#i want to get all the stuff done for eggs so bad but i probably won’t be able to and it’s aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[hornyhunie]

horny rant

[moonstruckme]

wearing spencers clothes🤯🤯 the boy would not be able to focus!!!! i love all of your work btw!! you're single handedly encouraging me back into my marauders phase❤️

Then my scheme is working ! Thanks for requesting babe :)

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Spencer has to force himself out of bed so you don’t wake up to him staring at you. Also, so he has time away from you to get himself together. 

He’s never felt so much like skipping before. As soon as he’s in the kitchen, full to bursting with the knowledge that you’re asleep one room over, his smile is unshakable. It’s embarrassing, honestly, he’s like a high schooler. You can’t see him like this. He starts going through the kitchen to see what’s not expired. Ketchup, hummus, bread, muffin mix (too risky), mattar paneer (not a very good breakfast), eggs. Spencer can work with eggs. He has to double-check that he has both salt and pepper, but he’s good to go.  

He pops bread in the toaster once he hears you moving around, a giddy flare of anticipation shooting up through his middle. You’ve never stayed over before, and Spencer didn’t have any time to prepare. He only has one hand towel, which you seem fine with sharing and he’s going to pop in the washing machine as soon as you leave, and only one toothbrush. He feels bad that you have to brush your teeth with your finger. If you deem him worthy of a next time, he tells himself, he’ll be ready then. 

He hears the quiet padding of your footsteps but forces himself not to turn around until you say, “Morning.” 

Your voice is stretched with sleep, and when Spencer turns around he can see it still lingering in your face. Your eyelids are droopy, weighted down, and your hair looks like you’ve tried to run your fingers through it but couldn’t quite get it to behave, and you’re—that’s his sweater vest. You’re wearing his sweater vest. 

He must be staring, because you look down at it, your expression going sheepish. “Sorry, is this okay? I know you’re sort of particular about germs, but I didn’t want to just come out here naked, and I really didn’t feel like putting on my jeans…” 

Spencer shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s fine.”

All the stuff you’d done last night, and you think he’s going to be fussy about your germs on his clothes? This is a completely different kind of upset. You’re—you look—well, you look like something Spencer dreamed up. You look like comfort and sweetness and Sunday morning. 

“Okay, thanks.” You smile. Spencer thinks that if he were hooked up to a transducer, you’d actually be able to see the rush of dopamine to his brain. “It’s lucky you’re so tall, this fits me like a dress.” 

A small dress, but sure. “I also have a disproportionately long torso,” he blurts. “My legs aren’t as long as they should be for my height, so my shirts and vests are longer than average.” 

You nod like everything he’s just said made perfect and socially acceptable sense. The toast pops up and Spencer jolts a little, remembering to push the eggs around in the pan a bit. 

A little smile tilts your lips, and you lean back against the counter behind him. “Are you making us breakfast?” 

“Mhm.” 

The smile spreads, your eyes going soft. “That’s so sweet of you,” you say warmly. “Thanks, Spence.” 

“I can’t really cook,” he warns you. “I mean, I can usually do eggs, but only scrambled and even then I might…just don’t thank me yet.” 

A little laugh spurts out of you. It reminds Spencer of the fountain in front of his work, of water sparkling in the sun. “Okay,” you say, “do you want any help?”

“It’s probably best if whatever happens is undeniably my fault.”

You laugh again. He wonders what he can do to make that keep happening. 

“Fair enough.” You push off the counter, headed towards the door. “Do you get the newspaper?” 

For a second, Spencer’s too busy watching you go to remember if he does. “Y—yeah. It should be here by now,” he says. 

He hears the door open, and then, “Perfect.” You come back brandishing the rolled-up paper, discarding the rubber band in his trash bin. “Do you mind if we do your crossword? You seem like you’d be so good at that.” 

Spencer actually stopped doing the crossword years ago—the pop culture references he didn’t get, and the rest were too easy—but he’ll do it if it might impress you. 

“Sure, let’s try.” 

“Okay.” You grab a pen from the coffee table, spreading the paper open on the countertop. “Wyoming’s state sport, five—”

“Rodeo,” Spencer says. It takes him a beat to realize he cut you off. He turns, grimace in place and apology on his lips. “Sorry.” 

But you’re grinning. You shake your head a little bit, pride or admiration or a bit of both, and write it down. You push a piece of hair away from your face. Spencer’s eyes get caught on the wool of his sweater vest where it brushes your collarbone. 

“African river to the Mediterranean, four letters. That’s the Nile, right?” 

The garment seems to shift with every tiny movement. Sliding atop your shoulders, moving about your neckline, the soft material skimming your ribs. Under the counter, it has to be bunched underneath your thighs. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?” He forces his gaze up. “Yeah, the Nile.” 

“Thanks.” Your eyes linger on him a second too long before you bend back over the paper, a knowing smile playing on the corner of your lips. “Okay, and eagle claw in five letters is talon, right? Oh, um, eggs.” 

Spencer’s brow wrinkles. “How many letters?” 

“No, Spence.” You laugh, sliding out of your seat. You tug his sweater down a bit as you walk over, the band at the bottom hugging your thighs. “The eggs. Your eggs.” 

He turns, registering the smell of smoke before the sight of the crispy, blackened eggs in his pan. “Oh.” 

You reach past him, elbow bumping his as you switch off the heat. Spencer moves the hot pan away from you quickly. He scrapes his sorry eggs into the trash bin, setting the pan in the sink.

“Sorry, I got distracted by the crossword,” he tells you, and though he suspects you catch the lie you’re kind enough not to call him out on it. 

“It’s fine.” You shoot him another of those brilliant, beaming smiles, taking a piece of cold toast from the toaster. “I love toast. Do you have any butter or jam or anything?” 

Spencer winces. “Not really…” 

You laugh, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “No worries. I’m down for a trip to the store if you are.” He nods sheepishly, and you press your lips together, thoughtful. “I think I might change first, though.” 

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL TALKING ABOUT AEMOND TARGARYEN IN EPISODE 3 FOR VULTURE MAGAZINE.

I CAN'T REMEMBER THE EXACT WORDING, BUT I REMEMBER SEEING SOMEONE POST A GIF OF PRINCE AEMOND'S SAPPHIRE-EYEBALL REVEAL AND SAYING, "THIS IS THE MOST ANIME-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER WHO HAS EVER APPEARED ON A LIVE-ACTION TELEVISION SHOW." THERE'S AN OTHERWORDLY AIR TO HIM.

"So much of the work is done through the costume and the long hair and the eyepatch — because of the talents of makeup designer Amanda Knight and our costume designer, Caroline McCall."

"By taking one look, you can make a rough assumption that he’s probably going to be the bad guy."

"But for me, bringing that otherworldly texture to Aemond, I never watched Game of Thrones, because I wanted to present something fresh."

"I drew on other aspects of pop culture, with ’80s horror icons like Michael Myers: a character who walks so slow but always catches up to Jamie Lee Curtis."

"Aemond hijacks the show and turns it into a horror sequence in the skies above Storm’s End at the end of episode ten of season one."

"It’s this idea of inevitability, something more like an energy as opposed to an actual human being."

"That’s the image Aemond wants to co-opt, that he’s godlike. He operates on a different plane."

"It comes from that cold exterior he’s cultivated over the years, down to the sapphire stone in his eye socket. You don’t know what is going on behind his eye."

THERE REALLY IS SOMETHING VERY "FINAL FANTASY VILLAIN" ABOUT HIM: ELEGANT BUT FIGHTENING.

"You don’t know what he’s thinking."

"People who sit back and smile, don’t say much — they’re the people whose brains you want to pick, but at the same time, you don’t know where you stand."

MY FAVORITE AEMOND MOMENTS ARE WHEN YOU DO GLIMPSE HOW HE FEELS. IN THAT CHASE SEQUENCE ABOVE STORM'S END, AEMOND IS REALLY UPSET WHEN HIS DRAGON KILLS LUCERYS VELARYON. IN THIS SEASON, HE TALKS TO THE SEX WORKER HE'S BEEN SEING ABOUT HOW IT GOT TO HIM.

"I agree. Between episodes seven and eight of season one, he’s manufactured himself into a weapon."

"He possesses this code that stops him from ever being hurt again, like he was as a kid."

"He has to be seen as this bulletproof, untouchable, ethereal presence no one can grasp."

HE BRINGS UP HIS CHILDHOOD IN THE BROTHEL, TOO — HOW HIS BROTHER AND HIS YOUNG UNCLES USED TO PICK ON HIN FOR BEING DIFFERENT. IS ALL THAT IN THE BACK OF YOUR MIND EVEN WHEN YOU'RE DOING THE COOL, SAPPHIRE-EYE STUFF?

"Yeah. It’s partly down to seeing the young Aemond actor, Leo Ashton, in episodes six and seven of season one: the boy underneath the veneer."

"This kid was bullied day in and day out for not having a dragon egg like the rest of the kids in the family. He recognized very early on that he was going to have to go out and get what he wanted."

"I always carried that around with me in season two."

"So he ended up claiming the largest, baddest, oldest dragon in the known world in Vhagar. She’s so enormous, she can’t fit within the confines of any castle wall. Aemond is able to identify with that."

HOW SO? THE BULLYING DIDN'T MAKE HIM FEEL SMALLER?

"It’s the story of the underdog. I have this theory that it’s not so much the person who claims the dragon, it’s the dragon who claims the person as well."

"I don’t believe Vhagar is someone you just stumble upon."

"Although Aemond had to seek her out, she must have seen something in him that he himself hadn’t seen yet."

"Aemond’s the kid who held on. When he realized he wouldn’t get a dragon egg like the rest of the kids, he held on."

"When he was bullied for being different, for not having a dragon of his own, he held on. And when Vhagar took off over the beaches of Driftmark in episode seven, he held on tighter than he’d ever done before."

"I don’t know if any of the other characters would have held on as strongly, because they were gifted dragons when they were kids."

"It’s a tremendous feat of courage to approach Vhagar."

"That’s one of Aemond’s redeeming qualities: He possesses a drive."

"Maybe that kid is still underneath that manufactured exterior."

I WAS HONESTLY SURPRISED TO FIND AEGON AND HIS BUDDIES STILL BULLYING AEMOND DURING THE BROTHEL SCENE IN THIS EPISODE. HISTORICALLY, BULLYING AEMOND HAS NOT WORKED OUT VERY WELL FOR PEOPLE.

"Aegon catches Aemond in a vulnerable spot."

"Picking up the script for the first time and seeing those brothel scenes in episode two and three, I saw a brilliant opportunity to offer a rare glimpse of his vulnerability."

"You only ever see him in his Targaryen blacks, so to see him in that world — not only that, but then humiliated by his brother — is quite shocking."

WHEN HE GETS UP AND WALKS OUT WITHOUT BOTHERING TO DRESS FIRST, SO SURE OF HIMSELF EVEN IN THE FACE OF THAT HUMILIATION, HE SEEMS SCARIER TO ME THAN WHEN HE'S RIDING ON VHAGAR.

I love that line from Michael Mann’s Heat, when Bob De Niro’s character says, “Don’t let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner.”

"That’s the code his character utilizes so he’s able to maneuver around this world without getting caught by Al Pacino."

"Aemond has a similar code that stops him from being hurt like he was as a kid."

"That’s why he’s able to walk out on the madam in that scene."

"He’s humiliated by his brother and all his crew, and it’s like this switch flips. The madam is no more."

"All of these people in front of him? They mean nothing. He stands up, he owns it — Yeah, I’m bulletproof. Anything you say, it will not work. Like you say, it’s scary."

A LOT OF COMPARISIONS ARE MADE BETWEEN AEMOND AND DAEMON, BUT THAT'S A BIG DIFFERENCE: DAEMON GETS INTENSELY ATTACHED, WHETHER TO HIS LATE BROTHER KING VISERYS OR TO HIS NIECE AND WIFE QUEEN RHAENYRA. WE'RE SEEN HIM LEAVE DIFFICULT SITUATIONS, BUT HE STORMS OUT, HE DOESN'T GLIDE OUT. THAT'S AEMOND.

"One hundred percent. You rarely see him lose his cool."

"As soon as you start raising your voice and shouting, you lose the power."

"It’s not to say Aemond isn’t as angry as everyone else behind the smile. He probably is. But he’s able to keep a lid on it and channel it in different ways."

IT'S ALSO A NUDE SCENE, AND I HAVE A FEELING YOU'RE ABOUT TO GET A REACTION AT A VOLUME FEW PEOPLE ON THIS SHOW HAVE SEEN BEFORE. DID YOU HAVE THAT IN MIND WHILE SHOOTING IT?

Mitchell says that the dragon-rider’s display, a topic of much discussion between himself and the creative team prior to filming, was a move “encoded in Aemond’s DNA” — a shock tactic designed to demonstrate that this once-bullied boy will never allow himself to be chastened again.

"Scenes like this start with a conversation about how far you’re prepared to go. It wasn’t a choice we made lightly."

"But it’s true to Aemond that he shocks the audience."

"Weakness is not part of Aemond’s vocabulary."

[strayy-starss]

✧A/N: I wanted to write some personal headcanons for Alex because I can’t get enough of him like it’s unhealthy at this point. Anyway, remember that these are my own personal headcanons, and no one else has to agree with them! I’m totally open to suggestions as well :).

