#but I haven’t been able to just click the few buttons

[dinosnaurnuggets]

Hmm

[brickwhartley]

Dear People of Tumblr,

I don’t know if you heard the news when it dropped, but I left the sunny island of Clawland in the rearview mirror a few months ago and stepped into a role back here at Tumblr as Chief Officer of Merchandising and Physical Engineering. I’ve been sharing my wares over at my Emporium, and more importantly, you’ve been buying! 

Things have been going so darn well that last night, I had plenty of time to reflect on how far I’ve come. No blockers in my way, KPIs going through the roof, everyone happy with their new mugs and pins and tshirts, and me at the head of it all… everything’s coming up Brick, right? 

But one thing about merchandising is, well, it’s fun, and creative… but there isn’t much clicking. Brick Misses Clicks! 

I thought about how dang popular my little crabby friends were on the dashboard when I was away. Spawning like crazy! There’s no denying it: you kids love those crabs. You’re even spending cold hard cash sending them to each other. 

So, the question was: how to combine that kind of clicktastic feature you know and love, with something new? Something FRESH? 

And then, it hit me!

🦀🐛🧀👻🐴🍪!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I hereby announce that I’m taking temporary leave of my position at the Emporium in order to jump teams and become Tumblr’s Chief Reactions Officer. 

Beginning today, you’ll be able to SLAM those react buttons at the bottom of every Tumblr post to express your emotions. On the web at least. Not in the mobile apps. (I’m a budget whiz, but not that much of a whiz.)

And listen, this is short notice. I haven’t slept all night, putting this together, ever since the idea struck me while stargazing and reflecting on my life and choices. So the actual reactions available to use are limited for now. They were actually just the most recently used emojis in my phone.

But I just know you’ll love them anyway. Because they come from me, BRICK! 

Yours clickfully, 

Brick Whartley Chief Reactions Officer Chief Officer of Merchandising and Physical Engineering (On Leave)

[sturniologals]

Make it up to you -m.s

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆

Dom!Matt x fem!reader

in which~ y/n had a crush on Matt but his friends/football teammates found out and teased you about it, he joined in on the teasing to hide the fact that he has feelings for you but six months later, you’re desperate for a ride to school and Matt is your only option.

warnings~ p in v/ unprotected (don’t be silly,wrap up your willy)/ use of baby, sweetheart, y/n, praise kink, cursing

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

I stretched my limbs as I tried to peel my eyes open from my sleepy state. "y/n! Hurry up!" My mom shouted at me, afraid id miss the bus.

"Frickity frickity Frick" I mumbled to myself as I looked over at my phone and saw the time reading 7:15, my bus runs in literally like 7 minutes, theres no way I was gonna make it. I opened up my contacts and called and texted at least five of my friends in hope that I could get a ride from one of them but I failed.

I clicked on my last contact I was going to try and started to call my friend Nick.

She answered and her soft voice spoke "Hey y/n!"

"Hey Nick! Is there any possible way that you could give me a ride to school today?" She hummed to herself as she thought about it.

"im sorry girl, Matt took my car today. He has some thing after school but I can call him. He should be able to pick you up!" He chimes.

"No no no, id rather walk. Thank you tho." I say before we bid our goodbyes and hang up.

I meant that, i really would rather walk. Matthew sturniolo has been my biggest enemy since last year, when I first started high school and became friends with Nick. I had an obvious crush on matt even though he was a bit older. His friends found out because matt overheard me talking to Nick about it one time and his friends started to tease me about it and eventually matt joined in and ever since then, they make jokes and poke fun at me anytime I see them.

"y/n! Why are you still in your fucking pajamas?" My mom says angrily from my door.

"Mom its okay, matt is gonna give me a ride!" I spurt out quickly, just not wanting to get into an argument with her.

“Matt? oh! It’s been forever since you guys have hung out.” My mom says, her mood quickly changing to a more joyous one. I roll my eyes at her words and she tells me she loves me before she leaves out for work.

I stand up and put on a pair of black jeans and a dark blue body suit that accentuates my body perfectly. I finish straightening my hair, my luscious blonde locks flowing perfectly down my shoulders. I sit down at my vanity and apply a few makeup products, really just mascara, and a bit of highlighter. Mid way through my routine, i remember i haven’t called Matt yet. My hands start to tremble a bit as i scroll through my contacts in search of his name.

I reluctantly click the call button under his name and the ringing of my phone makes me shudder. After just two rings, he picks up.

“Y/n?” His deep voice grumble from the speakers on my phone.

“Hi Matt! Can you give me a ride to school?” I say peppily, not wanting him to give me any shit.

“I’ll be there in five.” He says before hanging up.

well, that was easy. i think to myself before spritzing myself with some perfume and slipping on my shoes. I grab my bag and walk through my house.

I get to the front door and see trey pulling in.

perfect timing.

The sight of Matts truck parked in my driveway makes me nervous. I push the nervousness down, pulling all of the courage i have out of me and I start walking down my driveway.

Once i step out of my door, he immediately steps out of his truck and walks to the passenger side and opens the door up. He stands leaning on the door, a small smile on his face.

why is he being so fucking nice?

“Hi y/n.” He says in a seductive voice while his eyes trail over my body. The way he’s looking at me sends a heat straight to my core but i try my best to ignore it. I shoot Matt a side eye and a nod of my head as i step up into his truck. He places his hand on my lower back for support as i climb into his vehicle which has me crossing my legs in the passenger seat. Matt looks at me with a hungry look in his eyes as he shuts the door for me and walks over to the driver side.

He climbs into the seat and takes a deep breath in before turning the key over.

“Thanks for picking me up.” I say in the most nonchalant way that i can.

“Yeah, i mean- you haven’t talked to me in almost 6 months so i was surprised you’d wanted me to.” Matt says while looking at me, our eye contact holding strong.

“I didn’t have any other choice.” I say with a shrug of my shoulders and i can see the pain flash in his eyes as i finish my sentence off and i immediately feel bad.

“No- I didn’t mean-“ I start to correct myself but he cuts me off.

“I get it y/n. I really do- don’t apologize sweetheart. I’ve been an asshole to you for so long and i let my friends make jokes and i’m just- i’m so fucking sorry. I was a coward because you made me- feel things.” Matt spurts out, his confession surprising me but making my heart skip a beat and my pussy convulse at the name he called me.

“Matt-“ I start to speak but he cuts me off yet again.

“Can you come to my football game tonight?” He asks impatiently as he starts to pull out of my driveway.

“Matt, you know i hate going to school functions.”

“Please” He says quickly.

“Okay, i’ll be there.” I say reluctantly. I don’t even really know why he wants me there but it seems important so i agree.

The rest of the ride is silent, just Matt glancing at me every few minutes and at some point his large hands made their way to my knee, slowly trailing up my thigh as i squirmed around in my seat, Matt glancing at my neediness but his hand never moved to my heat.

“Here you go sweetheart.” Matt says as we pull up next to the busy school entrance.

“Aren’t you coming?” I ask him.

“I’ll be here later.” He says with a small smile as he unbuckles my seat belt for me and walks around to open my door. His truck is raised high off of the ground but Matt is so tall that his head is still up to my level when he’s standing on the ground in-front of me. He puts his hands around my waist and picks me up out of his truck. I giggle as he sits me down on the ground. He chuckles and tells me he’ll see me later.

As i walk into school, all that’s going through my head is Matt.

the things he said to me were definitely more than ‘friendly’

why is he being so nice?

is this another joke?

the way his hands were all over me tho…

sweetheart?

why does he want me at his game tonight?

i made him feel things?

what things?

i spend the rest of my school day and the whole ride home and the whole time i’m getting ready for the football game also thinking about Matt. The thoughts about him in my head are inevitably erotic and i genuinely can’t help it.

My mom drops me off at the game and i pull at the tight shorts on my legs as i hop out of the car. I walk up into the bleachers and i find a seat that gives me a perfect view of the field. Matt comes out of now where and runs up to the fence that separates us.

“c’mere!” he says loudly, i can see his friends behind him starting to laugh and i get nervous and all of memories of them poking fun at me make me sick and i want to run out of there.

“y/n baby, i said to come here.” Matt demands in a soothing yet firm voice that makes me feel safe. His friends behind him starts staring and looking confused. I am too but i listen to try and walk over to stand over the fence. His eye black is starting to smudge and his hair is tousled perfectly and i’m so close that i can smell his manly musk.

As soon as i’m standing slightly over Matt, he pulls his hands up to my head and pulls me down to him and immediately shoves his lips onto mine. The feeling of his mouth moving over mine is something i’ve wanted to feel for so fucking long. I groan into his mouth as his tongue slips into mine and i can taste the saltiness of his mouth and i’m

craving more. I audibly groan when he pulls away, his lips swollen and pink as he runs back to the field. His friends just staring at him angrily and confused as he flips them off and walks down the field with a smile on his face.

what the fuck just happened?

and why is his whole football team staring at me?

Matt yells at his friends from across the field.

“hey! shitheads! stop staring at my girl and get your asses down here.”

I get butterflies at him calling me ‘his girl’ but then i remember the months of teasing he let his friends do to me and i wipe the smile off of my face quickly. Maybe i should let myself enjoy this tho?

Throughout the whole game, my internal monologue argues with itself. By the end of the game, i decide i want to give him a chance. I believe what he told me. Matt sweaty figure runs up to the fence at the end of the game, they won of course. I’m clapping and smiling at Matt, his eyes looking directly into mine. He puts his arms out over the fence and motions for me to walk over. I do so and he puts his hands on my waist and picks me up over the fence and pulls me onto the field. I smile up at him and he immediately kisses me again.

His friends and even his coach “oooo”-ing at us as he gives me a desperate yet gentle kiss.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since you showed up to my house with your fucking sparkly pink jump rope for cheer practice almost two years ago.” he whispers into my ear as he pulls away. My face goes red with embarrassment.

“You played good.” I say with a proud smile.

He flashes his white teeth at me before one of his friends, jacob, comes up behind Matt. i sigh and immediately get nervous because jacob was one of the main people who teased me. Matt looks over at jacob with sharp eyes, as if he’s warning him to not say anything to me. Jacob just smiles at me. “I’m sorry y/n, i was a dick to you and owen for a long time.”

I nod with a small thin lipped smile.

“you wanna get out of here sweetheart?” owen says to me. I nod my head and he smiles at me as he takes my hand and walks us out of the stadium.

as we walk through the busy parking lot, murmurs from people in our small town are heard.

“ew he’s like- old as fuck.”

“didn’t he literally bully her?”

i block out the noise, Matt squeezing my hand as a sign of comfort.

We get into his truck and i immediately look over at him. “Matt. why?”

he looks at me confusedly. “why what?”

“why did you want me to come tonight?” i ask timidly. He laughs out loud and i grow confused.

“you’re oblivious. I wanted you here tonight so i could kiss you in front of all of the assholes who used to give you shit.” he says with a genuine smile of happiness as he rubs his hand up and down my leg.

“Oh.” I say quietly as it clicks in my head. “Oh!” i say once i get it.

“cmon sweetheart it’s late. i’ll get you home.” Matt says as he reaches over to buckle my seatbelt for me, his long fingers grazing over my chest. Butterflies erupt in my stomach and heat grows between my legs as owen starts his truck and pulls out of the parking lot. His hand is resting on my thigh and quiet music plays, my window cracked slightly allowing some of the cold friday night breeze to flow through the cab of his truck. Every smidge of cold air that hits my skin makes me shudder. My body is extremely sensitive to the touch right now. I look over at owen and his dark eyes are trained on his hand that’s resting on my leg. “you’re so beautiful y/n.” Matt says in a low, seductive voice as his thumb draws circles on my inner thigh.

“pull over.” I say nervously, trying to muster up all of the courage that i have. Matt smirks, knowing what i want as he pulls over by an empty desolate park by some trees that offer a good enough coverage. As soon as he shifts into park, i immediately swing my legs over his lap so i’m straddling. My lips are on his in a hot, sweaty and passionate kiss. The smell of sweat and grass still on Matt makes me impossibly needier.

All of a sudden- Matt pulls my face back.

“Patience baby.” Matt says with an attractive chuckle.

“you’re not gonna fucking tease me all day and then tell me to have patience Matt.” i say firmly as i slowly start to rock my hips back and forth on him, making him groan out.

“oh- don’t- god, y/n.” he says as he throws his head back and shuts his eyes in pleasure as his eyebrows knit together.

“Nuh uh, you owe me six months worth of apologies. You’re gonna be the one making me feel good, yeah?” i say deviously as i cease my movements. Matt eyes open up and meet mine, a smile playing across his features as he laughs and nods his head yes.

“i guess you’re right about that one sweetheart.” he says as he quickly puts a hand on my back and turns me so my back is against the passenger door of his truck as he pulls my ankles up to his shoulders. I groan out as i arch my back needily.

“calm down pretty girl. let me take care of you.” he says softly as he pulls my shorts down my hips. His eyes clench shut together for a second. “you’re so perfect.” he praises as he starts to kiss up my thighs.

“Matt…” i moan out as he gets closer to my core.

he starts to kiss over my clothed cunt before slowly pulling my panties down.

“you’re so soaked. all because of me?” he speaks seductively as i bring my fingers up to his hair and pull his head closer to my pussy impatiently. He laughs out loud before licking a stripe up me which pulls a loud moan out of me. His tongue moves against me quickly and skillfully, pulling more and more noises from me.

“Oh you’re doing so good for me sweetheart.” He says against my cunt before ducking on my bundle of nerves.

“Matt- i’m gonna-“ i pant out, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Finish in my mouth, let me taste you.” he says, which sends me over the edge, screaming his name as his head gets squeezed between my clenching thighs.

I pant out as i come down from my high as owen continues to lick me clean like a starved man.

“good?” he asks with an egotistical expression on his face.

“i’ve had better.” i say sarcastically with a shrug.

“Yeah i bet.” he says as he pulls my shorts back up my legs for me.

I sit up straight and fix my hair in his mirror before i buckle my seat belt and Matt starts to drive again.

“y/n” Matts deep voice speaks out, diverting my attention to him.

“hm?” I hum out.

“I love you.” he says with a small nervous smile on his face. My stomach immediately erupts in butterflies and a smile forms on my face.

“I love you too.” I say as i intertwine my fingers with his.

[joshs-big-toe]

I triple dog dare you to write Josh futterman getting caught jerking off to a pic of y/n!!!!

Heyyy bbg I am SOOOO sorry this took me so long to get to this request, I have been dealing with final exams and tbh mental health? Down the drain lmao. I do have a fic similar to this, so if you want to read that one it is linked HERE!! I am still going to write a similar concept, however, I will change it up a little bit! I hope that you still enjoy it!

cw: smut, male masturbation, female masturbation, fluff

word count: 1,445

Being around Josh Futturman is this strange mix of contradictions that you can't quite wrap your head around. On one hand, he's this total loser, but you can't help but be infatuated with him. It's like he's the king of awkward, yet there's this undeniable charisma that draws you in. And then there's the whole "Biotic Wars" thing – he's legit addicted to that game. You can't help but roll your eyes when he starts rambling about how close he was to beating the game, but there's something oddly cute about his enthusiasm. Lately, though, there's this other layer to your friendship that you can't shake off – a subtle flutter in your chest when he laughs or those lingering looks that neither of you acknowledges. You knew you were far gone when it came to Josh, but you also knew you refused to risk your friendship with him, so you kept silent.

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

Your shift came to a close and you started gathering your things when the buzzing of your phone made you jump. You looked down, seeing Josh’s name on the screen, making you smile. You pick up, greeted by the distant sounds of explosions ad gunfire – the unmistakable sounds of “Biotic Wars.” You rolled your eyes.

“Hey, y/n, what are you doing?” There was a tiredness in his voice.

“I just got off of work, I’m about to head home. What’s up with you?” You responded, realizing that it was kind of a stupid question.

“Ah, you know, same old. Just killing these biotics left and right. You should join me sometime.” You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Maybe someday, but probably not,” he groans in a mocking way. “You wanna hang out today? Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he says, clearly distracted. “You can um – ah fuck you! Sorry, not you, I just died.” He laughed. “You can come to my place, that sound alright?” The frantic clicking of buttons started up in the background, accompanied by gunshots and occasional explosions.

“Yeah your place works,” you remark. “What time?” There was a silence from Josh, leaving the sounds of the game in the background. “Josh?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. “How does 6 sound? It gives you a chance to get out of your work clothes and me a chance to go through a few more levels.” Clearly, he was more focused on the game.

“That works, I’ll grab pizza for us. Usual?” He ‘mhmm’s’ in response your question. “Cool, I’ll see you then.” He says a quick goodbye, hanging up quickly after. You sigh, grabbing your bag and keys, making your way to your car to head home.

---------

You looked at your watch, the time reading 5:42. You were typically early. Josh always left his door unlocked whenever he knew you were coming over, so you were able to walk right in. You set your bag and the pizza box on the dining table, looking up the stairs. You couldn’t hear his game playing, however you did hear noises from up the stairs. You walk up the stairs quietly, wanting to sneak up on him. Noticing his door was cracked, you took a peak in. Your breath caught in your through, letting out a soft gasp at what you were greeted with. On his computer monitor, your Instagram was pulled up, a photo of you at the beach on the screen. A heat started pooling in your core with the sight in front of you: Josh was in his gaming chair, jeans around his ankles, quickly stroking his dick. His head was lulled back, eyes half closed and tongue poking out of his mouth slightly. You stayed silent, watching his hand moved up in down in a needy pace, whimpers escaping his throat as he continued. He switched hands, shaking the one he was previously using, making you think he had been at this for a while. You bit your lower lip, your arousal becoming overwhelming. You start to think, there's no harm in touching myself too, right? With that, you quietly sit down on the floor, leaning against his doorframe. You took a look over your shoulder, making sure you did not alert Josh that you were there. You were in the clear. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Carefully, you dip your hand down into your sweatpants, past your underwear and down to your heat. You leaned your head back against the door frame as you grazed your clit, biting on your lip to stifle any noise threatening your lips. Your eyes closed, taking in the whimpers and words coming from Josh as he continued stroking his cock. Your fingers dipped down into your heat, making you sigh. Your mind was completely clouded with the thought of your fingers being replaced by Josh’s, making a heat pool in your lower belly.

“F-fuck, y/n,” you heard Josh whimper out, making you that much closer to your own release. You circled your clit, letting out your own soft moans at this point, unable to contain them with the pleasure you were feeling. You heard Josh’s moans get more erratic as kept going, insinuating that he was close. You sped up your movements, rubbing and fingering your wet heat, finally bringing yourself to your release. You cover your mouth with your free hand, doing your best to stifle your moans, leaning your head back against the door frame and screwing your eyes shut. You sit there for a moment, catching your breath before glancing inside Josh’s room, not seeing him on his gaming chair anymore. You stand up on wobbly legs, composing yourself. You knock on his door, pushing it open.

“Hey Josh, I’m here,” you call out with a shaky voice. You hoped he wouldn’t notice. You looked at his computer, your picture no longer up. Josh was standing at his shelf, now wearing sweatpants. He turned to look at you, a smile making its way onto his face. His cheeks were a light flush of red.

“Hey!” His voice was cheerful as he made his way over to his bed. You go in, sitting next to you. He leaned in to hug you, you immediately hugging back. He moved his head to where his lips were next to your ear. “Did you like what you saw?” His voice was low and gravely. Your eyes widened, quickly pulling away from the hug to look at him. He looked nervous, his face a darker red than before. This honestly probably took a lot of confidence to say, especially for him.

“W-what?” You stutter out.

“You heard me,” he grinned.

“I um, you saw?” He just nodded. “How much?”

