#i am that janet meme

[atlantablack]

me binging fic for a new fandom for two weeks straight and then having the audacity to be surprised at myself when my brain hands me a plot -> 🫠🫠🫠🫠

[writedisaster]

you'd think that the biggest silmhead* among my muses would be the middle-aged librarian, but you'd be wrong. It's the dubiously 20-something sideshow crust punk.

*silmhead, (n.) - an enjoyer of Tolkien's Silmarillion, esp. one whose enthusiasm verges on the rabid and/or encyclopedic

[lotrowing]

every damn time. it’s always him.

[brw]

1, 9 and 10 for your ask game please!

1) the character everyone gets wrong

I'd go with Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne, and I know that's cheating because that's two, but in my defence, the ways in which people get them wrong independently absolutely inform the ways they get the other wrong to.

Janet is a lot more proactive in her relationship with Hank than people give her credit for, and was a much bigger reason of why their relationship failed than people also give her credit for. There's a push to rewrite history and make her a very flat victim, and I can see why, but it's frustrating because I think it's a lot more interesting that Janet repeatedly and purposefully ignored multiple warning signs that Hank's health was imperiled simply because she held on to a belief that love could overcome anything, including a man's undiagnosed and unmedicated schizophrenia. It is JANET who makes the decision to marry. She is essentially the one who proposed, after Hank–hallucinating as Yellowjacket and genuinely thinks he is his own murderer–kidnaps her, then briefly becomes lucid and backs off.

Genuinely, right. Genuinely. I don't think the Hank we see here, violently hallucinating, thinking he murdered himself and having a totally different persona and attitude, was in a position to give meaningful consent! I think it's very clear this is a man a danger to himself and to other people, who was not in the right frame of mind to agree to marriage, but people prefer to write Janet as a very basic victim, which I think is a massive disservice to the actually really nuanced way her relationship with Hank was sometimes written, where Hank was clearly unwell and Janet knew it but thought it was an issue that could be fixed with holiday's and sex and Avenging and not a more fundamental psychological one, and that's a far more interesting story to me.

9) worst part of canon

Lotta things I can put here. I think at the moment I am most frustrated by "Krakoa had no people on it before mutants fine, therefore it isn't an ethnostate and it's totally cool and awesome", because the lie of "there were no people here before us!" has been used time and time again throughout history to justify genocide, oppression, violence and colonialism, and I do not think it is the place of the white Americans in charge of writing Krakoa to essentially legitimise those lies because they didn't want to write Magneto or Nightcrawler or Wolverine and company to be out and out colonisers. If you are writing this kind of project, I think you should have the dignity to commit to it.

10) worst part of fanon

in no particular order

Dadneto, House of M dynasty as a whole

Charles is walking. More than anything else with Cherik this annoys me the most. Motherfucker I'll break his legs myself. Please at the very least let the disabled character be disabled.

The notion that Sue/Namor is real and happened

Logan Howlett girldad

Crystal doesn't exist in the Maximoff family conversation, related to that I once saw a haha fandom meme where Crystal was called an absent parent and that is so fundmantally untrue it felt like I was being trolled

Claremont's racism and zionism isn't real don't worry about it. Close your eyes and only mention it when it's something you can't pretend doesn't exist like Kitty Pryde saying the n word multiple times

Hank McCoy was Always Evil and Always Fated To Go Dark. That's just a regular man forced to hang out with his high school friends after three years of doing nothing but smoke weed with a gay 1950s theatre nerd. You would turn "evil" too.

That Reed Richards doesn't love his wife??? He invented comic guys being really intense about their wives. Leave him alone... that's the love of his life above all else??? Excuse me.

[askdacast]

MASSIVE ACE ATTORNEY INVESTIGATIONS SPOILERS

the new localized names i can't

(for real this isn't a prank meme I'm ranting/laughing about the new names and voice clips as datamined from the game files, do NOT click if you don't wanna be spoiled)

Blaise Debeste is now Excelsius Winner

i am crying, that's somehow both awful yet perfect for him. The dude really wanted to sound badass like EXCELSIOR, and then he just downgrades his son's own name to be "Eustace", classic deWinner move. I don't like his new Objection voice though. I'm gonna miss the overly gravelly and evil one the fan translation gave him, that was perfection.

but that's not even the funniest one. Simon Keyes is now Simeon Saint.

Like...pour one out for Janet Hsu, I love them and their making the one REALLY good English localization ever in GAAC. But you just know they were consuming 15 cups of coffee dead into the night wracking their brains thinking how the heck they could ever outclass the perfection that was the name Simon Keyes (at least, thematically and foreshadowing his role in the story) and just taking a blunt going "F@#% IT HIS NAME IS SIMEON SAINT, LIKE SIMON SAYS, YOU CAN'T TOP PERFECTION"

I don't have any opinion on Horace/Bronco's Objection. Ray/Eddie's is alright and sounds close enough to the fan voice.

I don't like Gregory Edgeworth and Justine/Verity's new voicelines. The former's a bit unfair given the fan translation got freaking ProZD on the job, but the new voice doesn't...really resemble anything like "an older Edgeworth" at all. Shout out to the comments saying he's doing a Prof. Layton impression.

And Verity...yeah, there was no way they were gonna top the fan voice's overly British "OVERRULED!" but the new actress still sounds so...defeated in comparison

Eustace Winner's horrible localized name is slightly forgiven by having the best Objection voice clip, bar none

[dr-robert-chase-s-hair]

Chapter I. - 1986

this is my fist writing since my exams; I know it sucks. This oc and her story has been in my mind for a while, so I thought I'd share my torments with you guys. [I have the rest of her life pretty much planned out, due to spoiling the show for myself through memes] In the long run, OC is meant to be the cause of even more torment for House.

Context info: before House had met Wilson, going through grief, whilst also caring for another human being. I don't really know or care, if this fits canon chronology, but '82 is a firm point due to her age. [if I decide to write more, then you'll know, why] Also posting this on A03.

Words: 1458

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

1986.

House groaned, as his eyes locked on the clock. The monotonous clicking always got on his nerves. Never-ending, like the torture inside of him, just boiling him alive, while he has to keep a straight face. 16:54. Just a few more minutes… In a normal situation, doctors weren’t committed to, or rather, prescribed to (by their bosses) to a regular schedule, and a stationary finishing time. But in the last seven months, it had been a necessity for him, given the conditions. 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Before the arms even reach the 60th minute, or the big fat zero on the face of the clock, as if undoing a perfectly assembled Rubik’s cube, he gets up with a low grunt, picking up his coat and bag. actually adjusting his coat onto his pointed shoulders would be a waste of time. His current, primary concern is to just get out of the sterile, barren wasteland of single-braincelled and inept colleagues he is blessed with, and the incompetent patients he is faced with. Every. Single. Day. 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Ten minutes later, he pulls up in front of the institution. A few tens of  square meters of grass fields, next to the pebbled pathway. ‘These little stones could stab someone’s eye out.. these people are just asking for accidents.’ He murmurs to himself, before walking up to the receptionist, his face betraying his deep exhaustion, the violet circles under his eyes are now a usual sight, as he forces a small smile to crawl onto his lips. He looks at the aging woman on the other side of the acrylic glass, who looks like she would prefer being in Siberia, than at work at five in the afternoon, although, unlike House, she is making an attempt at hiding it, a glossy lipstick-smile plastered on her face, as she looks back at him.

“How can I help?” She asks in a chattering bird voice, which not only annoys House, but most likely also the five year olds she treats just as condescendingly.

“Good afternoon,” he mutters, taking a deep breath to steady that painful smile, “I am here to pick up Diana.”

The receptionist nods, semi-recognising him, “Just one second, Mr House…”

“It’s Doctor–” he cuts himself off, knowing that repeating the daily tango steps always falls on deaf ears. 

He is worn out, even for a twenty-seven year old doctor. Or at least more so, than the average MD-holding person his age is. Which was to be expected, given what happened over the course of just the last six years. In ‘80, he met a fellow med student. Janet Graham. They fell in love soon after, either due to his charms, or, according to his own subjectively statistically more accurate theory, due to his persistence. It was a quick romance, or at least fast. Within a few weeks, he could not remember the last time he had slept without her. Then, after a year and a half, she fell pregnant. As much as both of their logical brains knew that it was anything, but the correct, responsible option, neither of them could commit to it. And so, on the 20th of January, 1982, Diana Joan House was born. He had insisted on giving their baby her first name, but she only compromised to use it as a middle name, and to twist it to also honour his family. His father, since he never really told her about his childhood. And for the first time in his life, he felt truly content. Yes, he had to pick  up a few more shifts. Yes, it was early. But to him, it was worth it. And despite the pressure on him, reading his essays, his homework, his medbooks to the tiny infant whenever she woke up in the late night hours, was one of the best moments of his day. Their American Dream only gave more and more fruits - he had everything he yearned for since childhood, even if it stalled Janet’s education by a year. And then, after three years of bliss with his little family, she was diagnosed with Stage four cerebral cancer. The only blessing from Satan was that Diana did not see her die, after her few months of struggle. This was half a year ago. And now, here he is, a freshly single-dadm, trying to hold everything together, while he waits for his toddler to arrive out of the main daycare area.

His eyes glimmer under the blinding neon lights, as she is led out by one of the daycare workers, her tiny little face lighting up as she sees him.

“Daddy!” she squeaks in the usual deafening tone of any four year old. He couches down, shooting the daycare attendant a small, grateful nod, as he picks her up  his arms. Upon looking her over, his lips curl into a small, knowing smirk,seeing her dishevelled state after a long, tiring day of playing.

“Hey, Sweetie. What happened to your braids? I spent time on those, you know.”

She shrugs her small shoulders, the lavender shirt wrinkling even further with every movement. “The hairband fell out.” 

At home, he keeps a careful eye over hem, as she sits amidst a sea of her toys in the living room, while he is in the kitchen area, making the only food he has known since his late teens, that he knows is better, than just some experiment at replacing Janet’s cooking skills - Macaroni cheese. Her small mumblings are a soothing balm to his soul, after a day of exhaustion and high-levels of alertness, mixed in with his suppressed grief… Except, she is silent. His heart races, as he looks up in a flash. She is sitting on the couch, playing… with one of his medical textbooks lying open in her lap. He puts down the wooden spoon, walking over to the cozy living room, taking a seat by her side on the dark blue couch.

“Whatcha got there, Diana?” his eyes fix on the book. Is it concerning, that this four year old is looking at images on a page informing the reader on the causes, symptoms and description of hemophilia?

“A book,” He sighs at her nonchalant tone. Of course, she is most likely unaware of how unusual what she is doing is. 

“Did you take that from my shelf?” a weak, almost pathetic attempt at parenting, but scolding her would be too harsh, not that he would have the heart to do it.

“No. It was on Mommy’s.”

Her words sting. How can he reply to this? It is clear as day, that she is also dealing with grief and mourning, even if she can barely accept the concept of her mother being gone. But he needs to try, even if he knows that Janet would laugh just as much at his parenting, as Dr Spock would.

“Darling, those books are not for someone your age…” this is soon met with the first signs of a tantrum of sleepiness, even though her eyes do not leave the page for a millisecond.

“But I like it!” And now, she is interested in medicine… this cursed cycle is truly devilish, he thinks. Surely, though, the diagrams cannot be that interesting–

Fuck. 

Her eyes are following the lines. 

Upon this observation, he begins to ponder over whether or not she is actually reading…

“Diana…” he takes a deep breath, blinking to make sure, that this is more, than just a caffeine and sleep-deprivation induced hallucination, or a projection of hisidealised version a child. “...do you know, what the words say…?” he whispers in awe, trying to hit the least accusative tone he can. He reaches out, index finger hitting the thick page. “Do you know, what this says?”

Her head leans closer to the reflective page, wavy locks framing her round, chubby face, and his heart drops into his stomach within seconds, at her delicate voice.

“Hemophilia is a blood-clotting disorder, impairing the body’s ability to stop bleeding. Common symptoms include easy-bruising…”

By now, House’s brain and comprehension has clocked out for the night, completely floored by her advanced abilities. Subnormal. And the knowledge, that his little Diana, the last traces of Janet on this planet, is a little genius, fills him with immense pride. ‘Told you, Jan, that my anatomy essays weren’t boring her…’ he muses with a faint smirk, his arm dropping around her shoulders, as he holds her small frame close. Mind racing with plans of her future education, potential mensa score and university applications, he feels the void inside him beginning to fill, even if only by just a few droplets of hope and newfound self-esteem in his role as a parent, and his genes’ accomplishments…

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Thank you so much, for reading! <33

bonus points to anyone, who can guess the 'subtle' inspiration behind some name choices.

[popironrye]

Art block hitting me like a mother-

Decided to throw a little meme together.