✧Warnings: mentions of sex and kinks

✧NSFW BELOW THE CUT✧ ⬇

☆NSFW Headcanons for Alex☆

🏈 Okay so have you met this man when you get married?? He’s literally the sweetest guy ever omg. I feel like when he meets the farmer, he becomes a little bit more mature, especially when it comes to sex. I feel like he’d definitely establish ground rules and a safeword with the farmer. 🏈 For the actual fucking, I think he has two modes: he’s literally fucking you so tenderly and sweetly like you’re literally making love, or he’s absolutely railing you like there’s no tomorrow. There’s no in between, I fear. 🏈 When he’s in tender mode I think he would ask for your permission to do literally anything, but then when it comes to him he’s like, “Oh, no, you don’t have to ask me. Just do whatever you want.” Which like that’s really sweet but I’m sure the farmer eventually sits him down and talks about the necessity of consent even for the little things. Don’t worry folks, he’s a quick learner 👍. 🏈 Speaking of, as soon as you say the safeword or tell him to stop, he immediately stops what he’s doing and checks to see if you’re okay. Then he’d probably make eggs or pancakes or something for you because he feels bad and those are like the only things he knows how to cook for whatever reason. Definitely be prepared for lots of cuddles afterward, but if you’re too shaken or don’t want him to, he’ll leave you be and just feel bad while going outside and lifting weights to distract himself. 🏈 However this probably happens very minimally, as he was evidently super popular in high school, and I’m sure he had more than a couple of hookups. He does have a golden star on his jacket, after all. 🏈 If I’m looking based on his character, he probably wouldn’t be that into kinky stuff. Like maybe every once in a while things like bondage or possessive/jealousy stuff when he’s in the mood for it would be okay. He’d probably be open to trying some things that are pretty lowkey on the kink factor, especially if his partner seems into it. Even if he didn’t like it, he’d suffer through it until you were done and then tell you that he’d rather not do it in the future except for maybe something like your birthday.

[pommunist]

This is mostly gonna be just a rant but it just baffles me how everything Qstudios has done since the beginning of the admins situation is a terrible pr move. So yeah this is just gonna talk how, even if you forget the immoral and potential illegal stuff that went on, I don’t think their strategy is doing any good for the studio’s image.

-Going radio silent publicly and privately : Kinda the original sin of all this mess tbh. This obviously just leaves the space for the ex admins to share their stories, even more so since they have been ignored privately beforehand when they tried to handle things internally. This also allowed for the union to publicly intervene and more ccs talking about it, and actual news article being made on it.

-Leaving the server open : Tbh I get wanting to leave it open, maybe to allow minecraft centered ccs to still make content or maybe because it’d be weird to close it right after new people got in but also I think it would have be better to close it temporarily while they focus on the changes they promised rather than having it getting deserted little by little until it feels like a ghost town. This + also not a good look to have so many npcs online when Q said there would be none until things get better (The current npcs are likely non volunteers, once again not a bad or illegal thing per say but not a good look). Closing it would also have made it so that the reopening would have been a big and probably positive event.

-Welcoming new ccs/new languages : This might just be because of scheduling necessities or whatever and something they couldn’t do later but it still made the community go :/// to get new people while on the flip side you had parts of the fandom leaving because of what was happening. Also not great for the new arrivals to start in such a weird climate, without admins help and with few people online on the server.

-Releasing merch at the worst time possible : This might have been something they couldn’t change, just like the arrival of the Koreans/Hugo, but it still isn’t a good look for them to release egg merch after it came out that some of the egg admins were poorly treated, especially when they haven’t stated clearly that benefits from the merch would go towards paying staff. It’s also not a good look for them to release new discounts every day, barely ten days after release. (Also the Qstudios Twt account retweeting every egg figures announcement except for Pomme will never not make me laugh)

-Making the twitter updates accounts active again : Yes it may just be that they’re using a bot or that it’s the people who are in charge of the Qstudios twitter account posting on it, both of which are not wrong per say. But of course people are gonna wonder if it’s new people being hired, of course speculation will happen when there’s a lack of transparency, of course ex admins are gonna be upset when it seems like things are continuing as if nothing happened, when they were fired without a warning, a thanks or even a sorry.

And now we have the two points that are kinda in a « you fucked up so bad it’s almost funny and I almost feel bad for you guys » category

-« Hey guys out of all the people we exploited and treated poorly you know which ones we’re gonna make eat dirt the most ? Hell yeah the ones that are from a part of the world who literally have a whole cliche about them complaining and rioting for anything and everything. Also happen to be the same ones whose community we alienated for months by sidelining them. Also happen to be a community who, during this time, has grown quite close to our most active community (who are themselves quite mad at us by now) to the point that they are making memes about the two of them being in love with each other. Yeah surely this can only go well »

-« Oh no, people actually really care » : QSMP Fans in general just loved and appreciated all the work the admins did, whether they were twitter admins, builders, actors, writers… This is even more true since the situation also revealed that some admins things people have been most critical on (lore being weirdly interrupted, french being ignored…) were not these admins fault. And of course, you have the eggs admins case. How do you make viewers and ccs alike get SO attached to these kid characters, as if it was their children, while mistreating the people playing them and not expect this to blow up in your face at some point. It’s like you managed to catch lightning in a bottle and then left it to rot thinking this wouldn’t end up badly. Weirdly this one makes me kinda hopeful bc Qstudios kinda HAVE to fix it or else they lose on of their main selling points.

[concretevampire]

Building Holes

Part One

mike schmidt x afab!reader ☆ 8.9k ☆ no use of y/n and no reader description ☆ meeting for the first time; people being humans; adult themes; no serious warnings

A/N: I’ve been a FNAF and Josh Hutcherson fan since I was in middle school so this feels necessary. updates for this story will be (mostly) regular. English is not my first language.

You can see the panic in his eyes before he probably even thinks about it.

You don’t know him. Of course you don’t, he’s just a guy who happened to be standing in front of you at the check-out line.

But you feel bad. Really bad.

The cashier: they look disgruntled. Annoyed too. You can hardly blame them though– crying children irritate people– but you can’t help but be irked. Whoever this guy is, he’s obviously trying his best.

And what can you really do when something like this happens?

Some glittery, pink, thingamajig was right in the little girl’s line of sight and kids don’t like the word “no”. It didn’t help that he barely glanced at her when he told her off mundanely; quietly, eyes trained on the scan of item after item.

So, she’s throwing a fit. A torrential, hysterical, fit.

She can’t be older than nine, you think. And him, maybe a college student. An odd pair, but the world is filled with those. They’re so human it almost hurts; a gasp for air, a vase that’s older than you are; autumn leaves on concrete, the curve of a dandelion.

He’s processed his panic now, going pale as he spins to look between the girl and the cashier. Bag the groceries or calm her down?

The cashier looks more exasperated than anything else now. Impatience billows like drying laundry in their chest, wafting dew toward you.

A particularly pitiful sound shrieks from the girl and the thought that you want to go home enters your mind. It’s selfish, especially as you watch this guy bend down onto one knee, his thumbs wiping away the tears that muck the girl’s cheeks; muttering apologies and gentle pleas to quiet.

The fluorescent lighting of the store deepens the shadows underneath his eyes.

You decide then that your groceries aren’t really an emergency but the only thing you’ve got in the fridge is pickles and frozen pizza. You could make do but you don't want to.

“Do you want me to bag your groceries for you?” You ask, side-stepping past your cart and to The Guy, who’s precariously offering hushed solutions to the girl’s self-imposed grief.

He looks up; between you, his girl, the cashier, then the box of cereal on the counter that sits soundly.

Blue and unbothered.

Back to you. His eyes shine so brightly, you find yourself convinced he’s on the verge of tears. That’s just how he looks, you realize. Dark, dark eyes– condors and tarmac– and the twinkle of artificial light in them.

He nods weakly. “If you don’t mind.”

You shrug and walk past him, to the end of the cash register.

There’s Chef Boyardee, Donettes, Yummy Dino Buddies; they all get bagged– one by one– together. The Guy comes to stand next to you, now holding his girl; her ruddy, sobbing face tucked warmly into the crook of his neck. She’s clinging to his OMSI: Pacific Marine Camps t-shirt, snot getting on the printed Spicebush Swallowtail.

His dark eyes follow your hands as you set aside the eggs.

“Thank you,” he says, but you’re barely halfway done. He’s earnest about it though; gaze on your jaw as one of his warm palms rubs firm circles into the girl’s back.

You shake your head half-heartedly. “It’s okay,” you tell him.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I offered.”

He goes quiet, glancing towards the cashier a couple of times nervously. “Most people wouldn’t.”

“I dunno,” you set the eggs on top of the Donettes and whip open a new bag to place milk and Kraft Mac n’ Cheese in. “Stuff like this happens all the time.”

The little girl’s sobs have receded into hiccups and sniffles, still crying, but quiet.

The cashier picks at their nails.

When you finish bagging The Guy’s groceries, you give him a smile. Something that you hope is reassuring. Warm: the apple cider you had a week ago bubbling up on your cheeks.

Then, you return to your cart and the cashier begins scanning your items.

The Guy lingers.

A minute later he’s offering to pay for your groceries.

“You’re acting like you’re in debt,” you tease with a bewildered smile, borderline grimace.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

When you exit, he follows; pushing his cart with one hand, holding the girl up with the other. She’s not crying anymore.

The pair follow as you step over a mess of expired coupons that have been trodden into a fine paste over the parking lot’s concrete. Baby wipes: two for one.

“You’ve gotta let me repay you,” he implores.

You shrug a shoulder.

He opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find the right words. And there probably aren’t any, but you can’t tell him that. That’s something he’s gotta figure out on his own. You throw the back of your car open and shove groceries in.

He watches quietly.

“Thank you,” he then says, stubbornly. Like you’re a tornado; flightless fog and feathered ozone, a nightmare, something so earnestly destructive.

He has no clue how to approach it. You.

You turn to him fully, the air turning more yellow between the two of you as the evening deepens. The sun, a molten yolk melting and dipping into the bread of the Earth’s foundation.

He’s handsome— strong arms, broad shoulders, sharp jaw— and entirely constructed by hard-headed exhaustion.

Awfully young to be taking care of a girl like that, you think, but shit happens.

Shit always happens.

You close the trunk of your car.

“Good luck,” you tell The Guy, waving softly.

He’s quiet but he begins to step away, and the girl finally looks up– still clutching onto his shirt. Her dark, dark eyes glue stickily to yours: a gooey, feathered, glittery, arts n’ crafts project.

You smile at her, something you hope is reassuring. She sniffles.

“Thanks,” he says, moving further away, “you too.”

•---------•

“Happy Birthday.” You present the manilla folder lazily to David. He raises a brow.

“Those aren’t the divorce papers, are they?”

“Um,” you bring the folder back to your chest– an evil, rectangular teddy bear– and flip it open, “‘Complaint for Divorce’ in parentheses, ‘No Children’,” you look back at him. “I dunno, could be.”

He groans and reorganizes the staplers on his desk that have already been neatly placed at the corner. Twenty-degree angles on top of ninety-degree angles. All aligned in minimalist, careful, simplicity.

Perfect.

“I’m glad someone’s getting some amusement out of my divorce,” David groans, flipping drawers open and closed. Looking for something imaginary, something that will keep him busy. An object that will be an excuse in the future for his own failures.

“Our divorce,” you plea sarcastically, “You’re not gonna be my brother-in-law any more.” As if it ever mattered.

“Why are you here anyway?” He asks, finally straightening. One of his thick brows raises. “And not her assistant?”

“She wanted the personal touch.” You joke, setting the folder down on his desk. It feels incriminating when you hold it yourself as if you’re the one holding the gun up to their marriage, pulling the trigger. David eyes the folder warily. He reaches a skinny hand out, flipping through the papers tentatively.

His tendons swing and swell like frantic waves under his tan skin.

“I guess one nice thing about marrying a lawyer is that paperwork’s never a problem,” he mutters.

“And there are copies.”

“Oh, joy!” He exclaims, but then slumps in his chair, temples balanced in his palms. He’s awfully small like this. Crumpled at his desk. His blue and green argyle tie, a ruined knot at his neck. Gray suit, a poor stitch of used paper towels surrounding his frame.

Something about seeing a man so weak feels sacrilegous. Feels like a taunt. Feels like God is sitting on your shoulder and giggling.

It doesn’t help that his desk is so pristine. Neat where David is fucked. A nameplate sits perfectly in the center: DAVID CASTILLO VICE PRINCIPAL, it screams, confident.

“I should go,” you say when he doesn’t twitch from his hunched position for sixty seconds.

He nods, then shakes his head, then pinches the bridge of his nose as if a spider’s unfurled its legs in the cave of it. “No,” he starts, “No, um,” he glances at the divorce papers and looks away just as quickly. There’s a picture of him and your sister hanging on the wall to his left. He stares at the frame. “How about I take you out to dinner? Or something?”

“Sure,” you shrug.

“Okay.” David inhales deeply.

It’s quiet. A clock on his wall ticks, again and again, impending itself into your skin and his soul. “Do you want me to wait outside?” You ask, pointing a thumb at the door.

“Please,” he mutters.

The school is empty. The ‘Welcome Back to School!’ display is still up in the lobby, even though it’s mid-September and a chill is starting to ghost the air every few days. A janitor scoops up a leaking trash bag, throws it over his shoulder, and rolls the bin into the hallway.

You stroll past a wall absolutely littered with papers; drawings hung up like samara fruit in waxy colors. Lots of suns with smiley faces and brown, pea-bodied dogs. Theres a family of rainbow turtles and a wonky drawing of Ariel from The Little Mermaid. You recognize a dragon and a field of camels too. It’s endearing.

David wanted kids. Your sister didn’t.

That’s not the reason they’re getting a divorce but it’s one of those little microcosms that sums up why.

One little minute passed but it changed the hour. Changed the day too, maybe. Or the week. The month. For all you know, even the year. That’s what happened with them.

Just one minute. That’s all it takes.

You expect the cafeteria to be empty like everything else but it isn’t. There’s a woman sitting near the entrance with barrel hips and kinky, salt-and-pepper hair that's clipped back viciously in a bun. She smells warm, like peaches and laundry detergent; shea butter too.

A spice you only dream about.

The woman looks up at you from her book– something by Toni Morrison– and her brown and pink lips purse at you.

