayor’s close friend and party-mate wore a bolo tie, boots and a six-x cowboy hat — day in and day out — and he got himself elected to the United States Senate. He stomped them genuine ostrich shitkickers all over them Capitol steps, and would you know what happened next? The President gave that wannabe hillbilly a cabinet appointment … Secretary of the damn Interior. Sure, by the time the next president swore in he was bucked off that gold pony before you could say Jack Robinson. He hardly lasted the eight seconds, but by the grace of god Himself he landed quite softly in a very cushy gig: consulting on behalf of Morningstar Petroleum. (Or more officially the industry group which fronted for them.)

Yes, in American politics it paid to be pastoral, or at least to appear as such. But whatever country-fried humiliation a man was willing to suffer for electoral advancement, few if any would go so far to learn the banjo and pick the fucking Foggy Mountain Breakdown. But that was Larry Mockingbird for you. Shameless in service of himself.  

Scurrying out a few steps ahead, the Mayor’s waifish male page removed a three-by-five note card from his leather padfolio, handed it to the musician stage left with the acoustic guitar, and scampered on back to his boss. The guitar player took a look down at the card, stepped to the mic and said: Ladies and Gentleman, thank you so much for being here on this lovely afternoon. The boys and I are going to take a short break. In the meanwhile, please give a warm welcome to the stage for our dear friend, Mayor Lawrence Mockingbird. [Metered applause.]

Thank you! Thank you all. So much. You know in my line of work it’s rare you have to follow live music, and if you’ve ever had the pleasure to attend a meeting of my colleagues on the City Council, you’d understand why. 

[Polite laughter.]

So let’s hear one more round of applause for this spectacular band, and please go easy on me, I beg you. 

[Frisbee golf clap.]

And … aand … I couldn’t help but notice the song you were playing when I came in. At the risk of incriminating myself, I’ll let you all in on a little secret, but you have to promise not to tell those persnickety councilmembers, because then I’m really in a pickle. Okay, so brace yourselves … Before I entered the beer business, once upon a time, I … was a Deadhead. 

[Stray yelps.] 

I know, I know. Shocking, but true. And people who know this about me often ask, how did you manage to go from following around the Grateful Dead with a bunch of hippies in your twenties — and to be completely honest a good part of my thirties — to becoming the Mayor of the greatest city in the world in your middle forties. And I’d tell them, I haven’t the slightest idea. 

[Incrementally shorter spurt of obligatory laughter.] 

It’s been a long strange trip you could say. 

[Laughter still, with interspersed groans.]

And … aand … It was the man who we’re all here to honor today, our beloved friend Hank, who traveled with me far and wide over this great country, from coast to coast and back, on our quest to see as many shows as was humanly possible. And I’ll spare you the details, for the sake of sparing my political future, so you’ll just have to believe me when I tell you we had the time of our lives. 

Already, the Mick couldn’t help but bristle at this, what was obviously revisionist history. Hank had gabbed incessantly about his Glory Days following the Grateful Dead. Like he himself was playing in the band. These were his war stories. Slanging grilled cheese sandwiches for gas money, rolling around a haystack with the farmer’s daughter, fixing a flat in a white-out blizzard on I-69 (his Vietnam). 

For a few years there I just went Kerouac on everyone’s ass, he’d reflected once, wistfully. Like any half-decent story, a fixture of these psychedelic parables was the comic relief, Larry Mockingbird. And it was laughter at his expense, in case there was any confusion. Recall: Moffett, Mary Ellen. Misadventures with the opposite sex aside, Larry was your classic Touch Head, or an In-the-Darker, which are just two ways of saying he was a phony, a pouser, a tinhorn, a Johnny-come-lately. (Or rather a Larry-come-too-early, as was oft-rumoured in various concentric social circles. Well, it beats the alternative, as Russ argued in a rare and telling defence of his nemesis, Lawrence.) Accusations not to be taken lightly, for If there were one thing a TrueBlue Deadhead could not abide, it was the misappropriation of their culture. 

