#i have a zit patch on and it is on my lip

[strawberri-syrup]

getting acne around my house is so annoying i do not need textures there. too tempting to pick at

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tags @tellmegoodbye @alrightbuckaroo @thisbuildinghasfeelings @strandnreyes @catanisspicy @three-drink-amy @rmd-writes @welcometololaland 💚

I have another TK/Owen moment from Flashback Fic because it involves a certain moose that I told @goodways about in this ask and now, much like Carlos after he hooked up with TK, I can't get Monty Morgan out of my head.

Owen cups TK’s left heel in his palm and moves the flashlight over it again, inspecting close. “God. I see another piece of glass. You’ve stepped in who-knows-what. When was your last tetanus shot?”

TK, who can barely recall his own name, wails at his dad to take a chill pill, and he’s so ridiculous it actually makes Owen laugh.

“There’s my boy,” he says, “You’re going to be okay.”

Owen finishes patching up TK’s feet quietly and helps him hobble across the living space to his bedroom. TK hasn’t spent the night here since he moved into his own rented apartment, and it’s pretty much the same it’s been since his late-teens:

Off-white walls are decorated with posters of Nirvana, Death Cab, Eminem, Muse, and shirtless Brad Pitt.

A bright yellow comforter covers the bed in the corner, the foot of which meets the window. TK has often sat at the end of this bed, staring at the street below, people watching, alone but not lonely.

The pinewood desk is long-free of schoolwork, neat now with a mug from the Guggenheim that is full of colorful pens, and a few old books about photography, human biology, and twentieth-century American literature, with a battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye on top.

A rug of muted rainbow squares remains on the hardwood floor.

And here is his shelf of well-squeezed plushies.

Mr. Bear the polar bear, missing an eye.

Rory the lion, whose mane he trimmed short with the kitchen scissors.

Montgomery ‘Monty’ Morgan the Moose, a gift from Aunt Elinor, who moved to Montreal to work at a research station when TK was eight. She mailed the silky-soft, sweet-faced moose with floppy antlers to Gwyn – a lifelong lover of perplexingly cute giant creatures like moose, manatees, walrus, sloths. Gwyn named him Montgomery ‘Monty’ Morgan and gave him to TK; TK took Monty Morgan with him to Owen’s because he helped with his homesickness when he was away from her.

TK grabs Monty Morgan for something to press against his sore stomach and crashes onto his old bed, his face twisting. He’s felt so unwell since he had to stand up again. To Owen, his son might as well be the colicy baby he once was, the way he’d thrash and his face would contort with pain. The way his tongue would jut in and out of his mouth. His mouth is dark red today. The skin around his lips blotchy as if zits lie below the surface, ready to erupt. His tongue is cracked like sun-dried earth, and earthish in tone, just a hint of its former pinkness. Slowly – yet it's strikingly apparent – TK lies before his father and drains to gray.

Tags below (and open tag too!)

@louis-ii-reyes-strand @mikibwrites @wandering-night19 @noxsoulmate @theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @taralaurel @rosedavid @lemonlyman-dotcom @chicgeekgirl89 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @liminalmemories21 @heartstringsduet @never-blooms @ladytessa74 @lightningboltreader @goodways @paperstorm @reyesstrand @bonheur-cafe @tailoredshirt - if you want to share/ haven't already! No pressure ever! I hope you're all having the best days!

❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜

[atohii]

I have a zit above my lip and like. I know I should leave it be. but it's gone through three pimple patches and this bitch HURTS

[juicegremlin]

Hugs (5+1)

~ +1 ~

The dorm smells like cinnamon when Neil gets home. He shuts the door behind him—slowly, so as not to interrupt whatever music Andrew’s got playing—and sets his bag down on the couch.

“Oh simple thing, where have you gone? I'm getting old and I need something to rely on.”

Andrew is at the stove. He’s mixing something, fork in one hand, bowl in the other. There’s flour on the counter along with a couple of open Pillsbury dough cans.

“So tell me when you're gonna let me in. I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin.”

Neil makes his way further into the living room. Andrew doesn’t turn to look at him, but there’s a tilt of the head, a shift in weight. A greeting—though, hardly much of one.

Neil adores Andrew like this—sleep-mussed and bandless, comfortable in the sanctity of his own space. Neil’s gaze catches on the rhythmic movements of his wrist, the luminous spill of white-gold light across the bridge of his nose.

It’s moments like these that make Neil wonder what life could be like if they make it to thirty. Pajamas in the kitchen, coming home to each other. Snapshots of a future Neil would kill to make real.

Andrew looks over a shoulder. The wispy shadows of his eyelashes fall in brittle streaks across his cheekbones.

Maybe it’s already real.

“Try,” Andrew says, holding out the fork in his hand.

Neil crosses to the counter and lifts himself up onto it, avoiding the flour-patch. “What is it?”

“Icing.”

Andrew fits into the space between Neil’s knees. He lifts the fork to Neil’s lips, and it’s too sweet—the icing—but Andrew will like it.

“You made cinnamon rolls last week,” Neil observes.

Andrew puts the fork back into the bowl. “I wasn’t aware there was a refractory period for baked goods.”

“Refractory period,” Neil wrinkles his nose.

Andrew turns back to the stove. Neil takes a moment to appreciate the bare backs of his legs, the strain of his Achilles tendons.

And perhaps there was a time when Neil didn’t find him quite so captivating. Before all the promises—the secrets and cigarettes. Back when Neil saw the world in a categorical absence of color.

He doesn’t know when things changed. If he had Andrew’s perfect memory, he might be able to pinpoint the exact moment—but for now, the best Neil has got is that bus ride home his freshman year, when the sun turned Andrew golden for the first time.

The song changes. Neil feels a little senseless.

He says, “Dance with me.”

Andrew adds more powdered sugar to the mix. “Hit your head on the way home?”

“I want you to dance with me. Yes or no?”

Andrew sets the bowl down. He looks at Neil like he’s grown a third head.

“You don’t know how,” Andrew says.

“Show me.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Let’s make something up.”

Andrew blinks once, twice. He’s a flickering breadth of candlelight, a myriad of cogs turning beneath bones and skin.

It takes a whole minute for him to extend a hand.

“Yes.”

Neil allows himself to be pulled off the counter. He crosses his wrists behind Andrew’s neck, drawing him close enough to share breath. Andrew’s calloused hands find a home on the dip of Neil’s waist.

“But someone, they could have warned you.”

They’re swaying. It’s the best they can do for each other. Neil has never been to so much as a school dance, and he can’t imagine that Andrew has, either.

“When things start splitting at the seams and now the whole thing’s tumbling down.”

There’s a spot of icing on Andrew’s chin. Neil wants to kiss it off—could, very easily—but he doesn’t, because then they would be kissing, and Neil can’t bear to break this eye contact.

“It’s tumbling down, hard.”

“There’s a zit on your nose,” Andrew tells him.

Neil raises an eyebrow. “It’s hardly the worst thing on my face.”

“You’re right. It’s that mouth.”

“You like it.”

“One of these days, I am going to staple it shut.”

“And anything to make you smile. You are the ever-living ghost of what once was.”

Neil drags his thumb over the skin of Andrew’s nape. He feels Andrew tighten his hold in response, a bracket that expands and contracts with every breach of Neil’s lungs.

He thinks he understands why people do this. Dancing isn’t talking, isn’t sex. Not the way they’re doing things, at least. It’s existing together without the give and take.

“I never want to hear you say that you’d be better off.”

The timer on the stove sounds. Andrew stops their swaying but permits the noise for a while, holding Neil’s gaze like something that might wriggle out of his grasp if he loosens it.

Then his hands disappear. He turns, shuts off the timer.

Neil mourns the loss of him.

“And no one is ever gonna love you more than I do.”

Andrew takes the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. He turns off the heat, and then he’s back, hands on Neil’s waist.

There’s a question in Andrew’s eyes. Neil nods, feels something earthly uncoil behind his ribs.

Andrew wraps his arms around Neil’s middle. He draws them close, chest to chest, and Neil gets to be there when Andrew goes golden all over again.

Andrew tucks his face into the hollow of Neil’s neck.

“No one’s ever gonna love you more than I do.”

“What’s this for?” Neil whispers.

Andrew says, “Nothing.”

And Neil understands.

-

-

The thrilling conclusion!! All 6 parts posted over on Ao3 if you’re interested. Songs referenced in this part are “Somewhere Only We Know” by Keane and “No One’s Gonna Love You” by Band of Horses.

Thank you all so much for the love and support on this series!! <333

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[dinosaurtsukki]

bungou stray dogs + skincare routine headcanons

a/n: literally no one asked for this but i thought it would be fun

armed detective agency:

atsushi: actually quite diligent with washing his face but he tends to use those scrubbing pads that are meant for your body. its why his face is so flushed pink. 'my skin hurts which means it's working!' baby,,, no

kyouka: gently pats her face with a washcloth while watching atsushi in horror when they're about to get ready for bed but makes no comment about it

kunikida: uses a clarisonic wholly because it has a timer but it took him ages to realize that you use it with SOAP. he was really just washing his face with warm water and a clarisonic this entire time

dazai: washes his face every time he showers which is like once a week (y'all really like this guy huh) but never gets blemishes because idk life gave him clear skin to make up for all the psychological trauma

ranpo: the only skincare he does is applying lip balm. at first you were surprised that he even cares about his lips and then you found out that the lip balm was candy flavored and he licks it off throughout the day

yosano: knows a lot about skincare and is v diligent with it except she's so fucking busy that she ends up falling asleep with a sheet mask or dried up clay mask on her face. those hydrogel undereye patch thingies are her best friend

port mafia:

chuuya: learned about skincare from koyou and is also very diligent with his nightly and morning routine. has enough money to afford tatcha and paula's choice and all that but secretly loves using those cookie-dough-watermelon-sugar face mask things

akutagawa: his face and hands are the only things he washes every day with neutrogena face wash that his sister bought for him (and begged him to use). his one redeeming factor is he wears sunscreen

gin: i love her but she kinda just gets the first thing she sees at the drugstore someone please stop her from re-purchasing that st. ives face scrub. her skin tends to get dry from wearing the bandages all day so sometimes she'll spritz herself with face mist

tachihara: surprise surprise the bandage on his nose isn't there because he has a wound or anything he just keeps it there to hide the pimple patches he uses on his nose. has the bad habit of popping zits

koyou: amazing beautiful perfect queen. if you DARE try to call her while she's having her weekly facial expect golden snow to show up right behind you (nobody knows how she manages to do that)

oda: his skin always gets irritated after shaving until he found out that aloe gel is a good way to soothe the irritation. at first, he'd just use those aloe gel packs from the drugstore until he decided 'why not just... raise aloe plants?' and now he has 3 of them on his window

higuchi: has the basics (face wash, toner, moisturizer, sunscreen) in her bathroom but sometimes she accidentally mixes them up when she's not paying attention in the morning. once walked out of the house with condition on her face (she mistook it for sunscreen)

special division for unusual powers:

ango: uses a facial steamer because they're relaxing + fragrant and even keeps one at his desk. doesn't mind when his glasses fog up because he's seen enough

decay of angels:

fyodor: to him it's just unnecessary and a waste of time which could be spent plotting and scheming so you literally have to sit him on the bathroom counter after his shower and rub face wash on his face. now he refuses to do his skin care unless you do it for him

nikolai: constantly wears so much clown make-up that his skincare routine primarily consists of slathering his entire face with cleansing balm. likes using sheet masks because he thinks its the closest he'll get to wearing someone's face as a mask

sigma: best skincare routine in the DOA. buys bougie skincare shit like chuuya and swears by the holy jade roller that he keeps in his little skincare fridge. we love sigma in this household

hunting dogs:

jouno: claims that he doesn't need skincare because he already has ✨perfect skin✨ but i bet on my life that he secretly owns 5 different serums, one for each day of the week except on weekends

tecchou: regularly uses chapstick because his lips gets super dry and chapped (he forgets to drink water). even stitched a little pocket on his uniform for his chapstick. jouno replaced it with a glue stick once

teruko: literally has the flawless skin of a freshly born child (ok i typed that weird) probably rubs at her face with a wash towel like atsushi does. knows about jouno's serum collection and files that under 'blackmail material' in her head

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist): @kiyoobi​​​​ @atsumusdomain​​​​ @laure-chan​​​​ @goodfoodxoxoxo​​​​ @guardianangelswings​​​​ @kei-ya​​​​ @loisuke​​​​ @whootwhoot​​​​ @liz-multifandom-hotel @kac-chowsballs​​​​ @violentfarewll @fyoyacanruinmylifethanks​ ​​​ @nightmare-light​​​​ ​ @miyakiyo0mi​​​​ @whorefordazai​​​​ @rirk-ke​​​​ @cross-crye​​​ @alohablue @duhsies​​​ @alittlesimp

[justletmeplayminecraft]

I just read your sheep!Zed & Werewolf!Ren one-shot and now I can't stop thinking of Ren herding Zed like a sheepdog. Maybe jokingly herding team ZIT together, sometimes because one is loney, down, or upset.

One-shot please?

i will gratefully take any opportunity to revisit the space outlaws universe! i love these guys and this universe a lot and this is such a fun prompt. hopefully i can provide!

the space outlaws universe belongs to @martuzzio ! usual reminder that my fics are not necessarily canon to the full universe because i like embedding my own headcanons. this is generally fluffy, light hurt/comfort.

Zed wakes to a wet spot poking at his side. He whines, rolling away and trying to pull his crop-top down. The cold patch returns with more ferocity, nudging until it budges him from his comfortable position on the sofa. Zed pushes himself up with a groan, raising a hand to rub his face. He jumps backwards at the sight of black eyes staring at him, surrounded by fur.

"Oh, Ren!" Zed's giggle is strained and high-pitched, folding forwards as he rests a hand over his heart. "You can't do that to me, man, I'm fragile!" Ren pats his front feet back and forth, continuing to nose at Zed's stomach. Zed tries to push him back. "Ren, that's cold!"

Ren steps away, looking at the door to the common room. Zed tilts his head, frowning in thought.

"Do you want to go out? No- I... You can open the door yourself." Zed leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. Ren takes the opportunity to bump Zed's face, leaving him to splutter. "Ah, Ren, I don't want fur in my mouth! I've got enough of my hair to deal with."

Ren stares at Zed, and Zed stares back, trying to figure out what Ren wants from him. Usually he'd be pulling in his speech device by now, so Ren probably thinks he can communicate this without it. Hm. Ren finally backs away, once again pointing his body towards the door. Zed sighs, rocking forward to stand. Ren sticks by his side as he walks over and with a wave of Zed's hand, the metal panels slide open.

"See, there you go. Open." Ren stands there, continuing to blink at him. "I- Are you not planning to go, then?" An ear twitch. Very helpful. Lunging, Ren locks his teeth delicately around Zed's skirt, tugging him towards the doorway. "Ren?" Ren looks up at him, fabric still in his mouth, before pulling again. This time Zed takes a step forward. "Alright, do you want me to follow you?" Ren drops the fabric to nod. "Okay, let's go."

Ren trots down the hall, claws clicking on the metal. Zed tries to pull out the wrinkles in his ensemble. He should really stop taking naps in random places. It's not like there's not enough beds to sleep in around this ship. He unconsciously finds himself stroking his hand through Ren's fur as they walk, watching the doors as they pass by. Ren occasionally sniffs the air before deciding which turn to take.

"Where are you leading me, buddy?" Zed muses. Ren glances at him, ears pointed up. There are no answers on that adorable puppy face of his. Zed scruffs up the fur on Ren's head. "Guess I'll find out, huh?"

They continue their walk in silence, Zed bouncing with each step. Ren's tail wags leisurely behind them, a pup on a mission. They end up going down a floor, as the colour gives way to the white of the labs. Zed glances around, keeping an eye on where they're heading. He can't figure it out. Not until Ren takes a turn into one of the labs, butting the door with his head until Zed laughs and opens it.

The sound of electronics is loud, and Zed waves at Impulse, sitting in front of various blueprints. A pair of goggles sits atop his head, a stylus tapping against his lip. The screens flicker out upon seeing his guest.

"Oh, hey Zed." Impulse waves. Ren slinks around the corner and Impulse laughs upon seeing him. "And Ren, too! Here to help with my lab work?" Ren seemingly ignores his words, walking behind Impulse so he can nudge at his back. Impulse frowns, looking down at him. "Huh."

"I, uh, get the feeling we're being herded?" Zed says, rubbing at the back of his neck. Ren's tail wags, pushing Impulse again.

"Okay, okay, just give me a minute to clear up, yeah?" Ren plops straight down on the floor, sparking a laugh from Impulse. He pets Ren's head whilst pulling the goggles off his own. "Thanks, dude." Zed waits by the door as Impulse puts his files and trinkets away, trying to figure out exactly what it is Ren wants. He'll admit to being stumped by it, still.

The second Impulse steps away from his bench, Ren is curling around him and encouraging him to the door. Impulse chuckles, walking obediently and joining Zedaph. From there, Ren takes the lead again, walking with a purpose. They haven't got too far when Zed yawns, leaning on Impulse's shoulder. Impulse wraps an arm around him.

"Tired?" He asks. Zed huffs, rubbing his eyes.

"Ren woke me up from my nap, man!" He whines, perching his head on Impulse's shoulder. Impulse smiles, squeezing Zed's side.

"How awful."

"You lived, right?" Impulse asks, with a teasing glimmer in his eyes. Zed swoons, Impulse laughing as he struggles to keep him upright.

"I know! I got poked by a wet nose!" Zed gestures at his outfit, a simple crop-top and loose skirt. "I'm not made for poking, Imp."

"Barely, it was terrible! I nearly crossed the golden bridge!" Ren looks back at them both with a disapproving look. Impulse shoves Zed back onto his feet to scratch behind Ren's ear.

"It's okay, Zed doesn't mean it." Zed rolls his eyes at the both of them.

Zed didn't even realise how far they've been walking until they're entering a residential part of the ship. Their talk falls into gossip about a recent mission. It's been a while since one of them three have gone out. They don't like going without each other, but they don't like going with each other either... It's hard. They're still trying to work on it, but they've not gotten far.

Zed shares a look with Impulse as they get closer to their own bedrooms. Is Ren trying to tell Zed he needs to go to bed? But then why get Impulse? He also can't ignore the missing point of their triangle.

Ren bumps his nose into Zed's door. Zed steps forward, unlocking it with quick movements. He glances around carefully before his eyes fall on his nest bed. And the person burrowed amongst the pillows. Tango sighs at the sight of them, sinking further into the blankets. Ren strides in without care, nudging at Tango's face before curling around his back.

"Ren, I told you it was okay," Tango whispers, stroking Ren's head. His voice shakes uncharacteristically, even his hands struggling to stay still. Impulse walks in, taking Zed's hand to lead him inside.

"Tango? What's wrong?" Impulse asks, his voice gentle. Tango continues to focus on Ren, voice still quiet.

"It was just a stupid bad dream. It's no big deal." Zed climbs into bed, crawling over to Tango instead of his usual leap into it. He wastes no time in wrapping his arms around Tango's shoulder, cuddling his side.

"That doesn't matter. You've stayed up with me for loads of my nightmares."

"And mine," Impulse agrees. "And even if you hadn't, you're our friend." Impulse sits on Tango's other side, arranging a few pillows so he can curl up comfortably. "We're not going to leave you. You can call us whenever you need."

"I don't- I didn't think I needed you." Even as he talks, there's an uncertainty in Tango's voice. Zed gives him a squeeze.

"Well, Ren disagreed," he replies. "And we're here now." A soft smile appears on Tango's face at those words. He leans into Zed's hold, reaching a hand out to Impulse.

"Yeah. You guys are here now."

"And we're not going anywhere," Impulse tells him, running his thumb over Tango's knuckles. "I don't think Ren is, either." They look at the werewolf, already slumbering. At least, pretending to. There's every chance he's listening in secretly.

"Mm, I'm going to copy him," Zed yawns again, shuffling down into the blankets. Tango adjusts his hold so Zed can curl against him, Ren behind them both. Impulse watches with a smile, trying to commit this sight to memory.

"Don't be afraid to call us, okay?" Impulse says. Tango looks at him.

"I can't promise that," he admits. Impulse hums.

"I'm not asking you to. I just don't want you to deal with this alone, okay?" Impulse shuffles down further. "We're all safe. We're going to stay that way."

"You can't promise that," Tango replies, tilting his head. He looks tired.

"But we can try," Zed whispers. "And we're not alone this time." He strokes through Ren's thick fur, his eyes already closed.