For a second she looks mean, but her hands seem so soft; so, so soft; the color of warm, brown egg shells. Her nails are lacquered in a hazy shade of lavender that reminds you of glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and the taste of milk with honey.

Sweet potato pie.

“Are you here for Abby Schmidt?” She asks, her voice low and smooth like the afterthought of a lullaby. Her eyes then turn to a girl sitting at one of the cafeteria tables. She sits alone, her dark hair hanging in rivulets around her ears and jaw, and she scribbles mindlessly with crayons on paper.

“No,” you tell her, adjusting your messenger bag a little. “I was just dropping something off for Mr. Castillo.”

The woman closes her book. Her eyebrows are thin. Neat stitches arched above wrinkles. “Are you a friend of David’s?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Okay,” she relents and opens her book again. You smile fractionally and nod, even though she doesn’t see.

Your footsteps echo against the linoleum as you walk deeper into the heart of the cafeteria. The girl doesn’t look up from her work, even as you approach, and you find yourself standing behind her. You’re looking over her shoulder at her art, arms clasped behind your back.

“I like your drawing,” you utter. The girl— Abby— turns to look up at you. Her eyes stick to yours.

“Thank you,” she says, trading a green crayon for a pink one. Then she looks back up, assessing you like you’re a division problem she hasn’t quite learned yet. “I like your jacket.” She settles.

“Thanks,” you say genuinely, shifting on your feet, “Can I sit with you?”

Abby nods and scoots over as you join her. She keeps coloring. Your eyes scan her drawing some more.

Two scribbled figures. Both with dark hair, and dark eyes, and smiles. One is taller than the other, and you can tell that the shorter one is herself: she’s wearing the red overalls in her drawing. The taller figure sports a green sweater— deep green.

Evergreens, ferns; huckleberries falling off the branch.

“Is that your dad?” You ask, hand waving towards the taller figure. She shakes her head.

“That’s Mike. He’s my brother.”

You nod. “Is that who you’re waiting for?”

“Mhm. But he’ll be here soon.” She checks the little purple watch on her wrist like she’s the president of the United States. “He’s usually late.” She turns to you. “Are you waiting for someone too?”

You guess you are. “Yeah.”

“Are they late?”

You shrug. “Sorta.”

Abby then narrows her eyes at your face. “I know you,” she says resolutely.

“Do you?” You ask, propping your head up with a palm as you rest your elbow on the cafeteria table.

“Yeah. You’re that lady who helped Mike at the grocery store.”

Your brows twitch upward, an interested leer wide on your lips. Abby looks suddenly familiar. Dark, dark eyes and fluorescents catching on them.

You’re surprised she remembers that at all; not only because it happened back during the tail-end of July, but because she was sobbing through the whole situation. She only saw your face for a solid five seconds and still recognized you as That Lady.

Smart girl.

“Yeah, that was me.”

She assesses you again; but more like a bird on a tree. “I’m Abby.”

“Nice to meet you, Abby.” You introduce yourself too. She beams and turns back to coloring. You watch and then ask, “Can I draw with you?” and Abby is quick to shove a paper and brown crayon in your hand.

She seems very pleased about the development.

Ten minutes later she’s frowning at your purple cow-dog-unicorn-thing and shaking her head. “I don’t think it looks like a cow.”

You look down at your work with her.

“Maybe if you squint? It’s abstract.” You narrow your eyes and bite the flesh of your cheek, doing what you think the high masters did when they made shit too.

She tries a squint and then frowns harder. “No.”

You laugh. “Well, maybe it’s my own animal.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Hmm. Wanna help me think of one?”

“Umm,” Abby tilts her head this way and that, the curls of her hair springing as she does. “I can’t think of anything.”

Before you can reply with something funny, someone runs into the cafeteria, panting. It’s The Guy. Mike. Her brother.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Harris, I-“

The woman ignores him, flipping another page in her book. He sighs and swallows, turning towards Abby. Then he looks flatly at you.

Abby stares– unwavering– as he walks over, hands crossed neatly over one another on the table. Mike takes her scrutiny like it’s orange juice with pulp while glancing strangely between her face and yours.

“Mike,” she starts. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, I know, um,” he looks vaguely towards you. This feels like a routine and it feels like you're breaking it.

Abby introduces you. “This is the nice lady from the grocery store.” She supplies. His eyes widen momentarily, suddenly putting all the pieces of the past and the present together, a jigsaw falling into place. His eyes trace the slant of your nose, the curve of your eyes; linger on the pocket above your lips and the eve of your jaw.

Mike clears his throat and straightens his back. “I didn’t know you worked here?”

“I don’t,” you say, and look at your purple abomination. “A family member does.”

Mike nods and momentarily loses interest, walking around the table and grabbing Abby’s backpack. He slings it across his shoulder. It’s phenomenally tiny on his sback and you realize just how small Abby is. And the little pack is so bright against him too; shining in reds, and yellows, and deep blue cerulean against the gray-green of his jacket.

Abby stands, gathers her drawings (yours too), and grabs Mike’s hand when he offers it. There are bandaids on his thumb and pointer finger, bruises like nightshade crawling from underneath the torn brown.

But Abby doesn’t look away from you when Mike makes it for the exit. She makes an annoyed, high-pitched sound from the back of her throat and glues her eyes to yours desperately.

He stops, head knocking back to stare at the ceiling tiredly, before dropping to look at her. “What’s wrong?” He asks her gently.

“Wanna go to Sparky’s with us?” Abby asks you, with no regard towards Mike. Like he’s an imaginary presence. His eyes go wide though, catching the light like moths as he stares tight-lipped and in utter horror at the back of Abby’s head.

And then he comes to terms with it, frowning between you and her.

“Um,” you start, then scoot closer to Abby in your seat. Your eyes level with hers. “I think that’s something you need to ask Mike about,” you settle gently, hoping its the right thing to say.

She whips her head to look up at him. “Can they go to Sparky’s with us?”

Mike clears his throat; shifts his stance like it’ll suddenly root the words into his mind; adjusts the strap of Abby’s bag on his shoulder.

“Maybe later,” he decides.

“When?”

“Abby. C’mon.”

“When, Mike?”

You rise from your seat. “Are you free Friday?” You ask him, head tilting. He purses his lips at you, jaw working, and then seemingly gives up.

“After four, yeah.”

“Great. Me too.”

“Okay.”

“Friday at five then?” You beam down at Abby. “Sparky’s right?” Back at Mike. “That’s on 65th and Jefferson?”

“Yeah. Sure, sounds good.” He says, but you don’t believe him. He’s got this barely-there wince on his face like there’s a nail in his shoe.

He’s sorry, you realize. Sorry about Abby; sorry that he’s supposedly forced you into this. You shake your head at him with an easy smile.

It’s okay. But he doesn’t believe you either.

You feel like he’s the type of person who’s always on his own page. Not because he wants to be but because he’s worried that other people can’t read between the lines. Can’t look deeper, past the words and into the real meat of it all.

Or maybe Mike’s more comfortable ripping the book apart than letting anybody settle down into it with him.

He leaves.

Abby waves at you, a flutter of little fingers as she walks out the door too, trailing behind Mike.

David shows up five minutes later.

His tie is situated perfectly around his neck; firm and rigid into the confines of his freshly buttoned suit. He smiles at Mrs. Harris and she asks him how he is. David says he’s fine. You wish he didn’t have to lie but he waves you over like his life is a dream and you accept that this is the reality he wants. And that you’re, in some way, a part of it.

Dinner with him is a blur. The week is a blur.

On Friday, you almost forget that you’ve committed to go to Sparky’s but one of your coworkers mentions how her daughter has a ballet recital; and you’re suddenly reminded of Abby.

Reminded of the fact that there’s now apparently a child in your life that is affected by your actions.

You think for a moment to talk about Abby but remember suddenly that you don’t really know a thing about her. You don’t know whether she prefers apple juice or orange juice: what her favorite cartoon is: or if she’s still using kid’s toothpaste.

Abby’s not your kid or your little sister, and that fact doesn’t change even if you think she’s cute and funny.

You wonder what she’s drawn today.

Maybe she’ll show you. You think about how small she is and if her little eyes will stare into yours, hop-scotching across the strange adult sadness you can’t seem to shake off on warm, overcast days like today.

You drown out thoughts with the radio while you drive to Sparky’s.

It’s a hard place to miss.

It’s just outside the center of town, and the flat-topped building sits under a large neon sign that says “SPAKY’S GIL & DINR” because the owner can’t really afford to fix the letters that don’t light up anymore. The smiling, cartoon dog– Sparky— doesn’t light up anymore either.

He’s got bird shit on his left eye.

You’re five minutes early when you open the glass door to the diner. A bell tinkles, signaling your arrival.

Mike and Abby have already situated themselves in one of the gray laminate booths. They sit on one side together. Abby’s got her head down, already scribbling at a paper with a green, broken crayon. Mike’s looking out the window, an arm across the back of the booth behind her. Calm, reserved.

A little, yellow teddy bear is propped up between them.

Mike only turns your way when you sit down across from him. Abby looks up from her drawing immediately, her head jolting up. Her grin is palpable, like strawberry shortcake, when you say hi.

“You came!” She exclaims, grip tightening on the crayon. It might snap.

You smile. “Of course I did. I said I would, didn’t I?”

Abby nods and returns to drawing; her arm moving twice as fast as it was before you came.

Mike makes eye contact with you. His eyes then drop to linger on the collar of your shirt, reading the hem like an instruction manual, before raising again.

You’re not sure what he learned from the stitching.

Something by The Doors is droning on the speaker; fuzzy, blurry, like fog. Jim Morrison moans out “Let it roll, baby, roll~” and your foot taps along.

“Did you just get back from work?” You ask him, shrugging your jacket off.

“Yep.”

“What do you do?”

“Construction.” Something you could’ve guessed, judging by the Carhartt pants and steel-toed boots.

“Nice,” you say, authentically.

He nods, then says, “How about you?” like the words are gumming to his teeth.

“Boring stuff,” you wave Mike off and watch Abby trade for a blue crayon. She’s humming along to the music. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face and turn your head back to sit eye-to-eye. He raises a quizzical brow. “Seriously,” you implore.

“You don’t have a job,” He says simply. He’s not really bothered by the notion that you’re unemployed.

“I do,” you huff, “I just,” so you tell him about it. He looks tired while you talk, occasionally eyeing the ketchup and continuously rereading the label while actively pretending not to. But he’s an honest, good sport about it; at the very least trying to seem interested. Mike nods in all the right places, giving “yeahs” and “mhms” when he should.

In the middle of your drone, the waitress comes.

She’s fifty-something, with chalky eyeliner bleeding under her eyes; her ginger-dyed hair is pulled back in an impressively messy beehive. You easily imagine royal honey dripping from the split ends. She smells like stevia and tobacco. The name tag on her chest says “Susie”.

Susie blinks at you warmly and tiredly. “What can I get for you?”

Mike orders first, orders for Abby– who barely flinches at the mention of her name– and then you order.

Susie leaves without writing any of it down.

Mike turns back to you, tense. “You don’t mind paying for yourself, right?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” you joke, but he doesn’t really smile. Abby suddenly looks up from her art and leans in your direction, a little valence electron swarming into a new orbital. Her small shoulder pushes into Mike’s bicep. He stills her with a soft look like he wants to pillow her in peach fuzz and call it a night.

“Do you like your job?” She asks, sitting up on her knees. The hand Mike has resting on the booth moves to fix her sweater to her shoulder. She doesn’t even flinch.

You shrug a little. “It’s okay.”

She seems troubled. “Why do grown-ups never like their jobs?”

You stifle a laugh but shake your head. “I’m not sure about that. There are a lot of grown-ups who like their jobs.”

“I don’t know any.”

You glance at Mike.

He’s wincing at her words– scratching at the skin behind his ear– looking properly embarrassed. They’re a funny pair; like pickle relish and peanut butter. Weird fishes swimming and circling together because they have nowhere else to go. They know this routine; know the angle of each other’s currents.

“There are,” you assure her. Your eyes drift toward the drawing she abandoned. “What do you wanna be when you’re grown-up?”

She shrugs and tells you “I dunno,” like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “This boy, Jesse, in my class, he wants to be an astronaut.”

“Do you want to be an astronaut?”

“Sure. Space is cool. And the moon is pretty.” Abby looks towards the ceiling as if it’ll break apart and reveal Mars.

Your fingers reach tentatively for her art and when she doesn’t protest, you take it fully. You hold her work up with two hands in front of your face like a mask. “You don’t wanna be an artist?” You ask with a sly smile, peeking around the drawing. She shrugs again and Mike rubs her back a little.

You face the paper.

It’s a grassy scene; blue sky, yellow sun wearing sunglasses. Five figures are the subject; Abby in the middle and then two other children on each side of her. On her left; a redhead boy with a hook for a hand and another boy in a top hat. On her right; a blonde girl in a pink dress and finally, a boy in blue with bunny ears.

You put down the paper to look at Abby. Her eyes are wide, expectant. Mike’s are the same.

“Are these your friends?”

“Yes!” Abby exclaims and leans on the table to look at you closer. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” you grin, pleased.

Mike shifts awkwardly. “Imaginary,” he clarifies. “Imaginary friends.”

You give him a private, amused smile. He relaxes a little.

Abby hands you a blank paper. “You should draw your friends.”

You obey, picking up a crayon, starting with yourself. Mike watches you carefully, eyes on your hands, sometimes trailing the curve of your eyebrows and the fall of your lashes.

“You’re good,” he says as Abby hands you a pink crayon– which you take dutifully. You draw a flower while sending him a wry smile, shaking your head. “I’m serious,” he implores, but you can hear the joke behind it.

“Sure.”

Then you finish coloring your jeans in and lean back to think.

Friends. You could draw your sister. But she’s not a friend. She’s your sister, and a lawyer, and a now ex-wife, but she’s not a friend.

David isn’t a friend either.