On the low down, Larry was always more into that yacht rock, adult contemporary sound, Hank said. You know, Doobie Brothers, Steely Dan… blue-eyed soul and all that jazz fusion horse crap. He only tagged along with us to shows to chase skirts, not that he had hardly any luck at that. Give him credit for trying though. That was one thing you had to begrudgingly admire about Larry … he always went where the getting was good. I mean, you try getting laid at a Christopher Cross concert. 

But don’t you be fooled by any of that foolishness, Hank would warn the Mick. When you got between Larry and something he wanted, he could be meaner than a badger. A sow, on her period. For a fact, the most dangerous place in the Metro Area was anywhere between Mayor Mockingbird and a camera, once said one of his most trusted aides turned most fiercest political rival. Yea, he had the banjo, the big words. But when the chips are down? Well, you would do good to forget all that quirky bullshit, lickety split. Make no mistake. Mockingbird was a cold-blooded killer. He would cut your arm off to carry the Seventh District. Sell his own mother into white sex slavery. He’d do it. In a heartbeat.  

The Mayor continued … 

As for the man of the hour, let’s toast, to Hank. [Collective raising of glasses.] If I could be so bold as to try to describe him, I would say, here was a man for his place and time. You know, there’s this word that I love, and the word is Topophilia. Topophilia means love of place. More than anyone I ever knew, Hank had Topophilia.  

Sounds like an STD, the Mick thought. In which case, Hank probably did have it. 

A love of place. [Rehearsed contemplative pause.] Loving something means being willing to sacrifice for it. And we all make sacrifices. Though there are some who sacrifice all — the brave men and women of our armed services, ... and if any of you are here today, I’d like to personally buy you a beer. First responders, too. [Drunken hollers.] I think we all would. [U-S-A, aborted chant.] But, we all have to make sacrifices. When I think back on my life, I’m proud to have worked for the Federal Government as a citizen contractor, and here for the City Government as a civil servant. Still, I can’t think of a time when I’ve had to sacrifice more than when I was an entrepreneur. 

Here I am in a room full of entrepreneurs, and I’m seeing a lot of nodding heads. You’ve all spent the endless days that turn into sleepless nights. You know that to build something for your community. To create jobs that provide for families. To serve your customer in the marketplace. That, my friends, requires a sacrifice that is truly uncommon. 

Oh my god, this is taking forever, Grace thought. Julie was giving her all the signals … She was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice. Lay it all on the line. Grace needed an exit strategy to get them out of this bar and back to her apartment, pronto. She had never gotten with a metal chick before. Jam bands were her scene, which made her a strong culture fit at the Newfy. Preferably they could beat her roommates back from their hike, Grace thought. She had a feeling this could get loud.

But then this asshole, who Grace did not recognize from Adam — she did not care for politics or keep abreast of political issues — was making a speech for some fucking reason … And these nerds were standing around all quiet blocking the way out of the booth. That he made allusions to the Grateful Dead had not charmed Grace in the slightest, even as a jam band fan herself. Most fans of the contemporary set — Phish, to a lesser extent Cheese, WSP, etc. — at the very least revered the Dead as the spiritual and artistic vanguards of the genre, such as it was. By contrast, there was a reactionary faction of hardliner Deadheads that dismissed the new school as derivative and shallow. Most of the younger generation were willing to overlook this minority resentment, but a defiant few, Grace among them, returned the favor and resented the Grateful Dead right back. Them and their Baby Boomer, Greatest Generation-ass fans could pound sand. 

Fuck’s sake, here he goes again … 

And I’ll tell you one quick story to that effect. One of our startup war stories, so to speak. When we were just getting going, before we sold our first pint, I called every wholesaler within a hundred miles, every direction. Every last one of them said, no thanks. So not only were we working seven days a week, fourteen hours a day to get our fledgling excuse for a beer business off the ground, but unbeknownst to us, we were simultaneously entering the highly competitive business of beverage distribution. Of course we didn’t have a truck with temperature control. We didn’t even have cars! We had both driven company leases to the jobs we got laid off from before starting the Newfy! 