"We can try," Impulse repeats. "And hey, we've survived this many years, right?" He squeezes Tango's cheek, managing to pull a laugh from him.

"Is it really surviving if I'm stuck with you two?"

"Hey!" They fall into content giggles. With his half-open eyes, Zed could swear Ren is smiling.

[jiminrings]

I'll show you~ Can I please get a drabble of Yoongi as a roommate? Because I think that'd be an amazing IDEA- like srsly, he'd be the one to tell u to wake him early for his work stuff and then get grumpy in the morning and refuse to even moVE out of the bed and u have to bribe him with something to wake him up for hiS WORK. And he will most likely say "no" to any chores in the house but still do aLL of them nonetheless. aND though he hates hugs on occasions he might even ask for cuddles???

across the living room

pairing: yoongi x y/n

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: you’re yoongi’s alarm clock, he aLWAYS acts that you’d be the bane of his existence, and his cooking actually tastes good if he wakes up early enough for it!!

notes: thank u so much for ur request baby i have nevEr written something so fast ever in my life because i was so :’’)

yoongi isn’t necessarily a bad roommate

of course nOt!!

because bad is relative and everyone has different variations of a bad roomie

he wasn’t messy or anything like that

it’s just the occasional clutter that he’d clean up himself

he isn’t rude either

well okay “rude” is aLSO relative

just because yoongi could be a little condescending most times

like when yOU do the grocery shopping and the first thing he’d do is look through the bags with some certain hums of approval

nice nice you picked the kimchi that wasn’t on sale because it was gonna expire the very next week like what you did with the last time

your picking and judgement for carton eggs are actually improving!!!

yoongi once called you an idiot for not smelling the carton of eggs first and in your defense you were in a hURRY

ok but he do be right they did stink the last time

hmmmm decent snacks

“why did you get this milk? i already told you to buy the other brand!! it has like a difference of three dollars and gOd if you’re short on it then ask me for it”

can that be called rude and condescending <3

or after yoongi’s milk tirade, he then goes picking at the other groceries you’ve gotten

you got less greens this time because if you’re being honest you’re getting sICK of seeing spinach and celery all the damn time

you’re the one who mostly cooks anyways and yoongi still insists that you use them

you could have a bagel for breakfast and hE’D PUT SPINACH ON IT

you’re getting a bit fed up with the color green nowadays so you got more fruits than vegetables!! frozen berries and yogurt are the superior match!!

there’s the “too-sweet diabetes are you trying to kill yourself y/n look at the nutrition fACTS” cereal

the “we have an obsessive amount of chocolate-covered almonds. stop it already. i’ll throw this out i’m not even kidding” almonds

the “why did you buy three boxes they’re all the same thing it’s not even delicious anyway” mozzarella sticks

the “this tastes like cardboard i swear why won’t you just get the individual ingredients that i told you to” cake mix

and of course

the “why did you buy tampons already? napkins, also?? it’s not even your period yet” tam-

wait a minute

... h-hold on

did yoongi really just

you must have froze and he must have noticed too because well that’s a surprise you’re nOt huffing with his digs

“you knOW my cycle???”

he doesn’t really know why it’s such a big deal that he shrugs at your pointless question and just continues piling on the cupboards

“yeah, don’t you?”

b-but

wHAT

“i don’t even tell you wHEN i get my period!! why do you know that??”

“you don’t need to tell me, stupid.”

ok rude

but seconds of all hOW does he know

you can’t even talk about yourself to yoongi or even tell him how your day went because he’s just.,.,.

yoongi could sense the internal meltdown in your head and he just chuckles because you’re entirely clueless

or maybe he’s just extremely observant of you without even noticing

there’s a pile of paper bags that the two of you keep because rECYCLING <3

and he always sees atleast one or two disappearing from the pile when you have your period because you’re nOt just gonna discard it to the communal trash can

you’re not a monster!!!

the snacks go by a little more quickly this time

you’re a little mORE demanding but just a little

like when yoongi has the news on when you eat dinner and you’re side-eyeing him

ok he’s already turned the volume down

you still look irritated at him

“.... y’want me to change the channel?”

lol and you have a zit somewhere on your face that yoongi could point out but he chooses not to

instead he just leaves around his box of pimple patches lying somewhere and you dOn’t scold him for that and you know what

maybe you’ll stick some to your face you deserve it ok

it’s affirmative that you’re rEALLY shocked to how yoongi explained all this to you effortlessly

“i bought them because it was a buy one take one deal :((“

that’s all he could hear from you as you mumble under your breath because now you’re just speechless

wow

your roommate cares about you,,,,

MIN YOONGI CARES ABOUT YOU :D

care may be a little bit of a reach from observing but it’s okay you dOn’t care lol they’re probably synonyms anyway

there’s good days!!!

those are probably your happiest days when yoongi initiates a conversation with you that doesn’t involve him intentionally pissing you off

or when you can make him laugh and he looks like the most adorable being EVER you swear

you tried taking pictures of him but he has a radar for it and he immediately holds out his hand to reach out for your phone and effectively cover him

that’s all you have

pictures with yoongi’s hand on focus and him blurred in the background

adjusting to yoongi’s rhythm always varies because well he dOes vary

there’s days when he completely deadpans at you for no apparent reason at all

or when you just need someone to squeal with!!

like that time you got the highest score at an exam that was claimed to be difficult and you were jumping up and down while trying to shake up yoongi

and he looked annoyed for some reason and him not sharing your sentiment,, probably even hating it,, already put a dampener in your mood :((

or that time you went on an angry monologue of why he won’t contribute to doing the chores and how you do everything

from sweeping the floors and doing the dishes and taking out the trash and even cooking!!!

you even fold the clothes and you can’t even remember how yoongi managed to convince you to fold his clothes too

with that he just pursed his lips before putting his attention back to his phone

“no.”

unbeknownst to you though, yoongi does his share of chores more evidently this time around

most times he just does his part when you’re in your room and lately he’s been slacking

ok i’ll help you out i guess ://

sometimes you just want to do nice things for yoongi okay

there’s already a set routine that you follow and adapated to for his sake

you now wake up at four in the morning for hIM and that just depends if he’d wake up within the next thirty minutes

the first actual “friend” unlike roommate intercation you had was yoongi telling you to go knock on his door early in the morning

absolutely dON’T stop knocking until he wakes up and opens the door

sure his four in the morning compared to you staying in is a much much mUch earlier time

but it’s okay because it’s for yoongi! :D

the first time you did that? yoongi raised his voice at you because wHY ARE YOU KNOCKING ON MY DOOR???

“b-but you told me to!!”

“oh. right. thanks.”

lmao he kinda simmered down after that and you took this job to heart

you have now evolved into cooking breakfast BEFORE knocking on his door

you just care for yoongi perhaps

but you won’t delve into elaborating that just yet

today’s breakfast was waffles!!

but they’re special waffles of course!! kinda like a s’mores situation in between the two

little marshmallows that you put in your ice cream and in your drinks and within two seconds they shrivel up into nothingness

crushed biscuits that resemble graham and maybe it would be easier if you just buy graham crackers itself lol

of cOurse some chocolate chips!!

they’re leftovers from when you decided to buy a big bag of them

and yoongi asked you on wHy the hell did you buy these in this huge quantity

“i’ll melt them because i aLSO got those silicone molds on sale!! including the stars and the seashells!!”

“you do know that these are solid... and you’ll melt them into liquid... only for them to be in the same way you bought them in..... just in a different shape....”

“oh my gOd yoongi just because you’re accurate doesn’t mean you’re interesting!! fine then, i’ll split these with jimin instead”

“did you even ask if i wanted them in the first place???”

anyways besides those waffles lol

you also made dalgona :D instead of yoongi’s preferred dark black coffee :D

you tasted his one time and it tasted like death and liver and charcoal all at the same time

this is a GOOD morning okay??

last night you couldn’t sleep that well because you had a thought

a really, intricate, awe-forming thought

there’s such a thing called work husbands, right??

do apartment husbands exist

lol of course if your husband does live in the same apartment as you do

you’re probably making a reach and yoongi doesn’t care about you in the same way that you do for him

but it just makes you think :((

these things that you’re doing, with and for him....

they’re things that you do with your boyfriend ya know

you’re essentially a couple if you think about it further

you’re under the same roof and you do things together and well

the only thing missing is the aCTUAL commitment itself

this was why it’s a good morning

jimin, your friend that’s just down at the end of the hall, managed to convince you to try and hINT atleast that you like yoongi

to be clear

you’ve only known jimin for three weeks and you feel like you’ve done much more progress with him than you ever did with yoongi for five months

it was when he asked you for your notes and you told him that lol you had nONE and the both of you just laughed for like five minutes straight

yoongi still won’t buy that story no matter how much you tell him that it’s true

with his hunch he thinks you’re actually fuck buddies with jimin because you’ve been sneaking off at night right when he closes his door and tHAT’S when you go to jimin’s room

to be also clear

ok yes you might like yoongi

perhaps a whole ton as what you decide because he’s been effectively plaguing your mind and your senses

and the oNLY reason you’ve been going to jimin’s is to talk to him and freak out on what you should do

because you know that yoongi is a sensible person and if u give him even the slightesy whiff of a hint that you like him, he’ll catch on instantly!!!

at the same time it’s like.... so be it....

yeah if yoongi doesn’t return your feelings then you’ll completely understand

things would be awkward for awhile aha

and if yoongi decides to move out because of you? no problem yOU’RE the one who’s gonna move out and let yoongi keep the apartment

jimin’s roommate is leaving soon anyway

see? you’re already equipped for rejection!!!!

aha that’s not necessarily a bad thing but it IS a heartbreaking concept

but here you are

so whipped to the point that you might just cave and put everything in a tray so you could set it on yoongi’s bed

that does seem to be the case because you’re knocking and knocking and he wON’T answer

this is an important day for him anyways because he gets his evaluation today!! and you can’t have him late and hungry and sad now can you

“yOONGI ARE YOU-“

“god, why do you have to be so loud??”

“i told you-“

wait a second

that voice doesn’t belong to yoongi

and the person in front of you, most certainly, isn’t yoongi.

oh that’s nice

she’s wearing yoongi’s shirt from the night before

you don’t recall someone else being in your apartment because after all, you and yoongi are the only roommates

and that yoongi doesn’t even have any visitors

it takes a second for you to connect the dots at hand

it’s okay :)

it’s cool!

this way you’re already heartbroken without prolonging it and bringing it upon yourself

it was bound to happen anyway

yoongi was more than a handsome and skilled and capable man and someone like him wouldn’t stay single for perhaps forever

“o-oh, sorry. uhm help yourself to breakfast, or uhm go back to bed, i guess. if you could just, w-wake up yoongs? i think he has something important at work today, oR well atleast he told me so.”

holy fuck

that was a mess

you’re a mess

there’s no need for confrontation or researching or anything like that because there is absolutely no reason for it lol

you’re a mere roommate to yoongi and you’re just acting like it.

he finds you weird these days

you’re not... bothering him

you’re not trying to linger around or pester him with your usual presence

you only come out when you’re going out for class or for work or for something else he can’t even imagine

which was weird

because yoongi oddly enough misses the white noise you provide

he knocked at your door yesterday and he wasn’t really sure on what to say so he panicked and said “aren’t you supposed to vacuum today?”

which is actually true!!!!

you just got the vacuum and your..,., earphones???

and put them in????

wait shouldn’t this be the time that you try to talk over the vacuum and ineffectively yell as you try to make conversation with him???

this time you’re just silent and probably enjoying the music that’s playing and yoongi couldn’t be anymore confused

he goes to his room when you vacuum but this time he stayed just because he wanted to test the waters ok

he didn’t put his feet up so you could vacuum underneath

he just got one tap on his calf and he wordlessly complies aND HE DOESN’T KNOW WHY HE DID IT SO EASILY

he was supposed to bicker with you :(((

did he... do something??

well he didn’t forget to take the trash out and made sure not to flood the showers this time

fuck it fine that’s IT

he even cooked dinner tonight and he knocked at your door and those are two rare occurrences in the sAME sentence

“y/n, don’t make me regret doing this.”

that’s an empty threat ok he really just wanted to cook for himself and coincidentially made enough for another portion for you

or atleast that’s what he convinces himself

yoongi reaches the end of his wick and he’s about to look for one of your hairpins and pick at your lock

one thing he hasn’t taken into account is that oh,,, your door’s open

there wasn’t really a reaction when your door creaks but there is one but it’s from hIM

because you’re bundled in your comforter and you look different and that’s when he presses his hand to your forehead and you’re tOO HOT

“why didn’t you tell me that you have a fever??”

there’s no room for him to enunciate him being upset because he’s worriedly getting you things to nurse you back to health ok

there’s the wet towels and the water and the medicine!!!

there’s him checking underneath your comforter and you dOn’t have any socks on so he’s getting that alright

yoongi’s third most-prized possession probably is his gravity blanket he spent a pretty penny on and here he is,,, carrying it over to you so you’d be more comfortable — the food he just made you but maybe he should make some soup for you to easily digest

yoongi just felt pure panic seeing you like this ok

you running a fever and being the complete opposite of bubbly but won’t take shit atleAst 5/7 times from him and would argue with him to hell and back

were you starting to get sick the days before so that’s why you were distant??

or was it the other way around

there’s this utmost feeling of concern looming in yoongi’s chest and he even tried clutching at his chest because what iS this

he almost forgot that you’re sleeping and that you barely talked to him at all despite helping you out of his own accord

“you’re here but you’re not yOu!!!”

god he’s just so frustrated because he isn’t used to this and frankly he’ll never be

yoongi’s chewing on his inner cheek and he knits his brows trying to figure wHAT happened, his index finger poking and tracing at your hand that’s laid snugly on your pillow

“you’re already here but why do i keep missing you?”

[fleurjardin]

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[bluboothalassophile]

Stitching Things Together

@shewhowillnotbenamed1, I do hope you enjoy the story! =)

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason supposed it was a weird night. It wasn’t his fault for a change; this was completely Dickhead’s fault, and if it wasn’t for Dickhead they wouldn’t be in the ER as a whole.

Idiot siblings and surprise visits, it always lead to a fucking hospital trip. Of fucking course. Jason didn’t even know why he put up with them and the utter bullshit that they inflicted on him. Of course Roy, Kyle, and Eddie thought this to be fucking hilarious, and Jason wanted to punch those brothers too. Of course this would happen.

Point was now they were at a hospital, and he sat alone on his own examination bed, already pulling out the glass of the incident; he knew he’d have to call his CO which wasn’t something he was looking forward to, and then there was the matter of Babs coming for Dickhead and the crew. Not something Jason looked forward to. He didn’t particularly like his sister-in-law, Barbara Gordon was; in his opinion, the worst option for a wife for his idiot brother. Not that Dick cared. Dick was too besotted with Barbara to care. There was a reason Jason had joined the Navy, and it wasn’t to be close to his idiot brothers!

Seriously! How much fucking damage could they do!?

The curtain was thrown back as he had a flashlight gripped in his teeth and he was gently pulling out the glass already.

His eyes flicked up to the intruder because if it was Dick he was so kicking Dick in the nuts and making his big brother sing soprano for a month.

Instead he was greeted by the look of a beautiful, bewitching angel of a woman. Her thick black hair was escaping it’s brain in wisps around her face, her heritage made her face both sharp and proud and somehow ethereal, while her violet eyes were other worldly, the black lashes of her eyes were impossibly thick. He was pretty sure she was all natural, he could see a few blemishes on her ivory skin, a small zit, a bit of uneven blush, and there was a cut on her brow. Her lips were drawn in a tight line and he noted that her upper lip was fuller than her bottom, making her almost appear uneasy, but still… She was an angel, and he was sure his brain had packed it’s bags and walked off with his lungs and heart staring at the petite woman in blue scrubs.

Holy shit, she was gorgeous, he could see that, the woman was thick in his favorite places too, despite her petite frame.

“What the hell are you doing!?” she demanded; he nearly groaned; would’ve too if he didn’t have his flashlight in his mouth. She had a voice for sex and seduction, the sort of soft voice he loved. He was so screwed. He was definitely throwing Dick’s sorry ass from a moving train when he saw him again.

“What’s it look like?” he demanded just as sharply as she had pulling out the flashlight. He glared as fiercely back at the woman, he refused to let her know how well she had instantly gotten under his skin.

“Like you’re pulling out glass with unsanitary tools!” she snapped walking back to him.

“Well, yeah,” he rolled his eyes.  “Besides I can do it.”

She grabbed a stool and slid over to him, before examining his arm. “What did you do?” she asked examining the wound.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” he pointed out. He’d patched up way worse than this.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“If you must know my idiot Army Family decided to come visit, and of course being the idiots they, Dickhead specifically, are, they found trouble, I was unwittingly with them.”

“Mmm,” she hummed as she started cleaning his wound. He didn’t even hiss at the sting of sterilizer on his battered flesh. He hadn’t died, and the glass would come out. She was about to get her first piece of glass from his arm when he decided now was as good as any moment to tease her.

“Ow!” he yelped, she jumped and glared at him, but he saw her impulse to hit him, which had him smiling charmingly.

“I haven’t even touched you!”

“Call it practice,” he offered.

“Will you be quiet!?” she hissed. “I don’t need to do more damage and you’re going to need stitches.”

“No I don’t, it’s just a flesh wound, little bird.”

“Little bird?” she questioned as she worked.

“Yeah, you haven’t given me your name and you know mine since you read the chart,” he pointed out. She was focused as she worked, her head tilting a bit, and he stared at the column of her slender neck. Everything about her was elegant, he felt like he was sitting in the presence of a Queen who the rest of the world had yet to acknowledge.

“Raven, Nurse Raven Roth,” she offered.

“Ah, so you are a little bird!” he mused.

She glared at him a bit playfully from beneath her lashes as she continued her thorough work.

“I mean no offense, ravens and crows are some of the smartest birds, and they’re pretty cool.” He offered.

“I take no offense, ravens and crows have good family structures and remember faces of their tormentors,” she said.

“Do you?”

“Remember the faces of my tormentors?” she mused. “Yes, particularly when they are unruly idiots who have an arm full of glass.”

“Oh this is entirely Dickhead’s fault!” he promised.

“And what, pray tell, did he do?”

“He decided to get in an overheated, passionate argument with a Marine during the Army-Navy game, and I got in the middle before those dumbasses did something dumber.” He had been sent into the window of his truck and was pissed about that, but no fights, no misconduct, just idiot brothers, and fucking off. Though Roy, Eddie and Kyle seeing it had annoyed him as the idiots wouldn’t leave it alone now. If it wasn’t one set of brothers it was another.

“That’s dangerous,” she agreed solemnly.

“You’re telling me, Dickhead just couldn’t quit while he was ahead though so I dragged him out of the place, and of course the idiot is a boneless noodle when drunk, we tripped and into the truck window I went while that asshole only got a bump on the head,” he grumbled.

“Being drunk probably helped with that, alcohol relaxes the body,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, well it’s not going to save Dickhead when I get out of here,” he grumbled. The only reason he was even here was because Tim had called an ambulance, and there was no clean escape from there with the fucking octopus that was Dick.

“And Dickhead is your brother?” she guessed.

“Not a team brother, a brother brother, and our General father is going to be annoyed when he finds out about this,” he sighed.

“Ah, well, shit happens,” Raven shrugged as she grabbed the needle and thread. He glared at her, she smirked as she reached over and started sewing him up.

The curtains were thrown open again which had Jason’s head snapping up as Duke appeared.

“You have got to do something about him!” Duke stated.

“What?”

“He found out Barbara is coming as was trying to climb out the window,” Duke said.

“Oh no, I am getting stitched up by this lovely nurse, then she and I are going for coffee, I am not dealing with Dickhead antics!” Jason stated.

Raven shot him a questioning look and he internally begged her to just say yes, because he did not want to deal with Dick, Tim, or Damian. Duke was okay, but he was Air Force and agreed not to align himself with their Army brother’s antics.

“Oh, lucky, and damn you,” Duke said as he hurried off to go get their brothers.

“We are going for coffee?”

“I was going to ask,” he promised. “Besides, you stitched me up, that’s way more intimate than a one night stand so I figured I owed you a cup.”

“I’m going to agree if you get me something to eat because I have not eaten yet and you’ve made plans for my lunch hour,” she sighed.

“Deal.”

“Then I will be happy to go to lunch with you,” she said.

“You do realize it’s really dinner.”

“If you say this is a date I will stab you with my needle,” she warned.