Dinner with him was quiet and he’d broke down into tears (again) by the end of it. You paid for the bill out of pity. You think that’s probably the last time you’re ever going to see him.

The waitress drops your food off as you start to outline the shape of red overalls.

Abby chews deftly on her chicken nuggets and leans into Mike’s shoulder while he dips his burger into a heaping pool of ketchup: the two of them eye your drawing together. You’re reminded of this photo you saw once in a Nat Geo magazine of two dark-eyed owls burrowed together.

You bite a smile.

When you’re done coloring a green sweater, you straighten and pop a self-satisfied fry into your mouth.

Abby wipes her hands off with a napkin that Mike hands her and takes your drawing. She gasps when she sees. Mike’s brows raise and you reflexively hope he doesn’t hate it.

“It’s us!” Abby says excitedly, vibrating with joy. You take a bite of your food and nod. She turns to Mike, huffing, and very seriously tells, “This is for the fridge.”

And finally, Mike smiles, almost snorting. But all he does is nod and say “Sure is,” between his bite

“You even drew my overalls.”

“I did,” you say. “They’re totally cute.”

“I like the flowers you drew around us.”

“Pretty, right?”

Abby looks so happy you could scream.

By the time both Mike and you are done with your food, her eyes haven’t left the drawing. And you must be doing something right because at some point Mike smiles at you.

Quietly. Mostly unseen.

Mike is comfortably out of your reach but he flutters in and out of your grasp fleetingly; a moth seeking light, heat, maybe something more. When he lands, you don’t close your fingers; only hang your palm open and let him decide if he wants to stay.

Maybe you are on the same page but you’re not sure if he knows it.

When the check comes Mike suddenly offers to pay. You refuse, waving him off and sticking your card in with his.

Susie comes to pick it up and then returns five seconds later, wishing you a nice day. You walk out of the diner as one big group– Mike holding the door open for you and Abby– and you find yourselves stuck under neon signs.

Mike looks at Abby carefully. “Can you wait in the car for a second?” He asks. She looks immediately offended, wanting to say no.

He looks exhausted.

Abby glares at him, then looks sadly at you before walking away and clambering into the back seat of his Honda Accord.

You turn to Mike and he turns to you when the door slams shut.

“Thank you,” he says immediately like he’s been holding it in his lungs the entire time.

“It’s nothing.”

“No,” he urges, “seriously. Abby, she,” he glances at the car, “she has a really hard time with people. Shit, I have a hard time with her too and I’m her brother.” Mike takes a deep breath. “She really likes you.”

You’re quiet for a second, letting the shadow in your eyes escape and mingle with his. “I get it.” You tell him. “Kids are…” you scuff your shoe against the pavement, “hard. Big emotions, little bodies, ya know?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He exhales. “You’re good with her.”

“I was a weird kid too.” You tell Mike with a grin.

Something like a smile is offered as he shakes his head. “You, uh,” he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and glues his eyes to the ground. “You wouldn’t mind meeting up again?”

You take a deep breath. This is a lot.

You should say, “Yes, I do mind,” but honestly, you really don’t. You’re not bothered by their company. You like both of them. Mike’s got something sad about him though; constantly in the eye of a storm, waiting for the hazard to hit again. And Abby’s Abby: sweet.

“It’s just, she doesn’t really,, click. But she did with you. And I know she’s gonna wanna see you again.” He elaborates.

“Sure,” you breathe, blinking. “Do you want my phone number or something?”

Mike nods. “Yeah, that’d be good.” He gives you his phone and sniffs when you enter your digits and hand it back.

You step away, steeping yourself deeper into the night. “See you around?”

“Yeah,” he nods and turns to his car. Abby rolls the window down, thin arms circling quickly, and peaks her head out.

“Bye!” She calls desperately as the engine starts. She probably thinks she’ll never see you again.

“Later, alligator!” You call back, waving.

She grins toothily and Mike asks her to roll the window up as they pull slowly out of the parking lot.

•---------•

Mike doesn’t contact you for the next two weeks. You expect it.

By the third week, you’ve settled that he’s realized just how odd this situation is and won’t call you ever. Something like disappointment aches awfully in your chest but you brush it off as a human reaction to the departure of warm summer evenings.

October is right around the corner and you’re starting to feel it.

The days are getting crisper; dirt turning to mud, dew on the grass, leaves turning orange. There’s also a bug going around at work and you’re not spared of its spread.

You wake up one morning with a scratch in your throat, an ache in your head, and a clog in your left nostril. You’re not really that sick; after a cup of coffee, you feel better. But your psyche still feels like it’s made from popsicle sticks and cotton balls.

You take it to the pharmacy before work.

There’s Nyquil and a row of untouched Dayquil next to it. Concentrated Tylenol and Cepacol. Zyrtec and Claritin. Dimetapp. You take the Aspirin and Nyquil and shlump towards the counter.

Mike is there, looking casually fatigued in front of the check-out counter, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” you say, the inflection of a question in your voice; the hesitance that maybe Mike wants to be ignored. Remain unseen. Unperceived. He jolts a little at your greeting and doesn’t relax when he turns to face you.

“Hey,” he says back. He takes a glance at your hand. “Sick?”

“Just a runny nose.”

He nods, takes a nervous look towards the empty counter, and then scratches at the growing stubble on his jaw.

“How ‘bout you?” You ask.

His eyes won’t meet yours. “Just some medication.”

You nod and look slowly toward the rack of non-prescription reading glasses. There’s a glittery, red pair at the very top– so small they could probably fit in the palm of your hand. “How’s Abby?”

Mike relents a little, shoulders going from concrete to rubble. “She’s doing alright. She asks about you sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, that drawing you did? She loves it.”

“I’m glad.”

There’s a quiet spell– the two of you looking in your own directions– and when the pharmacist finally shows up, paper bag in hand, Mike nabs it and leaves.

Then you step forward to pay, a polite smile on your lips, eyes flicking to your watch to take a mental note that you need to get to work soon.

Mike’s waiting for you outside the pharmacy; awkward and dark against the white overcast. It’s foggy this morning. You don’t know how he isn’t cold, only wearing a pair of jeans and a Foo-Fighters t-shirt that’s a little tight around the arms and chest. That makes you swallow.

You slow to a stop in front of him.

“I was gonna call you,” he sighs. “I got busy.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you wanna,” he raises a hand, then drops it uselessly, “do something with Abby soon?”

“Sure.”

“She’s got a half-day on Wednesday. We could take her to the park?”

It’s a good plan. You don’t know why he sounds so unsure. “Get her outside before it gets too cold to?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathing a little easier.

“Sure, I’d love to.”

Mike straightens his back a degree. “You know Marylheights Park? It’s close to the school.”

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Is one okay? Or are you working?” He suddenly realizes.

You shake your head. “I can come by on my lunch break.”

“Alright. Great. See you there.”

You smile, nod, step away a little, and then leave– abandoning Mike under the eave of the pharmacy.

True to your word, you show up at one o’clock in the afternoon at Marylheights Park. Mike and Abby are already there– he’s sitting on a bench, wearing a flimsy black hoodie and she’s bundled up in a pink and red jacket, a beanie knitted in a cacophony of colors on her head.

She runs over when she sees you, a heap of colors on the breeze, a smile bright on her face.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” She exclaims, tripping a little on the bark-chip. You see Mike twitch and then falter when she catches herself.

“You okay?” You ask, reaching a hand out for support if she needs it. She grabs your fingers, tight, as she leads you toward the playground. There’s a couple of other kids with their parents playing too.

“Do you like my hat?” She asks, stopping in front of you to show off.

“I love it.”

“Mike made it for me.”

You glance at him. He’s slouched lazily on the bench, hands stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Really?”

“Mhm.” She dawdles around you, skipping and humming as she climbs the monkey bars. “I saw a turtle today.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, it was really cute.” She hangs off one of the bars, letting herself swing back and forth. “Lauren brought it for show-and-tell today.”

“What did you bring for show-and-tell?” You ask, leaning against a post with your arms crossed.

“My friend.”

“Your friend?”

“He’s in my backpack right now.”

You nod like it makes perfect sense. “When I did show-and-tell I brought my big sister.” It’s not true but it's funny to think about.

Abby looks at you wide-eyed and a flock of Canadian Geese honk above you; black and white, obnoxious angels. “You can do that?”

“Duh.”

Abby drops from the bar and stares at you. “You’re lying to me.”

You grin. “Maybeeee.”

She rolls her eyes the same way that people do it on TV and suddenly walks away when she sees a round of Lava Monster is starting up. It’s a weird, convoluted game you used to play all the time. You’re suddenly upset that you forgot the rules; as if it didn’t used to be one of your favorite things in the whole world.

You sigh and meander over to Mike, sitting next to him.

Your eyes stay on Abby as she toddles along the play-structure in the middle, unsteadier than you like. Mike hands you a brown, paper bag wordlessly. You raise a brow and take it.

Inside is a white-bread sandwich in a ziploc bag, a juice box, and a folded note.

“What-”

Mike cuts you off. “You came on your lunch break.” You raise your head to look him in the eye. He’s so hard to read sometimes. ”Hope you like turkey and cheese.”

You beam, flushing between joy and embarrassment, and grab the juice box. There’s a cool guy surfing on it. “Thanks,” you say, stabbing the straw into the top. “You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs and turns to watch Abby. She clambers across the slides to avoid being tagged. Some of the other kids yelp and scream wordlessly.

“I owed it to you,” he breathes, his words turning to a puff of vapor in front of his nose.

The two of you split the sandwich in half and you don’t miss the way Mike watches you pick at the crust. When you eat it anyway you hear him puff a sharp exhale of laughter through his nose, shaking his head.

The game filters out and Abby makes her way to the swings, shoes toeing the ground as she sits.

Your fingers lift the note from the bag when you finish eating— unfolding to find a small, crayon drawing, no bigger than your hand.

A purple cow, better than yours, and actually tangible as a cow. Impressive.

“Abby did that,” Mike says, chewing. “She said you need it.”

You close your eyes, amused and overjoyed. Your fingers fold the little piece of paper back up and place it carefully in your bag, in a place you know it won’t be ruined. “God, she’s so sweet,” you huff, hand clenching. You’re not sure what to do with yourself.

You feel like husked corn; chipping paint in a parking lot. Like the curl of peeled apple skin.

“She has her moments,” Mike says gently, almost smiling.

Abby starts spinning herself on the swing, twisting and knotting the chains together and then letting them unravel to leave her in spirals. He frowns at that.

“Abby,” he calls, fixing his slouch on the bench, “quit it! You’ll make yourself sick!”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He grunts. She grins at you and waves. You wave back. She goes back to swinging normally; progressively higher and higher. Another kid ambles over to join her wordlessly.

Mike frowns and shakes his head, first at Abby, then at you. “I’m starting to think she likes you more than me.”

You snort at him. “I’m an adult who isn’t an authority figure in her life.”

“Still.”

“She adores you.” You tell him. You don’t really know either of them well enough to say that but you’re sure of it. You’re sure of it not only because you said it but because Abby’s a sweet, smart kid. She’s got her problems but she’s generally well-behaved. More importantly, she seems happy.

Unbothered, by whatever situation she and Mike are in. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing pretty good.

And maybe she doesn’t look at Mike like he hung the stars but she certainly treats him like it. The thing about kids is that they’re brutally honest:

If she didn't like Mike, you’d know.

He stares at you for a second longer than you’d expect him to and turns back to watch her.

The two of you stay like that for a while. Side by side. Almost shoulder to shoulder. Abby sometimes comes over to take a break, or ask what you thought of her drawing, or tell Mike what she wants for dinner. It’s peaceful. Quiet.

Okay.

Some parents leave. Some new parents show up. The two of you stay.

At some point, you glance down at your watch and panic floods your synapses.

“Shit,” you mutter, standing up. Mike raises a brow. “I’m really sorry but I’ve gotta get back now. I’m gonna be late and-“

“Don’t worry.” He tells you easily, fixing his posture so he isn’t slouched under your eye. You smile apologetically. Abby runs over from the slides, panting, her wide eyes expectant on yours.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I have to get to work now.”

“But you’ll come back right?”

You bend down to her level, fix the hat on her head so that it sits evenly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay.” She sighs, seemingly relieved, but the trace shadows of upset are still visible in the gleam of her eyes.

“Have fun with Mike?” You tell her, rising. You linger despite yourself.

“Later alligator?” She asks like a wet mutt as you start the walk to your car.

“In a while crocodile.”

You wave and she waves back. Mike keeps his eyes trained on you, raising a hand too. Your smile widens.

•---------•

Your older sister is the prettier, smarter, more put-together version of you. The version of you that you pretend to be.

She doesn’t laugh and she doesn’t smile, and you can’t tell if it’s because she genuinely can’t feel joy or is afraid of getting wrinkles. You’re sure it’s a mix of both. She lives in this big, minimalist penthouse suite that you’ve only been in twice; her heels have red bottoms. She has avocado toast for most her meals and the hoops on her ears are real gold.

In short summary; your sister has got it good. You’re pretty sure she’s miserable.

She tells her assistant, Christa, to get her a coffee and Chrsita offers to get you one too with a sweet smile. You want to say “Yes,” but she looks awfully close to having a mental breakdown. You tell Christa, “No, thanks,” smiling gently back.

When she leaves, you turn and stare at your sister’s pursed lips.

You drove into the city for once and your sister could only make time for you to come and sit in one of the stiff chairs she has placed in front of her cocobolo desk; the chairs for clients. You look around her office.

It’s neater than David’s and ten times bigger.

Vast and white. A tundra of dreams scotch-taped together.

“You were almost late.” She says, annoyed, eyes stuck to the papers in front of her.

“Sorry, I had to get cough drops at the pharmacy.”

“You’re sick?”

“Just a sore throat.”

You lean forward to poke her cheek. She squawks and slaps your hand away, scandalized and disgusted.

“That’s disgusting!”