It's no shock I got a lot of ocs, and thanks to a mutual who had me sit down and go through them, I got 34 ocxcanon ships alone. So narrowing this meme down wasn't easy. But I gave it shot! Read more if you wouldn't mind me rambling some more <3

Blank Template Source

Because They're Cute: Laura Kinney (specifically from the X-Men Evolution cartoon) snagged the cute category cause she's as adorable as she is deadly. And with her is my x-men oc Savannah Lane, to whom I am very attached to so I had to include her. I think the two work best as misunderstood friends that mirror Sabretooth and Wolverine on paper and grow to care deeply for one another. X3

Because They're Pretty/Handsome: The Captain from the Hellsing Anime is one of those characters that intrigue me and made me want to see more of him. Like Savannah, the oc of choice I ship with him is another I hold very dear. Luciana Rosa. The two have a great back and forth as enemies to lovers as the two go from opposition to Luciana fighting for a more equal partnership where The Captain is always by her side that turns into something more when Luciana defies death by becoming a werewolf and loses everything she had. <3

Because They're Sexy: Victor Creed (In this instance, the Origins: Wolverine version) is THAT kind of character for me. The oc I started off with him is Janet Lane. Savannah's mother. And what was going to start of as a one time fluke actually became a more on again off again thing cause I liked their ship so much. Heck in a alternate take of the movie where Victor and James roles are reversed, I actually made Janet and Victor married and he's a great family man. The two may not be the most official thing in my mainline, but a mutual casual hookup every now and then is good too...for now. ;3

Because They're Badass: Had to get another Hellsing character in here, and who better than Integra Hellsing herself? I created my oc Henry for no other reason than I wanted to go a much more old fashioned long family name to uphold the business where Integra actually has kids of her own. And I am so glad I did, cause their fankids are characters I love! But even beyond the kid aspect, I do think Integra and Henry are really cute. Henry is practically a non goth Gomez Adams. He adores the ground Integra walks on and would do anything for her. :3

Because I Feel Bad For Them: Oh Teddy Lobo, you pathetic chaotic dumbass. Obnoxiously loud and over confident to the point I can't help but think it's all a big act to shield away some deep insecurities, fear, and cowardice. For this reason I went the whole gang warfare angle and created Anastasia Zbikoski. A feisty Slavic goth goddess part of a rival mob family. They two are super fun to write as the most intense enemies to lovers that may turn into a bit of Romeo and Juliette situation when Teddy realizes that while he loves to annoy the hell out of her and wreck her family business, he doesn't want her dead. Stasha on the other hand loves to inflict pain on Teddy whenever she can, but actually killing him never comes to mind. As far as she'll admit, killing each other would cause too much inner conflict with their families, but truth be told she'd miss him. XP

Because I Relate to Them: Ok, I'm cheating on this one, but I wanted to talk about both of them, so there. As a codependent twin myself, I feel the heck for Stanley Pines in Gravity Falls. But of course I couldn't leave out Stanford! Especially with all you weirdos that love to villainize him. I will be taking no Ford slander here! Anyway, the ocs for the gilf twins are Frida Guevara for Ford and Wanda Lovelace for Stan. Frida and Wanda have been childhood friends for years, they're practically sisters. Wanda got Frida out of an abusive marriage and helped her raise her two daughters. The two have lived together for decades, and the wholesome dynamics between them and the brothers is sweet. :)

Because They're My Type: Cheating again, but IDC! Technically the ocs I ship with the lost boys keep the boys poly, so I say it counts! In the picture shows Paul and Dwayne, who I think would be my type the most, but really I would be doing a disservice not to say David, Star, and Marko are totally my types as well. I mean, they're 80s bad boys, most have long hair and facial hair, ride motorcycles, and are secretly monstruous blood thirsty vampires. What's not to love? Just for them, I have the ocs Barbara Whitman, Stevie Holloway, and Maryanne Briggs. A trio of witches that catch the vampires eyes for their unique style and hearty personalities. Plus they're hot goths, what's not to love? For these girls I chose to keep the boys poly, meaning I not only ship them with all 4 girls (4 cause I gotta include my girl Star), but each other as well. I like to keep it like this for unique dynamics and a wide pool for their relationship that would be too limiting if I'd ship them monogamously. After all, the member that winds the girls into the vampire circle isn't any boyish charms, it's Star and Barbara's openly bisexual ass. XP

Because They're Underrated: Maxwell Lawrence from the same movie, you are loved here! For the main antagonist of the movie, I don't see many people talking about him. Granted they're so many good characters in the lost boys, I can see while our vampire dilf often gets left behind his much more show stealing lost boys. But for me, he needs love and that love comes in the form of my oc Judith Fairbourne. A older mother of girls. (and lycan but cross that bridge when they get to it) who he just swoops in with the goal of calling him the mother of his weird little family. It actually works well in his favor as I think Judith and Max work well off each other, in that older with more life experience way. Judith is very receptive to Max's flirting and does much flirting of her own. Max gets a chance as a girl dad and getting parenting tips from Judith while she gives the boys some much needed motherly attention. In addition, Judith's triplets and baby daughter have this cute sibling dynamic with the boys and I just think they're neat.

Because of Their Hatedom: While I know she's super popular in the male furry kink community, the general feedback I've seen is some pretty unfair hate on Loona from Helluva Boss. Sure, she's overly aggressive and moody to people that may not deserve it, but the amount of people I've seen wish actual death on her is crazy, especially in defense to Blitzo who is also a tragic victim of abuse and copes by being overly rude, violent, and creepy. I'm serious when I say that I think if Loona was a male character with the same mannerisms and slap stick, she wouldn't be as hated. You gotta remember Loona is a young adult coping from a life of being abused, abandoned, and treated like the lowest lifeform in Hell. Blitzo's attempt to be a family with her is admirable, but showering an abuse victim is affection will not make them better. Kinda got off track there, ANYWAY my oc for Loona is Georgina Satin, a fellow hellhound modeled off the African wild dog. She's similar while being the complete opposite of Loona in the way she delt with similar abuse, but she hides it with an overly optimistic, cheery, and helpful personality. Plus she's a bit ditzy. The two are really cute together and Georgie will always be there to show Loona she's not alone, while Loona helps Georgie come to terms with her own past abuse.

Because They're Comforting: Technically this one falls into a self insert ship, but my mummy sona is very much an oc in her own right. Ardeth Bay is a beautiful sight that makes me happy to even think about. The Mummy 1999 is my favorite movie ever and it's also a comfort movie. Meaning the characters in it are also my comfort characters. And to further bring comfort, I made Eleanor Arnold. A friend from many past adventures with Rick before he went to Egypt. Ardeth and Ellie are from completely different worlds, coming together in best ways possible. <3

Because I Don't Like Their Canon Ships: Dipper Pines from Gravity Falls is one of those characters I just don't care much for the ships other people ship with him. Actually surprising to me, the other characters on this list as far to my knowledge are single. And while Dipper technically is too, he's the only one that has shown interest in other characters. It's weird, I've never noticed most of my ocxcanon ships were like that where the canon character isn't shown to have a partner. Anyway for Dipper I got an oc named Belladonna Wixx. Technically a old character I basically killed and used the foundation to make a new one cause she needed an update. Her and Dipper have this cute friends to lovers thing going on, being good friends as kids before giving each other a chance later. Plus Bella has a male best friend named Manny that hangs out with Dipper a lot, cause I think Dipper should have some friends to go alongside Mabel with Grenda and Candy. So came Bella and Manny. :3

Because I Can: Oh I have a reason for shipping Bowser from Mario alright, but it means I'm getting into those 'hear me out' arguments since he's a giant turtle. Well for this giant anthropomorphic fire breathing turtle, I made an anthropomorphic insect in the form of Princess Poppie Honeycomb. She's fun cause I made an entire kindom and species name for her. She's a giant, wind controlling, flying hornet that I think just look really cute. Give Peach a break dude, she's not interested. Get yourself another girl that'll give you the time of day. XD

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

Sweet Dreams--Part 9

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 (dry humping) in this part. Mentions of using sex to numb feelings. Please read with caution and skip if need be.

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

________________________________

There are certain messages Calum’s used to seeing--ones about meetings that have gotten pushed back, good morning texts from you, one from his parents about some sort of article they came across and wanted to send to him, thinking it would be good for him. There’s the texts from Michael or Luke or Ashton about bullshit--videos, memes, a bad selfie in their thread. There’s the text messages about a cute dog or cat that someone’s spotted in public. Then there are text messages that Calum is not prepared for. Ones that he hopes he never gets accustomed to receiving, that are bearing the bad news. 

However, seeing, If I asked to borrow the back garden or some kind of back yard area to tie dye socks, would that be an immediate no? is the type of text that Calum thinks he would never want to brace himself for. There would be no fun in being prepared for spontaneity. Calum laughs, dragging the towel over his face to wipe away some of the sweat pouring from his hairline. Even with the heat of the summer fading, the long hours on the weekend with the shed still causes a sweat to break out. 

Yes, you could use whatever you needed, baby. 

Excellent, because I may already be here. Are you working on the shed?

Calum taps the icon for a call. It rings, once then twice against his ear. “Hi, love,” you answer. The pet name never fails to send a jolt of desire down his spine. You always say it so softly, like you’re trying to savor the taste of every syllable on your tongue. Sometimes, Calum’s tempted to ask what it tastes like. Does it taste sweet like cotton candy when he calls you baby?

“Hi, baby. Now what is this about needing to dye some socks?

“Charlie wants tie dye socks. The ones in the store don’t have color combinations that he likes. I’ve got some dye from when I had to recolor some shirts that were starting to fade and helping roommates out with stuff. The apartment’s been overtaken because Josie’s invited friends over, which I knew would be happening so it’s not a problem. But I know I have free time and can’t sit still to save my life. You don’t have to say it. Hence why I’m asking to borrow space for a little bit.”

“There’s always space here. Do you need help setting up somewhere? Put you closer to the laundry room--wouldn’t you need that for dying?”

“Yes, I should say, the socks would have to stay there for at least today and then if I could stay the night, I’d rinse them in the morning and take them with me.”

Calum nods, though you can’t see it. “Yeah, that’s okay. Whatever you need.”

Faintly in the background, voices arise from your side of the phone. “You’re supposed to be gone. You can’t tease us like this,” someone hollers. 

Calum just makes out the words but catches your laughter as you respond, “I am a ghost. You do not see me.”

“That’s it, I’m dead. Dead,” the person laughs. 

“Are you still using the service entrance? I have let the guards at the main entrances know about you. You literally can just walk into the front door,” Calum states through his laughter. 

“If I’m honest, my brain just went on autopilot mode and hadn’t realized I’d missed the turn for the main entrance until I was already past it.”

“Habit, huh?”

“You know they say they die hard.”

“It’s alright. Next time, you’ll get it. I’m shocked the codes are still the same for you.”

“I don’t think it’s been deactivated yet. Part of me wonders if Janet’s ever going to deactivate it.”

“She may not.” It shouldn’t shock Calum if Janet decided not too. Though, he does think it might be a tough sale to security. They could win the battle if need be, but Calum worries about that for another day--should it ever come up. “But what do you need for this tie dying venture? A table or something, I’m sure.”

“I can get all that, don’t worry.”

“You sure? At least let me get you a table out from storage, baby.” Calum figures that it might be a mute point, that you might already have the table, but he’s still going to offer. The last thing he’ll do is not attempt to help. After throwing a quick warning back over his shoulder to the guys assisting him, he starts towards the doors. He doubts he can beat you to wherever you’re headed if it’s not directly outside. 

“You’d have to come all the way through the back when I’m already inside to grab it,” you counter. 

You are right. The curse to the size of the castle and its grounds is that sometimes it’s much too big for its own good. Getting anywhere in the residential wing is a bit of a chore--long hallways, limited number of doors. Calum’s sure it’s all due to safety, someone somewhere had a reason for the pain, but that’s not going to stop Calum from trying. Not when he knows it’s for your brother. The last thing he wants to do is get in the way of that relationship. 

“I can at least try,” Calum quips back. He’s never considered himself a track star, but he’s glad for the years he did football. 

“Don’t wind yourself out, love.”

“Is that a challenge I hear?”

Your laughter echoes, skips for just a moment but then your voice filters back in through the speakers. “I wouldn’t dare dream of such a thing. But seriously, I’ve already got a table. You better turn yourself back around.”

Calum continues on, just as he gets to the door, a bit more huffy than he would ever like to admit, he spies you rounding the corner from the hallway storage is on. “Hi baby,” he calls out once you make it closer to him.  

“You’re hardheaded, you know?”

“Only….everyday though.”

You pause in the doorway, table in your grip--it’s a smaller one, but taller so you don’t have to bend down so much with it. “Yet, somehow, I still find myself attracted to it.”

“It’s the boyish charm. Need anything else?”

“Boyish charm,” you laugh, leaning into him a little. “We can call it that.”

Calum meets you, a quick kiss before you continue on through the door he’s holding open. It’s a silly thought, Calum tells himself, as he watches you carry on through the garden. You’re careful as you go, keeping the table a good six inches away from the ground as you go. But something does feel a little different. Your smiles at him melt a little bit more, feel a little bit warmer than before. To see you comfortable enough to ask for a kiss--even a peck as it was--in public made his stomach flutter yesterday. 

The party was about you, so Calum withheld any conversation about it. The thing his parents did teach him was to be mindful of the time and place in addressing certain conversations. But for you to think, well before asking, that the castle would be free to you feels like further confirmation. You are changing, or maybe it’s a bit more like you’re unraveling. Though you and Calum walked in the early stages, you’d never mentioned your siblings. Now with that bit of information revealed Calum seems just how much you care about them--enough to dye socks so they have what they want. 

He can’t say much about your dating life prior. He assumes you might’ve had some experience prior. Calum can say for certainty that building the relationship with him has been slow with you. Worry and concern are the biggest culprits for that. But that seems to be falling slowly to the wayside. Calum won’t take any credit for this. He just watches, carries with him the tiny pieces of how you’d opened up. He does not consider himself a poet; he’s much too meticulous with when and how he shares anything. But if love is watching someone blossom into something more magnificent than they’d ever been before, then he thinks he’d ought to give it a shot to capture the feeling of being witness to it. It’s pride without arrogance, awe without jealousy. An emotion sure pure he’s sure he’s never felt it once since he left his childhood. But he feels it now, watching you pause at tomato plants. 

If all Calum gets to do is watch you grow and evolve, then it will still be a life well lived. 

“You’ll let flies in, Your Highness,” Janet teases passing back the doors. 

“Just put me on fly duty,” Calum laughs, but does move to let the door close behind him. There’s no embarrassment as Calum catches up behind you at being caught staring. “See anything else ready to be picked?”

“Oh, that’s still well beyond my wheelhouse. But I don’t think so.”

“You know more than me.” Calum means it sincerely. That you do know more about the garden than he does. But he thinks too that there’s a kind of life that you’ve lived that Calum had only once thought would be his. It’s a great honor to serve, take on his duty as expected. But there’s a little bit of life, a certain kind of living that he’d never really do. There’s a certain kind of wisdom he didn’t have. Not that Calum would ever want to romanticize your struggle and your suffering. But he knows that your experience gives you a perspective different than his--a perspective that Calum’s glad you’re willing to share with him. 