“Most of it, watching you is what actually made me,” he paused. “You know,” he looked away, clearly nervous now. You guess his confidence wore off.

“I-I’m sorry if I made things weird I just-” he cut you off, connecting his lips to yours gently. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him more into the kiss. You pull away, looking into his eyes.

“Y/n, I’ve been into you for years. You just never showed me any signs of anything, so I stayed quiet about it.” You smiled.

“honestly, josh? I have too. I was just scared.”

“You sure didn’t seem scared five minutes ago,” he smirked. You grumbled, flicking the back of his head. “You were also early, you were never supposed to see or know anything.” You shrugged.

“Well, I do now.” He looked down.

“So what now?” He said, joy and curiosity in his voice. You thought for a moment.

“well, theres pizza downstairs-“

“no, not right now, dumbass. In general. Us. What now.”

“oh,” you blushed. “You could be a gentleman and ask me on a real date, you know.” You teased him. He rolled his eyes, hiding the smile that crept onto his face.

“Sorry, sorry. Y/n, would you like to go on a date with me?” A smile lingered on his lips. You pretend to think for a moment.

“I guess, but lets just eat pizza and watch a movie tonight, how does that sound?” He nodded.

“I’ll go get the pizza,” he planted a kiss on your cheek before he left the room. You laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. You couldn’t believe what just happened, and frankly you were embarrassed. But you’re secrets out now and it feels good, especially knowing that he had feelings for you too. You let your eyes flutter shut, taking a deep breath, anticipating what may come within this newfound relationship that may be forming.

OMG thank you for being patient with me. I hope this is good, I honestly struggled with this one a lot for some reason, but if you enjoyed it, im glad. Have a beautiful day everyone :)

[leilakisakabiri]

She’s The Man (Gavi)

Summary: You make Gavi watch one of your comfort movies and he can’t help but get invested. 

Warning(s): None, domestic fluff.

A/N: Please send requests if you have any. Also, holy shit guys 575 likes on my last post and counting, you all deserve the world. Thank you so much. 

Word Count: [957]

Masterlist

“Y/n no please.” Gavi groaned on the couch next to you, watching as you turned on your favorite comfort movie.

“What? It just came on Netflix, there’s no way I can’t watch it.” You protested, fingers already pressing the play button.

He groaned again, his body sinking further down into the cushions, “This is so girly!”

You huffed, “Oh c’mon you haven’t even seen it. You’ll love it. Plus, it has football in it.” You tried to get him interested in the film but to no avail.

This whole thing had started after Gavi had decided to come over to your apartment after practice. The two of you had been dating for the last few months and had gotten to the point in your relationship where instead of always going out and doing something, you would sometimes stay in, opting to order takeout and watch movies.

That, however, led to a host of petty arguments as the two of you always fought about what to watch, having completely different tastes in movies. While Gavi liked watching action or comedy movies, you loved horror or the occasional romcom.

I mean c’mon who wouldn’t want to watch a man written by a women?

“Ok let’s watch this tonight, and next time you can pick.” You suggested.

“Fine, but I’m not watching, I’ll just lay here. Bored.” He responded, looking over at you with puppy dog eyes.

You squinted your eyes at him before turning back to the TV, “Sounds good to me.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted to move closer to you, wrapping an arm around you as the movie started, leaning his head on your shoulder, and closing his eyes.

You were immediately engrossed in the movie, watching as Amanda Bynes transformed into a guy.

You were barely twenty minutes into the movie when Gavi spoke up, “Does she really think that’s going to work, it’s so obvious she’s a girl!”

You turned to him, “I thought you were sleeping?”

You saw him close his eyes the second you turned to look at him and went to call him out but decided against it.

“I’m trying but I can still hear the movie.”

“Right.” You responded, focusing your attention back on the TV.

Another 30 minutes passed, and you were sure Gavi was asleep when he spoke again during a particularly intense scene, causing you to jump at the sudden noise.

“Wait why doesn’t Viola just tell Duke the truth?” He asked, voice breaking the silence, as he moved to pause the movie.

“I thought you weren’t watching?” You questioned.

“I’m not.”

“Ok.”

You left the conversation at that refocusing your attention and clicking play.

“…But why though?”

“Gavi are you watching or not?” You asked, fed up with pausing the movie so many times.

“Ok maybe. It’s kinda good.” He admitted.

You gave him a grin, leaning over hug his side, “See I told you.”

“Yeah, whatever, just play the movie.”

You laughed, starting the movie again.

Gavi’s fingers softly rubbed circles on your shoulder as you watched, and you leaned into him getting a whiff of his cologne.

Damn this boy smelled so good, especially for coming over straight after practice.  

You felt your tummy flip as he turned to look at you, your faces millimeters apart. From your position, you could make out the flecks of brown in his eyes, and the scrunch of his eyebrows as he looked down at you.

“You good?” He asked, voice soft.

You nodded giving him a kiss on the cheek, “You’re just so pretty.”

You saw him blush, a pink hue spreading on his cheeks, as he turned to the side with a smile, not being able to hide it, “Stop Y/n.”

You giggled, pulling him closer to you, wrapping your leg around his, basking in his warmth.

It was quiet for the rest of the movie, until the last ten minutes.

You felt Gavi unwrap himself from you as he leaned forward, gesturing wildly at the TV, “This movie is ridiculous. Since when does football have parkour?”

You laughed at his outburst, finding it funny how aggravated he was, complaining about a teen girl romcom not being an accurate portrayal of football.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know, I think it makes the game more exciting, and it looks cool.”

He turned to look at you with a deadpan expression, “Oh really? Well then in that case excuse me I have to go learn how to do a backflip off the goal post for the next game.” He muttered sarcastically.

You let out a loud laugh, “Now that is a good idea. Maybe then you would win more games.”

His eyes widened comically, and he gave you the most offended look, “You did not just say that.”

“I’m sorry, it was just too easy.” You let out between laughs.

He rolled his eyes, moving away from you on the couch, crossing his arms.

“You’re a great player.” You spoke again.

“You have to say that you’re my girlfriend.” He muttered.

“No, for real, I mean it.” You finally pulled yourself together, looking at him.

“Swear?” He made eye contact with you, and you could feel a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you willed yourself to remain serious.

You always laughed at the worst times.

“Swea-“ Your voice broke at the end of the word and you had to hide your smile behind your hands, not being able to look at him with a straight face.

“Y/n.” He whined throwing a cushion at you, as you sank further into the couch, not being able to get the picture of Gavi doing a backflip off the goalpost out of your head.

[heich0e]

tags: yakuza!suna/escort!reader the prequel(ish), icymi here's PART 1 + PART 2 series masterlist

The car pulls up along the back of the club just past ten o’clock.

It had rained earlier in the evening, though you'd fortunately missed most of the shower. The world passing outside the windows of the car is still soaked with it, and puddles pool in the divots of the road as the water trickles slowly towards the storm drains that line the street.

“Thank you, Toma,” you say to your driver as you reach for the handle to let yourself out, and in the front seat the kindly man dips his head in response.

“Would you like me to wait to drop you home?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror positioned along the highest centre point of the windshield. “I haven’t got another ride for a half an hour.”

“I have to drop my take-home off to the office and get my payout, and the trains are still running, but thank you,” you assure him with a shake of your head. You smile at him in the rearview mirror as you pop the door open. You hesitate just before you slip out, leaning up towards the front seat. “Drive safe tonight.”

You have to step around puddles as you approach the staff entrance to the club, the water collecting every few steps along the craggy surface of the alley. You hear a voice filtering down the dingy alleyway from up ahead, and it makes you slow ever so slightly. It’s familiar, and as you round the corner to the door, you recognize why.

Kaito stands just beside the metal door with ‘STAFF ENTRANCE ONLY’ emblazoned across it peeling white paint. He’s ditched the suit jacket you’d seen him wearing earlier in the evening, left in his black dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The flickering light above the door catches on the garish chain he wears around his neck, glinting at you as Kaito holds his cellphone up to his ear, lost in his conversation.

“Of course, sir. I understand,” he says, and though his voice is as insincerely pleasant as ever, his face is contrastingly grim—the affectation of charm extending only to that which the caller on the other line is able to witness. You watch as Kaito pushes a hand through his carefully-styled hair in frustration, tousling the dark strands, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s not last minute at all, I’ll make sure our very best girls are available once he arrives.”

You pause upon overhearing that particular snippet of his phone call, your heels clicking to a stop on the unevenly cobbled path, and Kaito’s eyes crack open once he senses your approach.

“Very well, I’ll be sure to be at the entrance to greet him myself. Have a good evening, sir.”

Kaito ends the call, his eyes still on you.

“You’re back,” he remarks, acknowledging you once he tucks his phone into the pocket of his dress pants—his voice is so different now to what it had been only seconds prior that he may as well be a different person entirely. He plucks out the cigarette tucked behind his ear and holds it to his lips, fishing a lighter out from his pocket. “Early, isn’t it?” 

“Right on schedule, actually,” you reply, snapping out of your momentary stupor and approaching the door as the lighter clicks to life. “I was meeting with Suzuki-san this evening.”

Suzuki is one of your longest-standing regulars: a successful businessman in his mid-60s whose wife passed away a few years prior, and whose children have all grown and moved away. He takes you to dinner once a week, and your appointments are never anything more than that. He’s lonely, you realized quickly after meeting him, and the way his face lights up when you arrive at whatever restaurant he’s reserved for the evening makes your stomach ache a little too much to ever really enjoy the food.

“That old sucker?” Kaito’s eyes widen, the corner of his mouth twisting upward in an almost cruel way. “Still paying you to play footsie with him at dinner after all this time.”

You frown, shooting Kaito a withering look as you reach for the staff door to step inside. He ignores your glare, and you watch with a feeling of abject dread as an idea comes to him.

“Hey,” he says, his hand suddenly coming to rest against the peeling paint and forcing the door closed before you can properly open it. The acrid smell of his cigarette smoke is overwhelming with him this close to you, and it makes your nose scrunch up. “You should stay late tonight.”

“Can’t,” you reply flatly, angling your body away from his. “I’m just here for payout.”

Kaito huffs at your immediate refusal. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he tries again.

“I can’t,” you repeat yourself, holding firm.

He narrows his eyes, and you watch as he considers how he should reply. He rolls his eyes a bit and eventually backs off, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Whatever.”

You open the door and step inside without any further words passing between you.

In the main office, you hand in the envelope of cash Suzuki-san had pressed into your palm after walking you back to Toma and the waiting car outside the restaurant. The disinterested man in the office—you never manage to keep track of who’s who with how frequently the faces change around here—takes the cash and counts it in another room, even though you'd already triple checked for yourself on the drive back to the club. You wait there with your arms crossed over your chest for him to bring you back a slip of paper that would outline how much you’d earned that week and what was deposited directly into your bank account, and your heel taps against the dingy tile as the minutes tick past.

The back office of the club is far less flashy than the interiors of the lounge a few hundred metres and some staircases away. In fact, the interiors tend to deteriorate in luxury the further outwards you move from the epicentre of activity—the club and the private rooms that are attached to it are the height of luxury, the suites that line the south end of the building slightly less impressive in their quality, and finally the administrative rooms and various other spaces that only the staff ever visit like this one are completely unremarkable. Looking around the shabby, disorganized office you wouldn’t even know the kind of business it’s running.

Maybe that’s the point, you can’t help but think.

As you wait for the nameless man to return with your pay stub, you hear a sound from the hallway outside the open office door. It’s slight, but familiar—the sound of a sniffle. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

It’s not unusual to hear a woman crying around here.

You quickly turn your back to the door, trying your very best to ignore it. That’s what you’ve learned to do over the years, after all. But the sobbing becomes less ignorable, more noticeable, and before you can think better of it you’re stepping out of the office towards the sound.

Around the corner from the office, next to a supply closet, you find a small girl hunched in on herself in a sparkling pink cocktail dress.

It’s Mini—at least, that’s the name she goes by around here since the girls rarely use their real names in this place, for good reason.

She’s young, maybe 20 if you had to guess generously, and had only been working at the club for a few week as a server mostly: circling the busy floor of the bar area and bringing patrons their drinks. She’s a bright, bubbly girl, and she’s taken a shine to you for whatever reason after only a few shifts where your paths have crossed. 

“Hey,” you call to her, and it seems to startle her a bit, jolting when she hears the sound of your voice.

Her mascara is running down her cheeks as she lifts her face to look up at you, and her nose has gone bright pink even underneath the layer of makeup she wears. At the sight of you, she starts to cry harder, crushing herself unexpectedly against your chest. You’re not sure what to do, so you pat a little awkwardly along her back in a vague attempt to comfort her.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her, hoping your voice isn’t quite as stiff as the rest of your body is.

“K-k-kaito just pulled m-me off the f-f-f-floor,” she wails, the final word drawing out in a warbling little cry.

Your jaw sets as she struggles to compose herself, pulling herself away from you after another moment of tears.

"Why?"

“He told me”—Mini swipes at her running nose with the back of her hand, sniffling wetly—“told me there’s a private party coming in. He’s rounding up as many girls as he can for it and sending them into one of the private lounges.”

Mini hasn’t been at the club long, and has never worked a private party. You both realize what it means for her, without it needing to explicitly be said. Evidently the premise has her frightened.

You really have no right to be as angry as you are, but that doesn't change the fury you feel rolling in the pit of your stomach.

Or stop you from doing what you do next.

You find Kaito in his office on the other side of the building.

“Who’s this private party?” you ask him once he answers the sharp rap you land against his door and he calls you in.

Kaito glances up from his desk. He’s got his suit jacket on again, and he’s fixed his hair—back to his usual self. He looks a little surprised to see you standing in his office doorway, especially as pissed off as you are.

He quirks a brow. “What’s it to you?”

You bite the tip of your tongue in an attempt to temper the flare of irritation searing through you. 

“I don’t think Mini’s ready to work a private party.”

“Who?” he asks, and the worst part is you know he means it, leaning back in his chair. His brow furrows as you stare at him.

 Your lips part to explain, but he cuts you off before any words come out.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,”—he waves his hand disinterestedly—“I need girls and she’s on shift. We’ve got a very important patron coming in who needs a selection to choose from, and half our best girls are already booked out tonight—or refuse to stay late.”

He tacks on that last part just for your sake.

Your teeth clench.

“So you’re just gonna send a bunch of rookies in there?” you ask him. “What kind of impression is that supposed to make to this very important patron?” 

He shrugs. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

You’re not sure who the beggar in this situation is supposed to be.

You grind your heel into the tile of his office floor as you sift through your thoughts.

“How many girls do you need?” you finally ask him, the question hissing out through gritted teeth.

He grins, seeing the cracks forming in your armour even from the other side of the room. 

“Depends,” he replies flippantly.

“On what?” you ask him flatly.

He leans forward across his desk with a sharp smile pulling at his lips. 

“On if I’m going for quantity or quality.”

In the end, Kaito agrees not to send any of the inexperienced girls into the private room. Instead, there will only be five girls, all relatively experienced, who this unexpected guest that Kaito seems so insistent on catering to will get to choose from. 

You agree to be one of them.

You touch up your makeup in one of the dressing rooms before heading towards the designated lounge. It’s one of the nicest private rooms in the building: large, quiet, and with it’s own small mini-bar that’s kept well stocked to minimize any interruptions—another testament to just how keen Kaito is to pull out all the stops for this mystery patron.

You’re not dressed how you usually would be a lounge shift like this—much less a private booking. The dress you’d worn to dinner with Suzuki-san is a little too tasteful for the role you’re about to assume. Mini had kindly offered to let you borrow one of the spares she’d brought to work with her after she found you freshening yourself up (and conveyed her relief at being spared the private party,) but you declined—not least of all because of your very different body types. Your quiet hope was that you’d get there, pale in comparison to one of the other girls who were better suited for the occasion, and ultimately be able to continue home like you ought to have already been by now, this whole situation an unfortunate—but only momentary—road block.

The other girls are already gathered in the room when you arrive, with drinks in their hands and glossy lips and beautiful, skin-tight dresses on their frames. You greet them quietly, accepting a glass of champagne that’s placed into your hands by one of the girls you’re closest to—a tall, stunning woman who goes by the name of Yuki.

“Any idea who this high roller is that Kaito’s kissing ass for tonight?” she asks you as you take a sip from your drink. Yuki had cut the drink with soda water, you realize it right away as the muted taste of effervescent wine reaches your tongue. It’s a welcomed trick that you yourself have been known to employ of many occasions, a tactic used to keep your wits about you without seeming like you’re turning down a drink while you work a long shift.

You can’t help but lament the fact that you really could use a proper drink right about now.

“No,” you tell her quietly, fiddling with the thin stem of the champagne flute between your fingers. “He didn’t say.”

“Must be someone good,” Sakura, another working girl whose long hair is tinted a pretty shade of pink that suits her name, chimes in from the other side of the room where she’s draped across the tufted sofa. 

You wonder if she’s right about that, because an unpleasant feeling creeping over you is telling you the opposite.

The girls chat quietly amongst themselves as you all wait for the arrival of the much-anticipated guest, and you continue sipping your watered down champagne as you rest perched on the arm of a chair along one side of the room.

You should already be home by now. Should already have scrubbed the day from your skin and slipped into a pair of soft cotton pyjamas. You should be sitting on your sofa watching a movie, or reading the last chapter of the book you’d had to tear yourself away from to come to work that afternoon, or even be curled up in your bed asleep. You’re bitter to still be within the walls of the club, to still be maintaining the character you’re paid to play, and you chew the inside of your cheek as you stew in this resentment—so much so that you almost miss the door to the lounge swing open.

Your eyes flicker up as the rest of the girls stand in greeting.

You’re the last to rise from your seat.

Behind Kaito is a man you’ve never seen before, his apathetic stare sweeping lazily around the room as Kaito rambles on about something you don’t care to listen to. The guest doesn’t seem to either.

He has dark hair that reaches a little longer than the top of his ears, and an expression on his face that doesn’t seem to imply that he’s any happier to be here than you are. He has a bandage on his cheek, the skin around it still red enough to imply the injury is fresh, and a cut on his lip that looks like it could bleed again at any moment. He’s dressed in black—a turtleneck, under a long coat, over a pair of trousers, all in the same shade. His hands are shoved into his pockets to complete his general air of indifference.

His eyes land on you just as you make it up to your feet, and the way his attention lingers on you for a moment longer than it had the rest of the girls makes you want to curse under your breath. Your attempt to go unnoticed has already started off on the wrong foot, and the man isn’t even fully across the threshold yet. 

Your eyes meet—properly meet—and for a moment you hold your breath.

“Ladies,” Kaito says, that saccharine, ingratiating tone you hate so much the thickest you’ve ever heard it in his voice. “This is Suna Rintarou”

The man’s eyes are still on you.

“I’m sure you’ll see to it that he has a very memorable evening.”

[jaime-brienne-fic-exchange]

The Handy Dandy Posting Guide

Posting Guide

As hard as it is to believe, we are here: the opening of the Jaime x Brienne 2024 Fic Exchange collection! I know, I know, it feels like prompts went out yesterday. But it's okay if you aren't quite done yet--the posting window is two weeks, so there's still time!

However, if you do know you cannot complete a fic please reach out to me as soon as possible so a knight writer can be arranged. Life happens and there’s no shame in needing a little help.

Now with the collection opening soon, here’s some FAQ on posting!

How does posting work?