So, Hank had an on-again-off-again girlfriend who had this busted-up old station wagon. This hunk was a beater’s beater — chipping orange paint job, accented with the wood paneling, lawn mower engine, had to be rolling started. And let me tell you before my administration got to work on the pothole problem afflicting our great roadways, driving that thing was like navigating the Titanic through the North Atlantic. But … buut, when you removed the back seat it could fit six kegs standing up on end. And that was all we needed. On good days we’d even have one riding shotgun, strapped into the passenger seatbelt. 

I can’t recall the girlfriend’s name, it’s been so long … 

(Liar … he fucking remembered.)

… But bless her heart, because somehow Hank convinced her to sell us that jalopy for a song. And I’ll tell you what else, we rode her till she bucked us. Driving to and fro to every dive bar, liquor store, VFW, pool hall, bowling alley. You name it. 

When we were through with it, or I should probably say when it was through with us, that car had more than two hundred thousand miles on it, which some of you know to be about the distance from here to the moon. We thought that was kismet, given our previous careers. As was alluded, many of you know that Hank and I were co-workers before we became co-founders. We spent a combined thirty years at Cavness-Baumann. And then the Space Race ended and the party was over. Here we were, a couple of down-and-out rocket scientists without a clue. 

Again, Hank would have strenuously objected to the Mayor’s accounting of their personal histories. One, not that it mattered, but Hank had worked twenty of those thirty years to Larry’s ten. Second, the term rocket scientist had been applied quite loosely indeed. Larry was a project manager, meaning his job was to hem and haw at the real rocket scientists until they got through with whatever it was he so urgently wanted. 

Hank was one of those quote-unquote rocket scientists, but even he wouldn’t be comfortable with that exact phrasing. Not the title as he understood it implied — guys that work on spaceships. It was true Cavness-Baumann had some NASA contracts, but those guys working on the shuttle program were the real hard cases. They had them boys locked away in a bunker somewhere, doing long division for the rest of their lives. Engineering a quarter-inch rubber gasket that made it onto a rocket booster would count as a career achievement. Unless those rubber gaskets weren’t adequately temperature tested and it was colder than usual on launch day. 

As for them two getting shitcanned when the Space Race ended, again, Larry was half right. The silent starter pistol for the Space Race was the Cold War, and the falling Berlin Wall its finish line. That was the real reason for the contraction of their industry — Aerospace, and Defense. Hank was more of a rocket scientist in the latter sense. Hellcat, Thunderstick, The Penetrator. These were missiles. (Although Hank always thought they sounded like sex toys, especially that last one.) All types — surface-to-air, air-to-surface, air-to-air, submarine-launched cruise missiles, ICBMs, antitank, antiship, assault, tactical. You name it. Yes, they made the rockets that blew up on purpose. Albeit quite often a safe distance from their strategic targets, at the expense of untold collateral damage and civilian casualties. 

If he did work on an aerospace application, it was almost always space-to-earth, as in satellites. Quite often as they applied to missile defense systems, CB’s second most profitable product line to the missiles themselves. Some bad faith critics would construe that to be a conflict of interest. More generously it could be interpreted as vertical integration. 

Other times though it was straight telecom — zapping hundreds of tv channels to a dish on your roof, or pinging that cellular phone in your pants pocket, holstered there atop your pelvic girdle, and by extension your reproductive organs, all throughout the day and the night. 

Privately, Hank was ashamed of what he’d done for Cavness-Baumann. (Would ashamed be the right characterization? Rather, conflicted? Let’s go with conflicted.) He could admit it to himself, and maybe that was more than most, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say so out loud. No, he had trained evasive maneuvers for whenever his previous life’s work came up in polite conversation. For his part, Larry did not share a mutual feeling of contrition. Factually, it was his idea to go with the whole Space Theme when they started out — the brand name being a reference to then-Senator Kennedy’s famous DNC speech, accepting the nomination at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum in ‘Sixty, the rocket tap handles, etc. Since he couldn’t contribute around the brewhouse in any useful capacity, Larry appointed himself the strategic marketing and brand manager. Said rocket scientists-turned-brewers was a compelling founder story. When he sold his shares shortly thereafter, Hank thought about changing the name to something that didn’t remind him of how he personally made the world a worse place, but it was already screen-printed on so much stuff. Glassware, coasters, stickers, t-shirts, the big sign out front. 