You laugh and she steels you with a hard glare, a scoff caught in the back of her throat. “I do wash my hands,” you tell her.

She shakes her head and drums her perfectly manicured French tips against the heavy table. You tuck your own hands under your thighs. You like her nails; you want yours to look like hers but they’re inconvenient for people like you. Real people, with real lives and realistic, boring jobs.

But it's nice to look at them, especially on your sister.

“Heard from David?” She asks as if she isn’t divorcing him. Like he’s a houseplant that you’re taking care of while she takes a quick business trip.

New York. London. Shanghai. Amsterdam. Seoul. You’ve seen the photos.

“Nope.” You bite your lip and Christa comes with the coffee. A cappuccino that she places in front of your sister. Black. Tiny, little cup. Christa gives you a dazzling smile that has you grinning back at her fully, like an indulged schoolgirl. And then she’s gone; clicking off to document review in her little black heels.

Your sister glares at that.

You look her over.

Look at the way she’s curled her lashes and glossed her lips. Her shirt is buttoned straight– stiff and crisp around her neck. There’s a little permanent divot between her eyebrows and the white light of the office washes her out.

“You look tired,” you say flatly, a fairly normal thing to say to a woman who’s a criminal lawyer for an inner-city law firm.

She barely looks at you. “Thanks.”

And then it’s her turn to look you over. You’re sure she doesn’t like what she sees. She rarely does. “Have you been eating?”

“Of course I have.”

She stares for a moment longer before saying, “Just checking.”

Someone knocks on the door and peaks their head in– a young man with dark hair. Bright hazel eyes. She glares at him wordlessly and he makes eye contact with you before shutting the door quickly. You watch her scoff and then carefully pick up a pen before signing the papers gently; like hemlock and hummingbirds.

Your sister. Elegant.

You tilt your head.

She starts. “So, any luck-“

“Oh, can we please go five minutes-“

“I was going to ask-“

“-without talking about-“

“-about your job!”

“-things I know you don’t care about!” You stare at her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine. We won’t talk about it.

You smile. “I like your shirt.”

“Fuck off.” She flips open a stack of papers with a fit of impressive anger, scribbling something hotly in the margins.

You know she doesn’t hate you but sometimes you have to wonder.

She’s mean and a bitch; but she constantly worries— and she worries more about you than anyone else. More than she ever worried about David. Which says quite a bit about what the two of you have done and put up with for one another.

Your sister: less of a counterpart, more of a weird black shadow of a half-twin. Not the moon and the sun; but a tree and the ferns that grow underneath.

Your sister stares at her cooling cup of coffee and looks into your eyes like they’re blurry. “Do you need money?”

Her solution to everything. A pretty good one, you won’t lie. “No.” You say quickly, waving her off.

“So everything’s good then?”

“Yeah. Good. It’s all good.”

She raises a brow but looks away to read something.

“How about you?” You ask.

She sighs heavily and stares at the wall. “Well,” and for a moment she doesn’t look like your sister. More like any other woman– any other person experiencing life for the first time. She’s thinking about her job and her home; the wonders and horrors of burnt toast and manilla folders. Of sending people to jail or keeping them out of it. Of going to bed in her 1200 thread count, Egyptian-cotton bed set.

Then she blinks, as if remembering who she is, and suddenly your sister’s sitting in front of you again.

“It’s alright. Fine. Boring.”

“Makes sense.” You tell her with a nod.

“How’s Mac?” She asks off-handedly, eyes on her work. Mac. Full name Tarmac. The stray cat that’s been haunting your house for the past couple of years. A dumb, skinny little cat who loved you with all of his heart.

“Dead.”

“What?” Your sister exclaims, wrist dropping to the edge of the table, pen still in hand. “How are you not,, a wreck?”

“It happened a few months ago.”

“God.” She finally takes a sip of her cappuccino and clears her throat. “Well, just don’t get upset one night and, I dunno, drink yourself into a sobbing mess.”

You grimace. “Says you.”

She sends you a hard glare. “Don’t.”

“I’m not the one who had to be bailed out of-“

“When are you going to stop bringing that up?” She groans. You laugh a bit now, dropping your head towards your lap and your sister looks properly embarrassed. “I passed the bar, have a Porsche, and have a personal trainer, ya know!”

You laugh harder. You can tell she finds it almost funny too but is raging too hotly to care.

“And then I had to-“

“Stop!” She exclaims.

You leave her alone but still giggle through it, fingers pressing against your lips in a complete failure to contain your amusement.

There’s another beat of silence.

She takes another sip. You watch her. Christa comes by again with a new, impressively thick stack of papers for your sister and walks out.

“Where’s your shirt from?” You ask your sister, eyeing it. “It’s nice.”

“Balenciaga.”

Pricey. The white, simple, button-up shirt she’s wearing probably cost her more than a hundred dollars.

“Is it cotton?” You ask her, leaning forward for a better look.

“Yes.” She side-eyes you warily. You lean back. “You better not steal it.”

“I’m not going to!”

“You’ve done it before.”

You roll your eyes.

Your sister finishes her coffee off in silence. It’s awfully quiet for a law firm. You wonder if her office walls are sound-proofed.

At some point, she tells you she has a meeting and that you need to leave. She’s in a good enough mood to at least walk you out herself.

In the firm’s garage building the two of you wait for the valet to bring your car.

She looks strange, sad, lonely. You love her. But you don’t know what to do about it because she gives you no place to put it. That’s just who she is. Her person. Being in a constant state of distress is part of her identity and really, there’s no escaping it. Self-imposed, mortal limbo.

“You’ll be okay?” She asks gently, like for once she means it.

“Yeah.” You tell her, tender. Human. “You?”

“Of course. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry about your divorce.” You finally tell her. You didn’t say it at first when it was too new and too fresh. When she was more concerned with paperwork than emotional damage.

She shakes her head like the mention of it is merely a fly in her face. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to thank you for bringing those papers to David.”

“Anytime.”

“It’s just, you live nearby and it would have been easier for you to do it than Christa, and-“

“Seriously.” You cut her off. “It’s fine.”

She sighs and looks you over. It’s a long, extended look of softness. Mike looked at Abby the same way. But it’s a rarity from her; one that has you giving her a confused smile, hands going into the pockets of your jacket— the nicest, crispest one you own— as she stares.

“What?” You ask.

She steps forward, raising an arm, and you step back. She huffs, annoyed. “I wanted to give you a hug but you ruined the moment.”

You scoff incredulously. “You’re so weird.”

She glares. “Fuck you.”

The valet comes with your car.

Shitty, and old. Reliable and well-loved. Needs an oil change.

You step around to the driver’s side and the valet places your keys warmly in your palm. Your sister stays in the spot you left her in.

“Bye.” She says stiffly.

“See you soon.”

She glances at the valet. “Right.”

“Give me a smile?” You joke. You see her right hand twitch to flip you off but with the audience she contains herself. All she gives you is a deep-seated, disappointed frown and a shake of her head.

You grin and step into your car before driving off.

Even as you pull out of the garage you can see her standing still in that over-priced button-up shirt; arms wrapped around her torso, watching you go.

You tell yourself she’ll be okay but when a song from your childhood plays on the radio you doubt it.

Nostalgia will kill you before she ever does.

[lucy90712]

Baking- Pedri

"I want to make a cake" I announced just to Pedri who was sat next to me 

"Since when do you bake?" He questioned 

"I mean I don't but that doesn't mean I can't I've baked before" I said 

"What type of cake do you want to make?" He asked 

"I was thinking just a regular sponge cake but I was going to decorate it to make it all pretty" I said 

"Let's do it then" he said 

"Wait you want to help me" I said 

"Of course" he said pulling me up from the sofa 

First I looked up a recipe and made a list of the things we needed so we could go and get them. We had some of the ingredients at home already but we needed some sugar and stuff to decorate the cake. Once we arrived at the store I was reminded why I always go without Pedri and that's because he's a nightmare, he wanted to go down every aisle and I had to remind him numerous times that he can't eat half the things in the store but eventually we made it to the baking aisle. The amount of different stuff in the aisle was overwhelming there was so many types of icing and they all came in every colour imaginable. While I was trying to take it all in and decide what would look good Pedri had made the decision for me and picked out a pale purple and blue icing. He then found some piping bags and nozzles which is definitely out of our skill range but it should be fun and at this point baking this cake is all about fun as it's definitely not going to taste good. 

When we eventually had everything we needed Pedri took the basket from me and he paid which I tried to tell him not to do but there was no convincing him. When we made it back home he dropped everything off in the kitchen so we could get started but before he let me do anything he ran off upstairs which should take me by surprise but it just doesn't anymore. It wasn't long before he came back down holding two aprons which had clearly never been used as they must've been gag gifts probably from Fer. When he unfolded them all I could do was laugh one of them said warning hot stuff and the other had a picture of a man's abs on them. They were so cheesy but I kind of loved them, after some thinking Pedri gave me the hot stuff one which he said was because that's what I am but I know deep down it's because he wanted me to stare at him and I happily will oblige. 

After he tied the apron for me we got out everything we needed and I pulled the recipe back up to find out how much we needed of each ingredient. I measured out the butter and sugar first then added the eggs before I mixed that together as that's what the recipe told me to do. As I was mixing I asked Pedri to measure out the flour to save some time and because he was just stood staring at me as I did everything. Stupidly I trusted him but I really shouldn't have he was doing well until a whole load of flour came out at once sending the amount way over what we needed and not an amount we could get away with just adding it was nearly double. He had to take some out and to start with he used a spoon but he picked the smallest spoon we have so of course he got bored and began to use his hands which thankfully he washed first. In hindsight I should've taken over before we got to this point but I didn't so instead I just watched as the countertops became covered in flour as well as Pedri. 

It took just seconds for the entire kitchen including half the floor to be covered in flour. Pedri was covered too it was all over his apron, in his hair and on his face. I was so glad I had my phone, which was also dusted with flour, to take pictures of this moment. Pedri's parents and brother told me that he's not always the best in the kitchen although for as long as we've been together he's been fine but now I see what they mean. He graciously let me take some pictures of him so I can remember this moment and mock him for it for the foreseeable future although he was frowning in every single one I got. Once I was done laughing I started to feel a bit bad for him as he just wanted to help me bake and spend time with me and I'm just laughing at him. 

Just as I was about to start dusting some of the flour off Pedri's look changed and instead of a pout he suddenly had a smirk on his face which is never a good thing. Next thing I knew he put his hands in the flour and started to run towards me. I ran away not wanting to meet the same dusty fate but Pedri is a faster runner than I am and he has better stamina than me so it wasn't long before I gave up and he caught me. He pulled me straight into a hug and then put his hands on my face so I too was looking a bit like a snowman. Once he let me go he pressed a quick kiss to my nose before also pressing one to my lips which made this whole situation a lot better. As I turned to head back to the kitchen I felt Pedri put his hands on my ass which I definitely should've seen coming as he can be such a child at times. We have a mirror by the front door so I went to look at what he'd done and there was two handprints right there which really stood out as I had black leggings on. 

Pedri eventually made his way to join me in the kitchen and we finally added the flour and finished the mixture so it could go in the oven. Then we were faced with the daunting task of cleaning the mess that had only seemed to spread. First we washed up all of the utensils and the bowls we used as that was less daunting. Once that was done we had no choice but to face the explosion of flour that covered the kitchen. Pedri put some music on and grabbed the cleaning supplies; if I was mean I would make him clean it all himself but I'm not so I started mopping the floor while he cleaned the counter. 

"You don't have to help this is my mess I can clean it" he said 

"We're a team so we work together plus I suggested we make a cake so this is partly my fault" I said 

"This is why you're the best girlfriend" he said kissing my cheek quickly 

As soon as the kitchen was clean the timer went off and the cake was done and I can't lie it looked really good. Pedri wanted to decorate it straight away but I made him wait for the cake to cool first as otherwise the icing would just melt into a big mess. He's usually quite impatient but today he was happy to wait and just hold onto me as we continued to listen to music while waiting for the cake to cool down. Most people don't get to see the softer side of Pedri as they only see him when he's highly focused on the pitch or messing around in training but he really is a softie. He loves to just cuddle like this or on the sofa under the fluffiest blanket we have in the house and he's more affectionate than you would think he always likes to be close to me or touching me in some way whenever we aren't in public and I love that it's like I get to have this part of him all to myself. 

His patience and calmness didn't last too much longer though as the excitement go too much for him and he grabbed the icing and the piping bags and started to get them ready after I told him what to do. He gave me the purple icing while he had the blue so I showed him a simple design and we worked together to create a great pattern around the outside. We really did a good job if I do say so myself especially for our first attempt. Pedri was so pleased with what we made that he took a picture and sent it to his parents to get their approval which was really sweet. He was so happy when his mum text back saying that it looked lovely but a seconds after I got a text from her asking how much chaos he had caused which made me laugh while Pedri started putting on his pouty face again so I kissed his lips and sneakily put some icing on his nose before running away so that he couldn't get be back.

[lifeafterartsch00l]

🍥Sns fic recs🍅

*If you know these authors on Tumblr, please tag them! ❤️😊*

Oxigen's overrated by TheMidnightSong

I love love love “Sasuke returns to Konoha” fics. Ive probably read like 200 of them and i would love to read 200 more. I 🍽️ it up!

Shout out to the latest chapter in this sweet & spicy fic! So well paced. They are so into each other. Hot enough to fry an egg on. Nominating for a smut award 👑 (Im making it a thing).

*Still thinking about chapter*

…what were we talking about again?

“Chapters: 9/?