There are two options: (1) Go to the collection here, and in the top right there will be a ‘Post to Collection’ button (2) Upload your fic to ao3 as usual, and make sure you enter JaimeBrienneFicExchange2024 in the collection field. From here, the process is the same. Fill in the relevant details and ensure you put your recipient’s AO3 name in the ‘Gift this work to’ field. Double check your original prompt to ensure you have the correct name. A few people have different tumblr/AO3 names and we don’t want any fics to go astray. If you’ve already made an AO3 draft before the today, make sure you add it to the collection and put in your recipient’s username in the fields mentioned above, and make sure you change the date when posting (or your fic will be buried). Be aware it can cause some shenanigans where the fic may not appear at the top of the page.  After that, it’s as simple as clicking post! Your fic will be submitted to the exchange and automatically be made anonymous. 

I can see my name, something went wrong!

Deep breath. As the author, when you open your own fic (posted or in a draft), it will say ‘Anonymous [YourUsername]’, but to other users it will simply say ‘Anonymous’. If that is not how it appears, double check that it is added to the correct collection and reach out if you still have a problem. Author’s names will not be revealed until October 7th, when I click the button to reveal them. Feel free to reply to comments during that week. As long as you are logged into the account that posted the fic, all of your comments will also be anonymised. 

What about Lil’ Oathkeepers?

I’m glad you asked, imaginary exchange participant that’s totally not me talking to myself! A Lil’ Oathkeeper is a gift that can be any size and shape. It can be art! A video edit! A moodboard! A fic shorter than 1000 words! Or… a fic longer than a 1000 words, but you probably know that. Anyone (you don’t even have to be signed up to the exchange) can make and gift a Lil’ Oathkeeper. I’ll be releasing the prompt spreadsheet and posting instructions once all gifts are posted.

Can I thank my beta in the notes of my story?

Absolutely you can! The betas of the fandom work HARD, they definitely deserve recognition. Just be mindful of including anything in your notes that might reveal who you are. You could choose to name your beta, or just thank them generally and add their name after authors have been revealed.

What if I don’t receive a story?

Everyone gets a story. Authors have until September 30th to post a complete fic, so chances are they just haven’t posted yet. It also might be because your fic needed a knight writer to write it. If this is the case, know that your knight is probably working very diligently to complete it, but might not be able to complete it within the posting window. If it looks like your fic will be significantly delayed (like until after authors are revealed) we will contact you directly to let you know what’s up.

What’s the etiquette around thanking my author? 

It can be hard to know what to say when you get a gift fic. Maybe it takes the prompts somewhere you hadn't imagined, or maybe you love it so much high-pitched pterodactyl noises are all you can manage. Maybe it's both. But it is good manners to leave a kudos and a comment. It doesn't have to be a long comment, and length does not equal love, but your author worked hard and deserves to have that effort recognised. And if you don't quite have time to read your gift right now? Please pop in and say so if you can!

Can I promote my story?

Please don’t do this until authors have been revealed through the collection. Once they have, go wild!

Can I rec my gift story?

Absolutely! Share the love! You can choose to rec it while it’s still anonymous, or wait until the authors are revealed. It’s up to you.

Have another question that hasn’t been answered in the FAQs? Just reach out! I can be reached via Tumblr, Discord, or jbficexchange@gmail.com and will get back to you ASAP!

I'm sure the panic is kicking in, but I promise you have time to create and share something wonderful. Keep calm and have fun, I can't wait to see what you have written!

[simp2537]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔄𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔢

A/n: We get a look into Alice!reader’s background.

Word Count : 682

Trigger Warnings: Gore, Blood, Horror, Cursing, Child Abuse, Human experiments, Child abandonment, Angst, Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, Insomnia, etc

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

Y/n sat closed eyed on the ground of the Todoroki residence. Shoto attacked  Y/n but thorn covered vines blocked his every move. Shoto groans in annoyance as frost begins to cover his body. As the pair continued to spar, Enji watched with Aizawa from Enji’s office. 

His turquoise eyes remaining in Y/n as Shoto attacked the sitting girl. She didn’t even need to move, her thorns would just attack. In her mind she was at a tea party with Hatter as he helped her levitate the cups. 

“Enji what am I doing here?” Aizawa questioned him as he sat cross armed. Enji turned back to Aizawa with an annoyed expression.

“I found another WonderCorps facility a week ago. I was able to keep the sidekicks from asking questions it, I found something.”

“What’d you find?”

Enji pulled out a tape and held it up. 

Trial 43

Subject 108

WonderCorps

Aizawa stared at the tape for a while till he realized he’d stood up and was holding the tape. 

“You’ve watched it already haven’t you? That’s why I’m here.”

Enji didn’t answer, his face remaining stern and without emotion. Enji took the tape gently and put it into the computer on his desk. 

As the tape turned in a tall man with brown hair, square rimed glasses and dressed in a lab coat turned on the tape camera. He took a few notes that looks at the camera.

“I am Touji Daigo but I’m know as Dr. Glass. Head of WonderCorps.”

Dr. Glass clicked a small clicker and lights in another glass room. In the glass room sat a younger Y/n. She barely look five. 

She was dressed in simple grey sweatpants and black shirt. Her feet were bare and her hands bruised. Dr. Glass focus the camera on Y/n.

Y/n looked up front he ground and waved softly at the camera. 

“This is experiment 108, and this is trial 43.” Dr. Glass fixed his glasses.

“Yesterday we conducted trial 42 and the results were less then stellar. 108 barely was able to control her environment. The underling almost was able to permanently injure 108.” As Dr. Glass spoke Y/n stood from the ground. 

Aizawa gasped in shock as the younger Y/n stood. Her arms were covered in bandages, her left eyes was blackened and bruised, but there was a small smile on her face. A small glass door opened and a strange creature walked out. 

It was misshapen on all ends, black goo dripped out of it staining the floor. Aizawa watched as Y/n’s face molded into one of pity and sadness. The aching look in her eyes felt no question that she felt a great sense of pity for the creature. It was colorful underneath the black goo.

Doctor. Glass leaned down into his mic.

“Go on Alice.” Y/n turned herself around in terror. She shook her head hurriedly as she shuffled.

“No! It’s sad! It’s hurting!” She cried and Doctor Glass sighed softly. He pressed a few buttons and eleactricons began to him in the room shocking the creature and Y/n. They both fell as the electricity pricked at their skin. 

After a few moments the creature began to warp and screech. Slowly it turned into a large mass of terror. Its eyes were white and it seemed to move on command. It began to attack Y/n throwing her around like a rag doll.

Aizawa stood from his seat stepping towards the monitor. His eyes shot to the window outside just as Y/n vanished into thin air. Shoto continued trying to catch Y/n but just as he’s almost grasp her she was gone.

“Turn it off.” Enji shock his head and pointed at the monitor.

“You need to see this.” Aizawa turned back to the monitor arms crossed and defensive.

Blood covered the room as Y/n lay in a bundle was what must have been her own blood. She cough violently as she push herself onto her arms. Doctors Glass rolled his eyes softly and pulled  the mic up.

“Alice! Get up or I get subject 109 to do it.” Y/n’s eyes shot yo and she pushed herself off the ground. She panted, covered in her own blood.

“NO!” She yelled once. A mass of different lights shines from her hands as she shot a bolt as the creature. It’s screeched in agony as it dissipated into nothing. Y/n panted softly as her eyes rolled back into her skull. Doctor Glass rushed into the room, an almost fearful look.

Thorn covered vines launched out of the ground cold concrete wrapping protectively around Y/n. The vines drew more of her blood but cradled her like a small baby. Doctor Glass frozen as he watched the vines wrap around Y/n.

“Doctor Vane! End the tape!” The screen cut to black.

“She killed that thing was a bolt of lightning.” Aizawa couldn’t hear his fellow hero. His eyes trapped in the black screen.

“That wasn’t lightning, I’ve seen something like that before.” Enji quirked his head in confusion. He steeped towards the window as he watched the two children.

“When we found her, behind her the portal looked like that. All the colors mixed together in the metal conductor.” Enji nodded softly. Aizawa was the only one who saw this mysterious portal, it had shut itself down when they’d all arrived.

Outside Shoto was panting as Y/n appeared in front of him. He growled softly as he blasted as much ice as he could muster at her. The ice barricaded around her encapsulating her in a dome like structure. 

Shoto panted triumphantly as he sat on the ground. Colors of all shades began to shine into the air from inside of the dome. Aizawa moved to next to Enji as the dome exploded into fractions of ice.

The multi-colored lights surrounded Y/n as she levitated just above the ground. Sharp blade of ice blazed towards shoto as a bolt it turning it to a mass of butterflies. Shoto panted as his back hit the ground in exhumation.

Y/n allowed her shadow to covered him as she sat next to him. Not a drop of sweat on her. Her tea pot and cups appeared and she pour some tea for Shoto. She stirred in some yellow sugar and red milk into the  tea. The drink turned into a deep royal blue as she brought the cup to his lips.

Both adults ran outside to check on the two child as Shoto finished up his cup. Y/n helped him sit up with a bright smile. Shoto tiredly opened his eyes to stare at her in bewilderment. Her arms crashed around Shoto’s frame with a wide smile. Shoto slowly wrapped one tired arm around her.

“You’ve gotten better.” Y/n whispered as their parents arrived. The small smile the pair shared caused a figure in the shadows to smile softly. The sun shined down on his armor as a familiar portal opened and he walked through.

Y/n’s eyes shot to the shadows, feeling the energy grow and dissipate. Her brows furrowed as she looked back at Shoto. She held him as her father knelt down with Enji.

She’d felt that power before, and she wasn’t sure if she was happy for the moment of comforting familiarity or if she was angry that power was still surviving. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Step Too Far

Series Masterlist

Warnings: none, Professor Steve (that’s a warning in itself)

Monday comes too quickly for your liking. You head across campus, wringing the strap of your knapsack as your mind wanders ahead of you. As much sleep as you lost last night trying to redo your first lesson, you know you'll lose much more after this meeting.

You head up the old staircases, built before elevators could save your calf muscles, and weave through the hallways. You stop outside Steve’s office and read the placard on the door. Dr Steve Rogers, Ph.D, Professor.

Your phone vibrates and you slip it from your pocket, swiping it open with one hand as you knock with the other. You smile at the screen as you read Jensen’s message. You’re meeting up tonight. You told him you need to study but you already know you won’t be doing much of that.

The door opens and you look up, your lips falling straight. You drop your hand and clutch the phone tight as Professor Rogers greets you flatly, “good morning.”

“Hi, Dr. Rogers,” you squeak and sway back and forth.

He considers you, blue eyes bold as the lines in his forehead deepen. His button up is rolled to the elbows and his hair is slightly askew. You feel as if you’ve interrupted him though he was expecting you.

“I’m sorry, I–”

“Come in,” he cuts you off, “I’ve been waiting.”

You wince as he spins on his heel, leaving the door open. You hesitate to break the threshold as you hike up your bag nervously. He seems distant. Almost angry, but why would he be. Maybe he’s just as frustrated as you with these last minute changes.

You step inside but before you get far, his gives another curt demand, “shut the door. My neighbours aren’t exactly fond of listening to my appointments.”

“Oh, sure,” you say as you obey, clicking the door gently into frame, “I, uh, was able to make a few changes already. I sent you the files this morning.”

“Yes, I saw,” he sits in the straight back leather chair and wheels it closer to the desk. He pulls his glasses down onto the bridge of his nose and focuses on his monitor, “it’s not enough.”

“I know… but I thought I could get started,” you cross the carpet and unhook the bag from your shoulder. You sit and keep it snug between your legs.

“You’re a clever girl,” he muses as his eyes list over to you, “you think you know everything, don’t you?”

“Sir, I–”

“You really are smart,” he affirms, “so you really shouldn’t waste that potential. Don’t let the noise of college get in the way of your degree.”

“Of course not, prof– professor,” you utter in confusion, “I’m not.”

“Good. I’ve seen a lot of students lose sight of what’s important. I just don’t want you going down the wrong path.”

“Uh, okay, yeah,” your leg jiggles anxiously. He notices and you still your leg. “Sorry.”

You don’t know why you’re suddenly nervous. Something is different. There’s a tension you can’t place. You feel as if you’ve done something wrong but you know you haven’t.

“It’s fine. Let’s get started. I think we should rewind here,” he turns his attention back to the screen and tries to angle it around. “Dammit,” he shakes his head, “why don’t you come around and see? I have some notes.”

You nod and stand. You step around your bag and round the desk, going to stand by his shoulder as he brings up your edited lesson plan. You spot the  tiny blue font in the margins. You bend forward to read it. It pretty much nixes every idea you have.

“You see what I see?” He says.

“Um…”

“We need to start over. From scratch. We can’t do any of this.”

“Really?” Your lips part in disappointment as you eye all your hard work. “Are you sure?”

He doesn’t answer. You frown and slowly look at him only to find him already watching you. He’s so close. You feel his breath. You carefully back away.

“Mhmm, I’m certain,” he says before he clears his throat, “come on. Pull your chair around and we’ll get started.”

“Oh, well, I could just take your notes–”

“We’re already falling behind, may as well just do it together,” he dismisses you breezily, “unless you have plans?”

“No, no, you’re right,” you go back around the desk to grab the chair, lifting it slightly to keep from bunching up the carpet as you pull it with you. “I’m sure it won’t take long.”

📚

You head back down the hall, feeling lighter now. You’re almost done your lesson and your bladder is empty. Your brief bathroom break has refreshed you but can only do so much to relieve you. You’re going to have to cram much more than you expect tonight.

You yawn as you sweep through the office door and hear a sudden clatter. You’re not paying attention as you enter but you see Steve spinning away from the desk as he shoves his hands in his pockets. He paces and stretches his shoulders and neck.

“Ugh, sitting so long makes me stiff,” he says, “ready to get this done?”

He goes to his chair and grips the back. You glance around but see nothing out of the ordinary. You must’ve just surprised him. You weren’t really paying attention.

“Sure, I need this done. I have so much studying to catch up on.”

You skirt around the desk and resume your seat next to him as he swirls around the mouse and the screen lights up. You sit back as he logs in and you reach for your phone. You should text Jake and let him know you might be a bit later than you expect.

There’s a message waiting for him already, your phone already unlocked. You must’ve forgot to hit the button before you went to the bathroom.

“So, I think from here–” Steve begins, “what are you doing?”

“Just checking the time,” you lie as you furrow your brow in confusion. You don’t understand what Jensen is saying. You scroll up to see your last message. Sent only a minute ago?

‘Hey, got some work to do. Not gonna make it tonight. Who knew being a TA was so hard?’

You didn’t send that message.

Jake’s reply is a frowny face followed by another in quick succession, ‘damn, maybe 2morrow?’

You lift your head and look at Steve as he scrolls through the document. His hand rests on his leg, fingers squeezing tightly. He wouldn’t. Who else could have?

You rise, the chair scraping behind you in your haste, “did you send this?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t lie,” you back up, “I left my phone here and you— you sent– you told Jake–”

He turns to you and tweaks a brow, “I’m just looking out for you, is all. I figured this is gonna take us a while. I was just helping–”

“By going into my phone? Why would you ever do that?”

“I– I know it’s… honey, please,” he stands and you take another step back, “I was looking out for you. It kept buzzing and I just didn’t want you to worry about some boy.”

“Some boy– He— He isn’t any of your business,” you storm around the desk and scoop up your bag, “and neither is my phone. I can’t believe you would do that.”

“Wait, honey–”

“Honey?!” You stop by the door and face him, “Doctor, that’s not my name.”

His face goes rigid and a glint flashes in his eyes. A shadow darkens his face as his jaw squares and the sudden tinge of fury frightens you. You’ve never seen him like that. You’ve never seen anyone look like that. He looks… monstrous.

“It was a mistake,” he says tersely, “after all I’ve done to help–”

“I don’t want your help,” you swing open the door and stomp through, “goodbye, professor.”

[eomma-jpeg]

bc i crave validation and I know yall crave vashmeryl,,, here is a post trimax idea that @noaafishfieldguide and I brainstormed earlier today and I already have 3k words written for.

Here is part 1 | part 2

A sharp breath entered Meryl's lungs, adjusting her rhythm from being fully asleep to being slightly awake. She tried to blink, but she couldn’t quite tell if it was working in this darkness.

Another knock sounded.

Realizing what had woken her, Meryl slid out from beneath her sheets and stretched out, chin compressing into her chest as her arms elongated upwards. She rolled her neck as another soft knock came her way.

“Coming,” she said, mostly to herself. The person on the other side was sure not to hear her soft reply through all the walls.

Meryl stood on her wobbly and sleepy legs, shuffling along her floor and around corners until she came to the front door of her apartment. Careful as she undid locks and left a few chains still connected, she pulled the door open a fraction in order to peek out.

It was dark outside, her porch light having been turned off hours ago. Meryl wasn't sure what time it was, but it was too late to be called night time and too early to be called morning. Out in the darkness, Meryl could make out a few shadows in the moonlight.

“Hello?” she said to the emptiness.

The darkness shifted and a pair of glowing eyes met hers. A chill ran down Meryl’s spine just before the recognition clicked.

“Vash?”

The eyes relaxed, pupils dilating and lids dropping, “Meryl.”

Closing the door in his face, Meryl quickly slid the few chains left in place and flicked on the light, then ripped the door back open. 

Standing there in the pale light of her front porch was infamous outlaw Vash the Stampede, complete and alive. And exhausted. Beneath his eyes were dark bags, darker than she’d seen them in years, even before the confrontation at Octovern. She felt light headed anytime her mind wandered back to that time.

“Vash…” she began slowly, the excitement welling up in her chest, “We haven’t been able to find you since Mesa Probe.”

He flashed a weak grin, “I found a good hiding spot.”

She scoffed, “I figured as much. It’s been over a month since I…” Meryl trailed off again, her eyes moving downward as she finally noticed the bundle of fabric in Vash’s arms. It was his red coat, but normally– if Vash wasn’t wearing it– he folded it carefully, lined up all the buttons to ensure they didn’t unravel. Currently, the jacket seemed haphazardly wrapped in an elongated ball, held tight to his body and balanced in the crook of his elbow. 

Deciding to ignore it in favor of directing her attention to someone much more skittish, she looked back at Vash’s face, “What are you doing here, Vash? It's the middle of the night.”

His mouth opened slightly, pausing to determine the correct words to appease her (despite the fact that Meryl didn’t need much appeasing. She was so relieved to see him), “I… I needed a place to stay.”

Taking another look at him, Meryl noticed the layer of dust that was now visible to her dark-adjusted eyes. He was covered in grime, the jacket in his arms was bundled but even she could see the rough bullet torn edges, and his eyes were so tired. He looked about ready to collapse on the concrete of her front step.

“Come in.” was all she said.

Vash let out a small, relieved laugh, “I thought you were gonna send me away for sure.” He did a little rhythmic bounce with his arms that seemed like nervous energy to Meryl. 

“I… I wouldn’t do that.”

Meryl, however, would have been more likely to turn him away if it wasn’t the middle of the night and she had more cognitive function. But right now, Vash was standing in her doorway, asking for her help, and her heart couldn’t have been happier to do so.

She stepped aside, allowing him the room he needed to slide in. As he took his first few steps, Meryl’s ever observant eyes noticed the bundle as it passed. She realized it wasn't exactly a mess of old red fabric, but a well wrapped swaddle.

Vash’s feet came to a halt on the wood in the entryway.

A swaddle.

Meryl’s eyes widened. She turned the lights on.

“A baby,” she said blatantly before the practical side of her mind could catch it.

The plant stiffened, then relaxed, “Yeah, a baby.”

Meryl felt light headed again. 

Vash crouched ever so slightly to her height, then tugged down a section of the fabric to reveal the softest, sleepiest face. So round and so fresh, a newborn baby sat perfectly content in his precious jacket. Meryl finally noticed the little snores being exhaled through the squashed nose trapped between her chubby cheeks.

“A baby…” Meryl said again, leaning in toward the sweet little thing. 