Then Hank and I had this crazy idea. What if there was a third place? There’s the home, the workplace, and then what. For many that third place is a church or a temple or some other house of worship, but neither Hank nor I were regular parishioners. More spiritual — in the grand, cosmic sense — than religious. Besides, I don’t know that any congregation would take a pair of tramps like us. 

[Polite laughter, dissipating now quite noticeably.]  

A Third Place. Whither to be among family and friends. Or perhaps to meet new family and new friends. A place for love and fellowship. For community. A place for thinking about the future. 

###

That morning in the handicap stall of the ladies' restroom Kitty took a pregnancy test. I wonder how many girls have pee’d on one of these plastic indicator wands in a bar bathroom, she wondered before stopping herself. She just hated to be judgmental, of herself or others. Beside, it’s not like this baby, if there even was one, was conceived in said stall. Not that it would have made you a bad person. Although couldn’t we all agree though that it wasn’t especially hygienic or considerate of your fellow pub goers. Unless maybe they were into that sort of thing?

All empathy for exhibitionism aside, she would have preferred to take the home pregnancy test at her home. Unfortunately those quarters were somewhat cramped. She felt fractionally better about using the public toilet with the F-word graffitied right there on the door, than she would have, smuggling the soiled applicator stick out of the house in an old hamburger bag.  Either which way she wasn’t ready to tell Mick, whatever the result. And she felt really bad about that. Blend that bad feeling together with what she perceived to be morning sickness, and it had been an all-around crummy day so far. 

She even felt bad about feeling bad. By any reasonable metric, this was supposed to have been unequivocally the best year of her life. Starting a new job at what was considered to be one of the most innovative middle schools in the country. Sure the pay still wasn’t stellar, but it was commensurate with her experience, which was much more than she could say about her last gig. Getting hitched, to the love of her life. That also happened in a bar … this bar … but that was on purpose. Exchanging vows right there beneath the altar of Bertha the bison head. It was a beautiful ceremony, and a damn sight shorter than any nuptials you’d have witnessed in a house of worship. Only thing missing was the officiant. 

Now she was about to find out whether she was about to start a family with that man whom she loved like the sun would shine forever. The most joyous news of her life, it would be — all she ever wanted and more. And yet she couldn’t commit to telling him, the way she had always told him everything else, one way or t’other. Kitty wasn’t the secret-keeping type.

So she tried in vain to occupy her mind, first by grading five-paragraph essays, now by helping the bar replenish for the onslaught of orders sure to be inbound whenever Mayor Peckerwood was through delivering his speech. As for what he was saying, she wasn’t but half listening. 

We spent a lot of time in bars in those days, which we chalked up to our competitive advantage. But this wouldn’t be just another bar. We would brew our own beer! In that way we’d be self-sufficient. Cultivators of our own garden. A company of yeomen craftsmen. Crafting eccentric beer for eccentric people. Truly progressive ales that pushed the boundaries of expectations of style and flavor profile. Recipes that made use of local ingredients whenever possible, imparting our own Western American terroir. Simply put, beer that would inspire a stronger sense of topophilia in all those who imbibed. 

Beer that would make a promise to them. Challenge them. To be more. 

[Fart noise.]

Here we are, many years later. I look around this room. What do I see? Not only does the promise of the New Frontier endure, but here today there are people from all over this Nation who have risen to meet the challenge we set forth. And it all but brings a tear to my eye. You know something — Hank and I’d use to joke: wouldn’t it be great if this were a place where there could be a group at one table, planning a heist? And then maybe a group over here at another table, planning a revolution? Well I believe that dream came true. Because, in a way, you are all rebels. Freedom fighters, in a Craft Beer Revolution! 

Not what Hank was talking about. However, Larry had made out like a bandit. 

Say it with me now: I am … a craft beer … revolutionary! 

[Silence.]