“I’m sure your mother could teach both of us a thing or two about gardening. How’s the shed coming along?”

The new one fades out of view, leaving the current restoration project bare in front of the two of you as you walk closer to it. “It’s going,” Calum returns. “There’s some shelving we’re working on now and the bench. A little behind schedule, but we anticipated that much from the start.”

“Looks good though. A fresh coat of paint?”

It’s the same blue as before, just not chipping anymore. “Yeah, a little birdie suggested it.”

“One smart bird.”

Calum helps you get set up--from getting the table stable to getting the dye into the more appropriate squeezable bottles, and once you’ve sworn up and down at least three times that you’ve got it from there, he ventures back over to the shed. The group doesn’t say much, but the smiles passed around them tell Calum everything he needs to do. He’ll never live this down. 

“It’s not a crime to be in love,” he laughs. 

“No one said it was. But to think, the same man just a year ago was swearing off love now following his partner like a puppy--it’s quite the sight,” Vance returns, looking up from his measuring where he works on the last few pieces of the built-in bench before they’ll start installing it. Getting power to the shed set them back longer than anticipated and when Vance’s gout flared, there were a few days that a lot of the light work went into place--like the painting and verifying the shelving design. This weekend is hopefully one of the last two big pushes to get the main structures in place. From there Calum will work on getting the table ordered, chairs, and the final furnishings. 

“I guess a lot changes in a year,” Calum answers. 

“I guess it does. Now c’mon lover boy, you’ve got a bench to install.”

It’s easy to get lost in the pop of the staple gun, in the measuring and re-measuring. Calum finds himself waiting for the click of each piece slotting in together; it’s a satisfying sound. It doesn’t take too long with Vance’s help to get the skeleton of the bench installed. Though it does take a little bit of finesse to get the paneling up over the skeleton. By the time the sun starts to dip just a hair down in the sky, but not quite touching the horizon, the bench is fully nearly assembled. The top isn’t bolted in yet and won’t be until the cushion is fashioned to the top, so the lid is resting on the structure for the time being. 

“Give it a test,” Vance suggests. “Make sure it’s up there sturdy.”

Calum’s weight seems to make no difference to the unit. There’s no creaks, no sagging. With a bit more courage, Calum swings his legs up and stretches out over the item. His feet hang off just a little, but that’s little to be concerned about. Given the space of the shed in total square feet, there was no way to make the bench as tall as him. But it’s solid beneath them. 

“It’s good,” Calum states, pushing up from the bench. 

“You’ll need these for tomorrow,” Vance calls out, pulling out a bag of metal hardware from his belt. Calum catches it with ease and notices the black hinges and screws assembled into the bag. Tomorrow Tamara comes by to help get the bench upholstered, though Calum suspects she’s always going to want to get Calum to finish buying the furnishings tomorrow too. Vance is taking the day to spend with his wife for their anniversary so it’s nice to be able to switch off to other aspects in the meantime. 

“Have fun tomorrow.” The guys laugh just a little at Calum’s statement. Even though Vance called Calum out about Calum’s own behavior, Vance was just as guilty. Every chirp of Vance’s phone made him pause to see if it was his wife. Albeit, Calum suspects there’s more going on at home over the last few weeks. Vance was talking more and more now about wanting to be a dad. It’s not his place to put out information that wasn’t ready, but Calum holds the suspicion close to his chest. 

Vance flips them off but his own laughter bubbles. “Your minds are absolutely in the fucking gutter, man. 

“Might be, but we already know exactly what’s going to happen tonight,” Parker pipes in from the opened door of the shed. 

“And you can’t even get your dick wet, so I don’t want to hear it,” Vance huffs. 

Parker was behind Calum in age by about a year and a half, but the two of them shared more in common than initially suspected. Parker’s highschool sweetheart hadn’t called it off before leaving for college. It left Parker behind, his family unable to afford the costs. Parker had taken courses with the community college before moving to vocational school to learn welding and HVAC. According to Parker, he’d gone for a trade so that he could have money saved up for a wedding when his love returned. Yet, Parker was left heartbroken instead. Parker’s partner returned for spring break of his sophomore year and called it off, admitting to emotional cheating. Not necessarily out of a desire to hurt Parker but out of loneliness, being on campus by himself and having a hard time in the first semester making friends because he was so homesick. It happened slowly--just as a friendship, someone to confide in about loneliness, hangout on the weekends and show him around the strange new town. But it was becoming clearer more and more as time went that there was someone else to Parker.  Calum, over a few beers, had gotten the story in the initial days of renovations. 

That was five years ago, but Parker hadn’t found anyone else. Not for the lack of trying. Parker always seemed to have a string of dates, stories to tell about who he was seeing, but they rotated out nearly weekly. Each weekend meeting for the renovations started with a hot gossip hour--Parker’s latest string of dates, Vance’s home life about his wife and two dogs, Tamara occasionally joining with stories of her dating life, Logan chimed in with updates about his new partner too, and Calum always carried up the rear in their circle. But Parker is the one that Calum worries about sometimes--the way he laughs at the jokes the other cracks but it sounds a little bit like it’s being forced. 

“Hey, at least he’s trying,” Calum interjects between the laughter. 

Parker is a decent guy, but possibly still too scorned from his first love to really let anyone in. Calum can’t say he doesn't get it. It’s a shitty box to be in, to know that you have so much love to give but someone hurting you so deeply that it makes you want to hide that love away. Whether or not the pain was caused intentionally never really undoes the fact that it cuts so deeply. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve got the stories to back up his efforts,” Vance agrees easily. “Soon, he’ll settle down with a good guy. I know he will. But I think we’re at a good stopping point for today, yeah?”

The lot agrees. Calum takes survey of the progress--Logan and Paul have been working on the shelves while Calum and Vance focused on the bench.  Only the foundations and arches of the unit exist based on the work done today. But it did take a little trial and error to get the arches to match. It’s clear though the shape it’s taking on. Once all the shelves are in and attached, they’ll paint it. Thankfully the paneling for the bench is a dark brown and matches the color for the rest of the furniture so there’s little to do in terms of staining the unit. 

The wood and tools are all moved inside. Though Calum’s positive there’s no rain in the forecast, he knows that could change on a dime. Rather than trying to replace expensive equipment, he houses it inside of the shed now that the roof is fixed. The guys give their goodbyes as Calum turns the key on the bolt to lock the doors. Everyone on the project has a key should any one of them get here before the others, but Calum’s most often the first one there and the last one to leave. 

“Thanks for that,” Parker states. Calum looks to his left, a little startled that Parker was still around. “For sticking up to Vance like that. I know he doesn’t mean any harm with those jokes, but they do get a little old. So I just wanted to say I appreciate you saying something.”

“Of course, man. Anytime,” Calum returns. “I get it. You know that.”

Parker’s nod is soft. “Yeah, I do. But still, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow for a couple hours at least. I don’t think we’ve got much left to do now.”

“No, it is shaping up nicely. I still appreciate your help with all this. Even though this is pretty far from HVAC.”

Parker laughs. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not exactly the ports on an AC unit, but I’ve got a few more skills than that too. Have a great night.”

“You too,” Calum calls out as Parker heads back for the doors. 

Calum’s not sure why he expects that you’re still working on the socks. But all he finds instead is the empty spot that you once had a station up at. There’s not even indentations in the grace to show where you stood. 

“Done already?”

Calum spins to see you walking out from where the new shed stands. “I was wondering where you’d gone,” he laughs, though his heart is still thundering in his chest. 

“Joy asked for a spare hand.” Looking down, Calum can see the patch on your knees from the grass. Maybe not quite a full on stain, but it’s clear where you’d been working with the dirt too with the dark brown spots. 

“You want to borrow something of mine and I do need to do laundry once we get back from drinks, I can throw everything in at once.” 

“A shirt at the least. I think I have some spare pants in your room and I do have an overnight bag too.”

Calum nods, reaching out for your hand. He tries to remember if you do. He knows you took most of the stuff out a couple weeks ago, but he can’t recall if you came back with anything more. You could’ve and the time’s just slipped from his memory. But the trek back instead passes in an exchange about the work done--there’s a pause at the laundry on the first floor for Calum to take in the sight of the socks still contained away to allow the dye to set and settle into the fibers. 

“They look good,” Calum compliments with a squeeze to your hand. 

“Thanks, tomorrow’s the true test to see how the colors did.”

“I’m sure they’ll turn out well.” The two of you continue on up to Calum’s room. The squeak of your shoes as you two climb the stairs. Though the elevators are a faster way up, you head for the stairs and Calum follows behind. But it is a relief to hit the residential hallways. The work from earlier and Calum’s earlier work out are catching up with the burn of the stairs. The echo of slightly labored breathing softens as the two of you push closer and closer to his room. 

“We’re never taking those stairs again,” Calum huffs, pushing his door open for you to enter through. 

“You might not, but I think I’ll take them again.” Your own retort is stuttered as your breath comes and goes with big inhales and exhales. 

“Yeah, right,” Calum laughs, shuffling past you as you paused at his drawers. On your side of the bed, resting on the floor, is the bag you mentioned earlier. It’s a silent shuffle in the room, the opening and closing of drawers, the zipper being opened to your bag. 

“Do you want to shower first?” Calum offers. He’s still contemplating what to wear but given your ease to pull his yellow button down out from the closet and your fresh jeans from the drawer, you seem to have him beat. Though time’s not really an issue, Calum isn’t fond of being late when not necessary. 

“Do you want help and we can shower together? You know, saving water and what not?” you laugh, slipping behind him. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re suggesting something there,” he teases. 

“Do you trust me?” It’s a soft question. 

“I do.” It’s an easy answer to an easy question. 

“Then trust it’s nothing more than that. I just wanted to be close to you is all.”

That--that’s the kind of confession that makes Calum’s toes curl. “Then please help before we are half an hour late because I can’t decide.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder, though Calum’s sure he’s covered in sawdust and sweat--the conway studio’s T-shirt he’d gotten from Michael as a gift when Michael worked there for an artist on their debut album is a little unforgiving in some areas with the sweatstains that show up. “Of course. Where’s your casual meter? How do you normally meet the boys?”

“It never matters that much, if I’m honest,” Calum returns. Your arms wind around his midsection and Calum’s hold on the hangers slackens so that he can trace over the skin of your forearm with the tips of his fingers. 

Your hum vibrates your shoulder but you tap his stomach before pulling away. Calum watches you shuffle back over to his drawers. You browse through the drawer only for a moment or two before unearthing a t-shirt, white with red trim at the neck and sleeves. His taste tester t-shirt. “We can start here,” you offer. 

It doesn’t sound like a full on question, but there’s just enough lilt in the tone that Calum reassures you with a nod. He pushes his shirts off to one side of the closet before focusing on his bottoms. There’s some comfort when you’re next to him, watching over his shoulder at the selections. It’s less about the clothes and more about the fact that Calum wants you to know he needs you, cares about having you there for even the little things. Passing on his black jeans, Calum settles for some black trousers. You pick a black belt with a big silver Western buckle to top it off. 

“Looks good to me,” Calum affirms. 

“Well, let’s giddy up cowboy.” It falls with a teasing laugh, but Calum wouldn’t take it any other way. 

The water is warm, hitting nearly like mist over Calum’s shoulder until he gets just enough water to get the pressure right. Once the shower roars, he lets you into the stream first. You only take a moment to get your face wet before you’re moving for his shampoo. 

“Is there something in my hair?” he asks. There wasn’t any checking in the mirror before getting into the shower, which might’ve been his first mistake. 

“Yeah, there’s some dust.”

“I can do it,” Calum comments, reaching out for the bottle, but you tuck it behind your back. This shower though it comfortably fits the two of you is not the best place to attempt to out muscle someone. Calum soaks his hair and turns as you direct him. The friction of your fingertips over Calum’s scalp is firm but not overbearing. It’s enough to make his eyes flutter close as you work. The kind of tenderness and care that makes his innards melt. So lost in the sensation, Calum nearly misses your directive for him to rinse the shampoo. Your work is swift to comb the conditioner through. 

Calum goes to rinse it when you’re done, but you catch him by his elbow. “Not so fast,” you laugh. “Let it sit for another minute. Scooch to where I am.”

“I’ve never let my conditioner sit this long before,” Calum returns, but lets you stand in front of the stream from the shower head. 

“And you’ll thank me later when you see the difference another minute or two makes,” you laugh. Calum can only watch. The water dripping down over your skin traces every line, every divot. Calum is no artist but he’d carve you into stone like the water is doing--highlight tautness of your muscles as you flex them, carrying over the curve of your butt. You are art work in a way that Calum thinks he understands finally the need to capture it in something so permanent. He knows he’d like to take his time to get every detail right. His memory is fallible. It’ll fail him eventually, but if he carved you into marble he’d always be able to remember the scars, the mole; every cell would hold to eternity in the rock. 

“You can rinse now,” you direct after letting the water wash away the soap from your legs after your final scrub down of them. 

Calum rubs his styling pomade over his palms--post shower and dressed, the only final touches are his hair. The extra time with the conditioner did soften it a little bit more than he’s used to this being. But that was information he was willing to give out easily. Though as he slips his fingers through his hair to hold the work of the blow dryer down, he is impressed. You watch from behind, fastening the button on your jeans into place. 

“You don’t have to admit it, but your face says it all,” you laugh. 

“Shut up. You don’t get to be right all the time,” Calum huffs. He wants to keep it together, be able to deliver the sarcasm with a straight face, but he ultimately cracks. His smile lifts his cheeks and he giggles when you shake your head at the antic. 

“I’m only right some of the time,” you answer. 

“Some, all, it’s all the same difference. Is Teagan okay by the way? You mentioned yesterday being worried about her.”

“I hope so. I really hope so. I don’t--I don’t want to assume anything right now, so it might be just a one off thing.”