Then, reality kicked in.

“A baby?!” 

Vash winced and the child made a little whining noise, “Please, Mer. I need her to sleep.”

Meryl slammed her hands over her mouth, mortified at her brash words. She lowered her volume and stared pointedly at Vash, her eyes full of confusion and surprise and irritation and… and… pure astonishment, “Where did you get a baby?”

A wide yawn impeded Vash’s response, “She’s mine.”

“Y-” she froze, “Yours?”

“I’d love to answer all of your questions, Meryl,” Vash said sleepily and with a hint of annoyance. Meryl knew it was a lie; he never answered her questions, “But I’d love to sleep.”

Realizing he was her guest and not just some intruder (in the morning, her brain would tell her that he was absolutely an intruder), Meryl rushed past him to her hall closet, gathering an extra quilt she had stored and a pillow that lacked a pillow case. Then, she wondered where she could place the baby.

Returning to find Vash sitting on her sofa, bouncing the baby in his arms absently while he closed his eyes for a moment, Meryl asked softly, “Where would you like the baby to sleep?”

He didn’t open his eyes, “She can sleep with me. I can watch her.”

Meryl furrowed her brows in a bit of frustration, “You can’t sleep and watch her, Vash.”

The plant yawned again, and Meryl felt the influence as she yawned herself. “I just need to lay down and rest. That’s what I’ve done the past few nights.” Shifting on the couch, Vash laid on his back, head resting on a throw pillow while he settled the baby on his chest, creating a rehearsed and probably quite comfy location for her to sleep. Vash was warm. Meryl knew that well. 

Meryl crept into the dim living room with the blanket in hand, “I can watch her,” She wasn’t quite sure what possessed her to make that offer, but she could chalk it up to the fact that it was 3:42 in the morning and it was Vash. The thought of him just being in her house filled her with this strange warmth.

He had come here when he needed help. 

Meryl felt her throat clench. She definitely needed more sleep. 

She slipped the blanket over Vash, stopping it just below where the baby was laid. Vash murmured, “Don’t watch her, Mer. She’s…she’s my responsibility…” he was fading in and out of consciousness, “I don’t expect… I don’t expect you to take care of her.”

Meryl watched as Vash’s head relaxed fully, depressing the pillow and marking his descent into sleep, but his hands still held onto his baby so carefully. He kept her perched just perfectly so that she wouldn’t roll off his chest and onto the ground below. The image of him doing this out in the desert sands beneath a protective butte, sacrificing his coat so this little girl could withstand the cold and the whipping of sand around them. Emotion once again rose in Meryl’s throat.

Stubbornness also mixed in with the sadness and Meryl slid her hands gently beneath the baby, scooping her with confidence into her arms. Vash made a small sound of protest, but not enough to get Meryl to stop her seizure of the child. The rough texture of Vash’s coat as she slid her hand beneath it was so filled with nostalgia that Meryl was nearly knocked off her feet, but she was careful as she lowered to the ground, sitting with crossed legs and adjusting the soft bundle into a comfortable position for them both. Meryl carefully pulled down the flap again to get a good look at the baby’s face.

She was so small and soft. Meryl ran a gentle finger over her cheek to check just how soft she was. In her many years as an inhabitant of No Man’s Land, she’d never felt something so lovely and velvety. She swallowed down another wave of overwhelming emotion, now growing annoyed at her own inability to control it.

Beneath her little eyelids, the babe’s eyes moved rapidly, dreaming of something intriguing. At least, Meryl hoped. This child probably didn’t know much about their world, let alone the interesting parts. Mind wandering, Meryl’s tired mind wondered more about this baby. She ran her finger over her cheek again, then gave an amused smile to no one in particular.

“I don’t even know your name, and here I am, planning to stay up all night until your dad wakes up.”

Calling Vash a father felt like a gut punch, even if it was an accurate descriptor. 

The baby in her arms stirred, her face pinching up just slightly, and Meryl responded with a gentle bounce and a soft shh, but it wasn’t enough. Squirming out of her packaging, the little girl was able to wriggle an arm out. She stretched her chubby little fingers toward the sky and Meryl couldn’t help the desire to fit her finger into the babe’s palm. Acting on that instinct, Vash’s baby clamped her hand onto Meryl’s index.

Vash’s baby.

Sighing, Meryl’s mind was just swirling with a lot of unanswered questions and new concepts she didn’t know if she was ready to accept, but her sleepy mind could leave them by the wayside for when she was fully rested. That tight rim around her water lines was affecting her eyesight and she swore she could feel the sand forming in the corners. 

Finally finished with her wiggling, the baby settled into a new comfy position with one arm out and her head poking out a bit more from her makeshift swaddle. Meryl’s eyes were immediately drawn to the little crop of hair.

Blonde.

Her mouth parted in awe, “I guess you really are Vash’s, huh.”

The baby didn’t say anything, and neither did Vash, the two plant’s snores mingling in the early morning. 

[tineeericeee]

What Waits Off the Coast of Santa Barbara

Chapter One: Taking a Short Walk on a Long Boardwalk

Summary: Carlton Lassiter is going on a late night walk on the pier, when he sees a figure just off in the distance.

Notes: Happy mermay! To both the psych community *and* the g/t community (I know you guys go nuts for Mermay)

Takes place post the first scene in season 1 episode 6: from the earth to the Starbucks, except Shawn and Lassiter still haven’t met.

Lassiter was drunk. Very drunk.

It had been two years. Two whole years, to the day, since he and Victoria had unofficially separated.

That, coupled with the fact that he felt he was slowly losing his touch at being a detective, put him in a very depressed mood. A mood he was just a tad too familiar with.

And the cherry on top, his partner, Lucinda Barry, had been transferred to a different station in a different city a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t completely gotten over her. It wasn’t exactly clear whether she had done it of her own volition or if the chief had her transferred, but one thing was for sure: It definitely had something to do with their secret relationship.

Somehow, word had gotten out and spread fast, and soon enough the whole station knew about them. Lassiter wouldn’t have put it past her if she had requested the transfer out of embarrassment of being outed for dating her superior.

The new junior detective was okay. It could have been worse. But it also could have been better. Juliet O’Hara was a little bit too bushy-tail bright-eyed for his taste. She definitely had a lot more energy than Lucinda.

All of this added up to him desperately needing a night to himself. To go to a bar and drink all of his emotions away.

Lassiter had drink after drink after drink. Predominately whiskey, but there was some brandy at one point.

Eventually the bartender cut him off for the night, and told him to find a taxi to take him home. Lassiter had a better idea. A stroll on the boardwalk to hopefully clear his mind and let the sea air help sober him up.

———

Lassiter had been walking for at least an hour now, which would have been impressive had he been going at his usual gait. But he was mostly stumbling along, just focusing on keeping his feet below him and on the wooden boards.

Eventually, his vision stopped swimming and he could focus more on where he was going rather than the simple task of staying upright. Now he was able to take in his surroundings better.

He was far away from Tom Blair’s, and had walked long enough that the beach and the boardwalk was completely empty, save for him and what seemed like a lonely tarp crumpled in a heap down near the shore.

Lassiter sneered at it. People had no respect for nature anymore. They thought it was okay to just leave anything they weren’t using and expect no consequences.

He should pick it up and… what, drag it back to the bar where he left his Crown Vic? Haul it to the nearest trash can and just… set it down next to it?

As Lassiter walked down to grab the tarp, something else in the distance grabbed his attention. In the weak, dim light emanating from the small street light on the dock, he could pick out a large figure just out of the way, next to the shoreline.

‘…Strange.’

Curiosity getting the better of him, he trekked further down, digging through his pockets for the little pen light he always kept with him.

Just as Lassiter got to the… whatever it was, his hand finally found the tiny flashlight. He fumbled it for a second before locating the little button and clicking it on.

But what he saw made his heart stop, sobering him up.

The first thing Lassiter’s flashlight landed on was an impossibly large back end of a fish tail. It was absolutely massive. It must have been the size of a Great White, and this was just half of it! Each scale seemed to be roughly the same size, if not slightly smaller, than the palm of his hand, each one shimmering an unearthly green under the light of his torch. Small nicks and scratches dotted the whole of it. The whole thing was tangled in a green synthetic fishing net, wrapping around tightly.

He moved the flashlight upwards, and saw…

‘No. No, that’s just not possible.’

And yet there it was. Skin. Human skin, blending smoothly into the fish scales. It was a torso, and just as large as the tail. There were slightly larger gashes covering the soft, surprisingly slightly tanned skin.

It was also covered in the same plastic green netting, tangled and knotted all around. The fibers irritated the skin, cinching tightly and turning it an angry red.

An arm, on the opposite side, was tied up in the same shitty netting, and the other lying limply besides the body. Cuts that matched all of the other ones littered its arms. Arms that were size of his own body, with hands that could easily smother him if they so wished.

Lassiter almost didn’t want to, but he kept going.

And he saw the face. And it wasn’t anything like what he was expecting.

It was the face of a young man, with a chiseled jaw and roguish stubble. Perfectly pink shining lips — that were so big he could put one hand on them and just barely cover — parted slightly to show pearly white teeth, sharp and pointed. Long, beautiful brown lashes hid eyes that he was sure were just as mesmerizing as the rest of his face.

But it was just… the sheer size of the merman, mixed with his intoxicated brain, that caused Lassiter’s legs to crumple beneath him, and unceremoniously fall on his back into the soft sand. He groaned as stars winked out of sight as his vision was consumed by darkness.

—————

Notes: thanks for reading! And also a big special thanks to @arrowheadedbitch for beta reading!

ao3 link

[object-headed-characters-yes]

Day 8- Role Swap

Click and RGB swap; Click regrets his decision. Very much regrets it (I’m still thinking about their interaction, so this one-shot happened.

(Some tags: role swap, resentment, angst, betrayal)

A possible to-be soldier in his old world, a hero in this one, yet denied the heroic end to his journey in this world of make-believe.

He refused to let this he end of his journey, as he’d been told it was. He refused to accept that this was how it ended.

Broken and bleeding, clothing in tatters.

Click thinks that he demanded another chance. A do-over, as it were, to change this outcome. It must have been allowed, for She was amused by his words (Click rankles at the amusement; he should have succeeded, not lost as he had). But Click was allowed to try again, but unlike before, he was not the hero. He was instead tasked with finding one instead, which was not what he wanted but what he got.

Click’s body was no longer human, either. It was a rigid, mainly inorganic body. A facsimile of a soldier; a tin soldier whose body was made up of weapons that he had used on his initial journey. As much as Click disliked being put in this position, he still existed, and that allowed him to attain the goal from before, just in a roundabout way.

First, he needed to find a hero.

He went back to the world he’d come from, and took his time choosing the person he would bring back with him. Click didn’t want to have to try again, especially if he may not have another chance from Her if the hero Click found failed as he had.

Click was drawn to an actor, who had flair and a presence on the set that brought attention to him versus the others. This man handled himself with a cool air of confidence and preciseness that would aid him well in the world of make believe. The longer Click watched the actor on set, the more he believed that this man could be a good candidate. Even more so when Click observed that the man appeared to do well at close quarters parrying and joking prodding with a bamboo cane between takes. This would mesh well with Click’s preferred long-range attack style. He would be able to avoid striking then man should he agree to what would likely sound absurd, especially coming from someone who looked as Click now did.

Most unfortunately, Click didn’t have time to follow the man around outside of the set to be sure of his assumptions; already Click had taken too much time to find someone to bring back with him. So, a few days after observing the man, Click followed the actor home. And once it was clear they were alone, Click made himself known to the man.

Click-click-click.

“I say, where in the dickens did you come from?!” The man practically yelped, putting a chair between himself and the tin soldier that was suddenly just there. He reached a hand to his head, fingers tangling through a short mop of wavy hair. “I’ve gone and hit my head, haven’t I?”

It was a rather entertaining reaction to something inexplicably appearing from out of nowhere when one thought they were all alone.

Click greeted the wary man with a tilt of his fake head, not bothering to explain that his eyes were the six golden buttons on his chest, and three mouths could spilt open along the trailing black decoration between the buttons with sharp teeth.

Later.

If and when it was necessary for this would-be hero before him, should the actor choose to play along.

Click-click-click.

“Is that normal for you to be making that noise?” The man asked. “It doesn’t seem natural, you know. How is it that you’re moving? Is this some kind of new hazing within the studio?”

More chatter than Click had seen from the man when he’d been in the studio, as the actor had mentioned.

No matter.

There wasn’t enough time to pick someone else, now that Click had shown himself to the man. Before the actor could ask even more questions, Click spoke.

“Do you want to be a hero?”

~

Click had regrets.

Many, many regrets, really.

But choosing this current hero?

The biggest regret of Click’s entire life (or death, whichever way one wanted to look at it).

This hero was not who he appeared to be, this hero.

Click should have known better than to choose someone based off how they acted on the job, versus how they acted when eyes were off of them.

This hero was utterly insufferable.

The man ran his mouth ceaselessly, whether or not Click had any answers in-between. Despite wanting nothing more than to hate this hero who had taken on the role Click had held before, this hero was frustratingly capable of getting through dicey situations (at times with intervention from Click himself when the tin soldier deemed it necessary). Click had gotten some grim amusement out of the first time he used his rifle made up of his arm to fire on some Fears that had surrounded himself and his hero.

The hero?

“I say, that was quite a shoot of a surprise.” He just laughed (nervously) and tipped his boater hat to Click in thanks. Then the hero tapped his bamboo cane to the ground alongside the remnants of the Fears shot down. “What good aim, too. Though I don’t suppose we could be a tiny bit more careful about possible ricochets?” The hero lifted his suit coat out to the side to proffer the hole that had gone through the fabric during a dodge.

“I missed you, didn’t I?” Click responded indifferently, as his arm shifted back to an arm, metal hand flexing. “With all of your scrambling about as well, I might add.” Smoke finished curling out from his multiple mouths on his chest, and out the mouth of the fake head. Click’s mouths twisted in ire when the hero came closer, the man not having to stoop to look at Click’s golden button eyes.

“That you did, and for that, I’m grateful.” Swinging the cane up over his shoulder, the hero hummed thoughtfully. “Where did you say we were headed before that interruption?”

“…the Market.”

“I see. And from its name I gather that there are goods to trade and such?” The hero looked around, then turned back to Click, a frown slipping across his face. “Something the matter, Click?”

“Nothing.” The three smiles twisted into cooked smiles when the hero’s eyes studied him closely. “All is well, with the Fears dealt with.”

“If you’re certain…” The hero replied dubiously, staring at the immobile tin soldier’s face, before falling into step alongside him as Click continued on whatever path that apparently would lead them to the Market.

~

This hero made it to the Market after all.

What a surprise.

Click wondered how much longer this hero would last, with the close calls that had been had on the way here. Yet onward they travelled, until something became clearer than ever before that Click felt he’d noticed but hadn’t really paid much heed to.

This hero was a damned coward, the bravado, the confidence a front to hide a crippling fear of inadequacy to fulfill the role of ‘hero’ he had agreed to when he accepted Click’s offer.

But infuriatingly, luck was on the hero’s side, though it was through Click’s weapons and precision at shooting the enemies that helped the hero be that lucky. Click could count a few times where, had he not intervened, the hero would have been overtaken, and fail as Click had failed. This hero would be doomed to be twisted to fit this world’s inhabitants, no longer human, but something else.

Maybe even a monster.

Already the hero had lost his suit coat, the braces over the dress shirt fiddled within an inch of its life. The cane was twirled absently through the dark journey to the market (hitting Click several times; it didn’t hurt, but it was rather irritating).

Click was uncertain how much longer the hero could go on should the tin soldier choose to stop assisting him, stepping in to prevent injury and schisms. But if this hero could get to the end, Click believed that he could cut in last minute to fulfill the role of ‘hero’ that had been denied to him.

Time would tell…except Time wasn't easy to pin down with how often Time moved about.

After a visit for new amour (and surviving the hero’s inane chattering about the logistics of it all), they were off from the relative safety of the Market. The hero would have to last until the end, and it was to be seen if he could manage it without Click’s continued interference, and the knowledge that the hero’s bravado and calm was false.

It was simply too much to deal with, Click decided, coupled with the hero’s incessant chattering that continued on, that led Click to his decision not too far from the safety of the Market. With an excuse of needing to gather more material than intended, Click backtracked to the Market with the unwitting hero.

The hero only realized what was going on when he suddenly noted that he no longer had his guide.

Where had the tin soldier gone?

Onward without him?

From the shadows nearby, Click watched dispassionately as his hero was slowly overwhelmed by Fears and Doubts. Turning away, Click waited until the deed was done. He doubted that there would be much left of the human that had come here to the world of make believe with him.

Click waited, until a shiver ran through him as a shadow loomed over him. Click kept his golden button eyes forward in the dark as he spoke.

“He wasn’t the hero I thought he would be. A coward of an actor who hid behind a grandiose guise and ceaseless chattering like a telly someone left on. His cool and calm demeanor in the face of danger was a lie made manifest here time and time again.”

A twinge of guilt that rose was crushed when Click saw the former hero collapse nearby after being seen to by Her. Seeing as he was in one piece, Click assumed this meant he would be allowed to find another hero, since he was still standing. Click stared down at the former hero, unbothered by the static pleas that rose from the now-television headed monster that lie on the ground near the Market entry, a trembling hand held out toward Click.

The tin solider turned away, abandoning the former hero behind him to whatever fate this world would bestow upon him from that point forward, as there would be no returning to his old life. Click needed an actual hero and not a coward; Click needed who the former hero had been when he was acting.

The next time Click passed through the Market with a new hero, his former hero now went by the name ‘RGB.’ Click avoided him, and told himself that it wasn’t guilt that kept him away from RGB.

It was better that way, for both of them.

[mawofthemagnetar]

There was a lot of stuff I wasn’t able to include in The Sky Weighs Heavy Tonight, because it wasn’t relevant. A lot of things got cut, a lot of things weren’t mentioned. One of those things was that TFC streams on that universe’s version of twitch. While still being, fundamentally, an old man.

Well, this morning I had a burst of inspiration and wrote a little something about exactly that. If you haven’t read Pilot AU, this likely won’t make much sense.

If you have, please enjoy!

“Hello everyone! Welcome back my humble little stream. I hope you’re all doing very well. So, today, I figured we’d play a bit of Block Game, and do some work on my branch mine-hm?”

An alert went off on the stream, and TFC’s mouse clattered against the desk as he minimized his game to look at it. In the facecam window in the corner, he glanced over and smiled.

“MisterMiter77 decided to grace us with a subscription! Thank you! Now, you don’t need to do that- I’m still not sure how to turn those off- but keep in mind, I work for the government, guys. I have a pension. This streaming lark is just for fun!”

A gust of wind rattled the windowpane above TFC’s desk loud enough for the mic to pick it up, and he shook his head.

“Ah, now, a little warning for all of you: the weather’s really bad today, so I might get called out. You all know the drill! If my pager goes off, what do we do?”

TFC grinned as his chat parroted the line.

“That’s right. Remind me to close the damn stream. Now, let’s get to mining, that’s enough wasted time!”

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. TFC scowled at it, pausing Block Game and picking up the corded phone that sat on his desk next to his computer.

“Hello? Oh, hiya, Frankie. Listen- yeah, I’m still in for the music night. Listen, I’m actually streaming right now. Yeah. The one on the internet, Frankie. Yes. Okay, thanks. See you later.”

TFC hung up, to the welcome sight of his Chat spamming pogchamp emotes. He cackled, leaning in.

“Frankie pog? Yeah, I’d agree. Super nice guy. We’re going fishing next week…”

TFC shook his head, and he and Chat headed deeper into the branch mines. A few tunnels later, and TFC squinted at one chat message.