You folks have taken an idea and made it an industry. I know that if Hank were here, he’d be proud as heck about it. 

If Hank were here he’d be wielding an axe, looking for whatever cord was connected to this funky-ass microphone, the Mick annotated again internally. Short of that he’d have been long gone.

And I can assure you that I am proud to be a part of this network of entrepreneurs, craftsmen and craftswomen! [Whoos.] Everyday, I’m inspired by the example you set. As such, in the Mayor’s office I’ve worked tirelessly to transform our city into an Incubator for Innovation, and not just in beer. We are a category-agnostic accelerator — across sustainable energy, natural foods, technology and telecommunications, health and biotech and aerospace and defense. 

The results speak for themselves. Our aggressive corporate relocation recruiting efforts and competitive tax incentive packages have attracted major companies to move their headquarters to this great city. Companies like Morningstar Petroleum, which has committed to creating hundreds of new, high-paying jobs right here in the Metro Area. Morningstar is making sure the world meets its energy needs, responsibly. They’re leading the charge to produce new technologies that reduce emissions. They’re creating more efficient fuels. Now they’re doing it all from a state-of-the-art, multi-million-dollar campus right here in our Seventh District!

That’s because the companies that do business here are a lot like the people that live here. They are engaged members of our community. Perhaps there’s no better example than one of your craft brewing brethren, #x_brüing (pronounced, X [space] Brewing … the hashtag and umlaut were silent and superfluous). Through the One Percent for the Planet initiative, #x_brüing has dutifully pledged to donate one percent of its net profit to social good causes, including crucial programs like the Urban Tree Initiative, which works to maintain and grow our city’s majestic Green Spaces. No doubt work that our friend Hank, who loved the outdoors so dearly, would find worthy of our admiration and support. 

Is Jaime Delano here? Where is Jaime? There he is … Let’s hear it for Jaime and all the folks at #x_brüing for all the great work they’re doing. [Applause muffled through ambient professional jealousy.] Not only have Jaime and I become close friends through his participation in these and other civic issues, but perhaps its no surprise that we are both proud Newfer alumni.

One percent, the Mick pshawed. Quite literally, the least they could do, assuming it’s integers we’re talking. He had a whole separate bone to pick with Delano. For one thing, back when they worked together, Jaime (HI-may) was still Jamie (JAY-mee). Motherfucker done iglesia’d up his goddamn name. No matter. The Mick would continue to call him Dandy Jim, by and by. He was three assistant brewers before Grace — Zeke’s predecessor’s predecessor. If Russ were alive, he’d say, Mick, your ABs have about the retention rate of a Spinal Tap drummer. But that reference would be lost on him; he was not familiar with that band. In any case, Dandy Jim would just have to wait until whenever Mayor Mockingbird was through, if they could ever be so lucky. The Mick trafficked in one grudge at a time … 

But it doesn’t stop in the private sector. We’re taking that very same entrepreneurial spirit and applying it to innovation in civil service. First and foremost, is public safety. Thanks to our public-private partnership with the Downtown Renewal and Revitalization Project, we’ve successfully activated our network of SAFE cameras, which enable the brave men and women of our law enforcement to better harness data and artificial intelligence toward protecting and serving our great city. Since the system went online, I am delighted to report that violent crime is down four percent year-over-year. 

An important aside about the SAFE (Surveilling Activity For Evidence) cameras. Among other peacekeeping applications, the devices were perhaps most effectively deployed in tandem with an integrated gunshot detection technology, which utilized acoustic sensors to identify the sound and pinpoint the location of any firearm discharge within an echo radius of several hundred feet. The camera systems were manufactured by a wholly-owned IT solutions subsidiary of Karakuchi, Ltd., the Japanese conglomerate. Although it provided advanced digital solutions to customers across industry sectors, the Karakuchi brand was perhaps best known for its Kuchi Kendo Stick line of vibrating personal massagers, which was widely adopted by the marketplace for the misintended use case as a masturbation aid for women. 