“Well, I’m here for you and her. When you’re ready to say more just let me know. If there’s anything I can do in the meantime, just let me know too.” It’s clear the way you waltz around what happened that you don’t really want to say too much about it. Though it does make a small batch of worry stir in Calum’s stomach, he’s not going to force you to discuss something you’re not ready to discuss. He hopes it’s nothing. Hopes that maybe this is extra fret for ultimately nothing. But in the event that’s it’s more, he knows he’ll do whatever he needs to help you out. 

“Thanks, love. I appreciate it.” Your arms slip under his and you smooth a small fly away. “Ready?”

“Born ready.”

Calum’s quick to direct you to the elevators on the way down to his car. He can still feel the slight quake in his thighs from the effort earlier when he squats down to get into the driver seat. It doesn’t help that just a couple days ago it was leg day in his gym routine. Yet, each time he forgets how long the recovery is from the torturous routine. The radio turns out immediately from the last time he was in the car, but Calum lowers the volume just a smidge. 

“Is there anything I should know before meeting your friends? Any subjects off limits?” you ask after a few minutes of being on the road. 

“You already know that Michael’s a producer. Luke’s got his hand in music, solo work. Ashton’s got jobs on jobs. Between his work to start a wellness app, he’s got a candle company. He’s working with Luke I think on some instrumental music. But they’re a cool group. Micheal’s married. Luke’s engaged. Ashton’s newly single so that might be a little bit of a tough spot, but if I’m honest, Violet wasn’t good for him so none of the guys are that torn up about her. We’re there for Ashton of course.”

“So a politician, a producer, a singer, and a hippie walk into a bar,” you start and Calum snorts. “And one of them says to the bartender, I need a drink that’ll help me through the day I’ve just had, with no major side effects and if I saw purple elephant at the end of the cup I wouldn’t be that made either, can you guess who ordered?”

“It was a group order,” Calum returns. 

“Correct.”

“And I wouldn’t say Ashton’s a hippie. He’d gotten into school on some scholarships, dude’s practically a whizz, but definitely tends to lean more spiritual and philosophical than not.”

“I’ll give him a fair shake, promise. It’s just--wellness app? Do you know the focus of it?”

Calum hadn’t gotten all the specifics. Ashton mentioned it during one of their last hangouts and by the time that it really sunk in what Ashton was doing, the conversation gravitated to something else--there were jokes, teases, and before Calum could digest in his slight alcoholic haze the idea, the topic was long lost. 

“We’ll find out more today I’m pretty sure though. He can go a mile a minute if you let him.”

“I’m excited to meet them then. See what kind of mischief you get up to.” Though Calum wouldn’t call it mischief himself, he’s excited too. 

____________________________________

The thing about first impressions is that you’ll never know if you’re landing them well. There are no do overs. Only ever grace and more grace. But as you follow the half step behind Calum into the bar, you’re hoping you won’t need too much grace. It’s not packed for a Saturday, not yet anyway. Though you think that it might be too early to make such judgment at only 8 in the evening. The night is still young and you’re sure that as the hours crept by more and more people would crop up. 

“Calum!” 

You hear the voice before you spot two men waving with grins on their face. They sit next to each other at the table for what appears to be situated for six. One has blond hair that faintly curls at the top. The other man has a shaggier cut with pink dyed ends underneath a beanie. Calum laughs as he greets them, hugs and pats on the back. They reach out for you too, unphased by your addition to the outing. The man with the beanie introduces himself as Michael and faintly curly haired blond introduces himself as Luke. 

Calum doubles down on such introductions, clearly missing the quiet exchanges but no one corrects him before you two settle down opposite of Michael and Luke. Calum pulls out your chair and you cut your eyes up with a soft smile. “Don’t,” Calum commands with a laugh. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you telling me he’s not pulling your chair out all the time? I raised you better than this,” Michael jokes. 

“I am a gentleman,” Calum counters, “at all times.”

Luke joins in on the ragging with a tsk falling into the air from the suck of his teeth. “Then tell me why I don’t believe you, son. Just doesn’t seem right over here.”

The banter falls between them easily. You know it’s the years, all the time they spent together. And just as quickly as it starts, it stops even though Calum squawks to your left that he is the picture perfect partner to you. “Yeah, but we’ve learned not to trust you.” Michael turns to you at the end of the sentence. “So, let’s hear your thoughts. On a scale of zero to ten where is Calum falling on being a gentleman? Pretend he isn’t here. Which I know is hard since he’s so loud right now,” Michael cuts in over Calum’s muttered huffs. 

You ponder the question, even as Calum slips his hand into yours, sliding a menu left behind closer to you, though one’s right in front of you. “Eight and a half. But he’s closing in on the 9.”

“I’d ask when I haven’t been a gentleman, but I fear the answer,” he snorts. 

“I have to give you room to grow. Don’t want you to get too comfortable,” you tease. 

Michael’s laughter echoes, even in the thump of the bass overhead. You hear his crackle. “I like you already. I’ve heard through the grapevine though that you’re starting a new job Monday?”

“Would the grapevine be about 6’2?” you ask. “But yes, Monday is my first day.”

“Are you nervous at all?” Luke questions. 

You shrug, playing at the corner of the menu Calum slid your way. “A job’s a job. The people seem nice so far, so not terribly nervous. I’m a bit more used to first days at new jobs though,” you answer. From what you gathered, there’s a strong likelihood that they don’t share a background like yours. You could be wrong of course. But given what they’re doing now, you’re not sure what kind of background they could have. 

“Sorry I’m late,” a scruffier voice calls out. “Sup, Cal.” They laugh and you look up over your shoulder to a man with almost shoulder length hair. There’s a slight wave to the warm brown strands. He smiles at you big and bright, the action making the sunglasses bounce just a little on his face. “I’m Ashton,” he greets, holding out a hand. 

You shake it in return, offering your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same, same. Again, apologies for my tardiness. Not the kind of first impression I want to give.”

But grace, but grace, but grace. “Consider the tardiness excused. Better late than never.”

His laughter is soft as he nods. “Right, right on.”

“I was about another ten minutes from putting together a search party,” Michael relays to Ashton as he settles to your right. 

“Nah, you can put the dogs back and let them free in the backyard. Though I don’t think South would dare get his paws dirty.”

“You have dogs?” you ask Michael. 

He nods. “Two. South and Moose.” Before you can even ask to see pictures, he’s pulling out his phone. There on the table, the screen lights up your face as you swipe through the gallery Michael pulled up. “South has the golden coat--very much a diva.”

“Last time I petsit him, he acted like he didn’t even know me,” Calum huffs. “Until it was time for him to go and then he didn’t want to go.”

“A diva,” Michael concludes. 

“They’re precious,” you coo, handing the device back after two more swipes. 

“Do you have any pets by chance?” Luke tacks on. 

“No, but I’m open to the idea. Just wasn’t feasible for a while.” There’s a nod of understanding but it leads down a tangent about Luke and his dog Petunia. It’s nice for the conversation to flow naturally. By the time you order your first round of drinks and some appetizers for the table, you learn about Luke’s older brothers, Ashton’s younger siblings, the way Michael, Luke, and Calum found each other in middle school thanks to band class. Luke’s mother used to teach Ashton as he is older than the rest of the group, resting right in the same age bracket as you. But even still, he’d been reached out by Michael in a string of bizarre fated events to guest drum for a gig they’d landed. 

Though the band didn’t live long, given Calum’s trip off to football camp in Brazil and an unfortunately timed injury to Ashton’s wrist, they still kept close. It floors you for a minute to learn that in addition to school Ashton had taken a job at a KFC. He’d been doing it to bring in extra cash for his family and thankfully through the gigs, he’d managed to worm his way into the music world. He didn’t let the job go fully until he was met with a do or die moment. To say Ashton did is an understatement, but there’s something still modest in the well worn leather jacket and faded t-shirt. You’re sure if you saw the brand’s name etched into either one of the items, it still might give you a heart attack, but something in the ensemble lets you know that Ashton is not overly frivolous. The items stay in rotation until they’re unable to be saved. 

“I’ll be right back,” Calum announces, pushing in a little closer to you. His lips press gingerly to your cheek before he stands. “No one scare them off while I’m gone.”

“Oh, we’ll behave,” Ashton giggled from behind his bottle. For a man who was newly single according to Calum, he was keeping his wits about him. He asked you questions, cracked jokes with Michael and Luke. Now without the sunglasses on his face, you spot the bright eyes to match his bright smile. 

“Calum tells us you paint,” Luke offers up before sucking the ranch off his fingers. “Working on anything new?”

“Oh, I’m almost finished with this painting for him. So, nothing new really. I should’ve been done ages ago, but something about it doesn’t feel finished just yet. We’ll see if it ever jumps out at me.”

“I’m sure it will soon,” Luke smiles.

“Would you ever consider doing art full time?” Michael questions. He goes in for another sip of his cocktail. 

“I much prefer it as a hobby, if I’m honest. I think I could see myself maybe taking it more seriously in the future, but I don’t know if it’s my next career move or not.”

“So you enjoy the restaurant life?” Ashton asks. “Or is that just where you prefer to stay in as your career?”

“A little bit of both, I guess,” you contemplate. “The industry is deadly  and I don’t want to be a linecook forever, but I think for right now, I prefer to say that this industry is where I make my money. When I leave work, I leave it--none of it comes back home with me.”

“Except for Calum,” Luke snorts. 

“I mean it’s not smart to shit where you eat, but so far it’s yet to blow up in my face so I’m hoping it never does. And technically, Calum’s not been to my place yet, so work has never actually come home with me. Can’t say the same for him.”

The boys cackle at your correction. “Fair,” Luke snickers. “I’m just happy to see him doing well again after everything that happened.”

The air feels sucked out of the room. Ashton and Michael’s smiles fall like bricks from their faces, clattering to the table beneath you all. You’re not aware of anything before, but now that it’s out there it sits on the table within arm’s reach like the wings and fries in front of you. Yet you don’t know if you should touch it. Don’t know if you should follow up on Luke’s line of conversation or pocket it for later. 

You reach for a fry instead, dipping into your side bowl of ketchup. “You sure know how to drop a bomb Luke. How’s the music going though?” 

You’re curious. What had happened to Calum before? As far as you were aware, he’d not been dating anymore, not seriously before you. Well, not that you knew of while you worked in the kitchen of course. The almost two years had been pretty quiet on the gossip train about Calum until you two got involved. But there’s plenty of time prior to that that you couldn’t account for. 

“So, you-you don’t know?” Michael questions. It cuts right under the question you asked to Luke. 

“No, no I don’t know.” It’s a simple sentence. Because you don’t. And you’re too tired to panic about what you don’t know. The worry of Teagan and Charlie outweighs whatever information you haven’t been given from Calum. 

“It’s a good thing,” Michael clarifies. “There’s been a really good change in Calum because of you. It’s not my place to tell you. But I do want you to know it isn’t bad.”

Luke sets his bottle down and pushes it with the tips of his fingers a couple more inches from his reach. “I’m sorry. Definitely should’ve been more careful about that kind of stuff. But it is good, like Michael says.”

Ashton scoots the bottle Luke pushed away closer to him. “Yeah, buddy, let me just hold onto that for you.”

It’s not fun to know that Calum’s withheld information. But you know that people will always play certain things close to their chest. You kept Teagan and Charlie close for so long. You kept your family drama close. Though it is a jolt, a shock to your system, you think it’s only fair that Calum has the things he wants to keep close too. Everyone has their demons. Perhaps the signs were always there. But there is always a reason. 

“So, everyone here is in music somehow. Who wants to go first about their current project? And please one at a time, or I will have to break out the talking stick, or rather talking bottle,” you tease. 

“Talking bottle?” Michael laughs. 

“Well, it’s a talking stick originally. Whomever has the stick speaks. Everyone else stays quiet and then it goes around person to person and back and forth between people if need be.” Your empty bottle of beer stares back at you and you lift a few inches off from the table. “But when in a bar, you improvise.”

“Are you saying we talk over each other?” Luke laughs with a bit of a squeal to his voice at the same time Ashton states, “I don’t really think we need to go that far.”

“If the boot fits,” you laugh. The fries have gone cold due to the time you’ve all spent talking, less focused on the actual drinks and food. But you reach for another couple as the boys bicker for a moment. They’re more like brothers than they are friends, as you watch them, reminding you of the way Teagan and Charlie interact with each other. It’s a playful banter, a quip always at the ready with them. 

“You okay?” 

You turn to the question, though you don’t need to. Calum’s scooted in a little closer to you. You can feel his warmth seeping into your back through his shirt on your body. “I’m okay. I like your friends.”

Calum’s lips are soft on your cheek. “Good. I think they like you too.”

“Try love them,” Michael corrects and no sooner than he makes the statement, he’s sucked back into Ashton’s claims that a band, you didn’t catch the name, is overrated. Ashton quickly reasserts he doesn’t mean it negatively. 

“They’re just too derivative of a derivative and ultimately aren’t producing anything cutting,” Ashton further explains. 

“We’re not talking about fucking algebra,” Michael quips. “We’re so far from the origins of the soundscapes for most genres. It’s all going to sound derivative, because it is. But it’s not about new, or shiny. It’s about saying it in a way that no one else has.”

It’s like Luke’s early faux pas didn’t even happen. Ashton and Michael verbally circle each other all the while Luke watches like one does a tennis match--Ashton then Michael. Michael then Ashton--back and forth for all it to end in a deuce. You wonder if either will ever get the two points to win. But the waitress comes by again and the collection take stalk of the table. There’s a few bottles scattered and you help her collect those, and order up on more drinks--some water, some sodas, a few more cocktails and alcoholic drinks thrown into the mix. 

“Would you ever take commissions? Even on the side?” Luke ponders. “Like one off projects and such?”

“Possibily,” you answer with a shrug. The majority of your work went to to a couple local places--the local children’s hospital enjoyed having your work on display as the children loved it. You’d gifted Teagan and Charlie small paintings after they begged for them. “Again, don’t want to make it my career, but you know if someone wanted to pay me to do something for them, I’d entertain the thought.”