“Hm? How come I have subscriptions on if I don’t want them on? My nephew set this all up. I said to him, I wanted everything all set up properly, and he got my account to get- subscribers and stuff. And then he ran off to New York and he hasn’t been back to Newfoundland since. There we go, the crying child emotes. Yeah. So, you know, you don’t have to subscr-“

An earsplitting ringing drowned out what TFC was about to say next, and he snatched up his pager, eyes bugging out. This one had a small screen with text scrolling across it, and he leapt to his feet.

“SHIP OFFSHORE SINKING GOTTA GO BYE!” He shouted, clicking a button to close his game and jabbing at something in the corner of his screen-

The pager rang again, even louder, and TFC almost tripped over the charging cable plugging his prosthetic leg into the wall. That cable was the entire reason he’d started streaming at all- if he had to be stuck in a chair for hours, why not have some fun with it?

The pager let out an earsplitting shriek just as TFC got the wire unplugged, and he sprinted out the door.

Leaving chat staring at his white computer room wall.

For the next ten hours.

They only started three cults.

[cookiegirlsstuff]

Surprise (or something like that…)

Lee: Yoongi

Ler: J - hope

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

For Yoongi, it was a normal day, just like any other. It was around 00: o'clock and he was sitting in his studio working on a new song.

And believe it or not, this time, for once, it wasn't his intention, but unfortunately he had a deadline and had to finish the lyrics by tomorrow.

He sighed and took another sip of his iced americano, exhausted.

Of course, the other members didn't like yoongi's constant absence either. And that's exactly why J - hope was waiting outside Yoongi's studio at that very moment, waiting for the rapper to come out.

Ironically, the older one didn't come out after a few minutes or even half an hour.

Hoseok was beginning to get tired of waiting and decided to simply drag yoongi home, whether he wanted to or not. If necessary, he would just carry yoongi all the way home.

With this in mind, he opened the door and was shocked to realise that his hyung was crying.

"Yoongi hyung, what happened?" he asked anxiously, taking his friend in his arms. Yoongi hardly ever cried and when he did, he really wasn't feeling well.

"I'm just so stressed about our new album and I don't know how I'm going to finish the title song by tomorrow!" the older boy cried desperately, burying his head even deeper into J -hope's hoodie.

J - hope patted Yoongi's head reassuringly and promised to help him later.

After a few more minutes, Yoongi's sobs became quieter until he finally stopped crying. Instead, he looked at his mate a little confused, as if he had to process what had just happened.

"Why did you actually come here?" he asked, looking questioningly into j - hope's hazel eyes.

"Yoongi….it's already past midnight and you haven't been home for days. I wanted to surprise you and take you home," said the younger boy, stroking his hand along Yoongi's back.

Yoongi was slightly startled by the new kind of touch and backed away. J - hope laughed and started stroking yoongi again.

But as he did so, he accidentally touched yoongi's stomach. And to his surprise, yoongi began to …. laugh? It took a few seconds before something visibly clicked in Hoseok's head.

"Yoongi… please stop being sad, otherwise I'll have to cheer you up," laughed Hoseok.

"What are you talking about? I'm not sad anymore!" suga clarified, a little confused.

"Yoongi…please stop crying," the other just said, pretending to be worried.

"I'm not sahahad," yoongi wanted to say, but before he could finish his sentence, j - hope began to spider yoongi's tummy.

"Hoseok - ahaha….stahahap please," the older one giggled uncontrollably as j - hope came close to his belly button.

"Why should I? I want you to be happy again," smiled j - hope.

"I ahaham not eveeen sahahad ahany MORE," suga tried to say, shouting the last part more as hoseok started tickling his hip.

“Be quiet! Other people might be able to hear you, you know!” laughed j - hope.

"HOBI PLEAHASE", yoongi screamed through his laughter. He had a full gummy smile on display and squirmed like crazy, trying to get ot of Hoseok's grip.

J-hope stopped tickling yoongi's hipbones and then dug his fingers into his armpits.

"NOHOHO STAHAHAP IHIHIT!!" yoongi squealed and thrashed around. It tickled so much. Hoseok stayed silent and watched the toss and turn of his cute hyung. "PLEAHAHAHASE STAHAHAP", Yoongi shouted.

"Okay," hobi said and removed his hands immediately.

But when yoongi thought is was over hoseok started again.

"Hobi please", Yoongi begged but it was no use.

“I think you need a bit more to be honest I mean you have been pretty down, haven’t you hyung?” he asked the elder.

“ NOHOHOHO” yoongi melted again, wiggling and squirming under hoseok's ticklish grip. And when he began, by tickling his ribs, it was over and out. He poked and lazily wiggling his fingers over Yoongi’s ribcage.

Suga absolutely shrieked, shooting into a sitting position before flopping back down, like a fish out of water. His laughter was louder than he thought was possible, and tears started flowing from his eyes in streams.

For five minutes this continued before Hoseok finally stopped. Yoongi stopped flailing as the sensation stopped, his arm coming up to cover his stomach and everything else and tired giggles broke through his lips.

“Tha-thahat was soho mehehean!”

"But it worked. You are happy now", Hoseok smiled and hugged his hyung. Then they got home together and on the next day they finished the song perfectly and in time.

Hope you like it 🙃

[fanfic-phoenix]

QuinObi Week 2023, Day 5 - Author!AU

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 910

Read on AO3

“Correct.”  Obi-Wan’s smile turned into a grin, and he held out a… something.  “Have a torch.”

“How do you think they’ve set us up?”

The man at the table next to Quinlan’s startled, head jerking as if coming out of a trance.  It was dull enough right now to put anyone to sleep, but Quinlan still felt a slight flash of guilt.

“Sorry?” said the man.

“It’s not by genre.”  Quinlan gestured to his own noir-style detective/spy fare, and then to the man’s own grisly looking covers.

The man smiled.  “Assuredly not.  Perhaps alphabetically?”

“Vos, Quinlan,” he said.

“Ah.  Kenobi, Ben.  Or rather, Obi-Wan.”  Ben or rather Obi-Wan smiled.  “If you can guess which is the pen name, you can have one of the very strange merchandise… things that Mr Palpatine has lumbered me with.”

“Ben.”

“Correct.”  Obi-Wan’s smile turned into a grin, and he held out a… something.  “Have a torch.”

Quinlan took it, inspected it, and raised an eyebrow.  “Is it plot relevant?”

“No.  Not a single torch is mentioned.  I was trying my hand at Sci-Fi; everything’s bioluminescent.”

He clicked the button a few times.  “Does it even work?”

“I don’t think so.  I haven’t managed it.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed.”

Republic Books was underfunded, even by Indie standards, but this was rather pushing it.  Quinlan shook his head.  “Honestly, sometimes I think he wants us to fail.”

Obi-Wan hummed.  “I confess he’s never seemed particularly enthusiastic about books.  Or writing.  Or people.”

“Or anything.”

They both laughed, a little hollow, and glanced as one to the clock.

“I’m scheduled for another six hours,” Quinlan said.

“I’m afraid I am, too.”  Obi-Wan sighed, stretched his neck until it popped.  “My brother is bringing coffee in one hour.”

“My sister’s doing the same.  And some biscuits.”

Obi-Wan nodded appreciatively.  “Very wise.  I take it this isn’t your first rodeo?”

“No,” he said.  “The third.  Maybe fourth.  You?”  He dismissed his next line as too much, then said it anyway.  “I’d definitely remember seeing you here.”

“Flatterer,” Obi-Wan said.  He did not sound disapproving.  “This is my first.  I’ve been able to beg off on account of my father before.  He was ill, but now he’s better.”

“You could lie.”

“I could,” Obi-Wan said, “but then I wouldn’t have been here to talk to you, and that would be a shame.”

“Flatterer,” Quinlan said.

Time ticked on.  Visitors were few and far between, and usually more interested in the other authors scattered about the hall.

“Master Yoda has a new philosophy book out,” Obi-Wan said as another three people walked by without acknowledging either of them.  “I imagine most people are here for him.”

“Maybe,” Quinlan said.  “But I think Mace Windu has a new play.”

“Mace has a play out?”  Obi-Wan tutted.  “He might have told me.”

“You know him?”

“Since childhood; he’s friends with my father.”

“Nice.”  Quinlan may or may not have been a dedicated follower of Mace Windu’s work and may or may not have owned a copy of every play, but he wasn’t going to admit it now, when he was fairly sure he was flirting.  Semi-successfully, too.  “Do you want to swap books?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“We both have plenty spare.”

“True.”  He seemed to be considering it.  “Alright.”

Obi-Wan’s book was good.  Very good.  It had an easy sort of prose Quinlan would ordinarily race through, and the descriptions were vivid without lagging.  The problem, unfortunately, was that Ben Kenobi was a prolific and celebrated horror writer, and Quinlan Vos was allergic to horror.

He cleared his throat.  “It’s good.”

“Hm?”  Obi-Wan blinked at him, then smiled, focussing.  “Sorry.  I was just at the part where he discovers the true identity of the informant.”

Quinlan gaped.  “That’s almost halfway through.”

Obi-Wan blushed lightly.  “It’s compelling.  In fact I…”  He pursed his lips, then pushed on.  “I’m afraid I race through almost all of your books.”

“You what?”

“You heard me,” he said with a sniff.  “Anyway, I suggest we trade back.  I can see you flinching from here.”

“Sorry-”

“Don’t be.  I take utter fear as a complement.”  He smiled, as if to prove that he really wasn’t offended.  “I just don’t see the point in extending your suffering.”

“It is good,” he said, “but let’s get back to the fact I’m apparently sitting next to a super fan.”

Obi-Wan snorted.  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“So you’re not a fan?”

Obi-Wan Kenobi - excellent writer, apparently not a super-fan, and Quinlan’s crush for all of forty minutes - flicked him a supremely dry look.  “If I take an early lunch and kiss you stupid for the twenty minutes it takes our siblings to bring coffee, will you hush about my literary tastes?”

Quinlan just about choked on his tongue.  “I-  Yes?  Yeah.  Definitely.”

“Wonderful.”  He placed an almost disturbingly cheerful Back Soon! sign on his table.  “Come on then.”

He hurried after him into the dark corner of the staircase behind the Staff Only banner.  “This is the first time anyone’s kissed me just to shut me up.”

“I’m kissing you because you’re hot and good company,” Obi-Wan corrected.  “Shutting you up is a side effect.”

“Oh,” he said.

“And if you’re amenable,” Obi-Wan continued, “I’ll take you to dinner once we’re no longer contractually obliged to remain in the building.”

“I’m amenable,” he said.

“Good.”  Obi-Wan nodded in a self-satisfied sort of way, and set to the business of kissing him silly.

It was, in Quinlan’s opinion, the best publicity event he’d ever been forced into.

Tagging: @quinobiweek

Thanks for a great week!!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Sweet Dreams--Part 6

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

CW: Smut across the series. Mentions of parental neglect, and alcohol abuse across the series as well.

Series Masterlist

My Complete Masterlist

The collar’s stiff, not stiff enough that it’ll just stay flat, but stiff enough that it won’t flatten from the half curl it’s in. You don’t have much else to dig out. It’s this shirt or what seemingly feels like having to accept defeat--skip the interview, continue on this dead end journey. And maybe it only feels a little exhausting because you spend your days buried deep in applications--uploading resumes, retyping them, editing cover letters, adding the same information on the PDF you just uploaded into the HTML application that you’re clicking through. Your name, email, last known dates of employment and location, your schooling. You’re stuck on a wheel, a carrot dangling in your face and always just inches from actually getting your teeth on it. 

This is your fifth interview in three weeks, but the track record you’re building is already speaking deeply for itself. Three of the four interviews have wound up being stark rejections. The last one was sweet, noting that your skill and caliber are impressive, but given the two year stint out of the cutthroat business they felt that you might be too much of a liability. So much that being a chef to royalty seems to get you. But you understand. The restaurant business is lethal. It is knife to throat at all times, no shut eye, always looking over your shoulder with a handful of salt at the ready. You have been out of that realm for quite some time. You still had plenty of time to look, but the frustration clouds all your judgment. You just know you need a job. 

As you fight with the collar, you consider if it would be such a bad idea to look into becoming a private chef in the interim until you found something else, until you had a handle on what you’re actually looking for outside of desperation. There had to be someone right enough, much too lazy to do their own cooking to hire you on. And it would give you some of your life back. But you don’t settle for that idea just yet. You don’t give in just yet. You still have this interview in front of you and the collar that won’t fucking cooperate. 

“C’mon!” Your voice booms more than you intend. 

“You really ought to have a steamer,” Calum laughs. His voice is small through the speakers of your phone. You turn to face the phone now, realizing that you probably shouldn’t blow your top over a fucking collar. Calum he motions for you to turn. 

You oblige, shuffling in a circle as you speak, “Buy me one and then I will have one.”

“Is that not classified as knight in shining armor bullshit? Or is that just your being frustrated?” Calum questions. It comes with a laugh, but you know the true meaning. 

“It’s me being frustrated at this fucking job hunt. Is it a no on the shirt?”

“The shirt is fine, baby. You got a dryer in that establishment that I’ve only ever gotten to see on a phone screen?”

You nod at the question, fingers moving to the top buttons of the shirt to undo them. “We both know why you haven’t. I need to be in the new job before I flaunt you to my roommates.”

“Miranda did say that Josie was looking a little suspicious.” 

Josie’s the quietest of the roommates, excluding you. She can’t even humanely capture a fly without the tears brimming in her eyes. Fortunately for her, when the insects do run amuck, you’re usually swift to handle them when you spot them or to call the leasing office to have them schedule a spray. She’s knocked on your door twice for her help with a bug and you’ve never been able to turn her away. 

“About this dryer?” you ask, pulling your arms out of the sleeves. 

“Yes, yes, sorry to Josie. She’s probably a nice woman. But mist that shirt. Don’t soak it. You just want it damp. Then put it on a low cycle for like 15 minutes max. You’ll have to hang the shirt up immediately after taking it out of the dryer though. Think you can handle that?”

“I think so.” 

The interview is scheduled for late in the afternoon. You knew it would be rough for you, meaning you’d get little sleep potentially. But you had to do what needed to be done. So you’d only get up only after a quick nap to get ready. Calum promised to be free to help you prepare and the moment you texted him about being awake, he called. The last twenty minutes you’d been on the phone you’d huffed at the limits of your closest. There were only so many shirts you had to wear for the interview and the last thing you wanted to do was show up in a shirt that you couldn’t be sure if it was clean or not. So you were left to this one, a collar as disobedient as ever. 

“You’re going to land something, baby. It’s going to be okay,” Calum offers. 

“I appreciate it.” You know he means well but it doesn’t necessarily erase all the nerves. Time is the guillotine as it is. You’ve only got so much time to land on your feet before time takes your head. You try to tell yourself, when you lay down for sleep, not to listen to the tick of the clock. 

With your t-shirt slipped back over your torso, you gather your phone off your dresser. “How are sessions?” You keep your voice soft as you ask the question. Calum’s no good as a punching bag. He’s not the person you’re angry with. Though, you don’t know if it’s a person you’re truly angry with anymore anyway.  

“Long,” Calum returns. 

“Any swingers?” you ask. You know it’s really not your business but there is a part of you that is curious. It felt like a slippery slope. As much as Calum wanted to play the game right, as much as Calum wanted to be the good guy, the game he’d been placed into was rigged. It always would be. It would just take Calum a little bit longer to see that, to understand just how much it was an old game with deep roots. He could play it the right way, but he’d have to be okay with a lot of failure. You wonder if Calum’s ever used to failing at anything. Not that you think he’s been handed everything in his life. But you know the wall for him was shorter. He had more people under him, more people to keep the ladder safe and still for him. 

“A couple,” he answers. “It’s…slow, as I’m sure you know. So fucking slow.”

“People on the news say another vote is coming up next week?”

“There is. I don’t think we have the numbers. Not yet.”

There’s something in how Calum keeps his responses short that sets the hairs on the back of your neck up into the air. “What’s wrong?” You don’t want it to come out accusatory. You know that there may not be something wrong, but your gut tells you otherwise. And you’ve got no reason not to listen to it. 

Calum’s exhale is harsh, head dropping back on his shoulders. You watch the expanse of his neck for a moment, how he swallows before bringing his face back into the frame. “It’s not working. It’s just not fucking working,” he huffs. “Playing this fucking straight is killing people. We just got the unemployment numbers. They’ve skyrocketed. When I talk to people about how this happened, I interview CEO’s or get statements from them and they say no one wants to work. So I go to the streets and I hear people are looking for jobs, they’re desperate for it. But not so much that they’ll be exploited. Nine, ten hour shifts with no breaks, no pay increases, buildings that aren’t up to code in the slightest, or just barely passing inspection. And I’m sure there’s some not so great people at the manager helm, but like profit margins are blowing the fucking roof but the employeess can’t afford medication. The people in the cabinet don’t care enough because their checks are still cash. Their coffee still comes out steaming and hot like it’s supposed to. They can still go to the dentist to make sure they don’t get a cavity or fill it without a blink. People are dying and no one wants to get off their asses. And I’m doing this the way it should be done. And the world--.”

Calum’s monologue comes to a crashing halt. His eyes are wild and unfocused. You can see the frustration turning the tips of his ears red. You can see it pushing at his chest. “And the world keeps fucking spinning,” he whispers to conclude the thought that stopped him. 

“The last I heard Galileo had proven the earth orbited the sun, not Cabinet.” It’s a joke. One that you hope breaks Calum out of his daze. It seems to work--but only a little as his lips quirk into a grin. 

“It’s a shame no one’s told the Cabinet that,” Calum teases. 

“You did once. I don’t think that fire’s gone totally. Not if you don’t go it alone. I’m not a mathematician. I don’t know how many you need, who you need of course.”

“We just need enough,” Calum replies. “You deserve better than complacency.”

“Me?” The two of you are talking about thousands of people, hundreds of thousands. But the two of you are not talking about you--singular. Yet Calum is.

It’s only a nod you get and behind the silence the clock on your wall ticks and tocks. You catch the seconds like falling snowflakes--one by one--as you watch Calum’s face settle. He doesn’t seem to want to answer the question but after the quiet gets too long, you press again. “Calum, what do you mean that I deserve better than complacency?”

“You deserve better. Perhaps, you deserve havoc.” 

“Done to, or doing?” you ask. 

“Never done to,” Calum returns quickly. “You don’t deserve any more havoc in your life, but maybe you deserve to bear witness to something done by someone else.” You told Calum that--to wreak havoc until he could get seats turned over. You don’t even really know what it was supposed to mean. You’d hope it would’ve just been comforting enough to help him get through the door and back into the room. You don’t think you would’ve said it if it meant what it does now to Calum. 

“What if there’s no stick or shovel?” you ask. If Calum’s going to get into the deep end, if he’s going to wade through the tall grass, you don’t want him to do so blindly. You don’t want him to do without recognizing that he might become the very thing he was scared of. 

“At least we’ll both know I tried my best then, right?”

You nod. But you remember--how Calum worried about if he didn’t play this game right and got into the mud then he would consider himself as having failed. “And we’ll both know you weren’t a failure, right?”

Calum nods in return. “I think I’d be more of a failure if I didn’t do something.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You don’t know what this is actually referring to. You don’t know what Calum’s got planned but you do know that look in his eyes--a laser focus. You’re sure that if you were to see his jaw, there would be a small tick to you, the final testament to his resolve. “No bullshit. No bravado. Is this what you actually want to do?” you ask. 

“Have I ever done something I didn’t want?” 