Secondarily is education. My administration has empowered high-achieving schools like Collegiate Academy of Scientific and Technological Excellence as they disrupt the increasingly obsolete model for public education in this country. Last spring they graduated their inaugural senior class. One hundred percent college matriculation rate. Kids of all races and socioeconomic backgrounds. Truly remarkable. In case any of you haven’t had the pleasure to visit the SciTech campus, I would urge you to seek it out. The architecture and interior design are stunning in and of themselves. Really, it’s the coolest school I’ve ever been inside by a long shot. 

As for the existing schools within our network that have perpetually underperformed, under my leadership, we no longer tolerate failure on behalf of our kids. Look no further than right down the road, to West High School. As of just a few weeks ago, our groundbreaking experiment is underway. With generous philanthropic support, we’ve made massive capital infrastructure investment, manifested in dividing the student body into three micro-academies, thus manufacturing more intimate and engaging learning environments, furthermore fostering a more competitive landscape, or dare I say entrepreneurial spirit among the student body. 

Make no mistake … The rest of the country is taking notice of what we’re building here. Assorted national media publications have ranked us the third best city in which to start a small business, the fourth best city to raise a family and a top eleven city for overall quality of life. And for everybody out there with their love lights turned on, according to another reputable ranking, we are the number two city for singles and dating. [Assorted oohs]. 

Get a grip, Zeke, he scolded himself. On this, unequivocally the most important day of his already fledgling career, all Zeke could think about was Grace, with whom he was deeply in love, and quite hopelessly by the looks of things. Like a flesh eating bacteria, love consumed him. From morning, stepping on his first bus of the day, commuting to work … Till night, stepping off his sixth bus of the day, headed for home. 

Really he was having his first office crush, which anyone with experience can tell you is an altogether separate phenomenon from your standard school crush, for some inexplicable reason. But to Zeke, each new infatuation, regardless of from whence it came, was exactly the same — like spring bloomed anew. Indeed, he was a sensitive young man. And because he also filled out a large frame, he was the sort one might call a Gentle Giant. But really wasn’t that moniker misapplied to any big man who wasn’t proportionally brutish? It’s true Zeke did possess an innocent exuberance that endeared him to many, although usually not in that way. Romantically speaking. So on the other side of the coin, his unguarded personabiity could be a double-edged sword, when even a fleeting attraction would be so easily misconstrued for undying devotion. This making His an existence that was at once blissful and torturous.

Far as he knew, Grace was the first gay person he’d ever known. Here it was just his luck to fall head over heels for someone so uniquely unavailable. The amorous feelings were almost totally unspoken; they had hardly uttered more than a few stray words between them — out of paralyzing nervousness on his account, and unconscious indifference, hers. Rather for Zeke, the spark was physical. Something to do with the way she moved about the brewhouse, with undo elegance, exceedingly worthy of her name. Shot putting fifty-pound sacks of malted barley like they were feather pillows, on which for him to dream of her. Shoveling spent grain from the mash tun with the mechanized fluidity of an excavator, razing the planetary core of his soul. Spraying down the kettle as if to extinguish the fire that burned within him for her. Perhaps he was attracted to her competency in the occupation for which he had proven so inept. Who could say? Whatever it was, the suffocating feeling of seeing her with Julie, and also Margot the night prior, had emotionally metastasized into a fist-sized lump, lodged right there in his larynx. Somewhat confusingly, that sensation was a symptom of heartbreak and asthma. 

Both afflicted him chronically. 

Powerless to fight this feeling, Zeke wanted desperately to shake free from the shackles of his woe, and seize this professional opportunity that had fallen into his lap. After all, here was the Mayor, giving an unannounced speech at one of his coordinated events. The possibilities for social media engagement seemed endless. Actually it was the only moderately engaging thing to occur during his short tenure, outside of a heated dispute over Harry Potter-themed pub trivia that de-escalated just shy of magical violence. (The would-be combatants had managed to fire off a couple of rounds of dueling spells: Expelliarmus and Expecto Patronum, respectively.)