“I would never, I just wanted you aware.”

“Time is a unit measurement and an illusion, also if you get between me and food right now you will be in the ICU,” she warned.

“I just be in love,” he mocked.

“Don’t think so lover boy,” she countered. “And I like tea, not coffee, my grandfathers would both keel over if they thought I drank coffee.”

“I see, well, I can do tea,” he promised. “I’ll even be proper and have the right biscuits with it.”

“No, I want a burger.”

“Now I really just might be in love.”

[pynkhues]

Prompt for PH: One of Kenny’s friends develops a big crush on Beth.

OKAY! Managed to get a whole bunch of prompts in this one which you can see in the note over on ao3 ;-) 

(Also your lowkey reminder that in the C&C universe, Rio has two older sisters – Carmen’s the oldest, an ER doctor, who’s recently gotten divorced from her husband. They have two boys Raf and David. His other sister, Aida, is an artist and a graphic designer who has an off-again-on-again girlfriend and no kids.

Ages of the kids in this one:

Sadie & Sara – 16/17Kenny – 15Rafael ‘Raf’ (OC, Carmen and Matt’s son) - 14Danny & David (OC, Carmen and Matt’s son) – 12Emma – 11Marcus & Harry ‘Lil Money’ – 10Jane – still 9 and annoyed about itDakota – 4)

-

“And then what?” Aida asks, sitting forwards in her seat, a wide grin on her face, and Beth can’t help it, she chances a look at Rio, who’s just - - rolling his eyes, of course, but also his lips are tugging up – maybe – just a little, despite himself. There’s something about it that settles warmly in her, the softness in his look, and she drops her hand to his leg before she can think any more of it, squeezing lightly.

And she smiles, almost shyly when he glances down at her hand, then at her, a look of surprise briefly passing across his face that quickly smooths into something steadier, something good. She knows she’s still not the best at this - - touching him first, especially not in front of people, but it’s getting easier, or - - no. Not easier. Rather it’s getting harder to control the impulse to.

The arm he has tossed over the back of their couch shifts suddenly behind her, bending, until his fingers smooth over the back of her neck, the skin revealed from where she has her hair up in a messy bun, making her shiver.

“Well,” Annie replies, lurching to her feet off the couch and heading over to the bar cart. She waves the bottle of merlot around, gets a yes from Beth, Ruby, Aida, a no from Stan, Nancy, Carmen – before she can wave it at Rio or continue on with her story, they all hear a loud, young voice sound from upstairs.

“No.”

Which proves enough to make them all pause. Beth’s gaze darts back to Rio, but he’s squinting above them, like his eyes can burn a hole through the ceiling, through the floor above them, straight into Marcus’ room.

It’s Ruby who breaks the silence in the end.

“Hmm,” she supplies, turning pointedly towards Stan. “Doesn’t sound like one of ours?”

“Nope. Lil’ Money does not have that set of pipes on him, and I’m pretty sure Sara’s still teaching Emma how to French braid in the family room.”

Which in turn is enough to make Beth lean sideways in her seat, half across Rio’s lap, just enough she can see down the hallway to where Sadie, Sara and Emma are watching To All the Boys I Loved Before on low volume in the family room, Emma sitting on the floor between Sara’s legs as Sara does her hair while talking to Sadie over the movie.

“Or mine,” Annie agrees, like she’s seeing what Beth’s seeing, despite the fact that there’s no way she could, and Beth chances a look over at Rio again who looks apprehensive at best, his jaw rocking as an explosion of tense childish chatter erupts from upstairs. “Or yours, Nance, so seriously chill.”

“I hate it when you say that,” Nancy says, prickly as she eyes off the stairs. “Do you think Dakota woke up?”

“You literally have a baby monitor in your hand, you would’ve heard. Plus I’m pretty sure Beth and Rio’s room is like, sound proofed so the kids don’t hear - - ”

“Annie,” Beth says sharply, glancing sideways at where Carmen’s rolling her eyes and Aida’s about three seconds away from faux retching.

“Please, we all know you two exist in a constant state of foreplay. Your hand is practically on his dick right now.”

“OKAY!” Ruby says suddenly while Beth snaps her hand off of Rio’s leg, something that only makes Rio level a heated glare at Annie across the room. “Who’s checking on the kids?”

“It’s probably one of mine,” Carmen says with a sigh, finishing off her drink and dropping her wine glass to the coffee table. “At the moment, they’re just - -”  

She waves out an exhausted hand, and Aida and Beth both offer her sympathetic looks.

“Divorce can be hard on them,” Beth says. “It’s just an adjustment though. You’ll all get through it.”

Rio grunts in agreement, and Carmen nods, grateful, as she gets to her feet. She opens her mouth to reply, when they hear footsteps pounding down the hallway above them, and then they can see it – Jane and Marcus at the top of the stairs. Beth bites back a groan, at where Jane’s party dress is already torn at the back.

“Just go play with Emma,” Marcus whisper-yells, his little face stern. “This is boys only.”

“Mom says there’s no such thing as boys only,” Jane hisses back, yanking her arm out of his grip, hard enough she wobbles a little at the top of the stairs, and Beth’s heart lurches as she pushes off the couch, ready to race up if she needs to. “You’re just worried that they’ll like me more than you, and then you’ll have to go and watch dumb, kissing movies with Sara and Emma because nobody will want you on their team anymore.”

Marcus scoffs, curling his lip, but before he can say anything, Jane’s bolting down the hallway, back towards what Beth can only guess is Marcus’ room and god, she’s fast, but Marcus has hit his growth spurt, is practically more leg than boy these days, and Jane - - well, Beth’s pretty sure Jane is destined to be Annie-sized. Beth rolls her eyes, hearing them start to scuffle, and she’s starting towards the stairs when Rio gently knocks her back towards the couch, a silent directive to stay, and starting up them himself instead.

Which - -  fine, he can handle it, she thinks, reaching for her drink when - -

There’s a slam, a crunch, a wail.

Suddenly Beth can hardly breathe andRio’s running and everyone else is on their feet, Carmen pushing past to get tothe front. 

“First aid kit?” she asks.

“There’s one in both of the bathrooms,” Beth says quickly, getting to the foot of the stairs only to see Rio sitting on the floor in the hallway, Jane hysterical in his arms, her fingers purple even from here. Marcus’ door is open again at least, and he’s standing in it, ashen faced, all the other boys tucked in behind him. Carmen ducks up past her and Beth starts to herself, only to have one of Carmen’s boys – David – suddenly bolt down the stairs past her, trying to escape the inevitable punishment, almost barrelling her over. She throws out a hand to stop him, and he looks up at her with wild eyes. Beth gives him a disapproving look.  

“Jesus,” Annie says somewhere behind her, not to her. “Doesn’t it make you glad our kids are old?”

“Makes me glad I don’t have kids period,” Aida adds, and as if on cue, the baby monitor in Nancy’s hand goes off with Dakota’s four-year-old bustling. She yelps, leaps to her feet, pushes past Beth who’s still trying to get hold of David to get him back up into the kid jail upstairs Rio’s inevitably creating when she hears Stan stepping up behind her.

“Not all our kids are old,” Stan calls back to Annie, smiling softly at Beth, before wrangling David and taking him up the stairs towards the other boys. “And those pipes before might not have been Lil’ Money,” he says, raising his voice firmly but gently, just to make sure Harry hears. “But boys only sounds like somethin’ that kid’d be a part of, so.”

Beth moves to go with him, but only makes it up two steps when she hears:

“Is everything okay?”

With a blink, she turns on the spot to see Kenny suddenly in the downstairs hallway beneath her, shadowed by his friend, Mason. She nods, painting on a smile for them, even as her gaze flicks back up to where Rio’s still comforting Jane, Carmen now beside him, trying to get a look at her fingers.

“The boys just got a little boisterous and Jane got hurt. It’s okay,” she says, watching as Rio shoots his most disappointed stare down across all the boys, but levelling something that must be particularly sobering at Marcus and Danny, as it has the latter recoiling and the former bursting into sobs of his own.

“Does Rio need help?”

Beth blinks over at Kenny again, who stares earnestly, honestly back at her, and Beth smiles softly, shaking her head and reaching out to straighten the collar of his shirt. He likes to iron them himself these days – something that she’d thought perhaps had been at Rio’s insistence until Rio had denied it. It was all Kenny, which was all sorts of lovely, despite the fact that he wasn’t actually all that good at it. She looks at the creases, at the upturned corner, and like he knows where she’s going with it, Kenny rolls his eyes, batting her hand away.

“Cool, well, we just wanted to tell you Mason’s going home.”

Straightening, Beth glances behind him to where Mason shuffles a little on the spot, his blond hair floppy, his forehead peppered with zits, his eyes bright and green. Behind them, she can hear Aida and Annie laugh about something in the living room, behind her, she can hear Stan’s gentle, but firm reprimand.

“How are you getting home, sweetie? Do you need a ride?”

Mason shifts his weight, plays a little with his backpack strap, and shakes his head. Somewhere upstairs she can hear Carmen insisting Rio let her look at Jane’s hand, only this time she hears Rio insisting he’s got it covered, which is typical, really. He always thinks he knows best, even though Carmen’s an actual medical professional and his expertise consists of patching up his own gunshot wounds. Beth inhales, sharper than she intends, itching to get up there.

“No, I’m okay, Mrs. B. My mom should be here any minute. She’s coming straight from work, so.”

Beth nods, glancing up again briefly at where Rio’s finally stood up, finally let Carmen lead him and Jane into the bathroom. Rio’s hand is tight on Jane’s back, her arms curled desperately around his neck, and - - he has it covered, Beth reminds herself. She looks back at Mason.

“Okay, well, let me grab you some leftovers to take home for your mom.”

“Mooom,” Kenny groans, embarrassed, and she’s back down the stairs and halfway down the hall before she hears Kenny lean over to Mason. “Sorry, it’s kind of her thing. Everyone always leaves with something.”

Which isn’t untrue, but still. She knows Mason’s mother is widowed, knows it wasn’t a year ago that his father died, knows his mother works hard, long hours, so it’s the least she can do to put some of the dinner aside for her, and maybe a little extra, that they might get another meal for both of them out of it too. It’s not like she didn’t make enough – a slow cooked lamb pot roast with almonds and pomegranate. She grabs a few slices of the spiced bourbon apple pie she’d made for dessert too and a few of the practice-round peach and candied ginger muffins too (the good ones had gone to Demon and his wife as a thank you for taking care of the kids at the warehouse last week when Beth and Rio had had a one hour meeting turn into a half-day one. She’s not sure Demon will ever recover from managing all five of them). She pops them all into containers, spinning on the spot, her party heels clipping on the floor as she walks back to them, surprised to find only Mason.

“Where’d Kenny go?” she asks, blinking, and Mason shrugs, fiddling with his bag strap again.

“Sadie wanted to show him something. I said it was okay.”

Beth sighs, glancing back upstairs at where the crying seems to have died down and where Stan’s leading Harry, Marcus, Danny, and Carmen’s boys – Raf and David, down the stairs towards the family room. Beth mouths okay? And Stan nods.

“Bruised, and a bit of a nasty cut, but they’re not broken,” he adds. “She’ll be fine.”

She smiles gratefully, before turning her attention back to Mason.

“Sorry for the chaos,” she says lightly, and Mason laughs.

“It’s kinda cool. I don’t have any brothers or sisters and like, only one cousin who’s way older. Like she’s already married and stuff.”

Beth hums, opening the front door and stepping outside with him into the cool evening air. It’s breezy enough to billow her dress slightly, and she smooths it down with one hand, still clutching the containers of food to herself as Mason moves to stand beside her.

“What you made for dinner was pretty awesome,” he tells her, and Beth smiles over at him, mind already back inside, hoping the boys don’t ruin Emma, Sara and Sadie’s movie. Raf in particular isn’t particularly good at hiding when he finds something boring, after all. Hopes it gives her enough time to go up, inspect Jane’s hand for herself, to lay kisses on it like she’d do when they were all small, like it might make her feel better. “Like, and the fact that you made a dessert with bourbon in it - - that’s pretty fuckin’ dope.”

Beth arches an eyebrow at that, pulled back to the moment, and it’s all it takes for Mason to pink at the cheeks, shrugs.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, and Beth laughs.

“It’s fine, nothing I haven’t heard before, I can promise you that,” she replies easily, and Mason wrinkles his nose, still smiling, still blushing a little in embarrassment, and Beth softens before she can help herself. They’ve been seeing so much of him since his dad died, since his mom’s working more, and he’s a good friend to Kenny and a sweet kid, and god, if maybe she doesn’t look at him sometimes and remember  - -

Well.

Remember.

“And thank you,” she adds. “It’s nice to know my cooking is fucking dope.”

She winks at him, and Mason’s blush only deepens, his feet shuffling. He opens his mouth to say something to her, what, she’s not sure when suddenly a car pulls into their driveway - - or, at least, it tries to – not an easy feat with all the other cars there.

Beth waves as Mason’s mom pokes an exhausted head out of the car, and Mason moves to grab the containers from Beth.

“Thanks again, Mrs. B,” he says, and Beth nods, smiling.

“Get home safe now.”

Mason smiles, waving as best he can around all the containers before darting off towards his mother. She watches him go, get in, waits for them to drive off before turning to go back inside. It’s not a new habit exactly, but still. She’s had enough reminders of what she and Rio do for a living to like to see people off these days, whoever they might be.

Stealing back inside, she can hear Carmen’s voice peel down the stairs:

“Y’know, maybe if you got out of your goddamn helicopter right now, this would go a lot faster.”

Rio snaps something back at her, his voice too low, gruff to be heard, but it’s enough to make Carmen huff out that irritated laugh in reply that’s so much like Rio’s Beth’s head briefly spins. She thinks about going up but then - - Jane’s not crying anymore, and besides it sort of sounds like the last place she wants to be right now.  

Shaking her head, she makes her way towards the living room instead, smoothing out her dress as she goes.

“ - - because they’re like her little groupies.”

It’s Annie who says it, leaning forwards in her seat and raising her glass as if to punctuate a point, and Beth blinks, not entirely sure what she’s walking in on.

“Right?” Nancy says, somehow having gotten back into the living room, standing up as she rocks a dozing, four-year-old Dakota, who’s draped across her chest like a monkey. Her voice is too loud as she makes wild eyes at Annie. “Did you see the way he looked at your sister when she was hand whisking the cream for dessert? His eyes were like - - bulging. He looked like Jim Carey in The Mask.”

Annie looks far too amused at that, looking over at her with a grin.

“Wow, Nance, dated reference.”

Nancy holds up the hand not clutching Dakota still to her chest in a very highschool talk to the hand gesture, opens her mouth to say something when Ruby suddenly coughs, breaking up everyone’s laughter. And then - -

Well.

Everyone’s eyes are on her.

“Did I interrupt something?” Beth asks slowly walking towards the bar cart to pour herself a drink, and it’s Stan in the end who takes pity.

“Your sister’s just talking about your fan club,” Stan tells her. “Kenny’s little friend over there looked like the president of it.”

Beth blinks, jerks her head back and just - -

What?

“Fan club?” she says, and Annie crows.

“Told you. B’s always been totally oblivious,” she leans forwards towards Aida conspiratorially. “I mean, your brother is a master of eye fucking and it still took them like, forty years to get together.”

“Annie,” Beth hisses again, as Aida clenches her eyes shut, holds a hand up to Annie’s face, and says:

“Please never talk about my brother’s eye fucking again.”

It’s enough to make Annie cackle – rocking back in her seat and then forwards again.

“Seriously though. They come around after school all like - - limbs and body odor and cystic acne, and sit around the table and just like - -watch her, it’s kind of creepy.”

Gaping, Beth stares at Annie, waving her drink around.

“What are you talking about?”

“All of Kenny’s weird, horndog friends,” Annie insists, and Beth blinks, because surely she doesn’t mean - -

“Are you talking about his study group?”

“They’re studying something,” Ruby says lowly, and Beth turns around to give her her most betrayed look, before Ruby laughs.

“It’s just a part of growing up, B, and honestly, they’re nice boys. They’re just teenagers and you’re the hot mom in their little clique,” Ruby shrugs as she says it, and Beth blinks as Stan, Aida, Nancy and Annie all nod, like this is just some sort of universal fact.

“I am not - - ”

Beth flails, and Ruby gives her a look.

“Bitch, do not start with me. You are. Deal with it. I can tell you from experience, it’s a blessing and a curse. You know how many of Sara’s friends got crushes on Stan? Particularly when he was in uniform? I felt like I was going to have to start wiring jaws shut with the way these girls would hang around with their mouths open like - - ”

She does an impression – eyes wide, lips parted, and Stan laughs, pushing gently into her side.

“You’re one to talk. Sara’s first boyfriend followed you around more than he did her.”

“I did say it was from experience,” Ruby agrees, more than a little smug. She gestures between the two of them. “Two hot parents under one roof. Should be illegal. I feel bad for our kids.”

Laughing loud and hard, Stan nods, leaning in to kiss her, and Beth half rolls her eyes and half melts, because - - cute, okay, while Annie fakes a retch in the background.

“Speaking of hot dads, that’s going to be a serious problem for you,” Nancy tells Beth, wide eyed, still rocking Dakota while she stands. “Like, I’ll be the first to say Chris is not my type, but that man is - -“

She sounds a little breathless, rolls her eyes to the ceiling, mouths oh my god, and Annie laughs at her.

“You’re a freak, Nance.”

Nancy flails out with her free hand – just enough to whack Annie pretty well upside the head.  

“One of the boys does have a thing for him though,” Annie adds, and okay, that Beth does know.

“Tommy?”

Annie blinks over at Beth, grins, impressed.

“Well, look at you!” she says. “Picking up on the lust of a teenage boy. I reckon that kid jacks it to your not-husband at least twice a day.”

“Annie,” Beth groans again, a sentiment echoed by everyone else in the room, and at least that’s enough to make Aida jump in.

“God, I’m having flashbacks to highschool,” she says, waving a hand around. “All of Chris’ weird, baby gangster friends would come ‘round and just like - - totally fuckin’ perv on me and Car. One of them used to hang out the front of the bathroom while we were in there until our mom threatened to run him over with her car. I think he might have been listening to us pee?”

Which - - is awful, but also just helps Beth to double down on her point.

“Yeah, well these ones aren’t perving,” Beth says, finally sitting down again beside Annie. “They’re children.”

Aida blinks, looking sideways down towards the family room, as if gauging the ages of the kids sitting in there, which means it isn’t much of a surprise when she says:

“How old’s your kid again?”

“He actually turns fifteen in two weeks,” Beth says, unable to bite back the smile, because he really has just been so excited for his party. He’s one of the last kids in his class to have his birthday, and he’s treated every other birthday party he’s been to this year as little scouting missions, talking Beth through what he thought was cool and what was totally lame – the fact of which had amused Beth to no end.

(“Would be good if he could put this much effort into school,” Rio had said gruffly after Kenny had talked them through all the good and bad things of the last party he’d been to, and Beth had just laughed.)  

“Yeah, they’re pervin’,” Aida says, making Beth startle, and Annie crows happily, holds up her hands and says something that sounds like preach, sister, which - -

Beth opens her mouth to reply, when suddenly Carmen appears in the doorway, swearing colourfully in Spanish as she flops down onto the couch beside Aida. She grabs her drink – which Annie had topped up while she was upstairs – and throws it back in one gulp, before looking over at Beth.

“You ever finally murder that asshole, please call me so I can make sure you’ve finished the job,” she says, and Beth can’t quite hold back the laugh.

 *

 Rio exhales, content, pulling out and rolling off her. He stretches a little back on the bed, his spine cracking as Beth grabs a few tissues from her bedside table, cleaning up between her legs. She still feels a little hazy – probably should have skipped the last two glasses of merlot, but she also feels pretty good, fucked-out good, tossing the tissues into the bin and wriggling into Rio’s side. She preens happily when he turns just enough to brush the hair back off her face, and leans in to kiss her.

After Carmen had come down, Beth had gone up, finding both Rio and Jane in Jane’s bedroom, her little hand tightly bruised, band-aids on almost every finger. She’d stopped crying, but collapsed into Beth’s arms the second she’d seen her, and Rio had pressed his lips to both their foreheads before heading downstairs. It had been late enough at that point that she’d eased Jane into sleep, and found herself back at the party before long, the conversation of Mason and Kenny’s study group forgotten, at least until the end of the night when Annie had made some bad joke about Beth’s boyfriend hopefully not coming back tonight – which had gone over about as well as anyone could’ve expected given Rio hadn’t been there for the context of the joke.