You remember though. You remember how Calum spoke softly about his childhood, how he was allowed the space to be a child, let abandon fall by the wasteside. He always knew where he was going. His path was predetermined by fates outside of his control, his path paved in ways that do not allow for yearning. “Have you ever wanted? Not placed, not disciplined, not assumed. Have you ever actually wanted for something? Do you want this? You can build a house with integrity. It will stand.”

You think Calum’s going to blow you off, the camera shakes for just a moment and you’re praying to the heavens he doesn’t undermine your question. But his face stays. He leans in. “But it’s too damn slow. Besides, this isn’t about my morals anymore, baby. This is about what needs to happen. Those emergency funds need to go out. Legislation needs to change. Asses need a fire under them, more now than ever.”

There’s no turning this tide. Like waves follow the moon, Calum’s being pulled by something. It’s invisible to you right now and you know you can’t press on. Your alarm to remind you about the interview in another hour rings out. You swipe it away to snooze it, knowing you’ve only got nine more minutes before the alarm comes back around. But you can hear the crashing of the waves. You hear what Calum is saying: I need to do it this way.

 “I’ll pick up spare matches.”

“I hear there’s a two for one special,” Calum laughs. “Now I think I heard your alarm. Go on. I’ll call again when you get to the interview. You’ve got a shirt that needs a flat collar.”

A knock sounds from Calum’s end of the call that interrupts your response. “Yes?” Calum calls out. 

“You’re late!” you faintly catch and think it’s Miranda. 

“Shit,” he whispers and then focuses back to you. “Best of luck, baby. Don’t forget to call when you get there! Love you.”

He smiles at you one last time and then the screen goes black. You’re left standing there, phone held up to your face and your reflection staring back at you. Shock’s never looked more like a painting, your mouth agape but not quite in the oval of the scream, as you catch sight of your face in the black screen of your phone. 

“There’s no way he means that right now,” you whisper to yourself. 

You’d always thought the guillotine would drop when you couldn’t find a job and the notices came for all your possessions, and you were left with nothing. You’d yet to consider the guillotine to fall over a phone call, over two words. 

Love you. 

Your alarm sounds again. Right, you’ve got the interview. You’ve got a shirt and collar to get sorted. 

Love you. 

You scramble to get the shirt damp and into the dryer. Thinking the guillotine was losing and handling change is a childish thought. The guillotine is really a fear of what’s been brewing. You can no longer say that you hope or want for Calum. You can no longer say that you watch with curiosity. 

You pray, and fret, and hope with care, with love. You worry because you know the thing you want. You know the thing you’ll fight for now isn’t just selfish anymore. It’s mutual. It’s mutual and all it took was two words: love you. Perhaps, you will find two boxes of matches. 

The building in front of you reminds you of your days with Mrs. Shirley--it looks industrial with the gray walls, like you’re stepping back in time. Though all your missing is Mrs. Shirley maroon pickup truck and the radio. This parking lot is quite full though instead of empty. A shopping cart or two are left behind on the sidewalks. You can hear the twinkle of dog tags. But the building’s mural looks fresh. Like it might’ve just been painted up there. Not what you expect from the restaurant, after reviewing the ratings, but something about it feels comforting.

Your fingers hover over the phone icon. If you call him, are you even going to address what he said? Are you going to light the beacon or let the words carry on like an undercurrent? You can’t not call though. 

“Hi, baby,” Calum answers. You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Made it to the restaurant,” you return. 

“What’s the first impression so far?”

You shrug, looking out around you from the shelter of your car. “Still assessing. But promising, I hope.”

“We’ll take hope. You’ve got your copies of your resume, right?”

You turn to look at the blue folder on the seat next to you. “I do.”

“At least three questions to ask the interviewer, right?”

“Always,” you laugh. “It’s not my first rodeo, cowboy.”

“No, you’re an experienced rider. Just gotta make sure though.” Calum’s laughter follows his sentence. 

“I appreciate your concern.”

Softly, oh so softly, does Calum’s voice fall and filters through the line. “I think I’ve got a good feeling about this one. Need anything before you head inside? Pep talk? Going over your questions?”

You shake your head no again, knowing he can’t see. Calum’s had a good feeling about the last two interviews. The last one he was sort of spot on until the rejection came. But maybe things were moving in the right direction. 

“No, I’m good. Just wanted to call like promised,” you eventually settle on. Though in the back of your brain you can see still the echoing of Calum’s earlier statement. Would you return it? Should you? What if Calum doesn’t mean it the way you would? 

“Hmm, I do appreciate the call.”

Is Calum going to bring it up? Would he call attention to his own actions? Were you putting too much weight behind the words? 

As the silence stretches on for a second, then two. The time on your radio clicks over. You still have to get inside. Calum’s words are soft--accented in a way you don’t think you’ve heard them spoken before. But a warmth settles over your chest. 

“Good luck,” Calum whispers. 

“I hope your good feeling is good for one more time.”

“It will be. I put in a good word with the ancestors.”

You snort at the joke. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

That’s all there is--you hang up after your goodbyes. The clock on your radio ticks over another minute. The phone feels like lead in your hands and you want to call Calum back. You want to ask him what he meant when he said Love you but you’ve got to go. You grab your folder and push against the door handle of the car. 

At the front of the building, you watch through the glass front windows at the people smiling. Servers drop off plates, patrons focus in on the food in front of them. The place looks inviting. You are intrigued to see more of the inside, see what the inner workings hold for you. So, you press forward. The hostess greets you with a bright smile. “Just one today?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually here for an interview.” You pass along your name and she nods. 

“Just one moment. I’ll be right back.”

From the foyer, you take note of the aroma--it’s earthy but the fringes of it feel heavy. “Here for the interview?” The voice is thick and soft. 

You turn to find an older woman, maybe in her fifties or so. Her skin is dark, nearly matching the black t-shirt she’s adorning. “Yes, that would be me,” you return, pushing up from the plush bench. 

She grins, taking your hand to shake. “C’mon then. I believe you spoke with the assistant manager, Glenn, previously.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m Turner. Let’s head back.”

“Nice to meet you, Turner.” You follow behind her through the crowds. You’re careful of course with the servers coming through. The kitchen is alive--you can hear the orders coming through, a string of laughter following behind it though. You’re much more used to shouts of frustration. The kitchen is no place for thin skin, but it intrigues that even on a busy afternoon there’s laughter. 

Before you even realize it, you’re in the back office, settling into the computer chair across from Turner. She pulls a pen out of the bun. “When we saw Vista on your resume, we were quite impressed. I will admit, very few come from fine dining down to us. We’re still pretty young in the game.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a downgrade, that’s for certain,” you counter. Not after what you’ve seen just so far. Of course, things can and will change once you start. You know that it won’t be rainbows all the time at the job. Yet, you feel a calling in your heart that this might be the right place for you to go at the end of it all. 

“Well, thank you,” she laughs. “I understand this might be a personal question, but if I can, what are you looking for in your next place of work? Were you missing something at your previous jobs?”

That’s the question of the hour. You weren’t missing anything at your current job. It had what you wanted. But matters of the heart with royalty have a complicated path. “I left fine dining because of life situations demanding it. The thing I’m looking for in my next job is not just a place to cook, but a place to grow. I’ve learned a lot in school and use it daily, but I also think there’s only so much you can learn in a textbook. You learn a lot more when you work with a variety of techniques and cuisines.” 

Turner nods. “I see. So you’re looking for a place that has a bit of a challenge for that healthy growth?”

“I think that would be the best way to put it, yes.”

“Your references speak extremely highly of you. I believe Ms. Janet was nearly in tears on the phone with us. It’s a good sign to us at the least. I am interested in hearing a bit more about times where you feel like you learned more outside of your technical training.”

“Of course.” You dive into the time you spent with Mrs. Shirley and what you learned--inside of the world of culinary arts and outside of it. For the entirety of the interview you and Turner trade questions and expectations about the role. The restaurant opens 11 to 8 every day except Sundays, that’s 12-6. Once a month the restaurant connects with a local shelter to house a potluck and provides meals for those in need. You learn that there is talk of expanding the franchise into a non-profit, but the pipeline to get employees who’ve been with the company into the non-profit is the highest priority of course while also including experts to ensure the longevity. 

As the conversation continues you learn about the expectation of the daily operations. You’d be expected to work in the kitchen and unfortunately due to being slightly short staffed, you might have to handle some serving duties. They’d want someone who could man the bar as it could provide a bit more flexibility with other staffing structures. But should you be hired on, they’d pay for the training and licenses when it comes to the bar and mixing drinks. While the staffing concerns raise a small alarm in your head, you know the potential that you’d be called in on your days off would be extremely high, you are a little intrigued to have some normalcy back by having more conventional working hours. It would be nice to grab your siblings for dinner, have dates with Calum at a reasonable time. 

There are efforts to work with other venues and opportunities in the community--seafood festivals, catering corporate picnics and holiday parties. But management does try to balance the demand as best as possible according to Turner. It feels like a lot of cookie jars on the table, but the priority first is always the restaurant. When you ask about the kind of demands on a slow day as compared to that of a higher volume day, specifically in how food is prepared and what the shipments look like, Turner gives you a laugh. 

“I don’t know why I expected anything else from a seasoned vet.” But Turner goes on to explain how the kitchen is prepped and what kind of support to expect. 

You grin. “I’ve been burned in some hot fires before. Experience is the best kind of teacher. But thank you for taking the time to answer that.”

“Of course,” Turner returns. “Training, as you probably already know, is a bit more like that trial by fire. You’ll work with some of our seasoned chefs and they’ll work with you through the menu. Expect this to take you a few weeks to get comfortable with and we’ll take it slow if you need. From what I can see, you’ve been out of this particular game for a couple years and we’d hate to see you get burned again.”

You nod, a bit of your heart releasing from the clutches. Maybe your time away won’t be so much of a detriment here than other places. They’re still growing. They can afford a few more luxuries that other restaurants may not be able to spend. “Thank you.”

By the time you conclude the interview, you’re praying that you actually land this job-not for desperation, but because you think this might be the kind of place that would give you a feeling of peace. There’s care in this place and you don’t want to be left out of that. You settle into the driver seat and immediately pull up Calum’s name. It’s been an hour, much longer than you anticipated for the interview and you know he’s worried. 

The call doesn’t get answered immediately, but you let it ring and ring.  “I’m sorry I missed your call. Please leave your name and number and a brief message and I’ll return your call,” Calum’s voicemail echoes into the bowels of your car. 

“Sorry I missed you,” you start, “Finished the interview now. And I think, well, no, no, I know I want this job. The manager seems really nice and it’s--it’s such a nice place. I want this job more than anything now and I know. I know I said before I’d take whatever, but Forest is actually the kind of place I want to work for. Have the ancestors gotten back to you yet? Hope you’re doing okay though. Call me back when you can. Love you.”

There--it feels a bit cowardice to leave it in a voicemail, but you don’t want to lose this courage either. So you leave it, on a recorded line, where you can’t take it back. But at the very least, it’s out there now. 

______________________________________

Calum’s phone shakes from his pocket. He feels it against his thigh and his immediate reaction is to reach for it, make sure it’s not you calling him back before ignoring the call. But Miranda’s throwing another file his way and he reaches out to catch it. The call will ultimately have to wait. “A heads up would be nice,” Calum huffs. 

“Keep up,” she laughs. 

“Son, you don’t have to do this though,” his father warns. “I can take this angle. I can talk to her.”

“Everyone knows we talk shop, Pops.”

“You’ve--you’ve just always said you wanted a clean game.”

Calum shakes his head, looking up to his father. “It’s not a game, though, Dad. I keep treating this like it’s a match. It’s not a game. It’s never been one. Everyone else thinks it is. But we can’t pretend like it's just a game anymore, where there’s no stakes. There are real consequences for what we do and don’t do. There’s real life in the balance of what we do.”

“But what you’re asking for,” his father warns. “We can’t take this back.”

Calum shrugs. “Well, perhaps, they should’ve been thinking about re-election the entire time.”

  Miranda has the spare keys though it’s not technically her job. Calum cracks open the file and peers up at the ledger in front of him. It’s a tally of the most recent votes--who voted for what. The goal isn’t to have dirt and blackmail. The goal is to have a firm line, a recounting of every choice and consequence that’s come because of it. 

“People are looky quite cushy from my vantage point,” Calum notes. His phone vibrates again against his leg. He’d shockingly forgotten about the call. 

“And you’re sure you can do this before the voting on Thursday,” his dad questions. 

They’ll need the official tally before the end of the week and Thursday was the latest day they could go. Should the bill get passed, it’ll go into effect the middle of the following week. The treasury and department of taxation is just waiting on standby and has been for weeks to start getting payments to roll out. 

“Pops,” Calum laughs, pulling his phone out from his pocket. “I wrote 12 page papers in college the night before they were due. A week is just perfect. I just need you lifting heavy in session, doing most of the talking if you can.”

His father nods. “Of course, I can, son. Of course, I can.”

Miranda settles a ring with two keys onto the table. “You’ll need those. And a lot of coffee. And maybe a miracle.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Miranda,” Calum laughs. 

“And if I can say, which of course I can, I’m about damn ready for someone to actually get something done around here. My back is killing me,” she teases. There’s no worry on her part about the presence of Calum’s father. She’s always had the fearless streak. 

There’s a pass of laughter and Calum turns to see a missed call from you. He notices there’s a voicemail too. Bringing the phone up to his ear, he listens to your voice, “Sorry I missed you,” you start over the recorded message, “Finished the interview now. And I think, well, no, no, I know I want this job. The manager seems really nice and it’s--it’s such a nice place. I want this job more than anything now and I know. I know I said before I’d take whatever, but Forest’s is actually the kind of place I want to work for. Have the ancestors gotten back to you yet? Hope you’re doing okay though. Call me back when you can. Love you.”

Calum’s heart pounds against his ribs. His own breath catches, he can feel the struggle to regulate his breath. Love you, rattles in his brain. Love you. He was hoping you hadn’t caught that. Calum prayed he could somehow pretend that he hadn’t let those words slip. He’d gone on about the rest of his day and you hadn’t said a word. You hadn’t texted him about it. It hadn’t even come up in the brief call you two had before the interview. Calum thought he was in the clear. He’d hoped he was in the clear. 

But clear isn’t standing in front of Calum. Not anymore.

It’s the clattering of his phone against the table that brings Calum back to reality. 

“You okay, son?” His father’s voice is slow, but clear. Calum’s not listening though. He scrambles to pick up his phone and push up out of the seat he’s in. It sends him clattering into the chair a couple feet from the door as he tries to get his phone right side up in his hands. “Calum, please. What’s the matter?”

Calum shuts the heavy wooden doors behind him--though it’s really gravity that does most of the work and Calum just holds the knob with enough pressure to keep it from slamming. The phone rings, even before it’s at his ear, and his ribs ache with the pounding of his heart. 

He was supposed to be in the clear. 

“Hi, can you give me like two seconds?” You don’t wait for an answer, voice sounding a bit further away than before. “Hi, can I get 20 on pump 4 please?”

A voice returns to your question with a response. “You could go thirty and see me less.”

“And what’s the fun in that?” you laugh and as the sound gets closer, Calum is sure his heart will leap up his throat and out of his chest. “I’m back.”

“So?” Calum starts. How should he ask it? Should it even be a question at all? But before any other words come, you’re responding. 

“So.”

Calum wants it to mean what he thinks it does--an answer to his unspoken question. His throat jumps as he opens his mouth and the shakes take over the first attempt at his words. He clears his throat to try again. “I got your voicemail.”

“I presume the ancestors have spoken then.”

Calum laughs--short and all an exhale. “They had to put me on hold. But I-I listened to the whole voicemail.”

The noises of a busy street--cars going past, horns honking, a voice floating in from somewhere behind you--take over the silence for a moment before you respond, “Good.”

“You’re going to make me say it aren’t you?” Calum questions. There’s no way you’d just let Good fall from your lips and not mean more. 

“You already did. I said it second.”

There--there it was,  the yolk oozing from the cracked shell. “You didn’t have to if you weren’t ready. Doesn’t it all feel a bit too soon?”

“You’re honey and I am molasses. Just seconds apart really.”

You say it so easily, like even if Calum is faster than you, even if these things come up sooner you know you’re not far behind. “I didn’t mean to rush you though. I don’t want to say it slipped out. Though that’s what it feels like. Like why wouldn’t I say I love you?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you?”

Your question. doesn’t feel like a challenge. It doesn’t feel like some way for Calum to get out of the hole he feels like he might be teetering on the edge. Maybe it’s meant for Calum to say whatever it is that he needs to say. Calum will take it though, take the leap if you’re going to let him. 

Calum inhales deeply and lets the words fall in his exhale, “That’s the thing. I have no reason why I wouldn’t say it. Because I do. I love you.” He feels no need to qualify that statement, make it mean less or mean something different. There’s no need for that. 

“I wish I could see your face,” Calum confesses. It would make this less awkward maybe. It might ease some of the fear in his chest as he waits. 

“Do you know the painting, The Scream?” you ask. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know the painting,” Calum answers, picturing the figure, hands pressed to the side of their face and mouth gaping open in an oval. 

“That’s my face,” you laugh. 

Calum snorts at the mental image--the shock on your face. He saw it earlier before he hung up on the video call. There was just the briefest moment where Calum was sure he’d messed up and he waited by his phone. He waited for your text, your call, but it never came. 

“It’s scary to admit that you love someone. You know it all the same. I’m scared. And I know it all the same. That I love you.”

“And what makes you scared? Hmm? What’s so scary about it?” He really hadn’t meant to push this sooner than you were ready. But the can had already been opened. There was nothing that could take this back now. 

Your sigh crackles through the line before your response does, “I don’t take saying that lightly. It’s easier to show it. It’s easier to never let it come to the surface. Much, much easier just to let it go unsaid.”

“If it helps, I’ve always seen it. I’ve always known.”

“You’ve always known?” The question falls with a teasing lilt and Calum exhales his laughter alongside you. 

“And if I say, yes, what about it?” Calum teases in return. He’s not truly sure if he’s always known. But he’s had a hunched. Calum could've guessed it, but the sound of your confirmation winds him. 

You continue on though around Calum’s earlier tease. “When you said love you earlier, I wasn’t sure if I should’ve responded or should’ve said anything in return. Then trying to make it on time for the interview took priority. And I didn’t think I’d address it. Not again for a little bit at least. Well, you know the rest. I left that voicemail.”

“Did it slip out? Did you feel like you had to say it?” The fear comes back. He’s not going to be happy if you feel pressured. 

“No, I knew if I didn’t say it then I knew I’d keep finding excuses. A calculated risk, I’d dare to say.”

“You live at your own pace though, baby.”

“I know. And I do. And I did when I left that voicemail. No regrets. I promise.”

It’s final. Calum knows by the tone of your voice, so he nods. You can’t see it. But he nods regardless and drops his head into the wood of the door. “But the interview went well?”

“I think so. I hope I get the job. They’re understaffed. Manager admitted it and I know that means I’m getting in over my head. They’re going to be calling for me to cover shifts. They also want to cross train for the bar. It’s not a perfect job by any means. But it’s something I want. It could give me a leg back into the kitchen, get my sea legs again and get some additional certifications under my wing. Could be a really good stepping stone and I think right now that’s what I need.”

“Extra shifts before the holidays wouldn’t be so bad,” Calum figures. Summer is starting to wind down. The crisp fall winds show up in the early hours of the morning. It won’t be long before the holidays descend. “You now have to compete with giant unicorns.”

“Oh I absolutely do not,” you snort. “You have to compete with them though. Teagan already knows that’s not how it works with me.”

“Well, I hope you get it, baby. Would you be working days again? I assume so, but I could be wrong.”