He was even peripherally interested in politics and other local issues  —another thing he and Grace lacked in common — and had in fact cast his very first vote in any election for this very elected official. Twenty-some months previous, during his final semester before graduating West High School, Mayor Mockingbird had appeared at a special assembly to announce the aforementioned awarding of a multi-million dollar grant, endowed by the second richest man in the world, at the time. Wasn’t that something, Zeke thought. The money would be allocated to divide West High into three autonomous academies, to be housed within the existing facility. They were: an academy for culture and the arts, an academy for global marketplace and international studies, and an academy for Future Leaders. 

Zeke didn’t have to give much thought unto which category he fell, being that he already had plans to attend City College in the fall, where from he had since taken a sabbatical of indefinite duration. He also didn’t have any opinion on the consternation the decision caused among his classmates and the broader community. In that moment he was more swept away by the spectacle of the thing. The mayor, visiting his school, on behalf of the second richest man in the world — at the time — no less. Alas, the latter could not attend personally. However in his stead, he was kind enough to dispatch one of those really big checks for the photo opp. You mean like Happy Gilmore, Mick would have asked. Zeke didn’t know who that was, so no … he could not be certain. 

In a flash of clarity, Zeke remembered his new touchscreen camera phone. The Mick had issued it to him for work purposes, under the auspices that he could take photos and post them to the internet. But really because Kitty wanted Zeke to have any phone at all, on account of how he took the three buses to-and-from work, even though he only lived the five miles as the crow flew.  In case of there was an emergency. Actually it was the same phone she had given to Mick on his last birthday. Not the same model — that exact one. Mick favored the old Flippy anyway, and he knew Kitty wouldn’t take offense to his regifting, especially if Zeke were on the receiving end. 

Further snapping himself into focus, Zeke trained his digital lens on the Mayor, who any minute now would be arriving at a point … Before I raise one last toast to our old friend, Hank, I have a small announcement I’d like to make here in this place that was so special to us both. Before that though, I want to leave you with an old marketing parable I have cellared away from my days in the beer business. It’s something I share with all my incoming interns, as Charlotte and Schuyler here can surely attest. 

Here the Mayor briefly gesticulated in the direction of the two Larry Youth members whom the Mick saw arrive in his wake. That brief moment of public acknowledgement was one they would not forget as long as they lived. 

It concerns an old brewing outfit by the name of Schpunk Beer. When was the last time you all had a sip of Schpunk? Have any of you even ever tasted Schpunk? Here I am dating myself. Your fathers probably all drank Schpunk. I certainly guzzled more than my fair share of Schpunk as a young man. In any case, there was a time when this company you’ve never heard of, Schpunk Beer, was the third-largest domestic beer producer in the country. Life was good at the Schpunk plant. Until one year, all the corporate bigwigs got together in a boardroom, and some young hot shot came waltzing up with a presentation. He said, you know we’ve done some market testing, and we can change the recipe to cut costs on our ingredients by X percent, whatever it was, and our consumers can’t identify any discernible difference in the taste. 

All the Schpunk VPs looked around at one another and said, well, what are we waiting for? And so they changed the recipe, ever so slightly. Two years go by, and some new slick marketing guy gets back up there in front of the boardroom — by now his predecessor has been promoted for saving the company untold millions — and he makes the exact same pitch. You know we could change the recipe … save X percent …  can’t taste the difference … yada, yada, yada. And all the Schpunk guys say, wow, what a great idea. And they change the recipe again, ever so slightly. 

This cycle repeats itself a handful of times until about a decade goes by, and all of a sudden Schpunk is in the toilet. Chapter Eleven. All those executives are looking around at each other as they’re cleaning out their corner offices, wondering what in the Sam Hell happened here? For Pete’s Sake, they did the market testing … And the tests were accurate. After each time they changed the recipe, and remember they only tweaked it, ever so slightly, the Consumers could not tell a difference in taste. However, what the executives failed to account for, was that all those small compromises compounded on one another. And when you taste-tested the nectar of the gods they started out with, against the backwater dregs it became … You could see the difference from outer space. 

Listen here. 