“Annie was a lot tonight,” she says, thinking more on it, and Rio hums.

“Yeah, she’s always a lot, mami,” Rio replies, shrugging a little as he folds back down into their bed. “Don’t help when she does shots with Aida before dessert though.”

Beth snorts, looking over at him, taking in the slope of his nose and the fan of his eyelashes. He’s looking rested at the moment, which is a way she’s recently learnt she’d never seen him look. Something fresher about him, since they dropped two of their more problematic clients from their books. They don’t need the money after all. They’re doing – all in all – pretty good.

The thought settles happily, but still - - Beth can’t quite help but poke at tonight.

“That thing about my boyfriend too,” Beth adds, shaking her head. “You’re lucky you missed it – she called Kenny’s study group my fan club.”

And he does laugh at that, amused in a way that Beth laughs too, because he gets it, thinks it’s as ridiculous as she does, and Beth wriggles a little further down in her bed.

“Fan club? Shit, I woulda said groupies.”

And - -

“What?”

Rio hums, looking over at her, amused.

“What?”

“Groupies?”

“Mmm,” Rio hums again, gaze flicking down to her sheet covered body. “Three minutes away from throwin’ their boxers at you, since hittin’ on you ain’t gettin’ them nowhere.”

Beth wrinkles her nose, and Rio laughs, leaning over to bite it, before reaching over her to turn off her bedside lamp. Beth waits until he’s off her and lying back down to reach over and turn it back on.

“When?” she asks, sitting up in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest, and Rio blinks up at her, forehead furrowing in confusion.

“When what?”

“I mean give me an example of when they’ve - - ” she flails a hand out. “Hit on me.”

And she squints a little, immediately annoyed at the too-big, too-bright grin that spreads across his face. He turns a little over in their bed towards her, popping an eyebrow and not even bothering to hide his amusement which is frankly rude. Beth squints harder, holds the sheet a little tighter.

“You wanna know when Kenny’s classmates hit on you?”

He says it with such heavy disbelief, that Beth latches onto it, widening her eyes and nodding.

“See? It sounds ridiculous.”

“Only sounds ridiculous coz you ain’t seein’ it.”

She rolls her eyes, thins her lips down at him, and Rio laughs, propping himself up on his elbow so that he’s sort of half raised to meet her, and she has to resist the urge to flatten her hand on his face and push him back down onto their bed.

“’Sides, they ain’t hittin’ on you, they’re just checkin’ you out, prob’ly seein’ which one can get the best look down your blouse,” his eyes slip shut again as he yawns and says something that sounds suspiciously like horny motherfuckers. Beth frowns. Thing is, she’s barely even noticed them looking at her. They’re a study group for goodness sake, it makes sense they’d want to spread out around the dining room table while she’s making dinner in the kitchen, or working on something she brought home from the office at the kitchen island.

They come in sometimes to talk to her, but that’s just because they’re polite, and usually it’s to ask her if she can make them a hot cocoa or something, and okay, maybe she did look up the other day as she was stirring in the cocoa powder and Mason was staring at her chest or - - that was probably nothing, she reminds herself. God - -  

“They’re children,” Beth insists, and Rio laughs again, a little exasperated this time. He shakes his head, before glancing back up at Beth, his eyes wider than they have any right to be, inquisitive almost.  

“How old’s Kenny turnin’ next week?”

And right, Beth thinks. That’s exactly it!

“Fifteen,” she says, punctuating her point, and Rio holds his hand out like it proves his.

They both just stare at each other, briefly confused how the other can’t get it, and Beth finally scoffs, flopping heavily sideways into her pillow, resting on her elbow, mirroring Rio’s pose so she can better argue with him.  

“Please, when I was fifteen I had only just started dating Dean and we were like,” she flails a hand out. “Babies. We thought the sexiest thing in the world was holding hands at the drive-in. We didn’t even kiss until my sixteenth birthday.”

He gives her a look at that which is simultaneously incredibly amused and incredibly judgemental.

“Yeah, coz that dumbass ex of yours couldn’t close a deal if it came pre-signed,” he says. “Wanna know what I was doin’ at fifteen?”

Which - - well.

“No,” she replies petulantly, because while she knows Rio’s history is certainly - - extensive to say the least, she can’t say beyond brief bouts of insanity she’s ever had any desire to know the details. Rio grins again, huffing out a laugh.

“Look, it ain’t that deep. You’re their friend’s mom, you got this whole too-sweet, Martha Stewart energy in this stacked, Jessica Rabbit package. They know they ain’t got no chance beyond lookin’ down your shirt and standin’ a little too close, but they gonna try it anyway coz they’re young and they’re really fuckin’ dumb. You get uncomfortable with it, you tell them to take a walk. They don’t, you snitch on their horny asses to their parents. That don’t work, you tell me, and me and them can all have a little talk.”

He shrugs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and Beth stares at him, irked by the blasé authority of his tone, like he knows what this is, like - - like it isn’t the first time he’s going through this with a kid too.  

“I’d rather you didn’t pull a gun on a group of teenagers for looking at me,” she says dryly, before adding: “Which I’m not even convinced they do by the way.”  

Rio rolls his eyes, looking briefly at the ceiling before back at Beth.

“Then what are we talkin’ about?”

And - - well. She doesn’t even really know. It had just surprised her – how Annie and Ruby – god, even Stan, had been so certain that Mason had a crush. Little Mason, who’s been coming around since Kenny started at Glenvale almost three years ago, bright eyed and sweet and helpful and a child and if Mason’s growing up, then that probably means Kenny is too.

She feels her lower lip wobble before she can even help it, and sees Rio clock it, frown, but before he can say anything, Beth quickly cuts him off.

“Well Annie thinks one of the boys has a thing for you,” she says, putting on her best know it all voice that both Rio and Ruby say is going to get her in trouble one day, and for a minute, Beth doesn’t think he’s going to let her pivot, but in the end he just lets loose a smug grin, shrugging knowingly.

“Mm,” he hums. “One with the glasses and those ugly ass sneakers?”

And just - -

Okay.

That’s not fair.

“His name is Tommy,” she sniffs, but dammit, he is the one with the glasses and the ugly sneakers. “How do you even know that?”

“Just because it takes someone proposition’ you in the passenger seat of your mama van to realise someone’s checkin’ you out don’t mean we all got that problem.”

Beth blinks, a flush finding her cheeks, sliding down her chest before she can help it, and Rio’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and she knows he’s going to press them to the bony cup at the top of her sternum before he even does. He likes that, she knows, to taste her blush.

She shivers pleasantly, raking her nails down through his hair, feeling him purr against her chest.

“It didn’t take that, just so you know,” she tells him. “I knew way earlier.”

Well, a little earlier, not that much earlier, but - -

He makes a placating noise, but she knows he doesn’t believe her. His hands glide down over her naked sides beneath the sheet, pulling her hips against his and Beth lets herself be pulled, despite still feeling a little sore from doing all of this fifteen minutes ago. His recovery time really is pretty unbelievable.

Lifting his head, Rio just stares at her for a minute, like he’s trying to read something on her face, when suddenly he says:

“You gonna make all this a thing?”

“No,” she replies quickly, and Rio makes a noise like he doesn’t quite believe her, and Beth grins, leaning in to kiss him, snaking her hand down between them. It’s not like they’ve never used sex to distract each other before. Besides, it’s not a thing.

She doesn’t think it’s a thing?

(It’s probably a thing.)

 *

 Or - - at least, it’s not a thing until the following week, when she’s tossing the salad for dinner and Kenny strides in the backdoor, his hair still wet from swimming and the faint smell of chlorine lingering around him. She flicks her gaze up, checks the clock.

“You’ve got about fifteen minutes to shower if you want to before dinner,” she tells him, holding out her cheek for Kenny to lean down and press a quick kiss too (he’s already so tall, almost eye-to-eye with Rio and she knows he’ll be at least a head taller than him in no time).  

“Thanks, I showered at the pool though,” he replies, disappearing briefly into the laundry to put his swimming things on to wash before getting back to her, sliding into one of the stools at the kitchen island, his fingers drumming a little on the counter.

“You sure?” she asks, squinting a little, amused, back at him. “You smell like you could strip the wallpaper in your sisters’ rooms.”

Kenny rolls his eyes at her, and Beth has to bite back a grin, grabbing the cucumber and starting to dice it for the salad.

“How was school?”

“Good,” Kenny offers easily, leaning back a little in his seat. “I got a B- on my history exam.”

Beth stops, dropping the knife to look at him properly, a big grin painting her face. “That’s amazing! The one on the Industrial Revolution?”

Kenny nods, and Beth glows.

“I’m so proud of you, honey. I know how hard you worked on that.”

Because he did, is the thing. Kenny’s not studious like Emma, nor naturally smart like Marcus, nor creative like Danny. He’s not even like Jane, who - - well. Beth resists the urge to entertain that particular point of annoyance.

(“She’s practically gifted,” the teacher had told them at the last parent-teacher meeting with an exasperated shrug. “She picks up on things incredibly quickly, she’s a natural problem solver, she just - - would rather use those talents to disrupt the class instead of be a part of it.”

Rio had ranted the whole way home.)

“You can put it on the fridge,” Kenny jokes, and Beth gives him a look, because she absolutely would if he’d let her. Kenny’s always hated that sort of thing though – particularly because his B- will be sitting on a wall of Emma and Marcus’ perfect scores.

“SO,” he says suddenly, smacking his hands lightly down on the kitchen island. “I’ve been thinking - - when was the last time you and Rio went on a date?”

Which - -

What?

Beth blinks wildly, neck jerking back, before she firms herself back up, narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion.

“We go on plenty of dates,” she tells him slowly, her hands starting to steadily chop the cucumber again. “Why?”

Grabbing his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, Kenny scrolls easily through something before finding whatever it was he was looking for and presenting it to her to read – an online ad for the Detroit Food and Wine Festival. She blinks, briefly touched, before her eyes scan the rest of it and see the date.

“That’s on Saturday,” she says, adding: “At the…same time as your birthday party.”

“Oh! Is it?” he asks innocently, looking at it again. He shrugs, practiced, and Beth feels her jaw tighten before she can help it. “Oh, man, that sucks. But y’know, this doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d wanna miss. Whereas like – my birthday – you’ve been to fourteen of those already, and I’m gonna have like, a hundred more or whatever.”

Beth stares at him, shifts her weight, before dropping her attention back down to her chopping.

“And what about your father? He’s driving over from South Haven.”

“Well, I mean, if you and Rio are going to this, it’d be kinda weird if he was the only parent, and y’know, it’s so far to come anyway and he doesn’t really like the drive anymore. Besides, he’ll be here next month for grandma’s birthday, so we could just do something for mine then too.”

“And your brothers and sisters?” she asks, her voice tight, and Kenny shrugs, but seems to briefly waver, realising he’s sprung.

“Sleepovers?” he offers, and Beth drops the knife, the irritation in her suddenly bubbling over. She wipes her hands furiously on her apron before just - - fisting it a little, shaking her head.

“Kenny - - I - - ”

“Josh’s party was unsupervised and it was the best one!”

It’s dropped so quickly, with such urgency, it takes a moment for the words to catch up with her, and when they do, she finds herself reeling forwards in fresh anger.

“Josh’s party was unsupervised?”

“I mean, no,” Kenny tries weakly, realising his mistake before shaking his head. “But it felt like it! His parents were out of town so it was just his sister, and she was really cool, and it just felt like - - better, y’know? I don’t want to have a bunch of little kids around screaming like Jane or doing weird things like Danny, and my parents hanging around being embarrassing. I want to just hang out with my friends.”

Outside, Beth can hear Rio pull up to this house, can hear the kids tumble out of it from after school activities, a bustle of chatter and heavy backpacks and still-little feet, and Beth finds herself gritting her teeth.

“Birthdays are about family,” she tells him, her voice tight. “The party and the friends are a bonus. Besides, I’ve been cooking already and I have some special treats planned and some games and - - ”

“What?” Kenny says, slouching back in his kitchen stool, huffing out a sullen breath. “A bounce house and a clown cake? Mom, I’m fifteen not five. Save it for one of your other kids, it’s not like you didn’t have enough of us.”

“Excuse me?” Beth says sharply, and Kenny glares at her, sliding to his feet, and striding off down the hall, and it’s typical, that Rio would walk through the front door right as Beth is yelling: “Don’t walk away from me, mister, we haven’t finished talking!”

But Beth’s left only with Rio’s raised eyebrow and set jaw, Kenny upstairs and out of sight.

 *

 “It’s not funny!” she insists, irritation still sparking in her belly as she slips into her nightie, but Rio just keeps laughing, sprawled, nude in their bed. She glares back at him, and he looks practically delighted back up at her, which is exactly what she needs right now - - truly.

“Mami, it’s hilarious,” Rio says, and Beth scowls. “Shit, that kid really think Imma let a bunch of teenagers go unsupervised in my house?”

“Our house,” Beth corrects, grabbing her tube of lotion from the top of her chest of drawers and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Rio waves a hand at her like same difference which is categorically untrue, particularly when it comes to him. She squints at him, purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything as she uncaps the lotion tube.

“I mean, shit, that paintin’ in the hallway alone would pay for at least one of their college tuitions.”

Which sure, Beth thinks, rolling her eyes, and having to bite back the urge to say let’s sell it then, because despite everyone else apparently thinking it was dope she mostly hated it. Still, they’d agreed to compromise – Beth had gotten her super comfy pear-green couch for the family room after all (Rio had wanted brown leather, a fact Beth had adamantly disagreed with).  

“That’s not the point,” she tells him now, spreading the lotion on her legs.

“What’s not the point?”

“The - - ” she waves a hand out at him. “Unsupervised part.”

He pops an eyebrow in question, and Beth sighs, annoyed that he’s not getting it.

“He tried to uninvite us to his birthday party.”

Even saying it aloud somehow makes it that much more real, digs the knife in that little bit deeper. She’d made three stress cakes after he’d gone upstairs as a result, the fact of which had made everyone in the house nervous. Jane had even come over and given her a hug which was – Beth was pretty sure – one of the seven signs of the apocalypse. Right now though, Rio just shrugs.

“Only surprise about that is that he ain’t tried to do it sooner.”

Which - - no, Beth thinks, spinning on the spot in betrayal, her hand clutched to her chest, and Rio stares at her, shocked by her reaction, before shaking his head, exasperated, half sitting up.

“He’s turnin’ fifteen, ma! What do you expect? He don’t want us around, crampin’ his style and whatnot.”

“What style?” she scoffs. “He still has Star Wars bedsheets.”

“Not for long,” Rio sing-songs, flopping back down in the bed. When Beth just stays there, sitting up, her legs only half-lotioned, he turns around to look at her, laughing again. “Aw, I’m sorry, baby. You hurtin’?”

Which - - okay, she is, but if he’s going to make fun of her for it, she certainly won’t be having that conversation with him.

She glares at him, and when he reaches out to pull her towards him, she stands up, striding over to her chest of drawers to put the lotion away, and she’s thinking about going downstairs to do the frosting on one of the cakes she made earlier – still too annoyed for bed – when she feels herself being grabbed from behind.

Gasping, she flails as Rio carries her back to bed, depositing her heavily enough on the mattress she squawks, but before she can move to sit up, he climbs – still naked – on top of her, pausing only when they’re eye to eye, him on his hands and knees above her, giving her enough room to wriggle out if she really wants to, and then he just - -

Stops.

Stares at her, like he does sometimes, somehow both soft and firm, blinking slowly, and Beth stares back at him and just - - frowns. Rio sucks in his lips, thinking, before he sighs.

“Gotta leave the nest sometimes,” he drawls, and Beth’s frown deepens.

“He is not leaving the nest yet,” she says sharply, and Rio nods above her, takes her in again, shrugs, and his voice is softer when he says:

“Startin’ to flap those wings though, huh?”

Beth’s lower lip wobbles, and she looks away from him.

“It’s a good thing,” he tells her. “You want him independent. Don’t wanna be tryna cram him back inside you like your sister doin’ with Sadie.”

And - - well. Beth gives him a look at that, because he’s not exactly wrong. Annie’s not at all ready for Sadie to disappear off to college next year, but then - - god, Kenny’s not that far behind. Still, above her, Rio laughs softly, reaching down to brush her hair off her face.

“’Sides, we got more,” he tells her. “Don’t think Danny’ll ever move out.”

“Yes, he will,” Beth says, sighing glumly. “They’ll all leave me.”

“Well then you got your sister,” he replies dryly. “Don’t think we’ll ever get rid o’ her. Kenny’s gonna go away to college and she’ll probably take over his room, pretend she always lived there or somethin’. Move her girl and Delaware in.”

And okay, maybe that makes her crack a smile. She arches an eyebrow up at Rio.

“I know you know his name is Dakota.”

“Know it’s a stupid name still too,” he tells her with a shrug, and when he leans down to kiss her this time, she lets him.

 *

 “Wait, does that mean we were uninvited too?” Annie asks, eyes wide as she helps lay out the food for the party on the table on their back deck, and before Beth can even think to reply, Ruby scoffs loudly.

“Bitch, why would he want us here if he doesn’t even want his mom and stepdad there?”

Annie curls her lip, gesturing wildly between them all. She looks good at least, in her black romper, her hair newly bleached, her lips bright red.

“Because we’re about a million times cooler than Beth and - - okay. Not Rio. But definitely Beth. I’d want me here.”  

Ruby rolls her eyes, before grabbing another platter of the little cucumber and sesame sushi rolls Beth had made to lay out. She looks good too – in a white blouse and black skirt, a black bow at the neck of her shirt. She pushes the platter back on the table, fitting it between the rice paper rolls and the little chicken meatballs.

“It’s tough, I get it. You should have seen Stan the first time Sara said she didn’t want us at her debate – get this - - apparently our cheering is embarrassing now? It was like she ripped his heart out of his chest.”

Beth gives her a commiserating look, before moving the punchbowl to the other end of the table, taking a moment to look over her handywork and - - well. It looks great. She knows it looks great, just - - it’s also now what she’d been planning. She’d abandoned more than a few of the things she’d organised after Kenny had been so rude – even after he sort of, almost, half apologised – which meant there was no longer the popcorn machine or the ping pong table she’d hired, or the retro, inflatable couches. Instead, she’d stuck to streamers, food, a few iceboxes, a killer punch (if she did say so herself) and a birthday cake that Marcus had studiously helped her make.

“It looks killer,” Annie says, like she’s read her mind, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“Very grown up,” Ruby adds, and just - - Beth frowns, because it does, but also maybe she’s not entirely ready for that. She opens her mouth to say something along those lines when Emma suddenly appears in the doorway of the house, and Beth gasps, a wide grin spilling across her face.

“Honey! You look beautiful!”

Emma practically glows at the compliment, giving them a spin in her pink and white gingham dress and tan sandals, her long, dark hair fanning out like a cape. Annie instantly starts singing the walk walk fashion baby part of Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance and Emma sucks in her cheeks like a model, catwalking out to them in a way that makes them all hoot and Emma burst into giggles, flushing bright and pink.

She spins again when she gets to Beth, and Beth stops her, turning her around so that she can tighten the straps on her new bra (and maybe that had been kind of a fun growing up thing, Beth thinks. Emma had been so excited, and they’d found her some with polka dots and glitter and a set with unicorns that had even Jane nodding in approval).

“Do you know if Mason’s coming?” Emma asks suddenly, kicking a little at the deck floor as Beth finishes fiddling with the straps on Emma’s bra, and Beth blinks, glancing quickly at Ruby and Annie who both purse their lips and raise their eyebrows.

“I think he might be,” Beth replies slowly, and Emma blushes all over again, spinning around to face Beth, blinking her big, blue eyes back up at her.  

“Can I borrow some of your lipstick?”

And - - right, she looks back at Annie and Ruby again who shrug, and finally Beth gestures for Emma to lead them back into the house, trying her best to put aside the instant grief she feels at even the thought.

She’s sitting on the floor in their en suite with Emma, onto their third shade of pink lipstick, when Rio pokes his head in through the door, having just gotten back from the grocery store picking up ice and soda.

“Dean’s here,” he grunts, and Beth looks over, leaning back from Emma in the process, and she sees it – the moment Rio clocks the make-up. It really isn’t much – a brush of mascara and the lipstick, just enough to make Emma feel grown up, but still. Rio arches an eyebrow at Beth, before looking back at Emma.

“Look at you,” he says softly, and Emma smiles tentatively, eyes darting between Beth and Rio before she clasps her hands together in her lap.