“Yeah, I’d be working days. I mean, the days are still late. Restaurants open to 8PM most of the week. But I’d get home at a reasonable time. I’d get days off where I don’t spend most of them sleeping. It’s not perfect, but it is better in some rights.”

“Did they say when they’d get back to you?” Calum pushes up off the door. One hand he slips into the pocket of his dress pants as his shoes click against the floors. His walk is short, only a couple feet to the sides until he hits the wall.

“Monday, next week.”

“Do you work here that Tuesday?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Can I take you out to dinner before your shift?” He’d want to phrase it more like a gentle demand, but your schedule is a bit more delicate than his. He’s not sure if it would work out or not. 

“I’d love to get dinner. What would be the occasion?”

“A date. It’ll be a celebration.”

“Calum,” you start. “You say that like you’re sure I’m going to get the job.”

He laughs. “I am sure. The ancestors just got back to me.”

The doors creak open and Calum catches the start of his father’s head out of the space between the crack in the door. “You okay?” his father asks. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I’ll be back in. Give me another few minutes,” Calum returns, pulling the speaker away from his mouth just a little. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. “Was that David?”

His father nods and heads back into the room. Calum brings the phone back closer to his mouth. “Yeah. Everything’s okay. I-I might’ve spooked just a little listening to your voicemail earlier. It’s all okay though. But Tuesday. Dinner before your shift. Say, 6:30?”

“Did you have a heart attack listening to my voicemail?” The laughter is clear in your voice. 

“No, not quite that. I was just working on something and I missed your initial call. Gave Dad a little bit of a fright when I was shocked. But it’s nothing major. No injuries I’m happy to report. Are you okay to meet here and then I’ll drive us to dinner? I could also pick you up but I don’t know how you’d feel about that.”

“I’ll meet you there. I appreciate the offer and we’ll get there. But I didn’t mean to interrupt your work though.”

Calum groans, spinning to face the wall. His forehead hits the warm softly. Yes, yes, work. The tallies. He does need to go through those ledgers. He needs to look at the immediate fall outs of all major votes. He needs that before the votes. He’s got to focus. And Calum can. He knows he can. But he does want to see you too. Ease any worries that you might have and keep your mind off checking your emails or phone for words from Forests.

“Yes, yes, I do. I’d rather talk to you, but it’s important too.”

“What if I swung by for a little bit? I’ve got those two boxes of matches.”

A hum falls over his throat. “That would be nice. To see you.”

“I need to swing by my place and then I’ll be right over. It’ll buy you at least forty minutes.”

“Make it an even hour? I hate to beg. But I can do a lot more damage in an hour while my dad’s still here than once he clocks out for the evening.”

“I think I can find something else to do for the extra twenty minutes. See you then?”

“Oh, don’t make it sound like a question. See you in an hour.”

The call ends, and Calum pushes up from the wall. He’s got an hour. The doors are heavy, creaking just a little as Calum pulls on them. When Calum steps back through, he rolls up the sleeves. He’s gotta make every second count if he’s going to spend some time with you. “Was that who I think it was?” his father asks. 

“Yes, Pops. It was. They know you’re still owed a game of golf.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that. Did they say how the job hunt is going? It’s rough out there.”

“The interview today went well. Hoping they land it. But before you call it a day in an hour can I still borrow you?”

His father nods. “Of course. How far back are we going?”

“Last five years I’d reckon,” Calum answers. He needs enough substance just to start. If it’s not enough, he can go back even further. But he has to start somewhere at least. 

“And are we looking at any specific kinds of referendums and legislations? Or just anything?”

“I think at this point--grab a notebook and jot down whatever sticks out to you. I’ll go back through your ledgers later if it’s not enough.”

A packet of sticky notes falls onto the pile of their table. “Mark any pages that are interesting with sticky notes. It’ll make your life easier,” Miranda states. “Work smarter, not harder.”

Calum grins over to Miranda. “Knew I liked you.” 

Calum’s not sure how quickly the hour passes. There’s a blur of cursive ink and blue, yellow, and pink stickies. But Calum knows the hour is done when his father sighs. “Think that’s all I’ve got for today,” his father says, hands on knees. It’s the preamble to his push up and off the couch. Calum can’t fault it. There’s a lot of work to be done and it’s his idea. But Calum is grateful to have the extra hands for the time being. 

“Thanks for the help so far,” Calum returns. 

“Of course, son, of course.” 

No sooner than his father cracking open the door Calum’s phone rings. Your name lights up his screen and those ledgers and notes can wait for a later time. “Up on the third floor,” Calum offers in his answer to your call. He’s slipping pages back into order, shutting ledgers. “But I can meet you at the elevators if you head up.” 

“Eager beaver,” you tease. “I’ll see you there.” 

Calum feels the buzz of his skin with excitement. His ribs know just how your chest will press into his and for that, he’s grateful. His lips know the press of yours, how you’ll sigh just a little into the kiss. It comes from somewhere in your throat and sounds like relief. Though Calum will admit that occasionally, he’s not sure if it was your noise or his. It doesn’t matter enough for Calum to piece it apart when the elevator dings and peels open to reveal you. A tiny wave and smile as you step out. 

Calum wastes no time to gather you up, pressing a kiss to your forehead before gently guiding in for a kiss. It’s Calum who sighs first into this kiss. The noise vibrating in his throat, rattling the sound into more of a hum. “Missed you,” he whispers against your lips. 

“Don’t have to anymore,” you return, resting your forehead against his. 

_________________________________

“How’s Santa doing?” Teagan asks as she slips into the backseat. You snort at the question but watch from the open car door as she buckles up. It’s clear as her eyes fall onto yours you know who she’s really referring to. 

“He’s good,” you nod. 

“I have a new Christmas list actually,” Charlie pipes in from the passenger side back seat. 

Your brows raise. “Do you now? It’s a good thing I told him we’ll need to confirm with you if anything changed. We’ll give you some more time to check it over before we seal the deal.”

Charlie’s nod is final and with both of them settled into the car, you shut the door. From the living room windows, you can see your mother watching--her hands on her hips. She watches and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s more than just a motherly gaze. She wasn’t there when you opened the door. Melvin did--Teagan and Charlie at his heels. But you know she’s always watching. Diana’s always in the wings. 

You settle into the driver seat and shut the door, watching her stare. Time will tell what’s up her sleeve--if there’s anything at all too of course. You’re not so blinded by the tug of your stomach to not consider you might be making this all up anyway. From the cup holder, your phone shakes. Once. You watch it, finger frozen as your heart starts to race. You told Turner that afternoons and evenings were the best times to reach you. 

The phone doesn’t buzz anymore. Not a phone call. Your chest deflates a little and the worry begins to bubble. When were you going to get this call back about the job? As you pick up the phone, you notice Calum’s name across the screen. Have you heard…the rest is cut off by the preview screen. Maybe there’s actually more but your eyes don’t see it all. You place the phone back down, slip the seatbelt over your chest, and meet Diana’s eyes again. A hawkish gaze from the windows in the bright afternoon. 

“Where are we going?” Charlie asks. 

You lock eyes with him in the rearview mirror. “Where do you want to go?”

“Ice cream!” he shouts. 

“Teag?” you question, sliding your eyes to her.  

She grins. “Absolutely.”

It might ruin their dinner, but you don’t worry about that. You don’t need to worry about that. “Then ice cream it is,” you answer. 

It’s an easy drive, even as your phone buzzes again a few minutes later with the text from Calum. Charlie and Teagan sing along to the radio--as you always give them control over it when they’re with you. They’re off key, laughing as they flub lyrics. The worry that was bubbling settles. You hear your own laughter around theirs. They’re just kids and they’re doing what kids should do. They should belt lyrics at the top of their lungs and get them wrong. They should laugh. They should make your eardrums rattle. 

When you pull into the lot of the ice cream shop, you watch them. They’re still singing, bodies wiggling in a way that reminds of what dancing almost looks like. With the sun behind them, illuminating their figures, they look like everything you’ve could’ve wanted. When you wished and hoped better for them, this is what it looks like. Though their life is probably far from perfect, though they’ll question why you and your parents aren’t close, they’ll never have to bear first account witnesses to that same kind of pain. 

Three songs play--Charlie and Teagan dancing in the seat, singing to their hearts content before Teagan pauses. “Are we there yet?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “We’re here.”

“Excellent! Can I get a vanilla chocolate swirl?”

“Of course,” you return, pushing out of the car to help them out. Teagan files out first and then Charlie behind her. The backdoors don’t open from the inside thanks to the child safety locks you’ve set to be on so you always fetch them out. They each take one of your hands to cross the parking lot and once at the door, you let them in in front of you. The ice cream shop is cold. The air nips at your skin and you know it’s necessary to keep the sugar confection solid. Somehow the chill shocks you each time though and you follow behind Charlie and Teagan as they peer up into the window in front of the ice cream. 

“What are you thinking, Charlie?” You ask, placing one hand on each of their shoulders. 

“I don’t know. Cotton candy looks really good. But I always get it. And then there’s the rainbow sherbet. Which is also delicious.”

You can hear the true agony in Charlie’s voice, watching as his head flicks back and forth between the two options. 

“You said you might want to try the Strawberry one, right, Charlie?” Teagan asks. 

“Oh that’s right!” he replies, turning to her. “Oh, so many choices.”

You pick up movement from the top of your periphery, causing you to look up. The bright yellow apron catches your eye first. Tentatively, the worker approaches, a tiny smile on their face. You’d hazard a guess it’s a teen working over the summer into the budding fall, but they don’t seem bothered as Charlie and Teagan converse amongst themselves. “Would you like a sample?” they ask, eyes trained in on Charlie. “Sounds like you’re juggling a lot of decisions.”

“Oh, a sample? Yes please.” 

“Of course. Let’s start with strawberry, first.” 

Charlie takes the spoon from you as you take it from the top of the counter. He daps it to his tongue, lips smacking just a little as he lets the flavor coat his tongue. One by one, Charlie tries all three of the flavors. He holds all three of the tiny spoons as he glances back through the glass. You almost ask Charlie if he’s made up his mind, but he speaks before you can. “Can I get the strawberry in a bowl please?” 

The worker nods. “Of course.” Their eyes cut up to you and you prompt Charlie. 

“What size do you want?” you ask. 

“Oh, hmm, just a small please,” Charlie returns. 

“Okay, one small strawberry. And what about you?” the worker asks Teagan. 

“Small bowl of vanilla chocolate swirl please,” she answers with ease. 

“Coming right up. Anything for you?”

You almost miss that the question is directed at you, but raise your eyes to catch the worker. “No, I’m good. Thank you.” They nod, but the gaze lingers for just a minute. You watch too. Is the gaze in recognition? But it only lasts a moment or two until they turn down to the register and punch in for the bowls. 

It could just be paranoia. Maybe that worker doesn’t recognize you for what you think they might. Maybe you’ve come in here before. But there’s something in your stomach that you can’t shake. You knew the world was watching in a way--photos would pop up no matter what. The thing you’re still trying to conceptualize is just how much other people outside of your circle now know your face. You hope though that this won���t impact your siblings. You don’t want it to be weird for them when you go out. 

Charlie carries both bowls while Teagan settles into her seat. You stand, watching for a moment before you’re satisfied that both are comfy in their respect spots. “How’s camp going?” They’re in the final week, but they seem to still be clinging to a youth like hope that summer will hang on forever. 

Around their spoonfuls of ice cream, you catch things like, fun, and we made crafts! But it’s all a little muffled with the melting confection they hold in their mouths. You can only smile and nod, “Good.”

“Mom said that you hate them,” Charlie confesses in a pause on his next spoonful. “Why do you hate them?”

You’re not sure if you want to correct Charlie on the term hate or if you want to let it stand as is. You’re not shocked Diana might be saying like that. You did hate them. You think you might always harbor a small chip on your shoulder because of what they did. You’ve got more things to worry about now though than what your parents did and didn’t do in your childhood. No amount of yearning would fix the past. 

“Do Mom and Dad tuck you into bed at night?” you ask instead. 

“We get two stories each,” Teagan answers with a nod. 

“They’ve always got breakfast ready in the morning and you always get a packed lunch and when you come home there’s dinner on the table too, right?” you ask. 

Charlie answers this time in the affirmative. 

“Then I’m glad you two have it,” you return to his answer. “I’m glad you two have that with Mom and Dad.” You can’t say it. Even though it would all be true, you can’t tell them that you didn’t. You can’t get your lips to curl or your tongue to lift to say that they didn’t do that for you. They don’t need that. 

You can see it on Teagan’s face. The way the wheels are turning and turning. “Did you?” she asks. “You did, right?”

“Your ice cream’s gonna melt, Teag,” you encourage softly. They’re much too young to have any image of their parents shattered. 

“But they did all that stuff for you, right? They had to have,” she counters. 

You’re not going to beg. You’re not going to plead with Teagan to let it go. If you’re honest, you can’t tell if it’s to spare them or yourself. It may be a bit of both. You want to hold that answer on your tongue and to the roof of your mouth for a little bit longer. 

“Your ice cream,” you nod over in the direction of her bowl. 

“But--”

“Teagan.”

It’s just her name. All two syllables that fall from your chest but it’s firm. She bows her head into the bowl and shovels a spoon in with a pout. 

“If they didn’t, then we’ll just need to talk to them. That’s really bad for them not to do,” Charlie comments. “Honestly, downright mean,” he adds on, pointing the spoon out in your direction. 

“Two bedtime stories is quite the deal,” you state, brows rising to emphasize your awe. 

“I’m sorry,” Charlie returns. “I heard Mom and Dad talking. Sounds like maybe I didn’t have the whole story.”

This will be the way. There’s a story and they only have half of it. You don’t want to pull out the cliché adage that they’ll get it when they’re older. All that will do is stir the pot more and more. But Charlie sees it. There’s a lot more to what happened besides what he’d managed to hear. 

“Apology accepted,” you nod. 

“Can I get some money to get a drink?” Teagan asks. Her voice is soft but tilts her head like she always does. 

“Oh, I can go get it,” you offer, but she shakes her head. The lower lip rolls over her chin. It’s a losing battle. You fish out your wallet and hand her a ten. It’s the smallest bill you have that will more than cover the drink, after using up your fives on their ice cream. “Just a drink,” you warn as Teagan takes the bill. 

She nods and pushes away from the table. The shop is quiet. You know it won’t be for too much longer, but you can watch from your seat as Teagan slides up to the counter. Your phone buzzes once from the table. You know you haven’t texted Calum back, but he is aware that you’re picking up your siblings today as well. But then it buzzes again. You have half a mind to ask why the worker is scooping at one of the tubs below the counter but your phone’s buzzing a third time. 

You snap to your phone, lifting it with just enough time to read the digits on lighting up your screen. Forest the ID reads. There’s very little air in your lungs as you unlock the device to answer and greet with your name. Turner’s voice greets you on the other side. She sounds pleased, “Hi, there!” she greets you. 

“Hi, Turner. How are you?” 

You barely catch her voice over the rush of your own heart, the thundering against your ribs. You flick your gaze up and see Teagan standing at the checkout, scrambling to get change back into your pocket as a bowl is handed to her. 

Turner’s voice floats for a moment around your ears. Why was Teagan reaching out for a bowl when she promised a drink? “...because I would like to extend an offer for you to join our team here at Forest. I am quite impressed with your skill, and though your background is varied I think the mindset you have about food and working fits well into the environment we are trying to establish here. I will send an email of course with the specifics for you to look over and give you two days to look it all over. Salary is as we discussed.”

Half your mind clicks--the wheels turning to get Teagan’s attention come to a screeching halt. “You’re offering me the job?”

Turner laughs. “Yes, I am. I am extremely excited to offer you the job. I understand that given the demands we are asking for a lot. Our hope is that soon we can get staff numbers up and rely on less cross training. But if you’re okay with what we can offer now and this kind of asks for the time being, it is my sincere hope and word to give that we will do what we can to meet our promises. We’re a community. We rely on our staff in ways that we cannot always comprehend, but we certainly don’t want to abuse that. The service world is lethal and demanding all on its own.”

Your bones go liquid. You fall back into the chair and exhale. The ceiling is a gray spackle on white, almost reminiscent of a doctor’s office. But you gaze up at the tiles and you can feel your chest drop, the tension melting a little off your shoulders. No job will ever be perfect. You know there’s no such thing. Yet, this is the kind of news you need. This is a silver lining in an otherwise  You don’t want to say yes immediately, though you know you’ll be taking the job no matter what. “I am incredibly grateful for the offer though. I’ll-I’ll read over the email you’re sending and will get back to you.”

“I look forward to your call back.” 

You get out your goodbyes and when you bring your head back to center, Teagan’s slipping back into her seat. In front of you is a bowl of cookies’n’cream ice cream. You can see the chunks of cookies protruding out just a little from the vanilla base. 

“You okay?” Charlie asks. 

You nod. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Good news actually,” you offer. 

“Oh!” he responds, perking up in his seat. His excitement paints his face in a smile. “What’s happening?”

“Getting a new job,” you answer. They don’t need to know the specifics as to why. Not that it seems to matter to them in the slightest though. Charlie cheers in the ice cream shop, arms thrusted into the air with his delight. Teagan claps from her seat. You notice now too that the change is also next to your bowl. 

“What’s this all about, Teag?” you ask, waving around to the bowl. 

“For earlier,” she answers. “And now too for celebration.”

“You don’t-you don’t have to make up for anything you know. That’s not your responsibility.” You’re praying she doesn’t feel like it is. Your only response is a shrug, before she turns back to her own treat. Perhaps, it’s the little victories. Perhaps, it’s the little gestures. But you can’t bring yourself to fuss. She didn’t have to do it, and did it anyway. Maybe she already knows she doesn’t need to do it. It’s not her fault what was done or not done. But she treats it like it is still her duty to express sympathy, to see what wasn’t done and still do something. 

You take the spoon and scope out a bite. “Thank you, Teag,” you state before finishing the bite. 

“You’re welcome.”

_________________________________

Charlie plops down next to you, panting. After the ice cream, they asked if they could go to the park and you obliged. While they played amongst themselves and with the other kids that were also there, you took it with ease to settle down on the open bench to watch them hustle across monkey bars and down slides. “What’s your new job?” he asks. 

You crack open the water bottle--acquired prior to your full departure from the ice cream shop--and hand it over to him. He takes it and chugs down a quarter of it. “I’ll be working in a restaurant, some cooking like I do now but also bartending and serving.”

“And…what do you do right now?”

“Private chef in a way. Handle mostly breakfast for the royal family and help cater some events.”

“And you don’t like that anymore?” he asks, breath still heavy. 

“It’s not that I don’t like it anymore. There’s just other things I want right now and need to change jobs to have them.” It’s vague, but also still true. 

Charlie takes the answer with a nod, hands you back the water bottle and heads back to play. You watch Teagan slip down the metal slide before she books it back around to climb back to the line for the slide. You take the moment, as the breeze nips over your skin, to pull out your phone. Calum’s text still sits, unanswered, from an hour ago. He hasn’t followed up with anything else. You’re not sure if he’s gotten sidetracked with his own agenda, but you open the thread and call. 

You know you still need to read through the email Turner sent. The red notification haunts your home screen, but you can’t read it just yet. You don’t want to get too distracted that you lose sight of Charlie and Teagan on this playground. It’s a rich neighborhood, even you know that. But that doesn’t mean you want that alone to satiate you. The ringing echoes in your ears as you listen for the line to connect or for Calum’s voicemail to start. 

“Hi, baby,” Calum answers. 

“Hi, love.” It’s the first time you’ve ever used a nickname with Calum. You know he’s caught it too when he coughs from the other end of the line. “You can’t die on me,” you tease. 

“But-you-love, as in you called me love?” he coughs out. 

