#in it the writer complained that all they did was sit around with their children

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Apparently it’s like a thing that sometimes people who have no idea how to swim try to partake in water-related activities that kind of sort of require swimming ability, like surfing or snorkelling. I mean yeah, I perfectly understand that swimming is an ability that’s just not very topical for some people and it’s literally fine if someone doesn’t know how to swim, but man, why would you then do such sports as “swimming with a little tube so you can keep your head slightly underwater but not much”, “diving with a breathing apparatus, although entry to and exit from the water require swimming ability, not to mention the swimming motions necessary to even move around”, and “riding waves on a board in the water where you can and do fall, after which you must stay above the waves and swim to and with your board”

[cranberryjuice-posts]

I would like to request a oneshot of clarisse x fem reader where they are rivals, but during one of Dionísio's children's parties, a small "slip" occurs (kissing and making out sessions fr) and reader ends up waking up in the morning in clarisse's bed and reader doesn't remember anything.

If you don't want to do this that's fine!

- mistakes were made -

Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x Fem! Reader

An - i do Write every request fun-fact except for a select few but yeah it’s normally in order unless I get Like such a good one I have to write it right then and there BUT! It’s almost always in order of request 😻😻‼️ anyways request more I’m loving them all

An Pt 2 - im having writers block ☹️

Did you think you were going to be here.. no. But we’re you complaining. Also no..

You were sitting off the edge of a cliff with clarisse while capture the flag happened behind you. Her hands on your hip while yours were pinned by her waist helping you both lean on one another.

Just exchanging soft slow kisses neither saying a word. You pulled away only slightly hiding your face in her neck embarrassed. Since you first arrived at camp you both had this un-natural rivalry, from athletics to academics and beyond.

However after a month ago you both haven’t been able to keep your hands off one another. Finding every excuse or situation to be alone, though nobody knew about your secret makeouts, and no one would.

Some ares kids in the distant started shouting for clarisse bringing you both back to earth. With a heavy sigh she pulled away from you. Standing up she started to grab her spear and helmet.

Following her lead and grabbing your weapons you had started to zone out once again thinking about what you were doing. Jumping some clarisses arms snakes around your waist. “Your gonna be at the party tonight right?” She asked kissing your cheek softly.

“Yeah, im showing up with silena” you closed your eyes and leaned back slightly into her. Clarisse Just hummed in Response. “Great… I’ll see you then” she let you go but not without slapping your ass one good time. Before you could yell at her she was already running off to catch up with her siblings.

••

Standing around near a tree the party quickly got more and more chaotic. Chiron was long gone not really caring as to how or why he left, Mr. D the man who the party was for also had left most likely due to not liking being around all the campers.

With the littles away and in bed the Hermes cabin quickly broke into the dispensary and spiked the punch. One thing you knew was demigods and alcohol don’t mix well.

Your friends all gone and left with some guy or girl into the woods to do what only the gods could judge them for. Finally having enough of being alone you walked past the bonfire, grazing against clarisses shoulder as you did before heading towards the table.

Taking a seat towards the end of the table you swung your legs back and forth just trying to find something to enjoy.

“It’s improper to sit on a table” clarisse spoke making you jump as you hadn’t seen her follow you. Sarcastically sighing you pushed her back by hitting her arm.

“Shut up I’m resting my legs” you chuckled, the effects of the alcohol causing you to be more favorable towards her. After a moment you brought your head up watching as clarisse just leaned on the table beside you watching the kids around. “What are You doing?”

“People watching” she nonchalantly shrugged. “Him, Chris how much you want to bet he has a crush on the new Athena kid” clarisse moved closer to you trying hard to be sly though you saw right through her act, but you played along and leaned into her as well.

“Maybe” You Hummed. “What about Luke who do you think he likes” looking up you admired her gentle eyes, even if clarisse wanted to deny it when her face was calm she looked ethereally beautiful.

“Nobody im telling you that man would rather die than let anyone hit” she rolled her eyes with a smile, turning her head to look down at you she didn’t bother hiding her sarcastic grin.