“Do I look pretty?”

“You always look pretty, darlin’,” Rio replies easily, striding towards them and leaning over Beth’s back to kiss the crown of Emma’s head. It’s enough to make Emma glow all over again, and Beth can’t quite help the smile, even if she feels that increasingly familiar clench in her belly at the thought that this first will soon turn into something normal. “You wanna try and get your sister ready? I gotta talk to your mom about somethin’.”

Emma nods, standing up and darting out of the room, already calling out to Jane by the time she’s in the hallway, and Beth calls out, “Get your dad to help, honey!” because god help the person who tries to get Jane ready for anything on their own.

She starts putting the make-up away, surprised when Rio stays lingering in the doorway, looking down at her. When she looks up at him, Rio gestures to his face.

“That new?”

Beth gives him a look, because she knows he knows it is. Still, she wrinkles her nose a little, a soft smile on her lips.

“I think she has a crush on Mason.”

The news only serves to make Rio raise his eyebrows, a decidedly unimpressed look on his face as Beth finishes putting her make-up away.

“Mason? Fifteen-year-old Mason?”

“You know another one?”

“She’s eleven.”

“Only surprise about that is she ain’t got one sooner,” Beth says, imitating him from the other night and laughing when he gives her a filthy look. She shakes her head, holding a hand out and letting Rio help her to her feet. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing. Besides, according to both you and Annie, Mason has a crush on me, anyway.”

Rio makes a noise in the back of his throat at that, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t let go of her hand either, at least not right away, squeezing it softly in a way that makes Beth squint a little at him.

“What?” she asks tentatively, and god, he better not have to go, he can’t leave her here with a million children. Rio lets go of her hand, taking a slight step back out of the doorway and into their bedroom, like he’s thinking how best to say something, and finally, he just says it.

“Kenny asked me to pick him up some beers.”

It takes her a moment to even comprehend the words, to wrap her head around them, and when she does, she feels a bite of fury she hasn’t felt since Kenny uninvited them the other day.

“What?” she hisses, because god – the audacity of that kid.

Rio hums, like he’s read her mind, stepping back towards the bed and picking a bottle off their dresser that he must have brought in with him.

“I got him some.”

“Rio - -”

“Got him some o’ these,” he says, passing the bottle to her and it’s a type of beer she’s never seen before with a bright label and a European name. She glares at him as she takes it, turning it around, anger churning inside of her, gaze flicking back down to the label, spots a zero amidst all the writing on the back and then she - - pauses.

“These are non-alcoholic,” she says slowly.

“Mm,” Rio hums, amused at himself, when Beth arches an eyebrow back at him. “Told him it was some real high-end shit, y’know? Ain’t in English, so they ain’t gonna know.”

“What if they look it up on their phones?” Beth asks, but she can’t quite hide her own amusement now either, the lingering anger reserved only for Kenny.

“Then he can be pissed at me later,” Rio tells her with a shrug. “Means right now though he ain’t gettin’ his friends to raid their parent’s liquor cabinets coz he thinks he got cool parents.”

“We’re not cool at all,” Beth tells him and Rio laughs, shaking his head.

“Nuh,” he agrees, grinning at her, and Beth leans in and kisses him.  

“Speaking of parents’ liquor cabinets, have we - -“

“Locked it away last night, mami.”

“Hmm,” Beth hums, feeling her eyelids drop a little, her gaze settling on his lips. “You’re sexy when you’re being all responsible, keeping our kids safe,” she purrs, and Rio leans in closer.

“Yeah? You sexy in this dress.”

Beth grins against his lips, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt, yanking it down just enough she can press a kiss against the tattoo on his neck. He makes a noise that vibrates against her lips, and then suddenly his hand’s at her chest, squeezing her breast, and Beth gasps, enough to give him the momentum to press his lips against her own again, pushing his tongue into her mouth, and - -

“Beth! Kids!”

Rio sighs at Dean’s voice calling up, breaking the kiss to push his forehead against hers. He squeezes her breast again for good measure and Beth steps back, out of reach.

“Later,” she promises, and Rio smacks her ass on the way out in agreement.

 *

 “How many kids did he even invite?” Ruby asks, and Beth groans, looking out across her backyard.

“He told me thirty,” she insists, taking a sip of her glass of wine as another few teens stride past them and out onto the lawn, talking loudly about how much somebody’s ass jiggles? Which - - Beth flushes, pulls a face, takes a longer drink of wine. Thing is, it probably is only the thirty – along with maybe a few plus-ones, just they seem to sprawl, to kick out into every crevice, a mess of gangly limbs and potent body spray and oily foreheads.

It doesn’t help that Kenny seems to have disappeared. She’s not sure she’s seen him since she got him to go talk to Dean for a while – he had driven out and miraculously gotten here on time after all, even helped set up some of the iceboxes with Annie and Sadie.  

“The beer was genius by the way,” Ruby says, watching some boys’ cheers at the end of the lawn, yell something about getting turnt, and Beth grins, nodding, as Ruby adds: “Stealing it for Lil’ Money. No way that kid isn’t going to be like, stealth wild. I’m calling it now.”

Beth hums in agreement, because Harry really is sneaky like that.  

“Just like Marcus,” Beth says, and Ruby laughs.

“Sure, I think you might be in for a bit of a harder time with that guy though,” at Beth’s questioning look, Ruby adds: “He’s got his dad wrapped around his little finger and he knows it. At least Stan can still smell Harry’s bullshit.”

Beth laughs, nodding in agreement again, because honestly. Marcus misbehaves plenty, but every time he gets caught, Rio acts like it’s the first time it’s ever happened. It doesn’t take much either – a wobbly lip, battered eyelashes, slipping in a daddy instead of dad like he’s still six and not recently ten. Rio will still dutifully dole out the punishment, but he’ll be back to pretending Marcus is the best behaved kid on the planet and whatever he’d done was out of the ordinary instead of - - well, the ordinary.

“Jane too, huh?”

Blinking, Beth turns to look at Ruby again, her forehead furrowed as Ruby watches her.

“What?”

Ruby shrugs, a knowing look on her face.

“He ran when Marcus slammed her fingers in that door at dinner the other week. He didn’t come down any time soon either.”

He hadn’t, of course, and Beth smiles, warm, feeling the condensation pearling on her wine glass. She’s thought more about him upstairs with Jane than she cares to admit, the way he’d stroked her hair, the way even the next day he’d peeled the band-aids off to carefully check the cuts, comparing them to the scars on his hands to make Jane feel tough.

“It’s cute,” she says, and Ruby shakes her head.

“It’s a lot more than cute, B. He’s really in it.”

Which - - Beth looks at her, and Ruby tilts her head to the non-alcoholic beers, then suddenly out again, and Beth follows her gaze to where Dean is talking to Emma on the other side of the deck, and - -

Beth frowns.

Dean says something, loud, unintelligible, gesturing broadly, then laughs at whatever it is he said, and Emma tucks her hair behind her ear, shifts her feet, presses her soda with her favourite pink curly straw in it to her chest. She looks - - uncomfortable, but more than that – like she’s trying too much, a half, uncertain smile on her face, a tittering, pretend laugh on her tongue, and Beth’s frown deepens. She glances back at Ruby, who gestures like it’s okay, and Beth gets up, starting towards them, and she’s barely halfway there before Dean leans down, ruffles Emma’s hair and starts towards Beth.

She opens her mouth to speak, but Dean cuts her off, a strange look on his face.

“Beth, what is our daughter wearing?”

And just - -

What?

Beth blinks, looking back at where Emma is standing, alone now, in the corner of the yard, the curly straw in her mouth, her pink gingham dress hanging sweetly from her shoulders, looking out across the party.

“What?”

“Isn’t that dress a little short?” Dean insists, leaning closer to her, and she can smell the alcohol on his breath, and Beth rolls her eyes, feels herself smarting.

“It’s hot, and it’s almost to her knees anyway,” she tells him, and Dean scoffs, rolling his eyes.  

“She looks - - ” he waves a hand around, and Beth pushes out a hip, annoyed before she can control it.

“Looks what, Dean?”

He flounders for a minute, gesturing wildly, looking back at Emma across the yard, who’s pointedly not looking at them – knowing that they’re fighting, and god, Beth thinks, she - -

“Older.”

Which, obviously, Beth thinks, and she opens her mouth to reply that yes, she probably does, given it’s been almost two months since he’s bothered to see them, when suddenly Dean gestures to his chest, cups his hands there, and Beth sees red.

“Yes, Dean,” she says through clenched teeth. “Your daughter is wearing a bra now. She got her first period last month too, if you’d like to know just how much older she is.”

Dean flushes, like that was the last thing he wanted to know, and Beth rolls her eyes, shaking her head and looking at Emma across the party, on her own now since Dean’s abandoned her, sipping shyly on her soda, looking around and she can see it – the exact moment Emma starts to crawl back inside herself, anxious with the volume of people, of older kids, the swell of noise, and Beth’s heart lurches, is just about to abandon Dean herself and start towards her again when Annie suddenly materialises at Emma’s side. She doesn’t know what she says, couldn’t hear her if she tried, but whatever Annie does say makes Emma Emma again, her face brightening, her little shoulders shaking with giggles.

Annie throws an arm over Emma’s shoulders, pulls her into her side, says something else that has Emma nodding adamantly and then chattering away, and thing is - - Annie is a lot, always, but god, Beth thinks, smiling, despite herself. She’s a lot of the best things too. She watches her guide Emma towards Ruby, where Sadie and Sara now are too, the latter perched on the arm of her mother’s chair, and Beth just - - feels overwhelmed with gratitude.

Thing is, Ruby was right. Rio is in it, she knows that – knows if she trains her ears, she’ll hear him inside with Danny and Marcus and Jane, with Raf and David too, who arrived with Carmen an hour ago, but - - so are Ruby and Annie.

It’s been a long time since she felt alone.

Her gaze flicks back to Dean and she finds her anger dissipate when she sees the look on his face. Sees him watching Emma too – seeing how easy it is for Annie, how simply she can talk to her, how easily she can make their daughter happy, and then Beth just feels pity.

“She’s growing up, Dean,” Beth says with a sigh. “They all are. I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not going to stop.”

And - - right, she thinks, looking across the yard at Kenny’s friends, gangly and surly and pubescent and - -

Right, she thinks again, her gaze flicking back to Dean.

“Jane and Danny are inside with Rio and Marcus. It would be nice if you could talk to all the kids before you leave.”

“I’m not leaving yet.”

“Good,” Beth says, shrugging. “And I’m just saying I’d like it if you talked to all your children before you did leave. They haven’t seen you in months.”

With that, she turns on her heel and back to the others.

 *

 “Too big?” Beth asks, and Marcus laughs, shaking his head, and Beth hums a little, moving the knife aside to make the slice a little bigger. “How about now?”

“I could eat the whole thing,” Marcus insists, grinning, and Beth gives him an amused look, cutting off a big chunk of the gingerbread fudge, and passing it over to him, watching him shove the whole thing instantly into his mouth.

“You choke on that I’m gonna hear about it from your daddy,” she tells him, and Marcus makes a production out of pointedly chewing in a way that makes Beth laugh.

She opens her mouth to say something about being a little too smart when suddenly she hears Kenny’s laugh out on the other side of the window. She pauses, unable to stop herself, and god, she thinks - - didn’t she just have this conversation with Dean? Still, she thinks, biting the inside of her cheek. Kenny hasn’t talked to her all night, had vanished amidst the crowd of his friends, and to hear his voice so suddenly - - it’s weird. Like it’s been more than just hours.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool,” Kenny says.

“More than cool,” a girl’s voice replies. “Like, I don’t want this to sound weird, but your stepdad is kind of a DILF.”

“Oh my god, Lex - - ” another girl says, but the first - - Lex - - keeps talking.

“No, like, I don’t know if you’ve seen most dads, but that whole dad-bod thing like - - it isn’t the compliment some people think it is, you know?”

“Like, it’s not something to aspire to,” the other girl says, and Lex hums in agreement.

“Right,” Lex says. “And like – honestly – your mom is kind of hot too. It’s super weird.”

“Super weird,” the other girl says.

“I’m kind of like, shipping them?”

“Oh my god, is this your first het ship?”

Lex laughs, and Beth pretends she knows a single word that’s coming out of these girls’ mouths. She glances at Marcus, who raises an eyebrow at her, listening too.

“What’s that mean?” she whispers conspiratorially, and Marcus swallows the fudge thickly, before saying:

“It means she thinks you and dad are good together,” he says, and Beth blinks, smiles, preens a little, because that’s nice, she thinks, turning her attention back to slicing the fudge.

“Yeah, they’re like - - in love, I think,” Kenny says, and Lex and the other girl aww in a way that makes Beth pull a face in amusement. “It’s like good and bad because I mean, my mom was not in love with my dad at all, and it really sucked, but at least I didn’t have to listen to them bone all the time, you know?”

Beth cuts the fudge a little harder, a heat finding her cheeks, and she looks sideways suddenly at Marcus who’s looking pointedly away (even though his fingers are inching for another slice of fudge) and just - - great, she thinks, trying to swallow her embarrassment.

Perfect.

Outside, the girls’ squeal.

“Oh my god, old people having sex is so cute.”

Which - - okay, not helpful, Beth thinks, pushing her hip out and jabbing the knife into the fudge. She should really try and move Marcus away from this conversation but - -

“Do you think he has more tattoos than just his neck one?”

“What?”

“He’s got to. Nobody has just a neck tattoo. It’s pretty hot though.”

One of the girls’ hums in agreement, and then the two of them descend into chatter about how tattoos are sexy and dangerous and Beth blinks in amusement, pushing the fudge onto a platter to take outside when suddenly Kenny says:

“Yeah, I’m gonna get one - - a neck tattoo. Next year probably.”

And then it’s silent, or - - maybe not. Maybe it’s just Beth, standing there at her kitchen counter, her eyes wide, her hands stilling on the knife in her hands, because what?

“Don’t you have to be 18 for that?”

“Yeah, but only if you don’t have permission,” Kenny says easily, almost too coolly, and Beth blinks hard. “I mean Rio got us beer tonight, so.”

“Hot,” one of the girls says – whether to Rio buying (non-alcoholic) beer or Kenny’s potential neck tattoo, Beth has no idea, and she just - - is having trouble processing right now. Might be having trouble breathing too? It’s hard to tell. She swallows thickly, glancing sideways at Marcus who’s looking wide-eyed up at her, and Beth opens her mouth to say something, what, she has no idea, when suddenly she feels a hand tug on her sleeve.

Spinning on the spot, still wielding the knife, Annie ducks back.

“Woah!”

Beth flounders, putting the knife in the sink and shaking her head.

“Sorry.”

“Totally cool. Uh - - soooo, I don’t want to freak you out of anything, but someone has definitely spiked the punch.”

Her eyes widening, Beth looks down at Marcus, who’s eyebrows are practically up at his hairline right now, and Beth turns back to Annie who passes her a cup and - -

Yup.

That’s some college-style, budget vodka with that familiar nail-polish-remover aftertaste. Beth cringes, blinking up at Annie.

“And you - - just discovered this by drinking it?”

“Mmm, more by Mason hurling in your rose bush,” Annie says with a shrug, and Beth groans, throwing off her apron and hurrying outside, leaving Marcus with Annie, and - - right, she thinks, pushing past a boy filming Mason on his cell, shooting him a filthy look as she crouches down into the yard beside him.

To say he looks a mess is probably putting it mildly. There’s vomit down the front of his button-down shirt, his floppy hair is stuck with sweat to his forehead, his eyes are glassy, and for some reason, he’s missing a shoe. Beth waves the other kids watching off, and leans forwards to push back his sweaty hair.

“Hi, honey,” she says, and Mason blinks sleepily up at her, a flush finding his cheeks.

“Hi, Mrs. B. Sorry about - - “

He flounders, leaning back in the grass, green around the gills, and Beth shifts enough to try and haul him up, Ruby suddenly appearing at her side as they drag him past the fray of kids, bumping through the crowd, up towards the house.

“Bathroom?” she asks, and Beth shakes her head.

“My en suite. I’d rather the kids didn’t see him.”

Somehow, they manage to get him up the stairs, and roll him into the bathtub, pulling off his vomit-drenched shirt and grabbing a washcloth from the drawer in the vanity. Wetting it, Beth starts to mop him up when Ruby rises to her feet beside her.

“I’ll grab some of Kenny’s clothes.”

“Thanks,” Beth says, and Ruby just nods, ducking out of the bathroom and leaving Beth with Mason in the tub. She really has no idea what time it is, but it’s got to be close to ten, the nighttime light filtering in through the bathroom window, the sounds of the party loud below them. She makes quick work of grabbing a cup off the sink and filling it with water, getting it into his heavy, wobbly hand and encouraging him to drink while she mops the vomit from around his face, and - - god, it’s all in his hair too. With a sigh, she pushes the sleeves of her dress up, praying that Annie, Rio and Dean have control of everything downstairs between them.

“You look really nice tonight, Mrs B,” Mason says, or - - well, doesn’t say. Slurs, Beth thinks, and she smiles at him, grabbing the cup of water before he drops it. “I mean, you always look nice, but you look like, super nice.”

“Thanks, honey,” she replies, wetting the washcloth again as Mason swerves.

“By nice, I mean hot,” he tells her, voice lowered conspiratorially, and right, Beth thinks, amused but also kind of wishing the earth would swallow her whole. She wipes another bit of vomit off his cheek.

“You’re very sweet,” Beth tells him. “But I am much too old and much too unavailable for you. There are a lot of nice girls downstairs though. And boys too. So - - how about we clean you up, and you can get back out there where you should be, huh?”

Mason sort of nods, mostly, but sinks back into the tub, his narrow chest somehow looking all the skinnier here, his face rounder, more boyish with it’s drunken flush and his wet eyes, and then - - not wet eyes, Beth realises.

Teary eyes.

She sits back, rinses out the washcloth before wetting it again, and sitting by the edge of the tub, and she just watches him for a minute. All gangly limbs, his chin dropped to his chest, his mouth set into a hard little line, and Beth exhales softly.

“It’s been tough at home, huh?” she says gently. “Since your dad died.”

It’s instant then – the way Mason bursts into tears and Beth sighs, heart full in her throat, and leans across the tub, pulling him against her as he sobs against her chest, and when she glances up next, she sees Ruby in the doorway, holding a towel, a few slices of buttered toast, and a set of Kenny’s clothes.

And well.

Ruby’s all in it then too.  

 *

 “You changed,” Rio says, tugging at the strap of her new dress, and Beth spins into him too easily, pressing her chest to his. She’d had to – between Mason’s vomit and tears. Still, she’d come back down to find Annie sitting back with Sadie, and when she’d asked after Rio, he’d been getting the younger kids ready for bed, and the relief Beth had felt at the thought had been close to overwhelming.

“There might have been an incident,” she hums, and Rio arches an eyebrow at her, hands finding her hips. “Drinks may have been spiked.”

Rio grunts, like it isn’t much of a surprise, and says, “We tried, mami,” and well. Beth’s inclined to agree.

She presses further into him then, or maybe presses is the wrong word. Sinks maybe. Collapses probably. All of her exhaustion catching up to her, and she lets Rio sway her gently, glancing over his shoulder to where the swell of the party is still thriving, and she just sighs.

“How do we even break one of these things up?” she asks with a groan, and Rio hums against her, hands moving from her hips to knit together around her, to rest, clasped, at her lower back.

“Say the word, and I’ll get it done,” he tells her. “Sooner, yeah? Kinda want these kids outta my house.”

“Our house,” she corrects again, and Rio laughs softly, swaying gently with her, only to suddenly stop. The movement is enough to make Beth stop too, to look up at him, her eyes tired.

“What?”

“Gimme a sec,” he says, letting go of her, and Beth frowns as Rio steps back from her, striding outside suddenly, and Beth blinks and then - - she smells it too.

“Is that marijuana?” she hisses, and Rio nods, rocking his jaw, and she can see it – the irritation heavy in his look.

“Yeah, fine if he wanna smoke, but he ain’t smokin’ some lowgrade shit when there’s kids sleepin’ upstairs,” Rio says, and Beth blinks.

“It’s fine if he wants to smoke?” she hisses, shrill this time, and Rio waves a hand at her, striding promptly outside and Beth stumbles out after him, following him off the deck past Annie and Sadie (the former of whom makes a joint gesture at Beth who nods in reply), and around the side of the house to where Kenny’s standing in a cluster of kids, passing around a joint.