“An original painting could do wonders at the local charity circuit,” Ashton pipes in. The comment isn’t for you and you peer over your shoulder to Calum. 

He stares wide eyed over his first beer that he’s yet to finish. “It could. But I-if it’s not your thing, you don’t have to do it.”

“Do what?” you question. There’s been no conversation about anything for charity in your presence. 

“In December, I have-I have a charity banquet to attend. There’s stuff that people auction off to raise money for the connected charities. I mentioned the the guys that it’d be nice to auction off something more meaningful. But I wasn’t sure if it was even appropriate to ask you about it. You’d only have two months and some change to finish it. There’s a website that goes up in the last week of November, a week and a half before the event so people can see the options.”

“Which charities?” You’d heard of the event, watched clips of the auction with more curiosity than true interest to watch rich people flaunt their philanthropy. 

“I think this year is focusing on women’s rights, especially the efforts on pushing law enforcement to investigate those missing. The deadline to submit proposals is in two weeks though. Which is like, not great planning on my end I know.”

“What do you normally auction off?”

“Volunteer time.” 

“How comfortable are you with volunteer time?” You’d at least think about it. It might be more than you could handle, but you’d chew the thought over. Especially since you did still have questions about whatever Luke alluded to earlier. 

“I like it; I don’t mind volunteering. It’s a nice change of pace honestly. Just--I think others should see your talents too.”

The blush that creeps up on his cheeks nearly melts you. Though your gut initially wants to dismiss it as the flush of alcohol, you know the truth. When Calum casts his gaze down and picks at his nails, you know that he’s a little shy in the confession. You take his hand gingerly on top of the table and the action is enough for him to look up. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

At the very end when the check hits the table, all four boys reach it, cards and cash in hand. Ashton ends up footing the bill but the rest of the boys hand over cash or tap at their screens to ensure Ashton’s paid for their portions. “How much do I owe Calum?” you ask, noticing the bill’s being split four ways instead of five. 

He shakes his head. “I got you, baby. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

“More than sure.”

“I’ll pay next time.” It’s not fully a suggestion, but you still offer it softly. 

Calum takes a squeeze at your hand after slipping his phone into his pocket. “Okay.” It’s easy, simple. He smiles at you and the group pushes up from the table. Michael, Luke, and Ashton all give you hugs as you leave. 

“You’ll come next time too, right?” Luke asks. “We bring all the partners. Be a nice time, I think.”

“I’d be happy to see you all again,” you agree. The agreement leads to another round of hugs, the group spilling out into the outdoors. The night is darker, a little cooler than you first left it. Calum’s hold around your hand tightens for only a moment and you squeeze in return at the action. 

You know there’s always a better time, a better place. The parking lot of this bar definitely does not feel like the right time. But you’re not sure when it will be. “Luke mentioned something when you stepped away to the restroom. And-and I’d like to ask you about it.”

The tension thickens. Calum’s shoulders become rigid under the t-shirt. “It doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

Not a shut down, only a phish for more information. One you’re happy to supply. “It is good in a way. The group seems to be really happy that you’re in a good relationship. But the way Luke said it, it made me think there’s definitely something, or someone before.”

“I don’t want anyone else if that’s what you’re wondering. That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’m-I’m not worried about that. I’m not really worried about anything. I just--whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened before, I’d like to know.”

You think that’s going to be the end of the conversation. You wouldn’t fault it at all. Perhaps, you’d been all too blinded by Calum choosing you that you hadn’t fully wondered what was going on in his past. You didn’t think the stories of Calum’s childhood could be a smoke screen. They were real. They were all a part of what made Calum Calum. But Luke’s comment cracks open the possibility that you’d been blinded. As hungry as you were to have Calum to yourself the reality of it all is that he’s not to be consumed. 

“I just--there’s stuff I haven’t asked you, you know? I want the bad stuff too. So I know how to be there for you. So I know how to love you.” The words fall, buzzing on your lips and tongue. You’d want to pick them up after they’ve fallen, but you know it's wasted energy. They’re out there now. You can’t do anything but watch Calum’s back. The tension has dropped. He doesn’t look ready to run. 

“Part of it feels ridiculous,” Calum admits. He tugs your hand, closing the gap between the two of you. “There’s so much worse that’s happening to other people. And my hurt just starts to feel small.”

“It’s not a competition of pain. Your hurt isn’t smaller than someone else’s.” You’re slotted against Calum’s chest. There’s no brim of a hat, no glasses to hide him away. There’s just the fear--plain as day on his face. “If I ever made this feel like a competition, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you didn’t make it feel like a competition. I think,” he pauses with a sigh. “It’s totally different. I feel like I want to love again. With you. It wasn’t always like that.”

Your fingertips ache. You want to cup his jaw, ask him to explain to you from the top what it was like before. You don’t, thinking a camera lens could be pointed at you right now. Perhaps there would always be and now it’s less about them and more about Calum. With caution, you trace at his jaw, trailing up until your palm rests against his full cheek. “I’m glad it’s better now.”

Calum’s eyes shut, lashes nearly brushing the top of his cheeks. Like babies root to touch, Calum turns into your hold, lips pressing to your palm with a kiss. “But it was bad. And you should know.”

“Only when you’re ready,” you whisper. You’re glad there’s no breeze, lest your words have gotten swept up in it. 

“Can I tell you on the drive?”

Your answer is only a nod. You want to do more, kiss him. Let him know you’re there. You think if it could be done, you’d crawl into his chest, whisper to his heart that you don’t have plans on breaking it. But this is not a fairytale. You know strife always comes. The only solace one can have is that they don’t cause too much of it. 

It’s quiet at first, as Calum pulls out of the parking lot and onto the streets. You watch the signs for the highway, watch Calum take the entrance ramp, spending up so that he can merge. You’re not headed back to the palace. You’re actually going in the opposite direction. You don’t know what could be out there, what Calum has up his sleeve. But you don’t question it. 

“Her name is Nora,” Calum starts. 

You know of a Nora-- a princess fit to inherit within the next three years. Her particular people believed in a matriarch. Though Queens took husbands, they almost always never turned over power. “Like Princess Nora or the girl next door to the palace Nora?” 

“The princess,” Calum answers, but he does grin for a brief moment taking a look at your face. 

There are no girls next door--you know that. But somehow the truth still unsettles. You don’t remember murmurs about Nora from the kitchen. The kitchen staff passed time in gossip. You knew more about the royal family you worked for and others merely because the gossip seemingly made the seconds fly by. You’d never cared for it before and didn’t care for it when you worked there. You let the others do the talking. 

“We dated back in college for two and half years.”

That’s well before you would’ve even been considering working for the palace. No wonder it hadn’t come up around you. “I’m guessing it wasn’t amicable.”

Calum shrugs. “I don’t know if amicable is remotely close. But it didn’t end badly. Just rough. When we broke up, I spent a year wallowing. I wanted to pretend I was okay, but she was my first love in a way. I’d dated before in high school, but they’d only lasted a few months. Not nearly enough time to mean anything in comparison.”

“I think your training in Brazil ruined you,” you tease, watching through the front windshield as the dark asphalt and street lights whizz around you. 

“I know, I know. Not a competition. But the crushes in high school were just that--crushes. We dated, held hands, kissed, but Nora was my first serious relationship. I’d been looking at rings.”

Rings-- the word bites at your veins. Calum doesn’t say it with ease, his hands clutching the wheel so hard his knuckles are paling. They’d been deep into the relationship--enough so that marriage was potentially on the line. Your fingers twitch to soothe his, but you restrain yourself given his work at the wheel. 

“Sounds like you never made the purchase?” you probe, hoping it’s as gentle as it can be. You are curious. You want Calum to know that you are listening too. 

“Never had the opportunity, thankfully so, I guess. Nora graduated in December and I graduated in May. She’d taken some summer classes to help get ahead and done some work in high school to get a head start. Nora asked me at the start of winter break, right after she graduated, if I intended on marrying her. I was honest. I told her that I would like to, after we both had a couple years out from school. There would be a lot of logistics involved.”

“Politcs,” you point out. “She’s a part of a matriarch. You’re in a patriarchal system.” The quip about you being lower class, how much easier it is to date someone with no political ties, burns at your tongue. But you know Calum. It won’t go well at all; he’ll beg you to stop the self deprecation, tell you that he loves you for you. It’s all things you know.  

Calum winces at the phrasing. “I mean that’s what it was. But at the time, I didn’t see it like that. I was idealistic about it, toxically optimistically probably. Not that I’m not the same now, but I hope not nearly as much.”

He risks a glance, like he poised a question. You only shrug at first, but then add on, "Optimistic, yes. Toxic, no. You know when you admit you’re wrong.”

“Improvement then, I guess, from then. Nora didn’t want to turn over her right to rule. I didn’t want to turn over my right to rule. And even if I told her she wouldn’t be, she didn’t see it that way. I thought she was being nitpicky. No one would care at the end of the day because her politics would still stand. I wouldn’t interfere with her work. But ultimately, it was--it was crumbling. The second I answered that we could rule separately but still be together and she looked at me with confusion--it was over. Rock meet glass house.”

You can imagine it--the strong brow on Nora furrowing as Calum spoke. The way she might’ve shaken her head and spoke firmly, black hair spilling over her shoulder as it always did in her press speeches. Nora is a force--fierce with seemingly little fear about the perception from others. Where Calum played a careful game, Nora played the explosive kind. She’s smart, by no means did her passion outshine her intelligence, but she was always speaking out first about things. She was one of the people rallying others. It’s easy to see how with Nora it became all or nothing 

Calum continues on, signaling as he speaks to take an exit. “I tried to date, but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t want to be dating if I’m honest. I’d told myself that I’d just be single. I’d take on the throne and settle into that- give it five, seven, ten years before I married. It really wouldn’t matter. Luke was trying to set me up on dates. But they never went anywhere. Didn’t even want sex if I’m honest. I refused it a couple times and both girls and guys  thought I was crazy. Sometimes, I don’t know. Sometimes I did it anyway because it was a distraction. Nothing really numbed the pain though. There was just this constant ache I had. I’d envisioned myself a dad--playing sports in the back garden, or in ballet recitals for daddy and daughter dance classes. I’d always pictured myself on the throne, working in the Cabinet. Those weren’t things I’d want to give up, even for Nora. That’s what made it scary. She had her way of thinking. Her people rule the way they do and that’s fine. But I always knew I was going to be King. I knew even if I didn’t always want it that I wouldn’t give up on the responsibility.”

You can hear what’s between those words, what still causes Calum pain.  “But it meant giving up Nora, right? If you were always going to take your throne and she was always going to take hers, then the only thing left is what happened.” It doesn’t shock you to hear how much Calum dreamed of his future. You don’t worry that he still wants it—those things could all be worked out eventually. But you know that Calum’s so caught up on making things work for the best possible outcome that he doesn’t always remember that life is not always about the best. 

“Yeah,” Calum sighs. It’s heavy and comes deep from within his chest, “but I wanted it all. You know. I wanted her and I wanted to follow through on my duties. I wanted it fucking all and at the time, it felt like I’d lost everything. We knew after that conversation it wouldn’t be compatible. Nora and I’s relationship required sacrifices that we were too young and too driven to make. Nora deserves where she’s at. She deserves to rule. And I don’t think she could’ve been happy any other way.”

“Do you think you could’ve been happy any other way? As little as I actually know about her--and I reserve the right to absolutely be wrong about it--it was your relationship too.”

The roads are narrowing. You watch now as the dark asphalt lightens, there’s a few more bumps along the way. You round the bend and the ocean opens up in front of you. You know the beach is closed but it doesn’t seem to stop Calum as he pulls to a stop in the parking lot. The lights stuff off from the car, leaving you surrounded in the thick mass of the night. The sun’s long gone. The lights are off in the truck too. The engine knocks just a little as the vehicle settles. 

“I might’ve been, but if I’m honest I didn’t spend 4 years in college and 4 years under my father’s immediate wings for nothing. I’d been putting time into my own aspirations and I don’t think long term that relationship would’ve been good for me,” Calum answers as he turns to you. The seatbelt clanks against the plastic interior. “I hope the beach is okay.”

“The beach is fine.” You undo your seatbelt as well, listening to the way it winds back up into place. “Making the right choices sometimes isn’t easy,” you admit. Like the right choice to change jobs. Like the right choice to stay for Teagan and Charlie. Like the right choice for Calum to let Nora go. 

“Yeah,” Calum agrees. “Sometimes it’s not.”

You find Calum’s hand, threading your fingers through his. “I hope your choices next time are easier.”

“They’ve gotten easier,” he confesses. “Talking to you was easy. You always treated me like a person.”

“Because you are one.” It’s a simple answer, but you know it to be true. Calum’s just a person. Though he had politics about him, though he was in a world foreign to you at all times and even overwhelming, he was just a person like you. “You’re human like the rest of us.”

“Doesn’t always feel like it.” 

You don’t want to imagine the pressure on Calum’s shoulder, a pressure so unsustainable. But the wheel must spin. The cruelty of it all is that someone has to win and someone has to lose. 

“What’s the relationship like now with Nora? Is it still tense?”

“Not as much as before. It’s professional at this point, as much as it can be.” 

“Two and a half years is a long time though. Makes sense.”

“We tried to make it work. Six months we kept trying to keep pushing and find a solution. But we only sort of grew to resent each other. We were always fighting. Nora called it off, ultimately. She was the one that saw we were crashing and burning. I didn’t want to admit it even if I noticed it too. So to say it was amicable, not quite. It was mutual though.”

You know Calum even in the dark. You know the squint of his eyes, the way his cheeks meld to your hold. You know the catch of his breath when you brush your fingers over the veins on his neck. His veins thump under your touch and then you drag the touch up to his jaw. “Thank you for telling me. That wasn’t easy for you, I can see.”

“I don’t particularly like thinking about it,” Calum admits. His throat seizes. You feel the small quake under your fingers. “I didn’t talk about it. Not even with the boys for a long time.”