“Well I guess I’m glad your not like him” everything in the background went semi silent as the small gap between you both closed.

Your lips softly touched one another’s. The first kiss was slow and gentle, your lips barley grazing over one another. Though it only lasted a moment before clarisse placed her hand on the side of your face deepening the kiss. The faint taste of alcohol on her lips, contrasting her subtle cologne. Pulling apart from her you quickly noticed campers looking over whispering and running off most likely to tell their friends, clarisse noticed aswell.

“Fuck.. let’s just get out of here” she muttered helping you off the table and walking towards the cabin. Your hands laced together as she dragged you through the woods, the occasional her yelling at one of her siblings that seemed to be going in the same direction.

Once in the cabin everything happened in small blurs that you could only semi remember. You sitting onto Clarisses bed, her Kissing you, You on her lap, your shirt on the ground and lastly where you currently were heavily making out with the daughter of ares while she grabbed at every inch of skin that she could.

Tangling your fingers into her curls you tilted your head, pressing your body closer if you could. Her tongue finding its self into your mouth while she helped shift you on her lap by your thighs.

Breaking away for a breath of air you kept your face close to hers. “Wanna like, hangout or something” she breathlessly panted.

“Sure” You mumbled quickly kissing her again.

••

Sitting up you rubbed your forehead, the after affects from the alcohol last night hitting you like a hurricane. Running a hand through your hair it took only a moment for you to realize that you in-fact were not in your bed.

Actually you weren’t even in your cabin. Looking around frantically you soon realized you were in the ares cabin, bringing your eyes down you saw clarisse peacefully sleeping with an arm on your waist.

With a slight frown you laid back letting out a deep sigh. Turning your head to the side you just watched as the normally angry girl was calm for once.

Not remembering exactly what happened last night bothered you some. But cuddling with clarisse was a worth it bargain.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hiii. It's been while, but here I am to annoy you with the occasional prompt once more :P

How would the SDV + SVE spouses react to the farmer (who is their partner, spouses or just dating) introducing them to the racoon family? (Because I love torturing Magnus, maybe the parents end up trusting him with their children and make him their babysitter)

❗🦝Spoilers for SDV 1.6.🦝❗

_________________________________________

Heya, good to see you again! :3

When I wrote the headcanon about this, I'm surprised that no one in the game reacted to the new raccoon house. Like, nobody? Not even least Marnie or Leah? Oh, well... 😅Anyway, thanks for the ask and enjoy! 💕

SDV/SVE spouses react to the Farmer introducing them to the raccoon family:

_________________________________________

SDV bachelors/ettes:

The little gray lumps decided to playfully attack Sam right away, poking their wet noses at him and pawing through his bag looking for anything interesting. The young guitarist laughed resoundingly, and decided to use his hand as a "claw" to show the raccoons that he was accepting the game. The babies are having fun squeaking and jumping, Sam is outright glowing with happiness, the parent raccoons are taking a break from the noisy kids, and Farmer is taking pictures on their phone to capture this touching moment.

Sebastian was probably most at ease with the raccoons, sitting on the grass while the little cubs sniffed curiously at the stranger. Farmer crouched nearby, showing their forest friends that Sebby could be trusted. So in five minutes the little raccoons were already playing and jumping around the two of them without restraint. Funny little animals. He won't mind continuing to frolic with his friendly neighbors. Hm, maybe bring them a tasty treat?

Well... Those are definitely real raccoons. It's just that after Farmer's words "neighbors-raccoons", Elliott thought at first that his dear husband did not characterize people so kindly, and then the writer remembered that he had never heard of any new residents of the Valley. The raccoons were surprisingly calm, they seemed to know Farmer for a long time, and the cubs were not afraid of Elliott at all. "Meeting with the forest neighbors..." Hmm, not a bad title for his little novella...

When the Farmer told Harvey that they had purchased so many broccoli seeds from raccoons, the local doctor thought it was a bit of an odd joke that he had no way of understanding. But now he saw with his own eyes as the raccoon came out of their little house and gave Harvey's spouse a baggie of seeds, taking pine cones in exchange. A mixture of confusion and shock, and then complete acceptance of the fact, because, as far back as Harvey could remember, the Farmer had done stranger things.