“Yeah, nuh,” Rio says, grabbing it out of Kenny’s hand, flicking it out into the grass. “Party’s over,” he decides. “You, upstairs. Ladies, you wanna call your parents, or you want us to?”

The girls either side of Kenny blink wildly, flustered under Rio’s full attention, and Beth steps closer to stand behind him.

“Rio - -”

“Nuh, man, we had an agreement – only thirty kids – there’s more than thirty here, only the beer I get you, there’s more than that here too, and no drugs around your kid siblings or your mom, so.”

Beth blinks wildly, staring at the back of Rio’s head, because what agreement? But then her gaze finds Kenny’s – who’s staring, mortified between Rio and her, his mouth open, before finally settling on Beth.

“Mom - -“ he starts, and yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Beth folds her arms over her chest, pushing out a hip.

“Don’t know why you’re looking at me,” she says. “I wasn’t even invited.”

Somewhere behind her she hears Annie yell BOOM! And Sadie laugh while groaning mom, and Beth stands up a little straighter, thrusting out her jaw when Kenny finally scowls. He opens his mouth, but Rio must give him a look because suddenly Kenny’s storming past them, back into the house, a gangly, teenage thundercloud amidst the silent storm of his friends, and Beth reaches out, squeezing Rio’s shoulder.

It’s quick then, loud – Annie leaping up behind them, cupping her hands to her mouth and yelling:

“You heard the man, move out! Moooove out!”

There’s a chorus of groans, but the kids all start to pack themselves up, and it’s not long before their front yard is packed with fifteen-year-olds texting their parents for pick up and - - well, it’s almost midnight at this point anyway, so she doesn’t feel too badly.

She sits on the front step of the house with a big glass of bourbon, watching the crowd and next year she thinks maybe they’ll hire somewhere. Somewhere with security, she thinks dreamily, and other people to clean up. Somewhere maybe her and Rio can leave them. She bets Demon would know a place. Probably Annie too.

She’s still thinking about it when she feels a weight press against her back, and she glances up, surprised to see Danny hanging over her.  

“What are you doing up?” she asks, and Danny shrugs, moving to flop down beside her on the step.

“I don’t like these parties,” he tells her authoritatively. “There’s too many people and you can’t even hear anyone and everyone pretends beer makes them fun when it makes them boring.”

Blinking, surprised, Beth hums, pleased. She runs a hand back through his blond hair, pulling him against her side, inhaling deeply. He smells like soap and sleep and boy, and god, he’s older than Emma, but it doesn’t always feel like it.

“Yeah,” she says softly, eyeing off the crowd again. “I’m going to remind you you said that when you turn thirteen next year, and every year after that too, you know that, right?”

Danny blinks up at her, his blue eyes wide, and Beth grins, pressing a kiss to his temple. Still, he sits with her as they watch the kids disappear from their front lawn, the faint sounds of Annie, Ruby, Rio and even Dean helping tidy up inside, broken up only when Annie finds one of the abandoned joints and says, “Blergh, this weed is awful,” at the top of her lungs.

 *

 She’s still tucking Danny back into bed when Rio appears in the doorway, leaning there like he too often does, just watching her. Danny’s probably too old for this really, but he seems to still like it at least, these quiet moments with her, or perhaps he knows she maybe needed this tonight, needed to put one of her kids to bed like they were still small, and it’s too easy to reach out, cup his jaw as he yawns, blinking sleepily up at her.

“’Night, honey,” she whispers, and he mumbles something like ‘night, mom back, and Beth kisses his forehead, steals out of the room, taking Rio’s hand as she goes.

“Everyone’s - - ”

“Gone home,” he finishes. “House mostly back together, enough you and me ain’t gonna want to set the place on fire tomorrow. ‘m savin’ the yard for Kenny though.”

Which - -

“Good,” Beth says finitely. “I can’t believe him. He just - - didn’t care.”

“Didn’t think,” Rio corrects, and when she looks back at him, he shrugs.

“Fifteen, ma. He’s got a lotta fuck ups left in him. That’s okay. We catch him and we check him.”

With a sigh, Beth nods, rubbing a little at her bleary eyes. She’s still annoyed at Kenny – at him uninviting them and still, somehow, expecting so much – the beer and the food and the - -

She squints.

“You had an agreement?”

Rio hums, tilts his head.

“You wanna fight about that now or in the mornin’?”

Staring at him, she thinks it over, any real anger in her blanketed by exhaustion, and so she shakes her head, waves a hand at him and says:

“In the morning.”

Making a sound of agreement, he starts walking them both back to their bedroom only when Beth slows her step, laughing, the thought suddenly having found her again.

“Be prepared for him to start asking you to take him to get a tattoo,” she says, and Rio pops an eyebrow.

“That allowed?” he asks her, and Beth gives him a look that just makes him laugh, pull her up just short of their bedroom, crowding her back against the wall.

“You did good tonight,” he tells her. “They’re lucky to have you.”

“You  too,” she mumbles, because it was good - - to not have to think about everything. To know he’d be there, to catch whatever she didn’t, to keep the kids happy and occupied when she couldn’t, to clean up when she was too tired to. She smiles, raising a hand to hook beneath his chin, pulling him in to kiss her, and Rio does happily - - more than happily, sinking his hips instantly against hers, pushing her flush into the wall, and god, just - - the weight of him against her, it still just does things to her.

“It’s later,” he purrs against her mouth, and Beth grins, nipping at his lip, running her hands down his back to grab his (non-existent) ass.

“You know what?” she hums. “I think it is.”

He grins, squeezing her breast like he’d done in the bedroom at the start of the night, and Beth giggles, yanking them back into it, walking them backwards, blindly in the dark towards their bed, tumbling down onto it, his mouth on her neck, only to hit - -

Another body?

Another, yelping body?

Beth gasps, and Rio springs forwards, tense, ready for a fight, only to throw the light on, and oh god, Beth thinks, flushing pink to the roots of her hair.

“Mason! Honey, I am so sorry, I completely forgot you were in here.”

That she’d put him in here, Beth thinks, mortified, after her and Ruby had mopped him up and moved him to sleep it off in Beth and Rio’s bed.

“Uhhhhh,” he squeaks, eyes wild, and Beth flounders.

“Let me - -“

“I might call my mom?”

Behind her Rio nods sharply, and Mason nods adamantly, moving tenderly, but quickly as he darts down the stairs, and god, Beth thinks, groaning covering her face. She feels it before she sees it, Rio’s hands dropping to the front of her dress, and she glares at him, about to bat his hands away when she glances down and sees that he’s fixing it, and - -  

“Oh my god, did he see my - -”

Rio kisses her quickly.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says against her lips, and Beth groans, louder this time, letting Rio deepen the kiss, but not for long. In a few minutes, she’ll need to go apologise to Mason. In a few minutes, she’ll offer to drive him home, and then she’ll do it, making awkward conversation the whole way and pretending Mason isn’t staring at her like she’s - - well. Like he’s seen her at second base with her - -

With her Rio.

It’ll be an hour before she’s home, an hour before she gets back in bed, and Rio will be asleep, and soon so will Beth. In the morning she’ll argue with Kenny, but he’ll clean the yard, make promises she knows he won’t keep, and she’ll tell Rio maybe growing up is good – because shipping Kenny off to college sounds really good right now, and Rio will lower his voice, laughing, and purr to her all the things they can do once all the kids are out of there, and for the first time maybe the idea sounds like something that could be full instead of empty.

But that’s later.

Right now, Beth digs her nails into the base of his skull and kisses him properly.

[urdbell18]

Madamspellman Teacher AU: Chapter one: The One Where They Meet

So I got a lot of positive response for this fic that I’m gonna start poasting it. I did get it reviewed by Mostlygayfluff, thank you for indulging me, but if anyone does have any suggestions because we’re only human, then let me know. I’m posting my story without a real title so if you guys think of one let me know! Thanks and enjoy!

Zelda Spellman made a lot of choices in her life. Some of them she made based on necessity, others based on nothing but her own selfish needs. There were the ones that she would stand behind until her death. There were ones that she regretted the moment she made them, the weight of her actions stabbing her deep in her gut. This was not one of them.

With a file box under her arm Zelda entered her new place of employment, Baxter High. After Labor day Zelda would be the schools new language teacher. The superintendent and the principle both drooled when they read over her certification that deemed her fluid in not one language like French or Spanish (which she was), but several including Russian and Chinese. It meant that they only needed to hire her, one woman that can do it all, instead of two or three, to simplify the budget to benefit the whole school. Zelda didn’t believe them for one second, and she felt bad for maybe half a second on behalf of the teachers who might of lost their jobs because of her. Zelda has never denied that she is a selfish woman, and she needed the job.

Zelda’s heels clicked against the linoleum floor, she was supposed to pick up her keys and badge from the school secretary, a sharp angle mousy blonde by the name of Mrs. Meeks. Mrs. Meeks gave her another box, much to her dismay, that had her name along with the number for her classroom, office number, and class schedule taped to the lid. Now with two boxes of considerable weight she turned to leave the office. That’s when she heard Mr. Hawthorne, principal and her new boss, call her name.

“Mrs. Spellman.” Mr. Hawthorne came up to her, a half a step too close for her liking. Zelda just gritted her teeth and held her tongue. “How are you settling in? Do you need help with those?” Before she could protest Mr. Hawthorne had already taken the boxes from her and started walking down the hallway. He talked all the while expecting Zelda to be following and listening to him. Yes, she did follow him, because he took her belongings. However, that didn’t mean she listened to a word he said. She focused more on where she was going, not listening to a life story she never wanted to hear. When they reached her classroom, Mr. Hawthorne opened the door with a smile that made her skin crawl. Zelda entered the space, silently observing the surrounding, her desk, students desk, chalkboards. “I believe I rambled on long enough.” Zelda just hummed and hoped with everything she had that Mr. Hawthorne would take his leave. “What about you Mrs. Spellman?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m a very hands on principal, as you will come to learn now that you have joined our little family here at Baxter High.” He smiled at her again and Zelda fought the mental image of his wormy head popping open like a zit. It wouldn’t be pretty, and she sighed to rid herself of the thought. “And I’m always interested in how one of our members has come to join us.” Zelda froze where she was taking out her things from her first file box and, not for the first time, thanked whomever that he could not see her face as her heart stopped cold. Mr. Hawthorne’s words sounded no different than ones that she’s heard before back when…

“Mr. Hawthorne.” The sudden crashing of the present startled Zelda and she dropped her binder containing her lessons for French 1. Mr. Hawthorne, for the first time, ignored her as he turned his attention to the other woman. “Ms. Glover is looking for you.”

“Ah, thank you Ms. Wardwell.” Without even a word or a single glance at her Mr. Hawthorne left, brushing pass Ms. Wardwell. To her credit, Ms. Wardwell did not move from where she blocked half of the doorway, nor did she shrink away when Mr. Hawthorne had to flatten himself to get by her. When he left Ms. Wardwell rolled her eyes but didn’t take her leave, she ventured further into the room, her gaze never leaving Zelda. Before Zelda could yell at this woman to demand why she was entitled to enter her space Ms. Wardwell bent down elegantly at the knee to retrieve the binder that was still on the floor. She was careful of the binders rings falling open, and set it gently down on the empty desk.

“I don’t think there’s anything about Hawthorne I need to tell you that you haven’t already figured out yourself.” Ms. Wardwell’s eyes were a crystal clear blue, her finely shaped eyebrows arched elegantly. A half smirk formed on her lips, which were painted a red color that Zelda found sinful, as well as classic. “You seem like an intelligent woman Ms…”

“Spellman. Zelda Spellman.” Ms. Wardwell held out her hand, her nails were neat and painted a shiny red color similar to her lipstick. Her fingers were warm when Zelda offered her hand to shake, the action was firm and strong, it told Zelda all she needed to know about Ms. Wardwell.

“Mary Wardwell. Spellman, I have a student by that same name. Sabrina Spellman.”

“My niece.”

“Well then, now I know you’re an intelligent woman, Zelda Spellman.” Ms. Wardwell smiled at her in a way that Zelda could just make out a smirk. She turned to leave, her soft brown hair bounced on her shoulder like it was cotton. There was a trail of perfume that was sweet yet sharp, just like Ms. Wardwell. “See you around Ms. Spellman.” And just like that Ms. Wardwell was gone, the door closing behind her softly. Three whole minutes ticked by, before Zelda’s mind snapped out of it. She wasn’t even sure what had happened, and returned her focus to why she was here in the first place.

Zelda left Baxter High around four o’clock. With summer still clinging to life, the sun sat high and round in the sky. As luck would have it, no one else disturbed her and she was able to put the finishing touches on her classroom and office. On her way to the car she called her sister at her bookstore job to see if Hilda needed a ride home. Her sister was working late and the owner offered to take her home later. Zelda wasn’t a fan of Dr. Cerberus, but she bit her tongue for Hilda’s sake. So, she went home where the remainder of her family was. There was something calming about driving through the woods, it didn’t matter the time or the season. Zelda would always roll down the window, and no matter what happened that day it flew away with the wind. She parked her car on a patch of grass and walked up the porch steps, they creaked with her weight but it was comforting, it was home, just like her keys jingling in the lock.

“Mommy!” A little girl no more than four with blazing red hair that fell off her shoulders in neat ringlets sat and waited on the entry steps. Her little body rocked with excitement as she anticipated her sign that Zelda was ready to take her into her arms. Had the car ride not been sufficient in placing her in a better mood, her daughter surely would. She looked at her like she was everything, and it always made her smile. Zelda did not hesitate, she scooped her daughter from the steps, the little girls laugh rang in her ear and her skin felt soft when she pressed a kiss to the child’s tiny cheek.

“My darling, how I missed you. Did you behave for Sabrina? What did you do?” Vida lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder and launched into her childlike details on how she watched a few cartoons. Zelda didn’t approve of much TV and Vida didn’t care much for it. How she did the tree on the puzzle she and Hilda had on the table in the parlor. It was never a rule that no one could work on the Spellman sisters’ puzzle but Vida was the only one that was ever interested. She also proudly described how she finished a page of the workbook Zelda made for her to improve her language skill.

“Hello Auntie Zee.” Sabrina was in the kitchen, reading a book, she looked up when Zelda entered Vida perched on her hip. Zelda placed a kiss on top of the teen’s head as she placed her daughter in an unoccupied chair. “How’d it go?”

“Uneventful.” With Hilda working late it was up to her to prepare dinner. It wasn’t that she minded, it was just that Hilda was better at things like cooking and baking . There was chicken thawed in the fridge, she could work with that. “I did however, meet Ms. Wardwell. Is Ambrose here?”

“Really?” Sabrina perked up, her hands stopping mid motion where she was playing some clapping game with her cousin. “Didn’t I tell you she’s great! She-”

“Sabrina, Ambrose, is he here?” Zelda knew all about Ms. Wardwell, Sabrina hasn’t stopped talking about the teacher since last year. While she was grateful to place the name with a face, plus the help with Hawthorne, she didn’t need to hear more about Ms. Wardwell.

“Oh? No. He left a while ago to do… something. I thought best not to ask.” Smart girl, Zelda learned that it was best not to know where her nephew spent most of his time. “Ah! Before I forget, Aunt Zelda, Roz called and asked if I can go see a movie with her and Susie.” And Harvey, Sabrina didn’t need to say that part, Harvey was rarely not around when she went out with her friends. Zelda was not the most comfortable with her niece dating.

“What time will you be back?”

“Eleven?”

“Ten.”

“Ten-thirty, sharp.”

“Acceptable.” Sabrina squealed and hugged Zelda from behind, she left in a swirl of teenage whim. A sort of melecolly feeling over took Zelda as Sabrina buzzed around the house She understood that her niece was growing up, no longer content with staying home with her aunts, but Zelda still missed her, missed her family being here. She had Vida who, when Zelda turned back around to place the extra chicken back in the fridge, was smiling at her from the back of the chair.

“Am I writing Aunt Hilda’s post-it?” Her intuitive little girl, Zelda nodded and while the chicken was cooking in the pan she washed her hands and gave her daughter the pad of paper from the fridge. Whenever Hilda couldn’t join them, Zelda got things ready for when she got home. It often included a portion of the nights meal in the fridge with a note written by Vida (sometimes with touches from Ambrose or Sabrina), tea leafs in her cup covered with a saucer, and kettle on the burner ready to go. Zelda would admit that she hadn’t been the best, most supportive sister, but Vida, who loved so deeply and knew how to care for others, helped. Along with the chicken, Zelda fixed some rice and broccoli. Vida was like any typical child and didn’t want to eat vegetables, but Hilda was always baking something. This time it was blondies that she spent all last Sunday afternoon making, and they made for excellent bribes. Vida was rarely disappointing, and she was munching on a small square of blondie as Zelda finished.

After dinner and dishes, Vida would read from her book with help from Zelda. Very early on she supplied her daughter with books in several languages, mainly English and French. Vida enjoyed this part of the day, being curled up in her mother’s lap, that strong steady heartbeat and soft breathing that soothed her since before she was born. When she started to show the first signs of sleepiness, which was usually around 8:30, Zelda would take her daughter upstairs to ready her for bed; bath with bubblegum bubble bath and strawberry scented shampoo that added even more sweetness to the air, fresh PJ’s, teeth brushed, and then cocooned in her blankets with her favorite always in reach, Hilda knitted it for her from soft thick blue yarn when Zelda told her that she was pregnant. Last was Oso, her favorite stuffed black bear that was missing one eye, tucked under her arm. Zelda stayed until the small girl’s breathing become deep and slow, leaving one last small kiss on the girl’s temple. Zelda then got ready for bed herself, but didn’t go to sleep till much later. Sometimes she’d go back downstairs and wait for Hilda to return. Other times she would turn on the small lamp so she could read without disturbing her daughter who was in the same room. Before Vida was born, she used to share the room with her sister but Hilda has since moved down the hall.

Tonight, she stayed up reading but not really absorbing what was on the page. Instead she listened, the front door slamming softly shut and the whistle of the kettle at twenty to ten which meant that Hilda was home. Then there was the creaking of the floorboards at eleven o’five when Sabrina tried to sneak back into the house at lights out, thirty five minutes past her curfew. Zelda finally settled down, hanging her robe on her bed post and switching off the light. The room plunged into total darkness, minus the soft pulse of her daughters elephant night light. The night was peaceful and warm, the air was filled with the soft sounds of crickets, Zelda had no problem falling asleep.

Her life might not be perfect, nor one she expected to have, but regret? She had none. 

[born-in-the-wrong-multiverse]

Literal Baby Blues

Title: Literal Baby Blues

Square: De-aging for @clintbartonbingo

Warning: Language

Pairing: None

Summary: When Clint ‘volunteers’ for an experimental procedure to make himself sixteen again for the sake of a mission, no one could have predicted how horribly wrong it could all go.

"You absolutely promise this won't be permanent?"  "I swear it. Forty eight hours, max. It'll wear off gradually over the last couple of hours but until then, you'll be sixteen again."  "Greattttt. Because that's every grown man's greatest fantasy, to be pimply with a squeaky voice right before he's even had his growth spurt all over again." Clint was understandably a little unhappy about the whole situation. He'd drawn the short straw, though, and now he had no choice but to follow through, no matter how hard he might try to talk his way out of it. "How do you even know this will work in the first place? I'm guessing you didn't exactly use yourself as a guinea pig, Banner." Looking up briefly from the monitor he was observing as he calculated the dosage based on Clint's weight and height and current age, Bruce nudged his glasses up a little higher on his nose, delaying the need to answer. "Well...I mean...the mice responded well." Clint damn near shrieked at him. "Mice?! You mean you've only tested it on rodents?!" "Well," Bruce muttered, "Every scientific theory has to start somewhere." "And now you're back to calling it a theory!" Clint's eyes bugged out of his skull, backing away from the workbench hastily. "You're joking, right? About this whole stupid idea?" When Bruce shook his head, eyes full of sympathy, Clint slumped dejectedly, reluctantly resigning himself to his fate. Whatever it might be. "Fine," he grumbled, "Just make it quick so I can get this mission over with and go back to being a full grown man with all his short and curlies again." Scrunching his face up as he pinched the bridge of his nose, Bruce just nodded, doing his best to bleach that image from his brain as he instructed Clint to sit down and lay back in the chair. "You'll likely experience a little disorientation, your balance will be a little compromised to begin with until you adjust, but your mind will be your own. You'll have all your memories, all your personality and...quirks...will be intact." "Oh, I suppose you and Pym just asked your little mice subjects to clarify all that for you in a handy little questionnaire, huh?" Ignoring Clint's little outburst, Bruce drew back on the syringe as it filled with the serum that would revert him back to his teenage body. "Okay? Ready?" "Do I look ready?" Clint muttered, his eyes wide with trepidation and displeasure. Bruce shrugged. "Not really."