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Tsunade (Naruto), Gaara (Naruto), Dai-nana-han | Team 7 Ensemble (Naruto), Uchiha Sasuke, Kyuubi | Nine-tails | Kurama, Haruno Sakura, Ninjas of Konohagakure, Konoha 11 Ensemble (Naruto)

Additional Tags: Post-War, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Fix-It, Ending Fix, Uchiha Sasuke-centric, POV Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Sasuke Returns to Konoha, Uzumaki Naruto is in Love with Uchiha Sasuke, Boys In Love, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Falling In Love, sasuke actually wants to become better, One-Sided Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura Needs a Hug, Eventual Smut, Post-Chapter 699 (Naruto), Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Blank Period (Naruto), Drugs Made Them Do It, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Getting Together, After Party, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, sasuke never went to jail, Uzumaki Naruto is Bad at Feelings, naruto is actually super in love, But he doesn't know how to handle it

Summary: After the war, Kakashi, the now Sixth Hokage, sees necessary for Sasuke to continue his recovery with Naruto, and puts him in charge of this task. At first, Sasuke has no problem with the idea, but he begins to notice strange behaviors in his friend, things that make him doubt about the relationship”

Detox (20 years together series) by wedonotsow

Dark, kinky modern au. A wonderful writer, authentic-feeling experiences ❤️ Bittersweet with happy ending. 🖤🌶️ also Naruto owns a restaurant in this one and I like to imagine him like Carmie from the Bear 😂 yes chef 😉

“Chapters: 10/10

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Naruto - Relationship

Characters: Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Karin (Naruto)

Additional Tags: Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Rehabilitation, True Love, Rough Sex, Pain, Drug Addiction, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Recovery, Love, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Face Slapping, references to bloodplay, Anal Sex, Healthy Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Shibari, Domestic Fluff

Series: Part 2 of 20 years together AU

Summary: Naruto thought that he'd experienced it all. After 20 years of enmeshed history and 10 years in a committed relationship, they had endured death, betrayal, violence, and even jail; but always inexplicably tied in solid foundation of unconditional love.

Nothing could break them. Naruto had been sure of it. That is: until Sasuke was forced into rehab for a drug addition he had been hiding. To overcome these latest demons they must confront the deepest, darkest parts of themselves. Even the stuff that really, really hurts.

Good thing they are so used to enduring pain”

Let the world burn by newtaste

I like to think this fic is like Bridgerton with teeth. Very sexy and smart with class struggle & character development. The romance is so well done 🔥💙

“Rating: Mature

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, Nara Shikamaru/Temari

Characters: Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Nara Shikamaru, Uchiha Itachi, Haruno Sakura, Hyuuga Hinata, Hyuuga Neji, Sai (Naruto), Gaara (Naruto), Yamanaka Ino, Temari (Naruto), Hatake Kakashi, Deidara (Naruto), Sarutobi Konohamaru

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Slow Burn, Yaoi, Enemies to Lovers, Inspired by Bridgerton (TV), Uchiha Sasuke-centric, Period-Typical Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: Uchiha Sasuke is one of the most eligible bachelors in Konoha, looking for a successful marriage. He is an elitist, a conservative duke who hates people who do not abide by the rules of society.

Uzumaki Naruto is a rebel, a mere commoner, who plans to revolutionize the system that favours only the rich.

When they accidentally meet at the spring ball, none of them suspects their beliefs would be shaken to their core.

The story takes place sometime in the middle of the nineteenth century, in a European setting, during the industrial revolution. Slow burn”

[theclaravoyant]

buddie + a kiss on the back of the neck. (bonus points for kitchen scenes, my beloved)

from this prompt list. also for the anon who requested buddie + a romantic kiss, although i may well write a separate one for that too!

AN ~ fluff. shameless, embarassing fluff.

- Eddie has dreamed of mornings like this. Literally. The only thing missing is the blurry-edged filter his mind tends to supply – although, his sleep-addled eyes are doing their best imitation. He wakes to the sweet smell of pancakes and maple syrup and salty bacon and scrambled eggs and his stomach growls.

He pinches himself on the back of the hand. Shakes it out. Yep, unless his brain has trained in covert operations while he wasn't looking, he's no longer dreaming. So he pads out into the kitchen feeling soft and sleepy and vulnerable and wonders how quietly he can deposit himself at the tiny dining table. Could he make it to the coffee machine and back without causing a disturbance?

It doesn't matter. He lingers instead, and gets caught up in watching. Buck is currently in an argument with a pancake, cursing as the acrid smell of burning hits his nostrils and forces him to turn on the rattling range-hood fan. Eddie's eyes trace his dance backward and forward; the way his shoulders hunch as he tries his best to salvage it, muttering threats and condolences in equal measure as he scrapes it free and evacuates it to the plate.

Eddie moves closer, because he can now, and he wraps his arms around Buck's hips.

Buck just frowns down at his work.

“You need a new stove,” he grumbles. “A new fry pan, at the very least.”

“A poor workman blames his tools, Buck.” Eddie presses a kiss to the back of Buck's neck, and another to the spot where it meets his shoulder. It still kind of surprises him, how naturally this comes to him. He's been waiting for someone to kiss in the kitchen his entire goddamned life. And he smells like pancakes.

“I- I have become accustomed to a certain lifestyle,” Buck attempts to explain. “A certain standard of cookware- What are you-”

Eddie pulls away to pick up the burnt pancake and take a bite. Buck looks appalled. Eddie looks him in the eyes.

“Delicious,” he mumbles, beaming around the mouthful of it, “burnt and all. But you already knew that.”

Buck could just about melt. It's not fair how romantically Eddie speaks sometimes, let alone how fluffy his hair is in the morning, and how much of it he's been blessed to see lately. Or how much he really, really wants to kiss the crumbs off his lips all of a sudden. And so, he does, and he finds that even his morning breath isn't too bad, drenched in batter and syrup and a sizeable dose of how lucky am I?

Eddie looks at him a little bit swoony afterwards with those big brown baby-cow eyes, and Buck wonders how on Earth the two of them ever got anything done.

“You know,” Eddie offers. “We should finish unpacking your kitchen stuff, since mine is suddenly so terrible. Christopher will be back from camp tonight and expecting your finest.”

“Mm. Tough critic, that kid.”

“I dunno. I think you've got a shoe in.”

“Printed a reference from my landlord, just in case.”

“Buck.” Eddie rolls his eyes, and he's so deeply in love his chest actually hurts. “Be serious. He's going to be so happy.”

“He'll probably call us both idiots.” “Yeah, well.” Buck kisses him one more time, and wonders how he hasn't been doing this for years. “When he's right, he's right.”

[herofics]

Hii

Could you please do a second part of the scenario in which Aizawa's daughter was r4ped and bakugou told him?

Maybe the moment she told Aizawa, and basicly confort. Thanks

A/N: So this is basically expanding on the end of this post. More comfort than straight-up angst this time. Also this isn’t TikTok, so it’s honestly more harmful to censor stuff like “rape” with “r4pe” because then people have a harder time avoiding it and blacklisting it. So just use the actual words, because it’s a pain in the ass for people to try to blacklist all the possible versions

You were sitting on the edge of your bed, twiddling your thumbs, while your father sat at the other end of the bed. You could basically feel him vibrating with anger, even though he wasn’t even that close to you. You just hoped his anger wasn’t directed towards you.

“Is it true what Bakugou said?” he finally asked.

“Yes” you said quietly. “I’m so sorry…”

“Why are you apologizing to me? Whatever happened, whatever he did, it wasn’t your fault”

“But I should’ve listened to my gut. That’s what you always tell me. I had the feeling he was a creep, but I went to meet him anyway” you sniffled.

“If someone acts like a piece of shit and hurts you, it’s not your fault, ever. He’s a predator, and I’m going to make sure he gets what he deserves” Aizawa promised with a serious tone.

He never thought something like this would happen to you. He knew you might get hurt on an internship or something, and end up in the hospital, but he never thought that someone would hurt you like this, especially right under his nose. Aizawa wasn’t sure what he should do, this was a completely new situation to him. You were sitting on the other end of the bed, leaning against the wall. You looked like you were trembling a little. He was so incredibly angry, not at you of course, but towards that piece of shit who had dared to assault you. He tried not to show how furious he was, while at the same time still showing his disapproval towards what had been done to you.

“How do you want to proceed with this? I’m going to make sure that scumbag gets fired, but it’s up to you if you want to go to the police”

Your dad was always quite practical with things, so you weren’t really surprised about how he handled the situation. You didn’t really know what you wanted.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I kinda wanna kick him in the dick and throw rotten eggs at him, but I also never want to see that piece of shit again” you sighed.

“I’ll kick him in the dick for you, but I don’t think I can do anything about the eggs” Aizawa tried to lighten the mood awkwardly.

“Thanks dad, but I don’t want you to get in trouble, he’s not worth it” you smiled tiredly.

"But you are, and I’m sure the principal wouldn’t fire me even if I did kick his ass. I was only defending a student and my kid for that matter"

“That’s probably true to be fair” you chuckled slightly.

“Come here kid” Aizawa stood up and motioned towards himself.

You got up from the bed and walked to your dad, who pulled you into a hug.

“It’s going to be okay. It might not feel like it now, but I promise one day this whole thing will be just a memory” he assured, rubbing your upper back.

“I was kind of scared you would be mad at me, but now I feel kinda bad for thinking that”

“Don’t worry about it. Can you just promise me something?” he asked.

“Depends on what it is?”

“Please make an appointment to the school psychiatrist. You need to talk to a professional about this”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes”

“Fine, but I’ll do it tomorrow. Now I wanna go take a shower and go to sleep”

“That’s fine with me. You can talk to me too, but I do still want you to talk to someone who actually has experience with dealing with something like this” he said, and pressed a kiss on your forehead. “I’m going to go inform the principal”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?” he turned back.

“I love you” you sniffled.

“I love you too kiddo” Aizawa said and ruffled your hair, before leaving your room.

You went to take a shower again. Maybe someday you wouldn’t feel so stained anymore. You would heal… eventually.

[oneatlatime]

Zuko Alone

I'm hoping for some Appa this episode. It's been too long since he's gotten any good sight gags.

Zuko is cosplaying Clint Eastwood. He's also back to being stupid pale this episode.

You know it's a good thing that Zuko's not in the Fire Nation anymore because he really would have sucked at being Fire Nation. Robbing pregnant women is probably kindergarden level stuff for them.

How is Zuko in such bad shape? Last time we saw him he had a cave full of spoils robbed from rich people. Did he not bother to pack at least some of that stuff? Actually, not thinking far enough ahead to pack would be pretty in character.

Oof that would rub me the wrong way. Not enough money for a meal, but sure, let's use totally edible eggs as ammo.

Where'd the egg go?

Who is the scarred up hat wearing vampire and what happened to the real Zuko? Imposter Zuko just elected to not be provoked into a fight. Real Zuko would already be setting things on fire.

Just a bunch of thugs. Yep. It's consistently awesome how many of the facets of war this show can cover.

Imposter Zuko and Song's horse bird just got kidnapped. Did not see that coming.

Zuko kind of has arm bandages like Sokka has this episode. Also love the character detail that the boy has scraped knees.

Is the kid's dad the same guy as the man at the store? Or maybe this is a one haircut town?

So the guy who was near to fainting off his horse bird this morning is now turning down freely offered food? Could Zuko please shelve his pride for five minutes? Kudos to the mom for accurately reading his distaste for charity and turning it into a request for aid though. Although covering for the boy's egg trick is worth at least a meal.

Tangent!

I don't get Zuko. How can he still have so much pride when he's wearing rags and starving himself to feed Song's horse bird? I'm quite shameless when it comes to accepting help and I've never, ever been able to understand the whole 'too proud to accept charity' mindset. I'm always up for some charity. I have enough manners to offer to do the dishes after, but if you're offering free food I'm eating it. And I've never been in a situation as desperate as Zuko's. So I don't get this.

ok tangent over.

Peak rich kid behaviour. I hope those nails aren't expensive otherwise Zuko doing work for food might end up with this family out of pocket.

Is the wood grain on this ladder an actual photograph of wood grain?

Zuko has more patience this episode than he had for all of season 1 combined. He's also never gone this long without yelling. Either proximity to young children activates Zuko's otherwise mostly slumbering decency, or to fit him into a Fistful of Dollars homage the writers had to make him out of character.

If I had been in this situation when I was a kid, if I had been a) this visibly bored, and b) this nosy around guests, I would have been given a hammer and a bag of nails in three seconds flat. Also, nice to see a Sokka face from Zuko.

I get that 'a man without a past' is a staple of the cowboy genre, but the boy's father bringing up the privacy of the past twice in like two minutes makes me think he's done stuff he doesn't want to talk about. Seems both the parents have read Zuko right though.

Finally! Some pretty! I have been suffering! This may be the first really good pretty all season!

Bad news for the Appa decor on my blog. He may have been supplanted in my affections.

Two things: first, Zuko is a carbon copy of his mom. Second, That is way too much forehead.

Having Zuko's mom introduce herself by talking about the lengths mothers will go to for their children is not giving me foreshadowing anxiety at all.

Azula's been a bitch since birth. Noted.

Sir, your eyebrows. Also, yeah, I wouldn't want to play with her either.

Yikes this is making my teeth itch and my skin crawl. Calling it now, she's rotten to the core.

Zuko and Azula's dad has some weak ass genes. BOTH of his children are carbon copies of their mom.

Also, I was not expecting Zuko's very stupid ponytail to be a pre-scar thing. It is much better with a full head of hair.

If I had spent my childhood hanging out with an untouchable princess who set things on my head on fire for fun whenever I involuntarily displayed emotion, I'd be gloomy and apathetic in self defense too.

Sokka in this episode in spirit, if not in person.

Seriously that's the same face three times over!

Um, no? If Iroh doesn't make it back from the front, doesn't his son become next in line to be Firelord?

Can you hear all the unspoken "father thinks that" and "father says that" in front of every one of Azula's opinions in this whole scene? I stand by my assertion that she's awful anyways, but she's also obviously drunk much too much of her dad's koolaid, if you know what I mean.