“If there’s anyone that understands, it’s me. There’s nasty things in life sometimes. Stuff that we don’t want to talk about, don’t want to deal with. Thing’s we’d prefer to swallow down and never pull back up. I get it,” you assure. 

Something warm hits your fingers. It’s only a few drops--tears you assume. Pushing up, you find his lips, a kiss soft and sweet. Calum’s quick to grapple you, encase you in his arms and tug. You’re pulled as far as you can over the console. And you let yourself go. It’s awkward, your back hurts just a little. But Calum exhales into your mouth, shaky as he breathes. 

“Scoot the seat all back. You’re going to break my back,” you tease after the hug lasts longer than you anticipate.

“That’s now how I imagined doing it,” Calum teases, his breath ghosting over your lips. He reaches down to pull the lever and push the driver seat back. 

Settled onto Calum’s lap, you pull him back into your chest. His fingers are buried--under the shirt--pressing into your flesh like his digits can burrow deeper into your, pass the muscle and fat, into the hollows of blood and organs. You don’t stop him, just press a kiss to his forehead as you cradle his head. His body tremors and there’s the occasional sniffle. The tears are hot on your thumbs, but you wipe them away, slow and steady. 

“It’s okay, Calum. You can let it all out now,” you encourage. You know you can’t fix anything. You can’t change the past. But you let him release it. The thing about carrying things that are buried is that they tend to come back when you don’t want them too--like wild animals fed, the things that get buried only ever come back. 

Your stroke along his neck, over his shoulders. Your words are soft. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. You’re safe to let it out.”

The tremors cease after a long stretch of time, 10 or so minutes,--Calum’s crying reduced now to just the sniffles, just the remnant of tears that trail down his cheeks. With one deep inhale, Calum brings his face out of your hands and rests his head down on your shoulder. His lips brush at your neck, in what are nearly kisses. Your knees ache, you’re sure that when you finally sit your toes are going to tingle due to the lack of blood for the time being. But this is all temporary, not something you need to worry about when you can still hear the shuddery exhales of Calum. 

“Haven’t had someone in a long time tell me I was safe,” he whispers against your skin. His voice is thick with the tears and emotion he’s split. His arms constrict again around your back, arms locked as if attempting to cage you in. You know better. You know it’s for comfort. 

“Well you are; you’re safe with me.”

“Thank you.” The phrase is followed by a kiss this time to your neck. He follows the line to your throat with more gratitude on his tongue. He paints your skin with the phrase. You wonder when you shower again if the words will show up as tattoos on your throat. His forehead is firm in your sternum but you don’t mind the pressure when he falls back into the shelter of your body. 

“You’re welcome,” you return to Calum. 

His voice rumbles through your chest, you catch something that sounds like smell but you can’t fully place it. You thread your fingers around the back of his neck and squeeze. It’s not enough pressure to cause pain but it coaxes his head back. “I said you smell good,” he laughs. 

“Thank you,” you laugh. 

The dark doesn’t make it easy, but you imagine that his cheeks might be flushed, that there might be a little bit of pink to them. There’s some light due to the tall streetlights in the parking lot, but you two are far enough at the edge of the beacon of one and the end of the parking lot so it leaves the truck in the glow of a light and not fully lit. His eyes glisten though as he watches you. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you huff, pressing at his shoulders. 

“Look at you like what?”

“Like you can’t help but love me.” 

“I do love you.”

It’s wrong to say what’s pressing at your teeth, do you love me enough for sacrifice. You know it given what Calum had just confessed. Maybe the two of you were still too young and too stubborn for the kind of love that required sacrifice. Perhaps it’s the kind of love that you had to mature into with each other. Calum wouldn’t have much to sacrifice, save for a few comments, a few sneers. You’d always have something to sacrifice. 

“What’s going on? You can talk to me,” Calum coaxes, hands moving from your hips to your cheeks, thumbs swiping right under your eyes. There are no tears. 

“It’s not a fair question,” you return. “It’s not the right time to ask it.”

“Will you ask it when it’s the right time?” Calum questions. It falls out quietly. You can hear it land into your lap, soft and fragile like the first snow. For a moment, you hope that this winter gives a fresh and deep dusting. The summer was warm and thick. You want winter to be cold. 

“If the right time comes up.”

“No, no not if, when. When it’s the right time to ask, you’ll ask, right?”

It’s a promise that will make you a liar. You know it. “Do you want to make me a liar?”

“Just this once,” Calum answers. 

“What if it’s never a fair question?” What if it’s just insecurity that you’re letting get the best of you?  

“This,” Calum returns, a hand waving between the two of your bodies. “This is not a glass house we’re building. It doesn’t always have to be a fair question. Just as long as it can be made into an honest conversation.”

A conversation--a much more fair objective. You bring your forehead to his--the beer’s a  faint ghost on his breath. All you can smell is Calum--the pomade in his hair, the cologne he sprayed on his throat and wrist that smells like expensive leather with a hint of sandalwood and something sweet like vanilla. You trace the veins in his neck, a steady thumping of his heart under your gentle press. 

“I’m not sure of many things in my life,” you start. “I never had the chance to live with certainty. I always keep that voice in the back of my head fed, that tells me you’ll grow bored. You’ll want someone with less baggage. You’ll need something more suited for the life you have. Because you’re a fucking Prince. I’m a fucking cook. It’s all I ever had--the cooking and a little bit of art to keep me going. But I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I like you. I love you too. But I wonder how far this can go. How far do you want to take it, you know? I don’t need announcements on social media or anything like that. I just--I keep the voice in the back of my head fed because what if all this leaves me.”

Calum’s lips are soft. His mouth sealing around yours in a kiss. His hands are warm on your face. The tears are hot on your cheek--yours this time. What if you lose it all? What if it all goes away? You cannot consume him. But you wish you could. 

“We never know what life’s going to bring, baby.” The silver bracelet Calum slipped on dazzles just a little in the glint of the faint light coming in through the car window. “I know I want to be with you. I know I want to wake up next to you. I want to take you on dates, even if it’s just picnics in the park. I want to show you off to my friends. I want to have a relationship with Teagan and Charlie too. I want to take you all out, have them crash some bumper cars, feed them too much fucking candy and make your parents hate me just a little because I always drop their two youngest off on a sugar high. I want to watch you paint and talk about our days together. I want,” he pauses. You watch his eyes flicker from your face to the space around the car. He’s searching. You don’t know for what though you do hope it’s the words.

You squeeze his face. “You want what?” You just want to hear the words: that Calum wants you. You know it’s true. You just need to hear it. 

He continues on. “I just want you,” Calum laughs, squeezing at your hips. “I want to adopt a dog with you. I miss my boy, Duke, so fucking much. He’s a hole in my heart but I know that I still have love to give. I know it’s not always going to be easy with me. I know it’s scary. But I don’t want these things with anyone else, baby. If I had the opportunity to beg life for anything, I’d beg for you; that you get to stay with me so that you can teach me things, so I can teach you things. You’ll have to stop feeding that voice. It’s a hungry bastard, but starve it.” His arms are trembling. The emotion rocks his voice. 

“Starve it,” he whispers. “I want you to starve that voice so that you can enjoy this too, so that you don’t keep waiting for the bad and start to enjoy the good thing in front of you. We’ll never know what life’s going to bring. I certainly didn’t think life would bring me you. And yet, it did. I’m so happy it did.”

It’s a rush, the surge in the centimeters between the two of you to seal Calum’s mouth in a kiss. I just want you. It’s terrifying to want. Here, especially with Calum. Wanting things didn’t mean you needed them. Wanting things didn’t mean you’d get them either. But you are lying if you say you don’t want Calun. You’re lying if you say you don’t want him to want you. And you’ve always known it. But knowing how far he was with Nora, a part of you just needs reassurance. 

Reassurance comes when Calum kisses back. It comes when he pants into your skin how much he waits for calls. It comes when he squeezes at your hips, rocks you over his pelvis. Reassurance comes when hands are deftly teasing skin under shirts. When you don’t waste time with either of you fully undressing, and you watch the fog creep up on the windows, you feel reassured. Reassurance comes when the gratitude Calum painted you in earlier turns into desire, when he tattoos into your skin I love you over and over with his lips and tongue. 

You need that reassurance like you need the graze of his teeth over your collar bone. Need the curl of his fingers into your flesh. You need the shuddered moans of your steady rhythm as your pelvis rocks up and down his. You need him. You crave him. You want him. You want Calum in every sense of phrase--you want to tell Calum about your day. You want to hear about his day. You want the dog too. You want Diana and Melvin to be pissed at the sight of you and Calum because they know there’s about to be too much sugar involved. You want to paint for Calum, want him to ask you about each color and each stroke. 

“I think you might be the death of me,” you whisper against his jaw. The tension in your stomach tightens as Calum bucks up against your clothed pelvis. You gasp at the feeling. You know the stretch of him, how well he treats you on his cock and tongue. His truck may not be the best place for it, but the thought crosses your mind to beg for it. That is until Calum responds to your statement. 

“No,” Calum groans, “No, I want you to live for me.” His hands slide up your back. The tug pulls you in with ease--your chest pressed into his. “Can you do that for me? Can you live for me?”

I want you to live for me. Another gasp leaves you. Body teetering on the edge of release but the shock pulls you far enough from the edge. You don’t want a glass house with Calum either. You want something real. Perhaps, you want something to live for too--needed it without really knowing you needed that kind of direction. 

You know you can’t live for Calum long-term. You’ll need something else eventually. But Calum’s the best start. You nod before Calum presses you down onto his bulge again. “I can.”

“Good,” he grins. “Now, c’mere.”

The rumble in his voice makes your stomach liquid. Your skin buzzes as you kiss him again. Your orgasm rockets through you as Calum’s tongue pants your mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, body quaking with the fire of your desire consuming you. “That’s it, fuck, baby,” Calum whispers against your mouth, his voice tight. 

Calum won’t be far behind you. You let your hand graze over his nipple, up to his throat. The hold is featherlight. But it’s enough for his eyes to flutter for a moment. You grin. “Make a mess for me,” you command, pressing harder into Calum. 

They say fire only needs oxygen--it takes one gulp and then bursts into flames, an inferno of a single spark. Calum only needs the command, the light press of your fingers at the sides of his throat before his body goes rigid. His gasp falls choked before you pull yourself in close, swiping your tongue over his parted lips. The ghost of his breath, the huff of air as he comes down from his orgasm fans over your face. You revel in it, grinning as you listen to his raggedy breathing. 

Calum laughs, head falling into the rest. You curl into his chest though there’s dampness from your own orgasms and Calum’s creeping in through the denim. “All that’s missing now is the handprint on the window,” he teases. Calum’s fingers are gentle over your back, tracing the length of your spine. 

You reach out to touch the driver side window. “Done.” The scent of leather swells your nose, long after you’ve slipped back into the passenger seat. Calum’s cologne is signed onto the hairs in your nose. The dampness of your jeans turns into a coolness as it starts to dry. Calum’s hand is warm on your knee. I want you to live for me. Insecurity is a useless emotion, yet it still reared it’s ugly head. You were glad to hear Calum’s reassurance. But his demand that you live for him; that you starve the voice in your mind that keeps waiting for the bad, is dizzying. When your entire world has been set in hiding, never being heard or seen, it’s unsettling to have someone draw you out. Calum wants to draw you. He wants you to live in a life that you’d been content with. You hope the spotlight doesn’t burn you.

[nextplayerup]

what I assume about you based on your favorite ghost and pals song

happy days, appetite of a people pleaser, hyperdontia, or chattering (2019): you're in middle school

novocaine or the distortionist: you most likely call them hot and you scare me. probably also in middle school tbh

candle queen: you're not really a ghost fan you just know this one song

honey i'm home: you're either genuinely a fan of the lyrics and themes or you just like charon and/or charon x norman

reckless battery burns: good taste this song is very well produced and the pv is cool BUT. I know you care more about tamari

aura: you like women.

star of the show: you like women. and you're the "me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic" meme as a person

the things I deserve: you ALSO like women and you're either really going through it or this song got you through it

amygdala's rag doll: you either know it from the animation memes or you're overcome with a boiling hot rage every time someone calls it trypophobia

rotary dial: you probably relate to henry unfortunately

black & white: you have bad taste (it's okay, me too I love this one) but you're genuinely so sweet tbh

housewife radio: you're correct and probably sympathize with nancy. also more than likely you can or have done a full analysis of every little detail in this song

colorbars: you're into glitchy and digital aesthetics and you much prefer this design over his broadcast illusion one. if you're a. certain way. you might simplify him down to Gay but cmon people we are past that it is 2023

anything from nothing perfect that's NOT perfect nothing: you chose the "i'm not like other girls" option but that's okay because it's an under appreciated ep

perfect nothing: you think you chose the "i'm not like other girls" option. banger song though

those who carried on or two of a kind: I am in love with you. dystopian stuff is your vibe and you're really curious about the pv wip characters/wish it wasn't left unfinished

spider on the wall (2018)(my fav): you scare me. objectively bad taste (affectionate)

spider on the wall (2022): you scare me worse. objectively bad taste (DEROGATORY)

in iolite or chelovek: do you exist (HI I LOVE YOU) if you do you love it when ghost does stuff that's actually different and cool

uncanny, adapertio, or I had to die to survive: you'll cling onto any oc or relationship ghost drops and you probably had theories about uncanny and adapertio when you saw the similarities

culpability or pierre janet's criminal defense: you stuck around during the slow period/hiatus and I will, for some reason, assume you're an older fan

entomologists (2019): I don't think you exist either but I love you. a lot. really into the "bug" part of industrial catholic bugcore

scapeg♾️at: you relate HARD to this song. want to see your abusers in the GROUND. probably a real petty person but I admire that

deathbody: nobody seems to really like this one for some reason? but if you DO I assume you're an older fan who related to foolish and/or ttid in your youth

end world normopathy: be honest you're here for tamari

[nimuetheseawitch]

ask meme sga <33 or sg1, whatever strikes your fancy!

¿Por qué no los dos?