Over the course of the forty seven minutes following the injection which flooded Clint's veins with the highly experimental solution, the Avenger's body shrank, in both height and muscle mass. The battle-weary creases at the corners of his eyes smoothed until they were no longer a visible reminder of the seven layers of hell he'd survived. The scruff on his jaw and chin retreated, leaving only the faintest hint of fluff on his top lip, while his voice lost its tenor. Almost disconcertingly, however, his nose still heralded the crooked memories of every time it had been broken in a fight, and the reminders of innumerable gunshots, stab wounds and other miscellaneous injuries still scarred his skin. "Aw futz," Clint croaked as he tested out his resurrected, under-developed vocal cords. Looking at himself in the mirror, he cringed, resisting the urge to reach up to squeeze the zit that itched next to his left nostril. "Forty eight hours, right?" For a moment, Bruce didn't respond. He was gawking awestruck, foremost at the serum's success, but also at the sight of sixteen year old Clint in all his gangly glory; he hadn't grown into his limbs, yet, and the years of hard work put into his physique hadn't yet passed. He hadn't expected the scars to remain, either; he had, foolishly he now realised, assumed that the formula would have somewhat regenerative properties. "Banner! Don't stand there staring at me like I'm your Frankenstein's monster success story; answer me! Forty eight hours and I can go back to normal, right?" "Right!" Bruce snapped out of his reverie, nodding emphatically at the teenaged Hawkeye. "So, better make them count. Unless you want to have to go through this whole thing again." Eyes wide, Clint squawked a curse. "Not a futzin' chance." 

It started slowly at first, so gradually it was imperceptible to the naked eye. The crackling pop of his maturing voice started to shift up an octave instead of dropping one. The shoes that had fit perfectly that morning started to slip off his feet with every step. The fuzz on his lip receded one hair at a time without him so much as lifting a razor. It wasn't until his gums painfully swallowed his wisdom teeth forty two hours in that Clint realised something was horribly wrong.  "Fix this!" Clint shrilled at Bruce as he stormed into the lab with all the fury his now twelve year old self could exude. "I'm supposed to be getting older, not younger!" Bruce's eyes expanded in perfect synchronicity with his jaw dropping. "I...none of the test subjects experienced anything like this. I'm not even sure what...I mean...I can't fix what I don't understand, Clint." "Then understand it! Figure out what's happening and fix it!" the younger version of Clint Barton snapped, his voice no longer squeaking with the effort of pushing words past vocal cords that were still figuring out their role in this world. “An hour ago my balls were still right where I’d left them and now they’re back up somewhere between my bladder and my spleen along with the pitch of my voice! Fix it so they drop back down where they belong or so help me God, Banner...” Squashing down the absurd instinct to deliver an unnecessary anatomy lesson, Bruce exhaled slowly. Bracing himself for another outburst, he held his hands up, palms out so as to placate the already irate archer. “Give me time. I just...I need some time to run tests and figure this out, but I promise, I can fix this." He paused. "I think." "It's the 'I think' part that worries me," Clint groaned. He was almost certain that in the five minutes since he'd walked into the lab, he'd shrunk another inch, and the pre-pubescent blemishes had faded from his now perfectly smooth skin. "I swear I'm losing two years every couple of minutes now. If you don't fix this before I'm back in diapers, I will sink my milk teeth into you!" "Six hours," Bruce pleaded, "And that's if I take a lot of shortcuts. But I'm going to need at least six hours to run tests. I'll need blood, hair and a cheek swab. To begin with, at least." Gritting his teeth, Clint scrunched his now nine year old face up in contempt. "I'd even jerk off into a cup if it would help but I'm not sure I'm even capable of that any more." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bruce rubbed his eyes with the pads of his thumb and forefinger, his glasses resting on his knuckles as he sighed. Admitting he needed at least six hours to even run the tests was one thing, but trying to tell Clint that he would need adult supervision for the duration of those six hours was going to be another thing entirely. 

"Gimme the goddamn drink! I'm teething and have nappy rash that itches worse than a case of the clap because someone -" the piercing pair of literal baby blues shot daggers in Bucky's direction, "- forgot to powder my ass!" At two years old, it was disconcerting hearing that sort of language spouting from Clint's tiny, but not yet completely toothless mouth. The team that wasn't hunting for answers in the lab was officially stuck on babysitting duties. While Clint retained his memories and his ability to speak, his fine motor skills were on the decline, resulting in the need for a little more help getting around. Pym had suggested it was possibly only a matter of time until even his vocal cords reverted back to being unable to form sophisticated sounds, too. Clint hadn't liked that, and was in the middle of a particularly foul mouthed tantrum as though to make the most of what time he had left to do so. "Well next time tell one of us you need to crap yourself and we'll take you to the bathroom so you can do it in the big boy's potty instead," Bucky smirked, clearly still not over the trauma of changing his teammate's dirty diaper, and still cursing Tony for suggesting that they draw straws for it, too; especially when he was positive Tony had somehow cheated. Just because he looked like a toddler didn't mean it was any less Clint. "Besides, you can't metabolize alcohol any more. So, suck it up. Have a binky instead." The look of pure rage blazing in Clint's eyes when Bucky tossed a pacifier in his direction was enough to force Steve's hand, as he stepped in and lifted Clint into his arms. "Okay, that's enough out of you. I think you need a nap." "No I do not need a nap!" Clint protested, but even as he did so, he yawned, snuggling into the crook of Steve's neck and shoulder. "I am a grown ass man. Grown men don't use binkies or take naps or...or..." "Shit in diapers?" Bucky teased, eliciting a tempestuous shriek of indignant wrath from the two foot tall, blond haired boy with eyes bluer and colder than icicles as he tried to fling himself from Steve's arms in an effort to sink his sharp little fingernails into Bucky's face. “Okay,” Steve laughed, drawing the word out slowly as he wrangled Clint in his arms, “Enough. Just because you look like a baby doesn’t mean you need to act like one.” Watching with an eyebrow raised in bemusement, Nat piped with an affectionate taunt in her voice, “This is Clint we’re talking about. Acting like a baby is sort of what he does best.” Clint shot a furious look in her direction, but with his plump infantile features, the scrunched up button nose and pouty lips only served to remind Nat of a Cabbage Patch doll, making her own face contort with the effort of holding back her laughter. Sucking in a breath to try and calm herself, Nat looked at Clint sympathetically, walking over to take him from Steve’s arms and cradled him close to her chest to try and comfort him. “Just hang in there a little longer. Banner, Pym and Stark are all working on a way to reverse this, but you gotta be patient. They can either do it fast, or they can do it right. Which would you prefer?” “Both,” Clint muttered. “Can’t we just get Strange to do his magic wizard thing and take me back to before I agreed to this nonsense? So I can use my brain for once and refuse to do it at all?” Glances were exchanged between the group; the idea had been floated briefly, but was quickly rejected. The mission itself had been a triumph, and a diplomat’s sixteen year old son had been saved from a politically fuelled abduction attempt. Any effort to distort the prose of history could undo all that hard work, and none of them were willing to take that risk. “You know why we can’t do that,” Steve sighed softly, “Just...be patient, like Nat said.” Tears welled in Clint’s eyes, and for a moment, it was easy to forget that there was a man in his mid-thirties trapped inside that baby’s body. His bottom lip trembled, and his eyes screwed shut, sniffing loudly as he tried to force the sob of despair back down his throat before it could escape. Fat, lazy tears of pure frustration slipped down his cheeks as he looked around the room at each of his teammates, silently pleading with them to help him. He knew they were doing all they could, but he was losing hope. When he opened his mouth to speak again, all that came out was a few babbled, incoherent syllables. “Oh no...” Nat’s hand flew to her mouth as it dropped open in horror. None of them knew what would happen if Clint continued to shed months of his life in mere minutes, and it was clear now that he didn’t have many months left to lose. “We’re going to get you back to normal, Clint. Until we do, we’re going to look after you. You’re going to be okay.” 

Moments after the now four month old baby Barton fell asleep in Natasha’s arms, Bruce summoned Steve to the lab. The sombre look on his face wasn’t promising. “He’s stopped growing younger,” Banner frowned, cleaning his glasses on the hem of his shirt, “But...we still can’t figure out how to reverse it. Barton’s antibodies should have kicked in and essentially started eating at the serum as it attached itself to his cells, but, the serum was too strong. We could try giving his immune system a boost, but if his white blood cell count raises too high, then...that in itself won’t be good, either.” Looking Steve in the eye, Tony folded his arms across his chest, and shrugged. “The alternatives are to either let him grow up all over again,” he quirked an eyebrow at the look of disbelief on Captain Roger’s face and held his hands up, demanding patience before he continued, “Or we keep looking. The solution is here,” he tapped his temple and shrugged again, “We just need to dig around in the grey matter to find it. Until then, I guess we all just signed up for Parenting 101.” 

[lesbianfreyja]

Mac dabbed another bit of the sticky eyelash glue he’d found under Dennis’s sink across his cheekbones, glancing up in the mirror to make sure he’d gotten it in a straight line. He hummed, ducking to catch the light and see his face better. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

The front door slammed shut and Mac poked his head out of his room.

“Hey, Dennis,” he called, and ducked back into his bedroom.

Dennis came meandering into his doorway a few moments later. He leaned his hip against the frame, crossing his arms.

“Were you going out without me?”

“Obviously not,” said Mac, rolling his eyes. He picked his jacket up off the dresser in front of him and tossed it at Dennis’s head. Dennis pulled it off his face, giving off token protests. “Get dressed, bitch! We got places to be.”

Dennis didn’t move. He waved his finger in a loose circle in the air, glancing around the room.

“What is this?” he asked lightly. “What is this that we’re listening to?”

Mac rolled his eyes. “It’s my getting ready mix, bro. You know that. I always play it when I get dressed to go out.”

He dabbed some glitter from the squeeze tube onto his finger and dashed it across his cheeks, rubbing it in.

“I wouldn’t know, ‘cause your taste in music is total shit,” said Dennis. “So I always stay in my room listening to something that’s actually good, and then meet you out by the front door.”

Mac waved vaguely at him. “Okay. Bye. See you in fifteen minutes.”

Dennis didn’t move from the doorway. Mac ignored him as he rubbed more glitter into his face, at least until Dennis strode forward and snatched the tube out of his hand. Mac’s fingers drifted in the air around his temple, watching Dennis with his eyebrows raised.

“What are you doing? I need that.”

“Dude, is this what you’re using?” he demanded, brandishing the tube at him. “Mac, seriously?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with it?” he asked, reaching for his glitter back, but Dennis pulled it away from him with a little laugh.

“Mac, baby.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Dude, you cannot just use store-brand glitter on your face. What is this? Is this from Party City? And what are you using to get it to stay on, is that just a stick of Elmer’s or something?”

Mac kicked at the bottom of his dresser, muttering something.

“What?” Dennis implored, leaning closer.

“I said I got it from your bathroom!” Mac snapped, glaring at him.

Dennis snatched the glue up from Mac’s dresser before Mac could slap his palm down over it to hide it. Mac scowled as Dennis peered at the little tube and then looked back up at him with his mouth hung open.

“Is this my eyelash glue?! Bro, this is stuff is expensive!”

Mac snorted. “Dee steals that shit for you from CVS and you know it.”

Dennis scowled.

“Whatever,” he said after a beat, still frowning. “You’re such a dipshit, babe, if you keep smearing stuff that isn’t high quality on your face then you’re going to break out.”

“I don’t break out. I’m in my forties.”

“You have a zit on your cheek right now from smoking so much weed with Charlie lately,” said Dennis, pointing at it until Mac slapped his hand away. “Jesus Christ, I’ll be right back.”

“Dennis, wait — Give me back my stuff!” he called after him. “I need to get dressed!”

Dennis just waved vaguely over his shoulder and disappeared, slipping the eyelash glue and the store-brand glitter into his pocket as he went.

Mac huffed out an irritated breath and went back to picking out shorts to wear. He ended up pulling on a pair that was just the same blue pants he always wore, but cut off a few inches above the knee; it always got hot when they went out because they drank six to ten cocktails and sugary drinks made Dennis want to grind on him.

Dennis reappeared in his doorway, stripped down to a flannel open over his jeans and brandishing a new tube of something sparkly at him.

“Got this,” he said.

Mac inched closer. “What’s that?”

“Body glitter,” said Dennis, setting it down on the dresser. “You know, like you’re supposed to use on your skin. Got this, too, I figured it couldn’t hurt. Come here.”

Mac shuffled in until he was less than a foot away. Dennis grabbed for his bare side to hold him steady, his other hand held aloft and clutching at a damp paper towel.

“Close your eyes,” Dennis murmured.

He wiped the Party City glitter off of Mac’s cheeks very gently, brushing the paper towel against his skin until it started to break up from holding too much water and product. Dennis dusted off his face with a dry part of the paper towel and then crumpled it up on Mac’s dresser, and Mac opened his eyes. He turned to look at his reflection; his face was almost entirely clean, except for a few bits of stray glue that was clinging to his cheeks. Mac swiped at them with one hand, most of it flaking away under his touch.

“All better,” said Dennis brightly. He ducked in to press a quick kiss to Mac’s mouth. “Can I grab something from your drawer to wear? I don’t have any mesh and I’m feeling it tonight.”

“Go ahead,” said Mac, stepping back and waving at his dresser.

He dug through his own closet while Dennis unearthed the buried mesh shirt from the bottom of Mac’s clothes. The whole time he bitched about how disorderly Mac’s drawer was, while Mac told him to go root through his own pile of button-ups if he wanted something conventionally organized to wear to the bar. Dennis threw the old tube of Party City glitter at him.

“Oh, I love this song,” said Mac, brightening up. He hummed the opening bars of it as he rejoined Dennis where he was standing and putting on mascara in Mac’s mirror. He poked at his side to get his attention, ignoring when Dennis slapped at his hands. “Isn’t this romantic?”

“Stop making me flinch when I’m putting on makeup,” Dennis said stubbornly. “I’m smearing it everywhere.”

“Whatever,” said Mac, snorting.

“And no, I don’t think that the song What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger is romantic,” Dennis continued. “Christ.”

“The song’s just called Stronger, bro. And it’s totally romantic!” said Mac. He circled his arms lightly around Dennis’s waist, swaying them together to the beat. In the mirror, he watched Dennis roll his eyes. “It’s about, like, getting jacked as hell and finding a new boyfriend to bang it out with.”

“How is that romantic?” Dennis asked, laughing. His mascara wand speckled the wooden top of the dresser when he waved it around like that, and Mac bit lightly into his shoulder and told him to watch it. “And anyway, that is absolutely not what it’s about! It’s about getting over your shitty ex!”

“Okay, but we can at least agree that it’s about going to the gym a bunch. Right?”

Dennis laughed again. “No. No, we cannot agree on that.”

Mac ducked to press his lips against the side of Dennis’s neck.

“Whatever,” he said, disentangling his arms from around him and stepping back. He grabbed the tube of glitter off the dresser and uncapped it, but before he could squeeze any out, Dennis spun around and snatched it out of his hands. “What are you doing?”

Dennis didn’t answer. He just quirked a little half-smile at him, enigmatic as usual, and screwed the top of his mascara back on so he could squeeze some body glitter out onto his fingers. He held his hand close to Mac’s chest, making his intentions clear.

“Wanna put your shirt on first?” asked Dennis, hand hovering right above one of his pecs.

Mac pulled on the shirt he’d grabbed from his closet and then thrown down to the floor, the one he’d gotten from some thrift shop he’d found while exploring with Charlie once. It was just plain grey, but it was cropped around his midriff and read POUND CAKE in fancy lettering. Dennis rolled his eyes when he read it, after Mac tugged it on, but he moved forward and started to rub him down without comment.

He started at Mac’s cheeks and worked his way lower. Mac had to keep directing him back over areas that he’d missed, although Dennis kept insisting that he had already gotten it all over his abs anyway.

“Do it again,” said Mac. “You can’t see it right over there!”

He pointed at a patch of skin just above his jeans.

“Mac, I promise you that I just ran over that spot. Twice.”

“Uh, Den, I know you did,” he said. “That’s not the problem. The problem is that you can’t see it yet! I want it to shine.”

“It will once you’re under all the strobes in the club. I promise!” said Dennis. “It’s just because the lighting in your room is so unbelievably shitty, Mac.”

“I should be shining no matter where I am,” Mac said, “if I’m doing it right. I should be able to light up under those shitty fluorescents at that diner we always go to.”

Most of the time, they were still awake when the clubs closed down, and they were usually hungry enough with the drunchies that they wound up Google Mapping their way to a twenty-four diner in the early hours. Recently, a new bar had opened up not far from their apartment that they both agreed they liked best, and there was a diner a few blocks over from it that stayed open all day around. They had kind of become regulars there, albeit very irregular regulars because of the unpredictable hours at which they went out to bars in the first place.

“Seriously?” said Dennis. He laughed. “Oh, man. Okay, well in that case I should just bathe you in this whole tube.”

Mac shoved at his shoulder, even as he basked in the slide of Dennis’s hands up over his ribs and then down again along one side of his back.

“Shut up.”

Dennis slipped his fingers down to press along the lower part of Mac’s back, rubbing the glitter into his skin. Mac leaned forward into him, digging his nails into Dennis’s arms to steady himself. Dennis looked up into his face, looming close, and smiled.

“I’m being serious!” said Dennis, and Mac pinched his arm a little. “Okay, so is your back good?”

“What? No, you’ve barely touched my back.”

“Mac, you can’t seriously want me to rub glitter all over your back. Who’s gonna see it back there?”

“Uh, everyone?” said Mac, his voice mocking. “Everyone from the minute I turn around?”

“Jesus Christ,” Dennis muttered.

He spun Mac around with a hand on his shoulder so he could smooth his glitter-splattered palm across his spine and the other side of his back, and even dropped briefly to the floor to run his hands once down his legs. Mac was grinning when he stood back up in front of him, and Dennis leaned close to him. Mac thought he was going to kiss him, but Dennis just smirked and smacked his palms against the sides of Mac’s shorts to wipe off the rest of the glitter. Mac let him use his outfit as a towel — or at least, he didn’t pull away even though he complained.

“Aw, come on,” said Dennis, expression pinching as he pulled his hands back and examined them. “I’m gonna have glitter rubbed into the lines on my palms for weeks.”

“Who gives a shit?” Mac snorted. “What, were you planning on getting your fortune told soon?”

“I don’t need to. I already know it,” said Dennis lightly. He ticked off the points on his fingers. “Break up with Mac immediately. Find a sugar daddy at the bar. Never come home.”

Mac swatted at his shoulder, and Dennis was laughing right up until Mac tugged him in to press a warm kiss to his mouth. He nipped at his lip before pulling away, patting a glitter-flecked hand against Dennis’s cheek with a little more force than necessary.

“Ow,” Dennis complained, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Whatever, bitch. You deserved it.”

He let him go. Mac shifted away, but Dennis’s hand lashed out and grabbed at his forearm before he got two steps back. They both looked down at it for a long few seconds, Dennis’s forehead creased like he wasn’t quite sure why he had done that. He quickly yanked it back and met Mac’s eye again. Mac grinned a little.

“Where are you going?” asked Dennis, his tone clearly aiming for light but missing by a small margin. “You still have to do me.”

“I’m just going to the bathroom, Den. I’ll be right back,” said Mac.

“Okay,” said Dennis. “You’re gonna remember to come back and put some on me before we go, though, right?”

“Yes, Dennis,” he said. He shook his head. “That cool? That good? Can I take a two minute break to piss before I rub you down in glitter?”

Dennis shoved his hands in his pockets.

“That’s cool,” he echoed, his brow furrowing the way it did when he got defensive. “Whatever. I don’t care what you do.”

“Let me know if it’s not cool,” said Mac, spreading his hands, all fake earnestness and wide eyes. “If it’s not cool with you I’ll just stand here and piss myself ‘cause you’re so desperate to look as gay as you can, as fast as you can.”

Dennis rolled his eyes, his cheeks tinging pink.

“I said it was fine,” he grumbled.

“Just say the word and I will piss all over the place!” said Mac. “I will piss on me, I’ll piss on you if that’s what you’re into — Is that what you’re into? ‘Cause you seem awful excited to get me to do it—”

“Mac.”