“I got the call,” you answer, cheeks lifting with a smile. Charlie slips, but catches himself in a slide on the mulch of the playground. You sit up straighter and he looks at you before throwing a thumbs up. You throw one out in return and settle back down as he dusts himself off and takes off again. Diana won’t be pleased about the stains, but you hope she’s not the one answering the door later. 

“Like got the call in a good way or got the call in a bad way? And you still need to clarify on what little pet name. I haven’t forgotten about that.”

“They offered me the job. In about two weeks or so, I won’t technically be on your payroll. I figured I could afford now to indulge.”

“Congrats, baby! I’m so proud of you. Told you we’d be celebrating over dinner tomorrow.”

Teagan slides over to you next, taking the unopened bottle from your lap. “Who’s that on the phone?” she grins, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. You grimace a little at the action, but you don’t have anything else to offer to her. 

“Santa,” you answer with a wink. “I’m spreading the holiday cheer early.”

“About the job?” she asks. You nod in return and her grin blinds you. “Tell him I said hi, yeah?”

“Tell Teagan I said hi to her as well,” Calum states, clearly hearing the exchange between the two of you. 

“He says hi back,” you relay. She hands back her water bottle to you and you take it, holding it between your knees as you get the cap back on right. 

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Calum asks. Teagan’s run echoes as she takes off towards the seesaws. 

“I did call you, you know.” It leaves your throat in a laugh as you pull the sharpie from your pocket to mark Teagan’s bottle with a T on the plastic cap. You mark Charlie’s with a C. It’s with passing gratitude that you thank the heavens you had one in your car before you got out at the park and considered bringing it with you. 

“I wasn’t sure if you called and then something happened.”

“No, we’re at the park right now before I take ‘em back home. Teagan came up for some water before taking off again. You’d think that their summer camp wasn’t fulfilling enough, but it might’ve been the ice cream too.”

Calum’s tuft of laughter brushes through the speakers. “The ice cream might’ve done it. But you got the job, and I’m so incredibly proud of you for that.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“You’re still free for dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, still free for dinner tomorrow. Thank you, again.”

“No, you don’t have to thank me. But I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of dinner, will I need to dress up at all?”

“No, not at all,” Calum answers easily. “Though, I will warn now it’s a place I’ve been known to visit, so I can’t say with certainty that there won’t be any press of course.”

“You’ll tell me if anything necessary comes up. I appreciate the warning.”

His voice is soft as he speaks. Like he might be attempt to soothe a panicked animal, or like he might actually be melting. But Calum’s voice is so soft. “I gave you a promise and I intended to keep it.”

From the background, you catch whirring--a sharp sound and it pierces your ears. Beyond it, you think you hear something like a drill, but you’re not sure. The metallic sounds and gears all blend into a cacophonous sound. It takes a minute before the noise fades to something quieter in the background. “What are you doing?” you laugh. “I wouldn’t think of you to be doing some handy work at this hour? Have sessions gotten boring?”

Calum laughs. “Long weekend actually. But I’m probably more of a hindrance than a help. Some repairs, is all really. One of the guys got sick today and I volunteered to help.”

“Would it be inappropriate to ask what you’re wearing right now and if it’s sweaty?” you ask, conjuring an image of Calum in blue jeans and long sleeved t-shirt clinging to his chest with a clear dark V from his own sweat. 

The laughter Calum barks is loud, and sounds deep from his chest. It makes your chest feel warm to hear the amusement laced in his voice. “You are not subtle at all.”

“I am not.”

“You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

“I refuse to cut into Teagan and Charlie’s time with me, but I hope to catch you the next time you’re a hindrance of manual labor.” 

There’s a small stretch of silence before Calum’s voice floats through the phone again. You almost speak again to make sure he’s okay but his answer cuts your voice short. “I’m sure you will catch me next time.”

Your phone shakes in your hands. “Your investigation going well?”

“It’s going. I think I’ll have to pivot a little on what I’m researching, lean into poll projections from constituents. Give them a firm reminder that when seats go up for elections I will be taking into account the public’s voice as well. I’ve got some help on that too, which is good. Have Charlie and Teagan coughed up those Christmas lists yet?”

“Oh, hit them where it hurts certainly. They’ve been given instructions to make final adjustments. We’ll get the list here during the first weeks of school.”

“That is starting up again here soon. God, feels like forever again for us.”

You snort, watching Charlie and Teagan approaching you. “It was forever again for us. Give me a second, sorry.” 

“No, I don’t mind.” 

You crack open both their bottles. “You two doing okay?” you ask the pair. They nod. “Let me check that leg that you fell on Charlie, is that alright?”

“Sure,” he returns, helping get the pant leg out of the way. It’s a little red, but no broken skin and thankfully no tears in the pants. It’s just a stain and when you press gingerly into it, Charlie doesn’t flinch. 

“I’ll be needing to get you both back home within the next thirty minutes. How do you want to spend it?” You know dinner time is a strict deadline and you’re not keen on breaking it. 

“Ten more minutes to play and then we cool down for ten?” Teagan questions, looking up to Charlie. He nods in agreement as he works down his gulps. 

“And if you want to call it quits before then, I’ll be right here,” you offer to them. Teagan hands you her bottle, still with a quarter of the water left and Charlie heads towards the bins to toss his empty bottle. 

“I don’t want to take a monopoly if you’ve only got half an hour left with them. I’ll always be a phone call away,” Calum states after you let him know you’re back to continue the conversation. 

“It’s awfully boring on the bench,” you laugh. 

“You know, hearing you with your siblings is nice. The way you care for them.”

You’re not sure how to respond. You’re not sure why your body warms at the confession. “Thanks.”

From the background of Calum’s line, you catch his name being called out. “Can I call you back, baby?”

“Absolutely,” you answer. “Go be a hindrance.”

Calum snorts. “I shall. Love you.”

You feel the shake in your throat, the jump into your jaw takes your breath. You’ve said it already. Granted it was to his voicemail, but you know what you feel. “Love you,” you whisper. It tastes different on your tongue in this kind of situation, when you’re saying it directly to Calum. But now that it’s out there. Now that you’ve gotten used to the weigh after uttering it once, even if softly, you realize how light the words are around the curl of your tongue. It tastes sweet. “Love you,” you repeat steadier, a bit louder. 

“Yeah, I think I could get used to the sound of that. Talk to you later.”

“Later,” you agree and the line goes quiet. 

You turn our attention back to the children. Charlie’s helping a kid on the monkeybars and Teagan’s seemingly made friends with a group of girls who are running in circles. You’re not sure what the objective of the game is. But as long as they’re both safe and accounted for, that’s all that matters. 

When you check your phone again to make sure the call’s fully disconnected, you notice a text from Calum. A selfie loads up on the screen, from his chest up with the sun hitting his face directly that he nearly has to squint. But from what you can tell he is in a gray henley, the few buttons on the shirt undone. Just out of frame you think you catch what might the sleeves of the shirt pushed up on his forearms. But you can’t quite see his whole arm to make a judgment on that aspect. The light gray material is dark in the chest, a deep V shape no doubt a result from whatever work he’s been doing. Tell me if this is what you were imagining, Calum writes underneath. 

Your fingers are drafting a response before you can think it all the way through, It is. Only thing missing is your ass in tight work blue jeans. You doubt you’ll get a response soon. That doesn’t matter though. Not as you scroll you back to the picture and the curls are clearly pressed down and damp from the sweat too. His face is a tad pink, lips pouty but relaxed. The pose is natural, given how quickly he must’ve snapped it. You take the corner of the phone between your teeth gently. This man will be the death of you--you can feel the desire stirring in your abdomen, how much you want to kiss his nose that’s so prominent in the photo and also trail your tongue down his chest. 

Also fuck you for actually sending this photo, you add to your previous reply. But also, fuck me.  

“Literally the devil, that’s who that man is,” you mutter to yourself and put your phone face down on your lap. You need to focus, as boring as it is just a little to watch your siblings run around the playground. 

A few minutes later your phone buzzes. The ass is quite secure don’t you worry, Calum replies but no other photo comes through. You snort at the response. 

Your fingers are hovering over the keys to respond when from your periphery you see a figure approach. They seem unsure of their approach, stopping for a moment. You think they’ll turn tail, but the hesitation is only for that brief moment. They continue their approach to you. Once they’re a little closer, you look up. The face looks vaguely familiar, behind the wire frames the eyes look deep and concerned. “I’m so sorry to bother you, baby. Are-are you kin to Melvin and Diana?”

The question shocks you. You didn’t think anyone would recognize you here. Not with how long you’ve been gone. Not with how little you interacted with the neighbors that were adults. The kids you knew a bit better. You answer the older woman though, regardless of any suspicion, “I-I am.”

The woman whispers your name, shock lacing the word. You rear back a little and drop your gaze back to the kids, not wanting to drop your guard about them either. Charlie’s walking over to Teagan’s group. When you look back up to the woman, she’s smiling at you. “You look so grown up. And of course you are, the last I saw you, you were up to my knees.”

You still can’t place the woman’s face. She seems to catch the confusion and settles on the other end of the bench. There’s a middle portion between you and her though, a safe distance between the two of you. “I’m sorry to spring up on you,” she offers. 

You nod and glance back up to the kids. Charlie and Teagan are closing in, laughing through their pants. You keep an eye on their approach, knowing the last thing you want is to get too distracted that you lose sight of them. Teagan and Charlie look winded but happy as they close the distance. 

You turn back to the woman. She laughs. “I know I'm interrupting your day. I’m Mrs. Davis.”

“Hi, Mrs. Davis,” Charlie calls out as they get closer. You reach out for them, wanting them close to you. Teagan takes the last of her water and drinks it down. 

“Hi, Charlie. Hi, Teagan,” the woman returns to them. She turns to you. “I’m two houses down. You, uh, you loved my apple pie.”

You gaze deeper into the woman’s face. The eyes  still don’t register fully. You know it’s a face you know, but you don’t know why the name and face can’t clicking. But apple pie. You do know a Mrs. Davis who made apple pie. The Mrs. Davis you knew had three moles on the side of her left eye. And you’re not sure why that’s seemingly the only detail you remember, but when you look for the moles you spot them. Like a triangle on the side of her left eye. But now that you can place the face with the apple pie, a warm cinnamon smell that makes your mouth water even at the thought, the pieces click. The kitchen window opens, the breeze, the frog statues in her window and the chicken on her kitchen towel. “Davis, with the frogs in the windows?” you ask. 

The woman laughs with a nod. “Yes, yes, those old wooden frogs are still hanging in there.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-hi,” you laugh. 

“No, no, you were hardly Teagan’s age I think the last time we spoke. It’s okay. You doing okay?”

You nod at the question. “Yes ma’am, I am.”

“Good, good.” She reaches out to pat your knee. “Diana’s been talking about you a lot recently. I saw you come in earlier with these two rascals and I’ve got my grandbabies for the evening,” she states, motioning back to the playground. “They’re up in the castle,” she laughs. 

You spot three bodies in there. You don’t know her grandchildren, or how many she has. But  you’re inclined to believe her when she says it. You know she’s older than your parents too. Mrs. Davis had been graying just a little when you were around, but now sports a good blend of gray hairs amongst her dark strands.  

Mrs. Davis continues on, “I wasn’t sure it was you but something in my spirit said it was. And I don’t know. Had to say hi, I guess. You just, you look really good. Happy, I reckon,” she muses. 

If you had to take a full stock of your life, you’d say that you were happier now than before. As boring and as tedious as parts of your life still were, there were things that you could say you were happy to have now that weren’t there before. So you nod at Mrs. Davis words before agreeing, “I am happy.”

“Good, that’s good to hear.”

“But you said that my mom was talking about me?” The question leaves you quicker than you’d like. You really should speak directly to your mother, but you can’t help the feeling from earlier, how much your skin crawled at the way she lingered during the pick up. Could this give you a heads up? 

“Oh, it’s probably not my place to say. She’s just been mentioning you more. Seems like she just misses you, is all.”

You don’t know how much Mrs. Davis knows. You don’t know what your parents have told their friends about you--if they’ve mentioned you at all to anyone new. But Mrs. Davis would watch you occasionally when your parents asked. You always walked to her house when you had to go, bag bumping on your back. 

You nod at Mrs. Davis’ words, noticing the way Mrs. Davis looks away, choosing words carefully. Maybe Mrs. Davis is telling you the truth, that your mother’s just expressed a desire to reconnect. Maybe there’s more, but you don’t think she’ll give you much more than that. Teagan and Charlie are a little restless in your grasps and you turn to find them worse for wear with their play. They’re faces are flush. 

“I should probably get them back and cleaned up before dinner,” you state, using this now as a segway for your exit. “I hope your grandkids enjoy your baking as much as I did. I’ll need that recipe one of these days.”

Mrs. Davis smiles. “Oh, they do. They do. Take care of yourself out there, ya hear?”

“Yes ma’am, I do. Good to see you again.”

It’s a swift exit as you take a hand each from Teagan and Charlie. The three of you make your way back to the car and just before you cross over to pavement, you look back at Mrs. Davis. One of the grandchildren has approached now, face contorted a little into a cry. Mrs. Davis takes the injured limb gingerly and you hope that it’s nothing more than a scratch. It doesn’t seem to rattle the older woman. She’s already reaching down for something and you can’t watch for longer. Your feet are hitting the pavement of the parking lot. You’ve got to get the doors unlocked, help them climb in and get buckled in. You can’t watch Mrs. Davis, but you feel her. Lingering behind you like a whisper.  Diana’s been talking about you a lot recently. 

The drive to drop Charlie and Teagan off is short. They’re quieter in the back than when you first picked them up. They still chat amongst themselves--Teagan asks about the new job. You give her the name of the restaurant with ease. Charlie asks Teagan if she would choose to be a bowl of macaroni and cheese or a bowl of mashed potatoes if she had to be food. It seems out of nowhere, but you discover that night is most likely a mashed potato night at home for them which prompts Charlie’s question. 

“I’d have to go cheese. It tastes better,” Teagan answers. 

“But then you’re orange!” Charlie hollers. “You want to be orange?”

“What’s wrong with orange? It’s a pretty color.”

“Mashed potatoes are better,” Charlie returns. 

“Just because you want to be mashed potatoes doesn’t mean I have to be,” Teagan iterates. 

“I mean, no, you don’t. But macaroni? It’s also burnt on the top,” Charlie offers. 

“That’s the best part. Potatoes are too soft.”

“The softness is the best part!”

You’ve let the car idle for long enough, at the front of the house for the last five minutes or so. So now, when the car settles, turned off, they look forward. You watch them from the rearview mirror. “Looks like you two might have to agree to disagree.”

“Agree to disagree?” Charlie questions. 

“It’s what happens when you and someone else don’t agree on the same thing and probably won’t agree on it. Like, you can’t change Teagan’s mind and she can’t change yours. So you say, you’re right to choose potatoes while I’m also right to choose macaroni and you know that you’re not choosing the same thing. You just go, we don’t agree and it’s okay.”

“Agree to disagree?” Teagan asks Charlie. 

Charlie nods. “Agree to disagree.”

You watch the front curtains. They don’t billow or peel back to reveal anyone. It’s just a yellowish light that you catch. There’s no reason to delay the inevitable. So you peel yourself out of the car and help them out of the back. At the door, you knock, using the decorative hammer and take a step back behind the two kids. The trio of you only wait for a moment before it creeks open. 

“Woof,” Melvin grins, taking in the sight of both kids. “You’ll need to hurry to the bathrooms upstairs to avoid ‘the talk’,” he laughs. 

“Hi, Dad!” Charlie and Teagan echo, embracing his lower half. 

“I’d ask what happened, but I don’t think I need that many details,” he teases. 

Charlie and Teagan turn to you, embracing you individually. You know you’re going to smell like the sweat they’ve worked up. You know you’ll smell like outside for hours until you shower. But you hug them both deeply. “Love you Teag. Love you, Charlie boy,” you whisper to them. 

“Love you too,” they offer to you and then slip inside. You watch them head directly up the steps with no fuss about the instruction given to them earlier. Perhaps, they already know all to well the threat of the talk looming should they get caught dirty by their mother. 

“Sorry for the extra work,” you offer. “Charlie took a spill at the park but no broken skin.”

“Don’t worry. They’re kids.  Thanks for taking them today and getting them back with the extra time to clean ‘em up before dinner.”

“Yeah, of course.” It’s a nod that you give, and a nod that’s returned. You never took more than the first step on the porch. 

You think that’s all it’s going to be, that Melvin will take the kids and clean them up and they’ll carry with them the secret of ice cream before the park. 

“Oh, darling, wait,” you catch from behind you. You don’t suspect it’s directed to you, so you take the step down until your name echoes. When you spin, you turn directly to face Diana. She’s at the top of the porch, door open wide behind her like she might’ve been ready to chase you down.  Seems like she misses you, is all. 

“Yes?” you reply. 

“Why don’t you come in and stay for dinner?”

“I’m not comfortable with that.” You don’t need to explain why you’re not. You don’t need to say more than that. You’ve already made it clear to them what you are comfortable doing. She already knows. You know you can’t voice it like that. You know you can’t point fingers or blame anyone. 

Diana takes a step closer, feet shuffling closer to the first step down. “Charles and Teagan talk all the time about wanting to have a family dinner together.”

“I’d appreciate more notice than this,” you return. “Next time you’d like to extend the invitation, please ask in advance.” You don’t think you’d turn the idea down if you had plenty of notice, if you had some sort of hand in the planning and it weren’t at the house. Public, you think maybe you could handle a public meeting. But definitely not at the last minute and not in that house. And you know you can’t say anything definitive lest it be taken as agreement. You have to be careful here. 

It doesn’t seem to be the right answer though. “What do I have to do? Please just tell me. My own child is a stranger in my life. I have to find out updates about your life through Teagan and Charles. I learn things about you in tabloids. Just tell me what I have to do. I’m sorry. I know your father and I did you wrong. We know that. But you can’t shut us out like this. Please.”

It would be easy to bite back, to say that they were total strangers to you too. But you can hear the shake in her voice. She’s clutching the railing. You always knew your parents were human. You’d gathered that long before now. But now you can see it--a wobbly and naked vulnerability in her stature. She is and always will be a human being before anything else. You feel the divide-- how much you want to yearn for this, tell her that all you need is an apology. But there’s the larger side-the side that wonders if she’s begging for herself or out of sincerity. 

You don’t even know how to respond for a moment to the speech. Do you feed the hope? Do you stay firm on your boundary that you speak with them only on behalf of interacting with Charlie and Teagan? Do you tell your mother that if she means anything that this is a conversation maybe better had at a later time? It’s not fair of course for you to cave into agreeing out of pressure rather than your own true will. 

Like your silence stings, Diana sighs. “Fine, fine!” she huffs, turns on the ball of her foot and heads straight for the door. The door’s slam rattles the frame. 

It almost makes you laugh. How if she’d given a moment longer you think you could’ve told her something closer to the truth, something that wouldn’t dig you into a grave and wouldn’t give her false hope. Perhaps this is the answer to the question you couldn’t ask anyway. Maybe it’s Diana pushing only for her own gain. And maybe it’s true hurt, the rejection that she can’t handle. 

Yet none of that negates where you are--on the walkway of their house with hot tears brimming on your eyelids. You couldn’t even be given a change to answer. You know you cannot move on anyone else’s time table. You cannot move faster than you’re ready. You can’t move if you are never ready in this realm with your parents. 

As you settle back into the driver seat, you can feel the anxiety bubbling. You don’t know Diana for who she is now, after Charlie and Teagan, after the therapy and recovering journey. You only know her for who she was before. And everything in your gut tells you that this is before Diana. This is a hurt woman who can and will lash out no matter the consequences.