Shane stood motionless, with a "I don't get paid enough for this shit" look on his face while little baby raccoons sat on his head, shoulders, and scratched his new shoes. He definitely thinks he looks silly. But they seem like cool animals, not aggressive, plus Farmer is smiling so wide and sincere at this picture. So Shane is willing to put up with the squeaky sounds of the fidgety cubs once a week. The only no is introducing his with Farmer children or Jas. Better save that sorry.

Raccoons? Not the same ones Alex's grandfather has been complaining about for the past week? The athlete is used to seeing them as pests, since Alex used to be the one who was always picking up trash from the overturned trash bin. So he shows a bit of distrust when he finds out that their "new cool neighbors" are raccoons. Although Alex has no beef with these raccoons specifically, they seem to be peaceful, plus their cubs are super adorable.

Oh, Leah had known for a long time for that tree stump mini-cabin near the farm. Excellent carpentry, by the way. It was very skillful. And the raccoons who had settled there were apparently enjoying their cozy new place of residence, which would shelter them from any weather. Nevertheless, Leah does not dare to disturb the local fauna and advises Farmer not to get close to the raccoons, believing that animals should be respected.

When Penny saw Farmer with raccoons in their arms, the girl wanted to scream in horror, but ended up just squeaking. These are certainly not dangerous animals like a bear or wolves, but even just a couple of aggressive raccoons can pose a serious threat to humans. And the fact that the Farmer was near their cubes... But these raccoons don't seem to mind human company... probably domesticated. Penny is certainly glad that everything went well, but maybe they both shouldn't bother the wild fauna any further?

So the Farmer has been buying carrot seeds from real raccoons all this time? That's awesome! Abigail isn't exactly thrilled about the carrots, though. She didn't seem too surprised by the situation itself. Even wanted to see what else the forest fauna were selling. Seeds, seeds, more seeds... Oh, magic rock candy? Now that's interesting! Especially while she's looking at all the possible items, the baby raccoons are playing with her. So Abby is very happy to have such neighbors.

Haley squeaked twice, the first out of delight at the raccoon family in their cute little house, and the second out of surprise and fear because the raccoons had come too close to her. They don't carry rabies, do they? She looks at her spouse, waiting for their answer. At Farmer's approval, she decided to gently pet the raccoon, who seems didn't mind at all. It was fun, but Haley had had enough contact with nature for the day. Btw, where is her camera? Because she'll definitely take a dozen cute photos before leaving.

On the one hand, Maru's inner voice urges her to counsel herself and her dear spouse against contact with wild animals. On the other hand, Farmer playing with baby raccoons is probably the cutest thing Maru has ever seen, and her heart instantly melts with an overabundance of cuteness. The young inventor would spend days asking the Farmer about the raccoons themselves and how come they made a house for them.

Forest friends! Emily is unbridled delighted that her spouse has introduced her to a family of raccoons. Small and bright animals that playfully run around the blue-haired girl while she herself smiles at the most adorable picture. The interaction alone filled Emily with a huge amount of positive emotions. Oh, and the raccoons look happy in their cozy little house! She should definitely sew a couple of warm plaids for them, so that the baby raccoons will definitely not freeze in winter.

SVE bachelors/ettes:

Considering that Magnus's partner had previously shown him their ability to talk to the forest fauna ("Deal with bear and maple syrup???"), the introduction to raccoons didn't surprise him too much. What did surprise him, however, was that the parents wanted to give him, a wizard they didn't know well, their raccoon children to look after. With all due respect, he was not a babysitter for forest animals! Magnus already had his own children and a pupil to look after.

*Chuckle* What a adorable forest family. Lance is rather pleased to hear that the Farmer and he have good neighbours. Although the gallant adventurer himself doesn't have a chance to talk to the raccoon parents (and to any wild animals), their behaviour towards Lance says that they are not aggressive and don't consider him a threat. He is more interested in the fact that Farmer is actively trading with the raccoons, exchanging coal for mahogany seeds...