“I’ll just drench you in it, bro, I mean it. Since you’re begging—”

Mac was laughing when Dennis shoved at his arm hard with both hands, pushing him bodily toward the bathroom. Dennis didn’t stop until Mac was all the way through the door, and he slapped at him one last time.

“Stop being such a bitch while you’re in there, if you can manage it,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically again.

Mac grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

When he came back out a few minutes later, Dennis was looming over Mac’s phone on the dresser, tapping at something on his phone. Mac was pretty sure he was messing with his Spotify, because the song filtering out of the speaker kept shifting over and over.

“What are you doing?” Mac demanded, pushing his arms out of the way.

“I didn’t know your password, so I was just trying to skip through to something halfway decent,” said Dennis, stepping back. He frowned. “You have some normal tunes in there usually, why won’t it play them?”

“It’s a playlist, Den. It just cycles through what I put on it.”

“And you didn’t put anything on it except for Kelly Clarkson?” Dennis asked, loud and annoyed and looking five seconds away from stomping his foot.

“No, I think there’s some Gwen Stefani on here,” said Mac. He unlocked his phone and swiped down the playlist until he found where Hollaback Girl was, slipped between two songs by Queen. He showed Dennis the phone, pulling out of his reach when he went to grab for it. Mac pushed him back with a forearm to the chest.

“I don’t want to listen to Gwen Stefani,” said Dennis.

Mac shrugged. “Whatever, dude.”

“I don’t want to listen to Kelly Clarkson, either, if that’s an option.”

“It’s not,” said Mac cheerfully. “Dude, Breakaway is a great song! Look, you always make the Uber put on your glam rock femme 80s shit! We can listen to your stuff later. We’re going to anyway.”

Dennis crossed his arms. Mac set the phone down and stepped closer, drawing Dennis in by the waist until Dennis relented, settling his hands on Mac’s chest and letting him give him a short kiss. When he pulled back, Mac was already picking up the glitter again; he waved it at him, the corner of his mouth curling up.

“Want me to rub you down?”

“Yeah.” Dennis sighed, taking a step back, out of his arms. “Go lighter than you did on yourself, though.”

“What’s wrong with how much glitter I use?” Mac asked, glancing down at his body.

He squeezed some paste out onto his hand and rubbed his palms together. Dennis lifted his arms so Mac could smooth it down both of his sides.

“You practically bathe in it,” said Dennis, leaning into Mac’s touch when he rubbed glitter into Dennis’s chest, up under the mesh so it would shine through later in the dark. “I’m going more subtle with it.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Right. Of course.”

He swept a line of glitter down both of Dennis’s arms; most of the time, he really didn’t like that he could fit his whole hand around Dennis’s arm, even at the thickest part of them, but now it was at least expedient in spreading as much of the glitter on him as possible in one go. He closed his eyes, face scrunching, when Mac swiped his thumbs beneath Dennis’s eyes. Mac slathered up his hands again, but Dennis pulled away, when Mac moved to step around him.

“What are you doing?” Mac asked. “I have to get your back.”

“No, I’m good,” he said. He looked down at his torso. “Actually, I think you overdid it a little there.”

“Uh, okay,” said Mac scathingly. “No one is even gonna be able to tell that you’re wearing that in the car, though.”

“I don’t give a shit if the Uber driver knows that I’m wearing glitter, Mac,” he said, shaking his head. “I barely give a shit if the people in the club can tell. Besides, you always get it all over me anyway, I probably didn’t even need to put any on.”

“Sure,” said Mac. “I’m sure you’re trying to be really understated tonight, what with the mesh and the boyfriend and the gay bar and everything. And how you’re wearing skinny jeans.”

Dennis scowled.

“I look good and you know it,” he said. “I’m simply reflecting the vibes, Mac.”

“Okay, bitch. Whatever,” he said. He knocked a knuckle under Dennis’s chin and ducked in to kiss him briefly. “Should we order the car now, or what?”

Dennis leaned in to kiss him again. “Yes.”

He disentangled himself from beneath Mac’s hands and went to go swipe his phone from the other room. Mac slung his jacket on, then grabbed his own phone and tucked it into his back pocket so he could keep listening to his music while he went to go raid the kitchen for leftovers; he needed some carbs before he started downing tequila shots, which they always wound up doing no matter how many cocktails they had first. Dennis found him while he was munching on week old pizza, not reheated but covered with enough garlic to make it taste great anyway.

“Hey,” said Dennis. “Oh, great, I can smell that from here. So you should be tons of fun to kiss later.”

Mac told him to go fuck himself and find a new beefcake to kiss if he didn’t like it. He still let Dennis lean around him and snag a bite, though, before he slipped his hand down over Mac’s back pocket.

“Come on, pound cake,” said Dennis, his voice dripping with derision. His eyes skimmed down the shirt Mac was wearing, and he snorted. “Our ride’s here.”

He patted Mac’s ass once, then skimmed his hand down over Mac’s wrist and slipped their fingers together. Mac squeezed, shoving the rest of the pizza into his mouth with his free hand as he followed Dennis back out of the kitchen. Mac pulled the door shut behind them, holding a hand out over his shoulder so Dennis could pass him the apartment keys.

“Mac?” he said, voice syrupy sweet.

Mac paused in jamming the key in to glance over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Dennis pressed a kiss against the back of Mac’s neck, hands sliding down his arms. He hooked his chin over Mac’s shoulder.

“Can you turn off the fucking Kelly Clarkson now?” he asked.

Mac snorted, elbowing Dennis off of him. Dennis’s hand groped around in his back pocket to reach for his phone himself, and the music went quiet right as Mac snapped the lock into place.

[littlebitofglow]

I used Masque Vivant last night and tonight. Wow, two nights in a row, who am I? And, I don’t mind the smell of the Masque Vivant anymore. Everyone was right and I did get used to it. 😆 Also, as expected after eating delicious flan a few days ago, I got a couple new zits on my right cheek and chin. Dairy acne is such a thing for me, so I knew it would happen! Oh well, no use crying over consumed cow milk products. 😬 . I'm using the Dr. Jart Focuspot Blemish Micro Tip Patches* on my new acne buddies tonight, so we'll see how those do I'm excited to try more microneedle patches, so I didn't dread these new zits as I normally would. hehe The Dr. Jart patches have hyaluronic acid micro-tips that dissolve into the skin along with NIacinamide and Peptides to moisturize and help minimize the stubborn dark spots that acne leaves behind. I feel the slightest pinch as I press them on, but it's a very brief sensation . Now I'm off to finish watching Black Summer, which is a zombie series. Watching zombie stuff is stressful for me, so I don't know why I do this to myself. I spend the entire time all tensed up haha ________ Here's my #skincareroutine for tonight, Saturday 6/1/19 1️⃣Drunk Elephant Slaai Makeup Melting Butter Cleanser* 2️⃣Lait U 3️⃣P50 1970 4️⃣Masque Vivant 5️⃣Complexe Iribiol 6️⃣Shangpree S Energy Anti Aging Serum 7️⃣Chanel Le Lift Eye Cream 8️⃣Dr. Jart Focuspot Blemish MIcro Tip Patches* 9️⃣Creme Dermopurifiante 🔟Laneige Lip Sleeping Mask, NP ________ * = PR/gifted #biologiquerecherche#shangpree#peachandlily#drjart#chanelskincare#welovecoco#skincarelover#skincareobsessed#beautygram#beautyroutine#skincarediary#skincareover40#oilyskincare#skincarejunkie#kbeauty#frenchbeauty#koreanskincare#frenchskincare#vanities#byrdiebeauty https://www.instagram.com/p/ByMncsWAAgx/?igshid=tetes296vptb

[suckitsurveys]

Did you ever pretend you were someone else as a favor for a friend? Yeah, back in the day when it was easy to “catfish” people, lol. Do you think men prefer curvy women or skinny women? I think men prefer who they prefer. Do you own a water gun? No. What item most embarrasses you to purchase? Nothing? Do you know any actual dances or do you just move to the music? I know some tik tok dances lol.

Do you eat pork and beans? I mean, it’s not something I seek out to eat, but I don’t actively hate it. What is the last thing you referred to as legit? I don’t know. Or do you think that term is lame? lol I say it sometimes. Do you give cards to people for holidays or events? Sometimes. Do you have anything hanging from the ceiling of your room? LED lights and some bat figures lol.  The rear view mirror of your car? I have a little Pikachu figurine hanging. which do you prefer, dr or dentist? Neither. Do you know which side your appendix is on? For a split second I thought you meant like, my own appendix and had a moment where I thought peoples’ appendixes (appendi?) could be on either side, depending on the person. I’m done. Do you have the fixins in your fridge to make a sandwich? What kind? Yes, we have turkey and pastrami and cheese and mayo and mustard. Are any walls of your room blank? No. When was the last time you ate fruit? I’m eating Sour Patch Kids right now does that count? lol What color are your favorite shoes? Teal. If someone was willing to tell your crush you liked them would you let them? Yes, someone please go tell Pete Davidson I have a crush on him, thanks. Do you know the zodiac signs of your friends? Yes. Favorite dog ever, real life and cartoon. My favorite IRL dog is my friend Lori’s dog Googz. My favorite cartoon dog is Mr. Peanutbutter. Do you own anything with fur on it? What? Faux fur. Do you choose surveys based on their titles? I never see titles. I judge them based on the first few questions. what would be worse for you, unplanned pregnancy or cancer? Cancer. I live in a state where abortion is legal, so I am set there. What was the last thing you made from scratch? Pesto. Do you drink any hot beverages? What? Coffee, tea, cider, hot coco, mulled wine. Do you put Q-tips in your ear or just round the outside? I don’t use them at all on my ears. Have you ever popped another person’s zit? Yes, my husband’s. When was the last time you listened to a radio,NOT online? Yesterday. Do you have any odious chores hanging over your head? Ehhh nah. What is the last thing you confessed to someone? Something to my cousins. Have you ever told a friend to dump their SO? Did they? Hkfhdsflhdskjlfhdsklhfd I want to tell my sister to dump her fucking piece of garbage husband. Name two things you put whipped cream on? Pumpkin pie and frappachinos. Who is the last person who saw you with bare feet? My husband. What do you think is the coolest piercing on someone else? Lip piercings. Not for me myself, but I like how they look on others. Colored tattoos or plain? I like colorful ones. Do you ever eat peanut butter straight from the jar? I have. Do you know how to ride a bike? Do you own one? I do. What was the last pill you took for? A headache. How many devices do you own that hook up to internet? I don’t feel like counting. Any best friends you only know online? I mean, the ones I’ve met online I’ve now met IRL as well. Do you ever talk to your next door neighbor? We say hello when we see each other. Do most of your friends live in houses, apartments or mobiles? Apartments. Did anything shock you today? Not really. What is the thing you last stubbed your toe on? A chair. Favorite faux curse word I say “effing” a lot. Who do you tease most often and what about? My husband, playfully. slip on or lace up shoes? Slip on. Thing you stress over most about the holidays. Just, time. Food you take a second helping of on Thanksgiving? Mashed potatoes and my dad’s cornbread stuffing, for sure. Would you rather spend Thanksgiving with friends or family? Family, but sometimes my friend Randal comes. Most disgusting bug. EARWIGS omg. nastiest thing in your fridge. A REALLY old container full of chili. song you hate but keep singing anyway. Some tik tok crap. cookies or brownies. Brownies. Do you own any movie soundtracks? Which? Yeah. How many pillows do you sleep with? 4. Favorite outdoors smell. Rain and bonfires. are you wearing a hoodie right now? I am indeed. Do you ever sleep in your day clothes? I don’t really have legit PJs. I have some shirts that are too big for me that I sleep in, but will sometimes wear outside. Do you prefer your clothes loose or close fitting? I like my bottoms tight and my tops loose. Are your fave pants jeans? No. I prefer leggins. Do you own any under things bought to impress the opposite sex? No. Favorite thing you’ve ever painted? Ceramics things in school. Do you eat applesauce? Yes. Are there any songs that remind you of your mother? Tons. If you had a sister, would you prefer her older or younger? Why? I have a sister. She is 9 years older. What is something you wanted to say today, but didnt? SO much, to said sister, actually. Where are your keys right now? Right near me on my desk. Is there any product you always buy at the dollar store? No. Can you recite any prayers by heart? I know the Lord’s prayer from going to AA meetings with my mom lol. When it’s your birthday, do you have the correct number of candles? No. birthday cake alone, or cake and ice cream? Birthday cake alone. For some reason I don’t think of ice cream as a birthday treat.

[lifeafterthewake]

11.12.2018

I wasn’t and I’m still not sure what to do with this account. I’ve started it as an attempt at blogging and it’s clearly not working. Then again it usually is quite a challange for me to write as I live with a person who talks a lot and I seek their presence. Oftentimes I talk and all the content inside my mind gets spilled and discharged. But right now I’m in a bit of a pickle, staying at a friend’s house while they’re away so naturally more thoughts come to my mind and the need to express them is more apparent.

I wanted to write a little bit about self-control or self-control issues. I’ve never been good with self-control. Whether it’s money, food, learning for important exams, managing my time, speaking to other people or managing the power I have in relation to them - there were always issues.

My weight is an issue of great concern to me as my whole childhood and adolescence I was bombarded with contradicting communicates: that I eat too much, that I don’t eat enough, that I’m too fat, that my weight is fine, that I should do more physical activities while I was going to extracurricular classes almost all the time (karate, dancing, swimming, horse riding for a short period of time). My parents are obese and they eat too much and so I was overweight ever since I went to elementary school. The most I ever weighed was 102kg I think. I was 15 years old then. It was a turning point for me as when I crossed the 100kg line I thought to myself ‘this is too much, this is dangerous, I have to do something about it’. And so I did.

Before going into highschool, so 15/16 years old I’ve imposed a set of strict dietary rules upon myself. I ate every 3 hours 5-6 meals a day, I chewed every bite 30 times or until it was practically dissolved in my mouth, I’ve only eaten one meal at a time, so no multiple dish dinners. I avoided sweets and juice, drank mostly water. As a result I’ve lost... I’m not sure really. The least I weighed was 76 or 78 I think. Let’s go with 76. So I’ve lost 26 kilograms. In 6 months time. I looked like a different person. I wouldn’t say I was mentally happy with myself but physically I felt so much better. I still had to deal with comments from my family about how I don’t eat anything and how I look ‘so thin’ but it was managable.

I’ve stopped sticking to my ‘no sweets’ rule about a year into high school. It was hard to keep it up. Generally my eating habits have loosened since then but I still feel like it was much needed, even though it wasn’t a safe thing to do, for me to feel that I can achieve something if I try hard enough. You see, I never really had to try to do anything in school. I’m an intelligent person and I’ve never had problems with grades during my time in lower education. It is a bit of an issue now that I’m studying but it’s still mostly managable.

When I moved out of my parents house I got drunk on the money. I still can’t responsibly spend my money although I have taught myself to spend less on food. My father rented me a flat and sent in about 330$ a month for me to live on. I don’t live in US or UK so it’s actually quite a lot of money for a student’s needs (for measure: a loaf of bread in a chainstore costs about 0,68$; 1,5L bottle of water 0,39$; 1kg of chicken breast +/-4,74$) . In the beginning I was spending it like crazy, mostly on food that I was eventually throwing away. I was cooking a lot back then too. You see, I say I’m bad with money but if I am bad then my parents are horrible with it. They probably spend about 530$ a month on food itself, and probably throw away about a 1/5 of it. Every time I visit their house the fridge is brimming with food (and it’s usually cold cuts or cooked meat that I don’t eat often anymore). So you can imagine what kind of an environment I was subconsciously trying to recreate and why it was so costly.

Food apart I don’t manage my money well unless I absolutely have to. My father usually sends me extra cash whenever I need it so I got lazy about controlling my spendings, I splurge on material items and then run out of money for food or I irresponsibly spend money on food in the city center because I don’t have time to cook and I hate planning meals ahead so I run out of cash very quickly (a dinner in the downtown area costs me about 5,26$ per main course; for the same amount I can cook a meal for 3 days). This semester I got super lazy with my diet as well, preciesly because I had so classes at uni. I usually try to avoid grains and wheat because my body doesn’t deal well with gluten in excess. Lately I’ve let myself completely loose (because of personal reasons as well) and I feel horrible.

I feel horrible to the point where I’ve made myself vomit my food twice during the last two weeks. The first time was when I came back from my grandparents’ (02.12). I ate a lot during the small party they threw and I was feeling very sick. ‘I ate a lot’ doesn’t cut it. I stuffed myself. Partially because seeing my family is always very stressful for me, it’s emotionally difficult, I can’t seem to find a way to deal with them and I think it’s getting worse the longer I ignore the issues that I should address. But it’s exactly the lack of self-control that is keeping me from doing it. My parents are very manipulative and the slightest chance they get to change the topic or steer the discussion in a different direction than the issues that I’m trying to discuss they take it and I fall for it. I get emotionally torn apart and die inside and after some time I realise that nothing has really been discussed and I feel like shit. And it keeps repeating itself so I get discouraged even more and it’s even harder to touch upon anything relevant to me.

The second time was today (11.12). I came back to my friend’s flat after spending crazy amount of money on home appliances in Ikea. I went to a shop and bought ingredients for a cake and food to eat for the next few days. I bought a loaf of bread because I can’t control my goddamn self. And a bar of chocolate. Went back to the flat. Ate 5 pieces of bread with generous amount of butter and a cheese slice on each piece. Ate the whole bar of peanutbutter chocolate. May I add I was alterating: I ate 4 sandwiches, I ate a bar of chocolate, I ate 1 more sandwich. Plus I’ve drank half a cup of tea. So then I felt sick. There are a few types of sick in my world. There is drunk-sick, there is stretched stomach pressing on intestines-sick, there is stressed-sick, there is acidic food-sick and there is wheat-sick. We’re going with both wheat and stomach pressing on intestines sick this time.

I don’t really vomit involuntarily unless I’m really drunk and I haven’t been really drunk for at least 2 years I believe. It’s always a decision just as much as spending money is a decision, just as much as stuffing myself with food that makes me feel sick is a decision. So I’ve decided to make myself vomit. In a way it’s cathactic, in another it feels like my mental health is in a really bad state right now.

There is a point I want to make here. I feel like overating isn’t a purely physical act just as eating disorders are mental health disorders. For me overeating is a way of dealing with emotions. I externalise my emotions, put them into food. I then put the food in my self. In a way we always do that but we’re also animals that have to survive so eating and hunger are totally normal and natural. When we analyse something we put a point of focus where we see fit. So I put in my self. I chew it, swallow it, stomach it, it goes through my intestines. All the time my body is breaking this food apart into simpler substances and redistributing them throughout my body. Perhaps the emotions I put into food come back into my body with these simpler substances going straight into the cells. I put bread inside of me, a product that I don’t deal well with - a testimony of hatred. Bread gets broken apart, emotions get inside of me - I get fatter, my nose gets stuffed, I get atopic eczema. Vomitting is an act of desperation. It’s not as much about getting the food out of my system - it’s about getting rid of the discomfort I’m experiencing because of the food I put into myself. But this discomfort is an effect of my actions.

I’ve been feeling like a puddle of pure terrible for about a month now. No, for exactly a month. I’ve done something very stupid and hurtful to people I’ve felt sympathy for and to myself and I can’t get over it. I can’t get over many feelings from my past as well. They haunt me. It’s easier to vomit and for a split second feel like I - this bag of flesh - am not anything much more than a bag of flesh feeling all these sensations that you get when you throw up. But then your thinking and feeling kick in. I still feel like trash and I still haven’t dealt with those feelings that are inside. I’ve tried to push them out and eat them in a different way but in the end I couldn’t deal with them. I hope that I can teach myself how to be in control of my life to the point where I am able to deal with my feelings before I hurt myself or someone else. I want to do it step by step. Right now I’ll stick to avoiding wheat and eating more consciously. It’s the little things that make up the base of our existence. It’s the little things that will pull us apart rolling away if we lose control over them.

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Laser hair removal update: had my third appointment on monday (10.11). Sometime after my first post the lymph nodes on my neck got infected and it hurt like a mofo. So for the second treatment we went with lower power. Not much inflammation afterwards but also not much effect. My beard is thinning out but not many bald patches so far. For this appointment we went up with power. Very painful especially down the middle of my face and neck (mustache, under the lips, chin, under the chin). A lot of inflammation after the treatment. Today is a little better, a lot of zits, I hope the hair strands will come out easily. Spraying myself with Octanisept and trying to avoid face-skin contact. Doesn’t hurt, feels slightly hot and I’m still puffy.