SG-1

Favorite character: difficult question for sure, but it's Vala (I'm sorry, I love everyone, but Vala is my blorbo)

Least Favorite character: this is hard because I also love the bad guys. And the small characters. I think, outside of a few one off characters from some episodes I just don't like, Landry is my least favorite. He just reminds me how much I dislike the military.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): there are so many to choose from!!! Sam/Janet, Daniel/Vala, general SG-1 polycule of various formations, Jack/Maybourne, Jonas/McKay because I saw that once and just loved it (also didn't put any crossover ships in here (McKay while at Area 51) otherwise John/Vala would be here)

Character I find most attractive: Vala, always

Character I would marry: Vala because she'd be down for getting married for benefits or something (I'm just not interested in marriage)

Character I would be best friends with: Janet. She is, in many ways, very much like my best friend

a random thought: all the non-Earth members of SG-1 should hang out. Have a little club. I wanna see Jonas and Vala interact

An unpopular opinion: I'm not really into Jack/Daniel or Jack/Sam. He spends a lot of time being mean to them and keeping his distance (for reasons), and they all deserve better

my canon OTP: Daniel/Vala

Non-canon OTP: Sam/Janet (but it is canon to me...)

most badass character: Daniel Jackson

pairing I am not a fan of: see above about Jack/Daniel and Jack/Sam

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): I don't really have one for this, but why the hell was Sam still with Pete? WTF?

favourite friendship: Hammon and Bra'tac

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: I don't need anymore parents and I don't want any kids, but I would adopt Vala as my weird aunt/cousin

SGA

Favorite character: John Sheppard

Least Favorite character: Lucius Lavin

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): McShep, John with practically anyone, Rodney with practically anyone, Elizabeth/Teyla, AR-1 polyamory

Character I find most attractive: hard call. Right now, I'm thinking Teyla

Character I would marry: not the marrying type

Character I would be best friends with: I would definitely not be best friends with a main character. Maybe Radek.

a random thought: really would've loved an episode of what happens on Atlantis while AR-1 is off-world. See what Radek and Lorne do and if everything is either really chill or how they deal with a crisis without them.

An unpopular opinion: I don't like Carson much. He's far too happy to commit war crimes and jumps onto some really bad ideas. Is it weird that I like clone Carson better? He does less war crimes and more atoning by doing outreach in Pegasus.

my canon OTP: oh no, do I ship anything that's canon? I mean, I like John/Nancy in part because I love them divorced.

Non-canon OTP: McShep. I do love them in all sorts of configurations and with anyone, but they are the reason I got into the fandom like this.

most badass character: Teyla

pairing I am not a fan of: Rodney/Jennifer the way the show does it. There's some great fic out there (and I love some Rodney/Jennifer/John), but the show really doesn't sell it for me.

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Rodney in the SG-1 episodes. And just every once in a while they would completely erase all of his progress and make him the punching bag.

favourite friendship: John and Teyla. I love how they start, I love how she pushes him, and I love that we get to see them in conflict.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: no thanks

[kayvsworld]

dark kermit memes to tell you… do it… read the comics… I mean idk man matt’s currently living his best life with no memory and he’s a soft priest who runs a group home, and tony’s gone full tilt 2000s rom com and is fake married trope to emma frost to take down a mutual enemy but Local Soft Boy might be catching real feelings 👀

in the last few years… do not read hawkeye freefall unless you want to get Very Mad at clint about suddenly being ronin again and us never talking about it ever again even though he stabbed steve???? slott’s iron man gave us tony/janet which was a blessing, and then cantwell gave us tony/patsy which was a fuckin nightmare… idk I could ramble about comics a lot but DOOOOOOOOOO IT. as someone who fell out of love with the MCU… the comics, man. comic tony stark will break your heart. I love him so much 😭

every time one of you tells me about comic events i do feel like i am going insane but also this sounds so fun, i did hear about the tonyemma fake married situation via mutuals posting on twitter & was without context delighted what is going ON in comics. he is a priest??? clint STABBED STEVE my friend steve????? COMICS.....oh no i'm tempted hm

[redlegumes]

Forgot my fic 'If it's just till St. Patrick's Day' starts and ends on Halloween(s)!!!

So here's the first, somewhat stand-alone, chapter to kick off your cuffing season (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥

AO3 Link

CW: Smut, Closeted trans character, Light Mentions of - Alcohol use, Tobacco use, Homophobia

"Here comes the cold, Break out the winter clothes, And find a love to call your own"

Costumes. Let's blame the costumes.

It was Halloween night, sometime past one am, and Steve Harrington was lowering onto his knees on a stranger's bath mat. He was salivating at the thought of what he was about to pull out from underneath a pair of black panties. He was relishing the aroused and shocked expressions on Eddie Munson's face.

BE WARNED 18+ after the cut

Robin was attending the University of Notre Dame. Her folks were Irish Catholic, so she had an admissions edge. She just happened to 'lose' the faith sometime around orientation. She was in the marching band there and had learned that just because it was Catholic and private that didn't mean students were uptight. A lot of repression and high stakes academia during the week led to a lot of unleashed crazy at the parties when students let loose on the weekends. At least that's what Robin had said when she was luring her friends to visit for Halloween.

There was a shadow cast performance of 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' in the evening and a party a lot of her new college acquaintances were going to, but Robin wanted some support. She wasn't loving that some 'friends' wanted her to be their experiment. There were folks who were definitely 'out' and on-campus LGBTQIA+ organizations, but she hadn't known those people all that long. She certainly hadn't fought creatures from a hellacious alternate dimension with them, and weren't the best friendships built on that bond?

This was that argument that led Steve and Eddie to agree to visit her for Halloween. The group chat between the three of them for the month of October had been mostly teasing potential costumes and memes. Steve was going up the day before, crashing in Robin's dorm, and would be with her the whole day. Eddie had said he could show for the party.

He had all but dared Steve (well actually, if he thought about it… there was definitely a dare somewhere) to dress as anyone from Rocky Horror other than Brad Majors.

"Steve

Steeeeeeeeve

You have to dress as someone other than prudetastic Brad. Especially since you're flying solo. Can't go looking around for some 'Janet' all night. Dress as anyone else fr."

Steve chuckled aloud when he'd read the message. He didn't hate the Brad comparison, nevermind that he'd rather dress as Janet, but he already had another costume in mind. Prude? No one's called me that before. Eddie is about to learn why.

He decided to show Eddie up by dressing as the least dressed of the film's cast: the creature, the creation, the muscle man, Rocky. A little chest oil and some impossibly small gold shorts was all it took. Had Eddie really forgotten? I was on the swim team, idiot. No stranger to tiny trunks.

Steve initially smirked when he took off his coat after they met up with Eddie. His jaw had dropped.

Eddie arrived, a corseted, high heel wearing Franknfurter, and with Robin's hair slicked back as Columbia the three of them were a hit. People literally stopped them to snap pics and selfies. So Steve's ego was already in a, self admittedly, inflated place.

They drank. Enough to feel loose, but not drunk. Steve started to look for a bit of fun for the evening. If he wanted fast and dirty… guys were easier picks. He figured especially at a party with the theater department. He eyed a few candidates, but he couldn't stop looking back at the one person he knew he shouldn't.

Eddie’s eyes had been watching him like prey since he entered. Steve recognized that stare, and he was sorely tempted to do something about it. Eddie's calves in those heels, thighs in those fishnets… it was doing things to his bisexual heart. The ass in those black panties deserved to have hands all over it. Steve had perfectly functional hands. Why not mine?

Because that's my friend. A key member of my small family-esque friend group. I don't want to fuck that up for anything… but Eddie has to worry about that too.

Since he'd been declared alive, free and clear of suspicion, and a graduate of Hawkins High, Eddie had been working incredibly hard at a mechanic apprenticeship he'd landed. It paid, so he had his own place, and selling drugs was out. Steve hadn't heard anything about his band, and in general he seemed to be working through the Mind Flayer's end the way they all had. There were a handful of people who could relate, and if they hung out after work or school that's who it was with.

So if he's looking like that… interested. Hell, hungry… A one time thing wouldn't be a big deal right? Maybe he's not concerned about the 'complicated' of it all.

That thinking led to a brush up in the kitchen, and extended eye contact. Eddie turned away. Oh, wow. Okay so maybe he really thinks I'm fucking straight. That why he's been eye-banging me all evening? Like I wouldn't notice? Something flared in Steve.

Steve walked directly up to Eddie and caught his fingers in his hand. He wordlessly led him upstairs into a bathroom. Steve locked the door behind him. He turned to assess and faced an Eddie whose eyes were as dark as Steve'd ever seen them. He wanted to fall into the gaze trained on him deep, endless… processing. He has brought Eddie this far. It was time to see if the scribbles on the bathroom stalls in high school had any truth to them. He could still picture a bit of graffiti from his junior year.

'best weed + best head E. Munson'

And now here they stood, barely dressed, facing each other. Ironically for Steve, in a bathroom.

Eddie stepped forward, and in a rare moment for him, seemed unable to put a sentence together. He looked minutely frustrated with himself before beginning to approach Steve again. He let his hand tentatively reach out and touch Steve's cheek. When Steve didn't back away, leaning his face into the touch Eddie's next movements were swift. The hand wound to the back of Steve's head, his other clutching Steve's hip. Eddie's lips crashed onto Steve's own.

Eddie's looks had been hungry. His kisses were ravenous. Steve did his best to respond in kind, sucking Eddie's bottom lip, biting softly. Eddie moaned, and Steve let his hands wander down. Oh that's not bad at all Munson, he thought, feeling the outline of Eddie's hard cock.

Steve got onto his knees. He pulled Eddie's panties down just enough to reveal the cock he'd just traced under the fabric. It was handsome. Eddie's hair flush with his skin, trimmed, left no distraction from his twitching dick now at the same height as Steve's mouth. He could feel Eddie's legs tremble slightly under his hands.

Eddie swallowed audibly. "I'm negative, uh… full panel," he managed to say.

"Same." 'Cause now I'm dying for a taste. "Step out of the heels…" Steve moved so his lips were pressed against the underside of Eddie's cock. He held it as he kissed up toward the tip. "Unless that's your thing." He looked up through his lashes at Eddie. He liked the view, Eddie trussed up in a sparkly purple corset, his face red, lips wet, hair a riot of untamed curls. Steve bit his lip and opened his mouth. "Freak," he said before slipping his lips around the pale pink tip of Eddie's cock.

Eddie moaned, and his painted fingernails buried themselves in Steve's hair. He didn't push, but Steve liked the possessive nature of the hold. He swallowed Eddie's cock in further, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked. He'd tasted Eddie's precome, bitter but sweet because it told Steve he was already doing a good job. He liked the appetizer, but he was ready for the main course.

Eddie was speaking again. "Fuck, Harrington. Holy fucking hell. You're doing so good. You're gonna get me off with that pouty pretty mouth in no time. Fuck. Oh, Stevie! Baby, be careful, I'm close."

'Stevie' sounded so nice on his ears. He'd always liked it, but there'd been an implication all his life; ‘Stevie’ was too 'girly' a nickname. Hah, just scratching the surface. Now Eddie was calling him 'Stevie,' 'baby?' He loved it. He deepthroated Eddie with his mouth's next pass. He took him as deeply as he could ignoring his reflex, the gag, ignoring Eddie's cry and warning.

Steve kept Eddie's cock all the way in, choking a little on the cum as he came, hips twitching his dick just a little further in as he filled Steve's mouth. That sound, the light gag, seemed to break something in Eddie. His legs shook again. Steve released his hips, where he'd held them in place, and Eddie finally slipped out of his heels, sitting down on the side of the tub.

Steve breathed in deep as he looked over at Eddie. He looked gorgeous. His eyes blissed out, glazed and unfocused; his lips still puffy and pink from their rough make out. Blowing him was good and all. Steve thought that was what he wanted tonight, but now… he really wanted more. Never hurts to ask. He licked his lips. Though in the bathroom, at a party, with someone who was purely a friend half an hour ago… Screw it.

"I want to fuck. Can I fuck you? I want to fuck you."

Eddie came back to earth and looked at Steve in utter shock. He mouthed a few words before he seemingly regained control of his voice. “I’m a, I'm I normally top,” he said, a little rough.

Steve chuckled a bit. “Yeah? I only top for anal.”

Eddie’s eyes widened a little as though he was stunned Steve had even used the word ‘top.’ “Fuck, Harrington. For how long-”

Steve shook his head, and interrupted Eddie. “-Dude, don’t dig into it now.”

“Steve." Eddie looked him in the eyes, hard. Steve read the meaning as Eddie elaborated, "I'm not exactly prepped for bottoming."

“Fuck it Eddie. I do not care. I'm using spit anyway. We’re in a bathroom…”

Eddie looked him over. Steve was still on his knees, though he had leaned back a little. He felt like he was the one trembling now. Eager. Ready. Steve gripped his cock through his tight gold shorts. That's where Eddie's eyes stilled.

"Okay. Well, that’s gonna be too much." Eddie pointed at Steve's hard cock. "With that thing, Steve? It’s too big." It should have disappointed him, but the way those words left Eddie lips… they became awestruck compliments. "Christ." Eddie pushed his hair back and looked at Steve again. "And yet, I’m entertaining this absolutely fucking crazy…" He rose, muttering to himself. "There's got to be something in here…" Eddie started digging under the cabinets.

He turned around quickly and stood, smiling maniacally. "Brilliant! Okay, now we're talking." He held out a bottle of 'one hundred percent all natural aloe vera.'

Steve’s face broke out in a huge smile in response to Eddie's. “You’re so resourceful," he practically purred.

Eddie's own smile waned a little as he turned the aloe in his hand. He bit his lip. "Shit. God. Steve, are you sure?" His big brown eyes were full of hesitancy.

He is the one who just came. He's got more clarity than me, Steve briefly thought.

"I mean this is this is fucking crazy," Eddie said, shaking his voluminous curls about.