This is something I tell all my old friends, and I’ll tell you now. In the history of this great country, we are the first generation that is in danger of leaving less to our kids and our grandkids than we had. Take a moment and let that sink in … It’s true. And we are taking losses across the board. The economy, our education system, the environment. Bottom line: in the so-called land of opportunity, the next generation is heading toward a future with less of It. I look around the faces here and I can tell that scares the hell out of you just like it scares the hell out of me. I know you don’t want less. I can promise you I don’t want less. And we can be damned sure that our old pal Hank wouldn’t put up with less. 

No-no-no. We want more. More for our future. More for our kids’ future and their kids’ future. We want more economic development. More education. More environmental conservation. More public safety. And we don't just want more … We need more … We demand more … And no matter what the cost … … … We will sacrifice for more!

As the gathered crowd roared, Mick looked up to the wall at Bertha, then down to the bar at Kitty who met his gaze intently. 

So I put it to you, let’s make a choice, together, right now … to invest in our future. And make no mistake, it’s up to us right here in this room. The leaders. The disruptors. The innovators. The builders. The dreamers. The crazy ones. Those who will show up. Do the work. Folks who get things done.  

Now allow me to put my money where my mouth is. It is my great privilege, in honor of my friend Hank and the dream we all together made come true, to declare my candidacy for the governorship of this great state. 

Welcome to Day One … starting right here and now, we all take more! Thank you all! 

As the Mayor again stuck both hands to the sky, a small passel of balloons fell from the ceiling. Where in the smoking hell did those come from, the Mick wondered, feeling bamboozled.. Right on cue, the band started back in on what figured to be the official campaign song. Out of a career that spanned decades and thousands of hours of recordings, for the Grateful Dead, this was their only ever single to crack the top-one hundred charts. Their one hit. How about that?

Sorry that you feel that way

The only thing there is to say

Every silver lining's got a

Touch of gray

[Groovy standup bassline] 

The Mayor resumed shaking every hand within a wingspan radius, retracing his steps on his way back out the door, his campaign already rolling with the popular momentum of a runaway train. Zeke was holding his camera phone behind the news cameraman, demonstrating the cinematographic instincts to piggyback off his pro lighting rig and better capture the moment. Grace meanwhile was stuck in a moment she wished she could escape. Margot had arrived unexpectedly and had sat right back down in the booth on the other side of Grace from Julie. There she sat betwixt them, awaiting their inevitable discovery of her romantic indiscretion. Kitty was situated behind the bar, still awaiting the oncoming rush. She was wearing her same back-to-school ensemble, accessorized for the fall season with a denim jacket she’d had since she was herself a student. How had Hank’s sort-of funeral been highjacked by a popup campaign rally, she wondered, not that he’d have minded much — whatever animus he felt toward the Mayor. I know I like to take the piss at Larry, he confided in Kitty one Wednesday, getting late, but I want you to know that I truly do hate the man. And it’s a rotten hatred too. It scares me how I could hate another person so completely. Frankly I’m ashamed of it. 

One of the preppy minions — the puggish female page — reached across the bartop and handed her an envelope. The underside was a form for making a donation. In the box marked required, you had to fill out your Name (First and Last), Address, Occupation and Employer. And credit card number and expiration date if that was your preferred form of contribution. The envelope itself was for depositing checks, or better yet cold hard cash. Kitty flipped it over. In the corner there was a little rectangular outline for postage, and then the logo. A shooting star underlining the slogan: More for Mockingbird.

The Mick drop-kicked a balloon away half-assedly as he watched the Mayor make his grand exit. Dandy Jim had joined the party. They were standing back by the front door, waving back at the adoring mass. The news anchor remained in the foreground, producing a microphone and talking into the camera. The sheriff’s deputy was in the shot, chewing gum with purposeful rigor. Off to the side, the representative from Morningstar Petroleum was chatting up an as-yet unidentified woman in a wax canvas barn coat with a corduroy collar, worn over a black turtleneck sweater. The Mick knew he recognized her too, but from where, he couldn’t immediately place. Wait, now he got it.

Well I’ll be damned, he said, out loud this time to no one in particular. 

There goes Hildy Wolff.