This kid is going to get into so much trouble one of these days. Provoking the soldiers, nagging the mysterious stranger with the mysterious past, and now taking his weapons? Kid's sweet but he really needs to learn when to stop pushing his luck.

Stabbing dead, dried wood sounds like a great way to utterly annihilate the edge on those. Hope Zuko packed a whetstone.

Where is this patience coming from? I don't understand and it's BUGGING me.

Hold on. Technical problems.

My very basic DVD player sometimes has difficulty with these disks. Whatever happened between the above two screenshots, I've missed it. So picking back up from the one on the right...

Either these soldiers are impressively cowardly (which, yeah) or Zuko's really been working on his death glare, because they've got him outnumbered and out-armoured and they still back off.

OH it's parallels! Zuko's cousin and the boy's older brother. Got it. Kind of a false parallel though. Grandson of the Firelord does not equal earth kingdom conscript.

Give the demonstrably impulsive and nosy child a knife. That'll work out just fine I'm sure. Pretty sad the kid glommed on to Zuko so quickly, but it's also yet another realistic representation of the consequences of war. This show's good.

*shudders* theatre kids.

She's tiny! Do you know how darkly humourous it is to watch a two foot tall baby spout her father's murderous nonsense? Once again, in this whole scene, not a word out of Azula's mouth is actually Azula's.

"What is wrong with that child?" Apart from budding homicidal and psychopathic tendencies? Her dad. Her dad is what's wrong with that child.

Their dad has no subtlety at all. And also no brain? You think a day after the firelord finds out one of his family died is the right time to very boorishly make a play for the crown with you daughter as a prop? Could you possibly come up with a better demonstration of why this guy shouldn't be in charge?

How did this asshole land such a nice wife?

Yep. Siding with the old firelord on this one.

Does flashback Zuko sleep in his day clothes? Because that's not ok.

I like that their mom sees straight through Azula's lying here. She knows her daughter.

In a move that should surprise no one, everything Zuko touches turns to shit, as usual.

It's the Mexico filter!

Absolute truth from Zuko in that monologue. He's got them pegged. Too bad it fell on deaf ears. It's Zuko's curse, that whenever he approaches being remotely reasonable, he happens to be surrounded by people who will react in such a way that Zuko learns to equate being reasonable with failure.

An earthbender. The bare feet should have clued me in.

Last season Zuko and Iroh laid waste to like ten of these guys. And Iroh didn't even have pants. So what gives? Is he that starved?

Ursa pulling a Mufasa.

Don't answer don't answer don't answer

And he does.

Zuko is so very good at completely misinterpreting the point.

So we can add thief to the list of things that make Azula awful. Also that delivery of "who's going to make me? Mom?" is chilling. Zuko's lost his only defender inside this atrocious family and she knows it, he knows it, hell the turtleducks probably know it.

His dying wish? You guys buying that?

Ozai. That's his name. I'd forgotten that.

So... something something dead firelord something something missing mom something something maybe Azula wasn't actually lying this time?

Final Thoughts

The title wasn't kidding. Let's rename the show 'Avatar: the Guy who's Really Bad at Capturing Him' while we're at it.

There is now no way whatsoever that Zuko is not going to be redeemed. No writing team would invest that much energy and a whole episode into a character we're not ultimately supposed to root for. So somehow he's going to end up joining the Gaang. Don't know how he'll pull that one off. He's done some pretty not great stuff. And it's not like the Gaang watched this episode and unlocked his tragic backstory.

Speaking of, what prompted these reflections? I could understand if Zuko started to contemplate his cousin and the events surrounding his loss in the war after he learned about the family's older brother, but he was having flashbacks before he even got to town. Usually when there are backstory bits, there's a good reason to show them at that time, like how the Storm prompts Aang to think about the last storm he was in, or seeing a boat from his father's fleet prompts Sokka to remember what his dad told him. So what caused Zuko's memories to give him situationally appropriate flashbacks?

Pretty funny that he found the Nice Earth Kingdom Family that Azula predicted for him. And they are really nice! Either Zuko is an open book or the parents' social intelligence is off the charts because they're giving him exactly what he needs to feel at ease after barely a single conversation.

Speaking of Azula, I'm not surprised to find that she's always had deeply awful tendencies, even as a child of (I'm guessing) less than ten. But it cannot be ignored that, from the moment her father took a liking to her (as a tool to boost his own greatness, if not as a person), she didn't stand a chance. You can tell by the number of times that the stuff coming out of her mouth is a thinly veiled repetition of her father's unfiltered opinions, that she's been spending lots of time listening to him, probably while he puts down her mom and brother and talks about how she's the special one. You know what I'm getting at. Azula never stood a chance once her father got involved, and her mom lost the ability to influence her once her father started giving Azula praise for objectively wrong behaviour. That being said, Azula is awful even when she doesn't need to be awful for her father's approval, like when she's with her friends, so it's not all her father's doing. She's not a good person but she also had plenty of help to become that.

I guess Zuko and his mom are Fire Nation anomalies? And maybe Iroh has become that since his son died and he lost the war?

How on earth did Zuko survive as long as he did in the palace without his mom to protect him? What a no-win situation to be in. The only person in a whole nation with empathy.

This episode does makes Season 1 Zuko make more sense. He's been larping his dad as a defense mechanism for surviving the Fire Nation/probably a very futile effort to earn his approval. Although Zuko doesn't seem to care much for his dad if the tone he takes with him by the turtleduck pond is any indication.

Being banished was the best thing that ever happened to Zuko. The more distance between him and his remaining non-uncle family, the better. Between prioritizing his crew over capturing the avatar in the Storm, releasing the Avatar in the Blue Spirit, and now defending a random earth kingdom child this episode, it's hilarious how much Zuko HASN'T learned the lesson that Ozai banished him for not knowing. Don't get me wrong; that's a good thing. This episode plainly shows that behaviour that pleases Ozai is behaviour that should be unlearned as quickly as possible.

Zuko completely missing the point of his mom's last instruction is delightfully on the nose. But it also makes sense, which I may talk more about later.

How did Zuko hold on to his temper (and his volume) for a whole episode?

How did a show named after the main character get away with an episode that doesn't feature him at all? As a concept, this is such a strange episode. The writers were like "how can we kick start the woobification of Zuko? I know! A Spaghetti Western!" and it worked. Who comes up with that?

I now want at least as much, if not more, of Sokka and Katara's childhood via flashbacks. And more Gyatso please. If they can devote a whole episode to the childhood of a guy who isn't even a team member yet, they can show me some Sokka childhood shenanigans as a palette cleanser.

I really don't know what conclusion to draw about this episode. The writers have given me a massive backstory/trauma dump and I'm honestly like:

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Fluff and gay rarepair are currently drawing. So I tried to write the fluff, with the idea I could finish it, watch some videos, then maybe crack at gay after stuff ends. I think this isn't actually fluff, but /I/ think its cute, and its soft, even if it is a bit hurt/comfort for what I meant by fluff.

Philza finds Missa asleep in the ram pen.

Philza wakes up, and he isn't sure what is wrong. His eggs are asleep, the doors are all locked, and dawn is still far away. Still, he swears he heard something. It's not from above - people still use his warp and garden too often to be bothered by noise from above - and that settles dread into Philza's spine.

He slips out of bed, bothering with shoes and scythe but not changing out of his pyjamas, and stats looking. It's probably a water pipe, he tells himself; he will not settle until he checks.

Chayanne's room and the kitchen are checked first, but nothing unusual is in either. Philza puts the plates from the night before away, then keeps looking.

Tallulah's garden is, too, empty of oddities.

Philza is about the chalk it up to nothing, when he remembers the aquarium beneath his feet. Instantly annoyed he breaks a piece of the floor, and drops down.

He fixes up the hole - he can just warp out after all - and looks around. The change isn't immediately apparent, but after he checks behind the animal pen… his heart breaks.

"Missa?" He whispers at the man - his husband - asleep among the animals. "Why are you sleeping down here?"

Missa sleeps on, oblivious to the question. Philza looks, and hesitates, then sees the ram try nibble Missa's hood and makes his descision.

He can hate him in the morning if he's wrong.

Carefully, he reaches down. One arm goes behind Missa's back, and the other tucks under his legs. His husband stirs with a quiet groan, and Philza gently hushes him.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers. "I'm just bringing you to bed."

His words have the opposite effect; Missa eyes slowly blink open, head turning to find him. "Phil…?"

"Hi Missa," he abandons his plan, and kneels next to the setee instead. "What were you sleeping down here for? Our bed is upstairs, silly."

Missa blinks at him, tears welling up. Philza reaches out and smooths then away, brushing Missa's hair from his eyes too.

"What are the tears for? My face isn't that bad, surely?"

"No," Missa whispers, and then his voice picks up. "No, no, no, its a good face! A very good face."

"Then why are you crying, king?"

Missa shakes his head; Philza reaches out, offering a hug. The shaking and tears both get harder.

"Missa?" Philza is worried now, genuinely worried. "Missa, what's wrong?"

"I don't deserve it," Missa sobs - in Spanish now, and Philza glances to his translator for support. "I don't deserve you, I'm a bad husband, I'm a worse dad, please, I'm so sorry-"

"Shhh," Philza continues to brush his hair. "You're not, you're not. You have to travel for work, that's all - plenty of parents have to. I don't blame you. Chayanne adores you. You're a good husband, I promise, there's no one I'd rather raise my eggs with."

"But-"

Philza waits, but Missa does not continue, just sobbing into a ball.

"I should have thought and asked Roier to keep up Chayanne's Spanish once your trip back was delayed," Philza says. "These things just happen with kids, it's not your fault, he's not hurt, he's safe and he's happy."

"Philza," Missa sobs. "Philza! Stop it! I… I know I did bad, you shouldn't comfort the terrible."

It's maybe too late, too emotional, too tired for that conversation. Philza instead reaches over, pulling Missa into a hug. It hurts, it hurts to see what words have done to his dear egg-partner. "You're not terrible," he promises. "You're not, you're not - come upstairs with me; some sleep will make things better."

The sobbing lasts a bit longer, before with a sniffle Missa manages to stutter out "really?"

"Really," Philza replies. "I want you in my bed, and the eggs want you with them. We've been waiting for you."

"For me?"

"For you."

Philza leans forwards, tapping his forehead to Missa's mask. There's another hiccupping sob and then Missa throws himself into Philza's arms more fully.

He is of course caught, and held as he cries.

"You're so good, king," Philza promises. "Phil e Missa, Phil e Missa - its still our house; I built it for you."

There is no answer, but eventually Missa's tears slow. Philza backs slightly away, just enough to grab a tissue and let Missa dry his eyes.

"… You mean it?" Missa asks.

Philza does his very best not to laugh, and nearly succeeds, "yes, king, I do. We want you here, I promise."

Despite the tearstains, Missa's face lights up in a hesitant but true smile. Philza sniles back, pressing a thumb to Missa's cheek and touching their foreheads again.

"So… will you come to bed?" He asks.

"Okay," Missa whisoers. "Okay, I- I-"

"Will get some sleep, and in the morning Chayanne and I will make you breakfast, and we're going to spoil you for a little while, okay?"

"I- I don't need that, just a bed, just a bed somewhere close to you!"

"Well, we have a double upstairs, and its a shame not to use it," he presses Missa's hand to the warpstone. "You remember where to go?"

Missa pulls out his warpstone, and allows it to pull him back atop the wall. Philxa follows a second later.

Above the door, the sign Missa wrote still hangs. Philza looks at it, then turns to see Missa doing the same.

"I missed you too," he finally replies to the message.

Missa whimpers, but smiles, "I missed you more."

"Bet?" Philza asks, even as he pulls him inside.

There's barely space in their house, a tiny place made for an egg and repurposed for his parents. The double bed is squashed tightly between the walls, and they both have to scramble to get onto it. By the time they are under the covers the pair are already a mess of limbs, one that only grows messier as Missa hesitantly gestures for a hug and Philza willingly provides.

/I love you/ Philza thinks, but cannot bring himself to say - not when the love he offers isn't the sort people ever want. /You are home and my home, you are family, you are mine; I love you./

Missa doesn't say anything either, having never entirely woken up; as soon as his head touches the pillow, he is asleep again.

"Goodnight," Philza says instead.

Then he huddles himself closer, and feels the warmth of his husband, and knows that shit though the island might be, here intertwinned is the best place he's ever been.

---

In the morning, Tallulah wakes up. Papi is no longer in his bed - she grabs Chayanne, shaking him hard. He wakes with a groan, and panics just the same. Together they search, getting more and more worried.

They're about to go get Tio Tubbo to help find him, when Chayanne remembers the house upstairs. They scurry up and across the ladder, and find the blinds closed for once.

They open the door and peer inside, and Chayanne jumps for joy as he sees both his dads inside. He runs and jumps up on the bed, a sleepy Missa grabbing him with one arm and pulling him close before turning back to sleep. Tallulah approaches more gently, scrambling quietly up. Still Philza's arms find her when she wiggles herself beneath the blanket.

Their dad - their dads - are here. It's later than normal, but they snuggle back in and return to sleep in the morning light.

[tokillamockingbird427]

Random assorted Ghosts headcanons

Keegan has an intense affinity for chocolate milk. Man enjoys it so much he'd probably drink it with every meal and fill his water bottle with it if Elias didn't interfere. (Elias has caught him chugging from the jug once. It was like three am and Keegan was too tired to get a cup. It's his personal jug so no harm done, but Elias just... he can't deal with it. Cardinal sin.)

Speaking of Elias, man knows the "youngin" lingo and uses it just to dick with Hesh and Logan. Likes dropping "You're cringe." at random times just to see the his sons crumble like he verbally shot them.

On the other hand, Merrick knows the lingo, but doesn't understand how to use it. He's right like once a day with it and the splash effect from it is marvelous. (Calls Hesh cringe when Hesh complains that he's too nervous to ask out this chick he's been talking to and Logan laughs so hard he genuinely can't breathe for a few minutes.)