But I want to so badly. Steve had that same sensation of standing at the edge of a high diving board, adrenaline pulsing, about to dive. “I want you.” Steve got up slowly, putting his hands on Eddie, almost as though he were climbing up. He thought about kissing his lips again, but at the last second turned, leaving Eddie gasping at the swift change of course. He lowered his lips onto Eddie's neck, kissing his way up to his hairline. Steve's hands fiddled around, and he snapped Eddie's garters. “I think you want me too,” he said, whispering just under Eddie’s ear.

Eddie let out a short laugh that didn't disprove Steve's statement. He pulled back just enough to work one hand back to Eddie’s panties, raising an eyebrow, asking. Eddie’s face was flushed again. Steve’s free hand loosely held his wrist, feeling his elevated heartbeat.

Eddie licked his lips. “Kiss me again, and then bend me over the sink baby.”

Steve moaned in response, lips landing on Eddie’s once again. He paid a little more attention to it this time, sucking Eddie’s tongue, pushing his own in to tangle. First impressions were that Eddie was very good at this. But I am too.

When he pulled back, Eddie held up a condom, cash, and his ID card bound together with a hair tie.

“Where-”

“-Corset.”

Steve took the condom and aloe from Eddie’s hands. “Position yourself how you like… Let’s keep the discomfort minimal, yeah?”

Eddie chuckled, and slowly took off his underwear, snapping his garters undone as he went. Steve briefly thought to help, but Eddie’s eyes were on him. This is a little show for me. No interruptions necessary. The thigh high fishnets didn’t immediately roll down, and Steve ran his hands over them after Eddie pushed his ass out, braced against the counter.

“You look so fucking sexy tonight Eddie. Was it for me,” Steve teased.

“Can’t a boy want to look pretty without drawing the male gaze?” Eddie shook his ass a little, his entrance on display. Steve was rolling the condom on his cock, lubing his fingers. Eddie’s eyes met Steve’s in the mirror’s reflection behind the sink. “But I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought of seducing you pretty boy.”

If he wants to seduce me… “‘Stevie,’ ‘baby, ‘pretty.’ I like the way you talk Munson.” Steve smiled and rested his slick fingers against Eddie’s hole. He started to circle it with his finger tips, gentle pressure, just warming up. Being able to see Eddie’s face, his reactions in the mirror, was hot as fuck. He slipped a finger in and then another before Eddie’s face really changed. He rocked back a little as the third entered him; his eyes closed, breathing swiftly in from his nose and exhaling slowly from his mouth until Steve felt satisfied with the stretch. Eddie's ring was loose enough now, and his mind was blazing with desire and a barely contained impatience.

Steve looked back up from his work to see Eddie staring at him in the mirror. Steve smiled again. “You gonna like watching me fuck you? Come on, tell me.” Steve left just one finger in Eddie. He was searching with it. “What do you want me to call you when I cum in this tight ass?”

Eddie responded, “sexy, babe…” He inhaled swiftly as Steve found that spot. Eddie closed his eyes and moaned, “devil, freak.”

Steve removed his fingers and grabbed his cock, lining up. “Gorgeous, darling, freak,” he drew the last word out as he pressed his tip in.

Eddie moaned and breathed out. His press became easier, and Steve moved in as deep as he felt Eddie could take him. Eddie bit his lip, his eyes closed. He was mouthing, and then crying, “baby, you’re so fucking big.”

“Enough for you darling?” Steve stopped, he was far enough in for his own needs. He could thrust… but he needed to check in. “Gonna let me fuck you now," he said, his voice shuddering with his hips. "Please?” Steve rubbed the small of Eddie’s back. He held his hip with the other hand. His whole body shook briefly as he fought to keep himself from plunging further in.

Eddie’s eyes opened and they stared into Steve’s in their reflection. “Fuck me Stevie.”

God, yes! Steve began to thrust his hips, keeping the passes quick and measured. “Babe, oh!” Steve sped up, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. “It’s gonna be quick. Fuck, that’s oh, so good. Eddie,” Steve exclaimed, feeling the low rolling build of pleasure in his body, the desire that drove his hips, sharpened to the point of ecstasy. Eddie’s body was a hot, frictioned embrace, designed for him to fill. Eddie cried softly underneath him, telling him to cum, telling him it was hot, and big, and good. Steve slowed and pumped through his orgasm, conscious he had cried Eddie’s name when he came. He briefly hoped no one outside the bathroom had heard.

Steve pulled out, and Eddie lifted off the counter, immediately moving to sit on the toilet.

“You said you didn’t care.”

Steve laughed. “I don’t.”

They cleaned up and put on the small amount of clothing they’d removed, both of them adjusting and checking for marks in the mirror. Steve caught Eddie’s eyes in the mirror again. He thought he saw a nervous sort of gaze reflected there, but the Eddie that turned around was brashly grinning.

“Let's uh. Let’s have a smoke?”

…

They looped through the house. Steve wasn’t sure how long they’d been gone, but a glance assured him that Robin was doing alright. She looked particularly animated in a conversation with a number of equally glittery people. She must’ve been really into it, hands up and gesturing.

They stood at the back door to the house, and Steve noticed that somewhere along the way Eddie had grabbed his jacket. He threw it over Steve’s shoulders and opened the door. Why is he always covering me up? Steve laughed softly, and followed Eddie out.

They huddled together, away from the other few folks in the tiny backyard. Eddie quietly lit his cigarette, taking a pull. He exhaled smoke into the night air and shook his long locks. "I can't believe I didn't know."

It was easy to guess what Eddie had meant. "I can." Steve laughed a bit again. He felt good. The sex had been the best he’d ever had in a bathroom by far. It was possibly the best he’d had outside of a bed, and it hasn’t gotten weird yet. Eddie seemed chill with… everything so far. "I don't exactly brag about my hookups by name."

Eddie cocked his head to the side. "And if they're more than hookups?"

"I know I'm bi,” Steve shrugged and pulled at the sleeves of Eddie’s jacket, “but there's never been anything ‘real’ with a guy. So, people assume I'm straight." They assume a lot of things… and I let them because… Hell, I don’t need to think about it right now. Besides, that’s all this was, a hookup. Eddie doesnt need to know everything.

"That's…” Eddie pulled at some of his curls, bringing them to his lips in a nervous gesture Steve had seen before.

Steve knew, as he lived now, he benefited from straight guy privilege. Eddie was out, and he’d gotten shit for it in the past. The town had been nasty about every aspect of Eddie when he was a suspected murderer too. Homophobia featured in part of their attacks. Steve didn’t love being basically closeted, but his bisexuality wasn’t the identity he worried about most.

“I guess live your life," Eddie said, dropping his hair. He exhaled another cloud of smoke, and Steve reached over to steal the cigarette. Eddie let him. "Well, ‘Steve of many secrets.’ We good?" Eddie blinked at him and resumed his intense gaze. Eddie had eyes that made Steve want to trust him with secrets, but instead, he finished Eddie’s cigarette.

"Yeah… If I can I keep the jacket," Steve teased. He wrapped his arms around himself, batting his lashes at Eddie.

Eddie pursed his lips, but Steve could still make out a bit of the smile he was hiding. "You'd have to give the vest back."

Steve snorted and flicked the cigarette butt into the dark. "If the police didn't trash it when they impounded the Winnebago? Gladly.”

Eddie steered him back toward the house, reclaiming his jacket, and they rejoined Robin for the night.

[intosnarkness]

3 for the ask meme, please!

and because i know we’re all egocentric, have you ever made yourself laugh out loud or cry with a fic you wrote? (context)

Honestly, I think one of the annoying things about living with me is how amused I am by myself sometimes. I probably told CancerKid about the Nutria/"purebred Jacksonville terrier" in The Three People, One Dog, and One Non-Human Non-Robot Not-a-Girl You Meet in Heaven three or four times because I thought it was just so fucking funny.

"Fred," Janet says evenly, keeping eye contact with Jason, using her slow words so she's sure he hears all of them. "Is a swamp rat." Oh. Oh. "Yeah," Jason nods, grinning at her. "That's what I said. A Jacksonville Terrier."

Also I know I found a few of the lines in chapter 13 of "adding on weight to the darkness in me" so badass that I had to share them with people in real life. I didn't laugh or cry about it, but I was inordinately proud and mildly afraid I had plagiarized.

I've made myself sad before, but I don't think I've ever made myself cry. It takes a lot.

[fishsouper]

YAY YOURE WATCHING HELLUVA BOSS!!

Idk if you’ve all of it or not but I love the seven deadly sins’ characters. Asmodeus and Queen Bee>>>

i love them so much too!! stolas is my favorite because i am. basic like that but ozzie my beloved!!!

i love fizz as well!! alex brightman’s voice gives me so much comfort and nostalgia from the past few years of listening to beetlejuice and watching dead end paranormal park!

and omg blitzø’s va??? he’s done so many classic memes!!! the “has anyone seen my son” audio, the “fuck of janet i’m not going to your fucking baby shower” audio, the “in the workplace being gay just has its perks” audio?? LITERALLY ICONIC

[goddesspharo]

for your au meme: rebecca-diane [and amos and troy and glenn] do 'the craft' or 'the skeleton key' or 'practical magic' or RNM?

[hit me up with a prompt!]

The thing you have to know is that I have thought about Gena Rowlands' line delivery of "child, I believe you broke my legs" to Kate Hudson at least once a year since The Skeleton Key came out. That's almost twenty years of chuckling about that one scene and I still have no notes. Perfection.

Anyway, I am still unable to write a three-sentence fic to save my life!

an addict for dramatics

Theater Camp (2023)

"Then you must be so psyched for the new show! It calls on so many of your skills." Janet couldn't believe that she was being blackmailed by a dude who looked like the lead himbo in a Freeform remake of Point Break.

[pers-books]

Top 10s Meme

I was tagged by @thisbluespirit - thanks for the tag (I think! 😜)

Rules: List your “top 10” (or up to 10 if you haven’t written that many) fics ranked by kudos on AO3. Are you surprised by what’s most popular to your readers? Then, under a cut, provide your ranking of your personal top 10 fics (with explanations if you want!), and then tag a few fellow writers!

My top 10 fics by kudos:

Letters to a Naturalist (Holby City) (30,350 words) Kudos: 203

Jason Haynes: Matchmaker (Holby City) (17,560 words) Kudos: 186

The Red String of Fate (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)) (51,896 words) Kudos: 183

One Life Stand (Holby City) (33,815 words) Kudos: 161

The Hacktivist, The Agent, and the Clairvoyant (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Thor (Movies)) (35,849 words) Kudos: 155 

The Locum (Holby City) (9,202 words) Kudos: 148 

Bean and Gone (Holby City) (11,880 words) Kudos: 147 

It's not a date - it's just dinner at a fancy restaurant (Holby City) (9,100 words) Kudos: 138 

Action and Reaction (Star Trek: Discovery) (1,783 words) Kudos: 135 

Berenice Wolfe's Romantic Heart (Holby City) (6,000 words) Kudos: 13

I guess my only surprise is that there’s only one Disco (Star Trek: Discovery) fic in there, but it’s rather nice that apart from #3 and #5, they’re all Sapphic fics! Actually, I’m slightly surprised there are no James Bond (Craig)/M (Dench) fics in my Top 10 - in fact, I’ve just checked and I’d have to list my Top **40** before I hit a Bond fic - and then it doesn’t even have 100 Kudos! (Mind, I’m not complaining that my Holby fics are vastly more popular!)

I haven’t really considered which are my Top 10 fics - I like things when I’m writing them, then I don’t tend to give them much thought because I’ve already moved on to writing something else!!

But, that said (and in no particular order because Dammit, Janet, I am not gonna try to rank my own fics!):

Letters to a Naturalist (30,350 words) (Holby City) - this one is ALWAYS gonna be a fave because it was a fic I wrote over several months, sending copies of physical letters used in the fic to a member of the Berena fandom and at the time I got a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction out of doing it that way.

Snapshots: Four New Beginnings (12,960 words) (Holby City) - I had great fun giving Bernie different careers in the Arts and finding ways for her and Serena to meet.

The Name's Wolfe, Berenice Wolfe: 007, Licensed to Thrill (3,200 words) (Holby City) - and on the topic of AUs, Bernie Wolfe as a 007 Agent was just a fun way to combine an old fandom (Bond) with a new one.

The Long Road to Happiness (8,140 words) (Holby City) - oh look ANOTHER AU! Quelle surprise! 😜 This time Bernie and Serena were child actors together and Bernie fell in love, but Serena gave up acting, got married, had a child, and Bernie continued to carry a torch...

McKinnie and Wolfe: Monster Hunters (6,000 words) (Holby City) - written for a Holby Monster Mash and inspired by a collection of short stories by a favourite author, I just had great fun with this one.

Lascia Ch'io Pianga (Let Me Lament My Cruel Fate) (750 words) (James Bond) - the first time I’ve ever written a fic with an ambiguous ending. Funny thing is, some readers asked me to write a second chapter or sequel fic and I did try, but I just couldn’t make it work.

Sing In Me, Muse (1,362 words) (Star Trek: Discovery) - this was an AU fix-it for S1 of Disco and I love its simplicity and tenderness.

Beyond the Battle at the Binary Stars I (768 words) & Beyond the Battle at the Binary Stars II (1,379 words) (Star Trek: Discovery) - another AU fix-it for S1 of Disco in 2 parts that I found deeply satisfying to write.

Joy Is Not Made To Be A Crumb (8,500 words) (Doctor Who 2005) - a rarepair ship (Kate Stewart and Martha Jones) that I’ve always known will never attain any kind of popularity, but I don’t care - I just love writing them!

The Winter Queen, The Summer King, and the Spring Knight (9,536 words) (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.) - this only has 30 Kudos, but I like it because it takes the mythology of AoS and combines it with fairytale and I think I did that rather neatly.

Who to tag? Well: @slightlyintimidating @doctorjameswatson @lapalfruity @daisydoctor13 @ceridwyn2 @riversofmars @meluisart @onaperduamedee @backjustforberena @hokuspokusthings - with the usual caveat that you don’t have to participate if you’re not feeling it.