You know those little mini skateboard toys? Kick has a collection of those, and he's entirely too good at doing tricks with them. Hesh thinks it's so fucking cool (He likes skateboards.) but sucks at tricks. (Trains in secret to try and impress Kick.)

Logan carries a tablet on him 24/7 so he can type shit out for people who don't know ASL, but also because he has a sound effects board and likes dropping random vine booms in conversations. "Me and Kick were hanging out the other day an-" *Vine boom* "Logan I am gonna take that damn thing away from you so help me-" *VINE BOOM* "LOGAN!" He will also walk past people and do a lil fart noise, it's hilarious cus he does to to Merrick the most and it makes him so mad.

Cuter hc. Elias asked Logan what he wanted to be when he got older (When he was like seven.) and Logan answered "David!" (I am a big fat sucker for the whole "Logan looks up to Hesh more than anyone else." headcanon okay? They're so cute.)

Hesh and Logan doing dumb sibling shit like "Beating the everloving fuck" out of each other worries Merrick because he didn't have siblings, so he always has to ask Elias is he should interfere. Elias's #1 answer is always "When one of them starts crying." because he knows his kids are tough shit. (And also that they won't hurt each other on purpose.)

Logan and Keegan both have such intense sweet tooths that they can and will just eat straight sugar out of the bag if there isn't any candy or other sweets at their post. Elias keeps an emergency jar of candy... which is also just his personal stash so he doesn't have to share with the fiends.

Hesh Logan and Riley are literally inseparable. It's ridiculous. If for whatever reason one of them is actually separated from the others, it's probably for a genuinely bad reason. (They had a fight, one of them got hurt, one of them got lost, etc.)

Despite Riley being younger than Logan, they consider him the "Middle sibling." Logan is always "little brother" and Hesh is always "big brother" that way.

Logan and Hesh constantly steal each others clothes to the point where their wardrobes have just fused. They can't even remember what piece of clothing originally belonged to who. The sizing can clue them in, but also: Logan likes baggy clothes and Hesh likes fitted. So the mixup intensifies. They also just steal their dads stuff from time to time. Mainly hoodies. Irritates the shit out of Elias. (Not really.) Uses his lack of hoodies to bitch about the weather 24/7.

Riley leaves dog toys scattered all over the ghosts current post and there's always a little "easter egg hunt" when they're moving places because of it.

[painterfriend]

Summary (VERY SIMPLIFIED VER) of what happened with Cellbit, Richas, Forever and the Federation, for those who may have gotten a little lost.

Order of events:

During Cellbit's break (he did not stream for 2 days) someone, probably Max, decided to show all of the server one cringe tv ad Cellbit did many years ago.

Obviously, Cellbit was embarrassed by this. But out of nowhere, he started acting really weird. He started being mean to eggs, and isolating himself away from other people.

He eventually betrays everyone by saying he wanted to have 100% of Richa's paternity, told everyone he'd join the Fed and wouldn't leave the island. Pretty much said he'd do anything if it meant Richas was safe, and told Forever breaking the rules was a bad idea as it would endanger the eggs.

This caused a huge commotion as it was all very sudden- causing everyone to dislike him. Forever is especially hurt by this and they become enemies.

Cucurucho accepts and brings him to The Hospital, shows him things no one's seen before, such as confirming there are more than 1 Cucurucho.

MEANWHILE

Quackity gets notice of what has happened, convinces Richas that he's better off with him than with Forever and Cellbit.

Quackity "kidnaps" Richas and brings him to a place far away from society. He manipulates Richas into thinking he's not safe with his Brazilian parents.

Before this happens, Richas leaves notes for Cellbit and Forever.

Pac and Mike end up finding these notes, then proceed to notify Forever, and Forever tells them what happened with Cellbit.

BadBoyHalo decides to help Forever find Richas, and they eventually DO find him.

Forever tells Richas to go back. He does agrees with Quackity's point- maybe Richas should stay away from Cellbit and himself while this goes on. But Quackity does not have the resources to keep Richas safe, nor does log in everyday, so he comes to the conclusion that it's better for him to stay over with Pactw and Mike.

Forever talks about this to Richas and and then brings the idea over to Mike. Forever tells Mike to hide Richas as best as he can, and tells him to not tell ANYONE (not even himself) of the location. Mike agrees.

Richas is a bit cautious about this, as it seems Quackity's words frightened him, so Forever brings Mike over to have a talk with him. Forever then decides to leave them to have a private talk. Mike wasn't streaming, so we don't know what happened yet, but I guess it's safe to assume Pactw and Mike will be the main caretakers of Richas from now on.

BUT AS IT TURNS OUT

Cellbit had already planned his betrayal from way back then. He just didn't know when to do it, as betraying the great polycule would be extremely weird, without any reason, lowering his chances of being accepted by the Federation.

You see, he's not really "betraying" he's playing the long game here. He's playing mole, trying to find secret info from the inside.

Of course, NOBODY knew this. Not the streamers, not the fed, not the viewers and not sofia. He even avoided showing his plans on stream.

Cellbit went as far as to hide all of the things he's done, his files and changed SOFIA's password so that Max couldn't access it (more on that later).

The only person who got know more was Richas. Cellbit himself admitted it was risky telling this stuff to Richas, but the thought of Richas being disappointed in him made him too sad.

...So yeah. For the moment Cellbit's plan is being undercover, only to reveal everything later. He says he hopes he won't regret any of this.

As for Max, on Cellbit's files, he says he really doesn't trust him. Like how after making an alliance with the Fed, a code attempted on his life. afterall, the codes are the enemies of the Fed. But that's what makes Max so suspicious, he was attacked by the codes before. Not only that, he made SOFIA. It all indicates Max is hiding something.

This all up until today, 26/05. There's a whole ass document Cellbit made but it's already been translated @mooniebunny, check it out!

If I got something wrong here please tell me.

[prttykittes]

I’ve been brain rotting about fluff kenji, baking w reader><!! like it reminds me of the song stir & mix 💗 if u could do that I’d be so thankful <33! It just seems so cute -mwa! Kisses and hugs by Miko!

Of course!! Yeah you go friend, I love Kenji he's so silly and I love him he's so sweet also I love stir and mix :33

ෆ Kenji X(&) GN!reader[you/your]

CW. Food, baking, romantic & platonic, bad baking

A/N :: So here, I written two versions of this, one with reader liking kenji(reader is kenjis age), there other one with reader liking an ada member while Kenji helps them bake :) — written by a minor

[MASTERLIST] — (⁠ノ⁠^⁠_⁠^⁠)⁠ノ works in link!

KENJI (Romantic, reader is kenjis age) —

You're next to him, giving stuff from the fridge, which was brought by the ada workers. You asked them to buy stuff for baked goods! You grab a mixing bowl, you wanted to make cupcakes with him. He grabbed a book and begins to read it or so you thought, he didn't read all of it just some. "I am excited!" He says, you both start to bake. He was next to you, your face was heating up. You were slightly nervous about confessing to him at the end, would he see this was a friendship thing?! I mean he probably would, he's so nice and why make him bake cupcakes for himself?! You felt like a dumby but he seemed to have fun and you had fun, you have the tin and he pours in the batter. He smiles and places it in the oven, you put on a timer as you both wait. You were waiting in the office, playing cards. He left for a bit and tried to bring in his cow, but kunikida came in the room at the wrong time... So he got mad and pushed the cow out of the room, Kenji left again to put away his cow until he was gone. "Kenji, I have—" you got cut off by a beeping sound, he got up fast. His eyes shining in glee, you smiled and went behind him, he opens the oven. He grabs it out, he places it on the table. You both begin to decorate it, yours was better and his was messier but yeah it's the thought that counts! You both made a mistake, the icing was melting...Finally after it was cool-down, you replace the icing. It was a bit better, you both sat down. You both made lots, probably could be fed to the whole office! "It tastes good!" Kenji says, his mouth stuffed with cupcakes, you giggled. Your heart was racing, you could hear it. This was your time to do so. "Kenji, I-I have a crush on you!"

KENJI (Platonic, reader is inlove with an ada member and Kenji helps them bake) —

"Kenji!" You cried, you stopped infront of him, he smiles and looks up at you. "What is it, {yourname}!" He says, you smile and let out a sigh, he was the perfect one to do this with! "Can you help me bake some cupcakes!" You asked, your heart was pumping. You were excited to bake cupcakes for your loved one! Oh how happy they were going to be!! And make extras for the rest, you guess. "Of course, I can!" Kenji gets up and you smiled, he follows you. You grab stuff, placing them on the table. You hoped that none will spoil your surprise or worse! Your loved one sees you baking for them, the surprise will be ruined! You were overthinking while Kenji figures out stuff, he cracks eggs. "Let's stir!" You yell out, pouring everything into the two bowels, you begin stirring and mixing. He tries to copy your movements but you were too fast, your hands stirring the mixer. "Don't go too fast! Your spilling the batter." He says with worry, you smile and continue but slower. Finally you two were done, pouring the batter into the tins. Putting them inside the oven which you did because you were worried that he was going to burn himself. You played cards, talked, played with cow to waste time. Finally the time was done, you got up but Kenji was faster. He didn't even grab oven mittens! "Kenji! Be careful!" You say, but he grabbed it. He hissed and places it on the table, whew atleast he didn't drop it! You opened a window so the cold air gets in. You got the icing, you and him begins to decorate the cupcakes. "Would my darling enjoy this!" You asked in worry, you were nervous now. Realizing what if they didn't enjoy it!! "Don't worry, I bet they will!" He said, you let out a shaky breath. You hope he is right!

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm still not feeling great, but I really needed groceries. So I forced myself to go last night, which was a really bad idea considering I hadn't recovered from post-exertional malaise as it was.

But I didn't have much food due to stalling for so long. I know I could do delivery or have someone pick stuff up, but I really need to walk around and pick things out. If I am not in the mood for something I won't eat it. I can be picky that way. And then it spoils and I have to throw it out. It's just better if I go to the store and find things that my brain has a craving for.

It just seems like whenever I have the least energy and I try to do a short, simple trip out of the house, I have all of these mini-adventures that make it not as short and simple.

In this case, I didn't even make it out of my driveway before the adventures began. I got in the car there was a warning my tire pressure was low. And usually it isn't that bad and I can just fill up the tires when I have more energy. But one tire was extremely low, so I didn't want to chance it.

I wish I knew why my tires lose air so fast. Seems like I fill them every week or two. I read it could be bad valve stems. But like, on all the tires? I'll save that mystery for another day.

Unfortunately putting air in my tires is just about the hardest task for me specifically. Even if I sit on a stool, I have to bend down in a way that pushes my belly against my lungs. I run out of breath very quickly and so I have to go up and down many times to finish filling the tire. By the end of filling all 4 tires, I was sweating, exhausted, out of breath, light headed, and nauseous.

I really need to find a better way to fill my tires. I could try sitting on the ground, but standing up from the ground is not always easy for me and I'd have to do it 4 times.

I wonder if there is a place I can tip someone to do it.

I digress.

I make it to Sam's and I am struggling before even walking in the store. And they have gigantic shopping carts that take much more energy to push around. Schnucks has these little baby carts that are great for when you need a few items. I guess Sam's assumes if you are going to a bulk store you are going to buy in bulk.

I get my sushi and my brownie bites and everything else and head towards checkout. I have a bit too much stuff for self checkout to make sense, so I get in line.

On one side of me was a guy who was impulse buying a 65" TV. Which is a really bad idea. You should never buy any electronics without researching it first. (Or ask me. Everyone should always ask me before buying technological items.) He was buying a TV that was made to be thin. And if he needed a super thin TV, and he couldn't afford an OLED, it was an okay choice. But for the same price he could get a thicker TV with much better image quality. There was a part of me that wanted to take him back over to the TV aisle and help him make a better decision. But my anxiety thought of about 30 ways that could have backfired and I was barely standing.

And then there was this cart in front of me...

Seriously?

Is there a midwestern hurricane headed this way or something?

I don't even understand how they did this.

This isn't Tetris. This is... overstuffing a turkey.

I'm a little worried about those eggs too.

Thankfully a new lane opened up and I didn't have to wait 30 minutes for them to figure out how to deal with that.

I did try to use my amazing Tetris skills to arrange my items so the bar code was visible for each one. (I probably could have done self checkout, I guess.) Last time the lady thanked me for making it so easy for her. So I was waiting for this lady to pull out her laser shootie price gun and start zapping my stuff.

But she unloaded everything in my cart onto the conveyor.

My shopping cart Tetris skills went unnoticed and she had to do 3 times the work.

Then I get out to the parking lot and a bunch of carts are all blocking the disabled parking space for people with rear-loading wheelchairs.

I tried to move some of them as I went by. I just didn't have the energy to put them all in the receptacle. But even if they are in the yellow zone, that is where they need to unload the wheelchair. I'm just so tired of people being inconsiderate like this.

And I also see a lot of disabled people without wheelchairs using this space. I suppose if it is the only one available, but this is such a great accommodation for wheelchair users. It is much safer to unload away from traffic. I would rather park in the back of the lot than take this option from someone.

Oh, and Schnucks has one of the disabled spots reserved for police and that makes me so mad too. They can double park if there is an emergency. I never see a cop car in that space and so many people could be using that.

Sorry, after pushing my dad around for a year I have become very sensitive to this.

I really wanted to drive straight home, but I still needed some soup and black cherry soda from Schnucks. I probably should have gone back a different day, but sometimes a different day isn't for weeks. So I just got it all done at once. Plus I really wanted to try that Vess black cherry.

Sorry, RefresCoVesScnhucks™ Black Cherry Soda.

I've been pretty sore all day. And I'm still not prepared for the second house auction. And people are coming to pick stuff up from the first auction on Friday. The house is a mess again. Half the groceries aren't put away.

I'm going to need to pull my lantern battery out of the pocket dimension to charge myself back up.