Farmer, wait! Stay away from the raccoons, they can be dangerous! Why don't they listen to Victor? He knows what he's talking about. Moreover, the spaghetti lover has told them many times how he was attacked by a vicious raccoon in town a long time ago. He was terrified. So don't- Farmer? Where are you going? Please don't go near- Oh... Are these raccoons tame? Did they make them a house? To keep them warm in the winter? Oh, how nice of them- ???? Did- did they just buy carrot seeds from raccoons?...

Oh, a raccoon family? This is unusual. Well, Claire kind of realises that the forest is very close by, so it's no wonder there are wildlife running around. but she never noticed this little house with cute raccoon faces sticking out of it. The red-haired girl worries when Farmer gets too close to the animals, what if her parents think they're a threat to the little ones? But they seem to regard them as their own and allow them to be petted. Claire would rather watch from the sidelines if her spouse doesn't mind.

...Olivia was beginning to worry that these raccoons wouldn't hesitate to come to their farm and make a mess in the beds. Living in the city, she knew these animals as pests and disease-carriers that crawl through bins. So she honestly said she wasn't too comfortable around raccoons. Although these ones seem to behave differently, without aggression. And the house is pretty nice. But she will need time to get used to such "neighbours".

Oh, Yoba, the Farmer made this little house themselves?! And the raccoons have babies! Five, or even six! That's so cute! Sophia is even willing to forgive the raccoons for knocking over her trash can last week, because it's the cutest thing she's ever seen in her life. The pink-haired girl is still afraid to touch them since they are wild animals after all. But she'll definitely take 100+ photos of the forest family and be sure to show Scarlett, because it's super adorable!

[cassandraevans]

Some other grievances I've had with the 911 show. I just wanna get these out and be done with it. I wanna just sit back and love the characters without caring about the writer's choices but alas. Hopefully this will be all of my rants about this show and I'll be able to post only what I love about it from here on.

I know I've been very critical of Eddie so far and angrily so. But as much as I'm criticising him for being a very bad and careless romantic partner, i really really hope that when it comes time for him to get together with Buck, he will have learned from all his mistakes and matured and learned about his shortcomings and where they stem from and I hope he'd have worked on himself enough to not put Buck through any of the bullshit he put every one of his romantic partners through. Buck doesn't deserve that.

While I absolutely love Buck, I also have a problem with how he just kissed Lucy while being in a relationship with Taylor where everything was finally looking good, I knew from the moment Lucy was introduced and the way Buck looked at her, and the writers make him cheat on Taylor and ask her to move in as a way to deflect from that. Yes he tells her later, yes she forgives him and I was hoping they would last a little longer but no, the writers just kept her around long enough to make her do something bad to break them up, so then it wouldn't be his fault.

It's like the writers don't think cheating is that bad at all, you cheat? No worries, all forgiven, your partners love you too much to leave you over that. The question is, do the ones that cheat love their partners the same? Because when Hen cheated on Karen I was so pissed, like the lady did not deserve that, I'm glad they didn't break apart over it but still it was not a simple mistake. And then Buck cheated on Taylor and then the writers made her use a private conversation for a news story and stab Buck in the back. Like if they were going to break them up they should've done so when he cheated or let them remain together, I hate it that the writers made Taylor forgive Buck for CHEATING but Buck breaks with her over the first mistake she made in the relationship, I'm not defending Taylor's choices and I was angry at her for it, she could've gotten Buck in so much trouble which he didn't deserve but I hate it that she made one wrong choice and the relationship is over while Buck cheated and he was fine. I hate the writers for trying to dismiss cheating as no big deal.

I was also mad at Hen being all pissy when Karen was grieving the loss of her embryos and Hen had to feed Denny, and do some other things around the house that Karen usually does, I get it, Hen comes home late from her draining shift and it hurts to see that nothing's done but the that's the least you can do for your wife, not to mention one who left her opportunity to become an astronaut to raise a child with you as a family, when she's grieving the loss of your potential children, but Hen keeps complaining and gets mad at Karen for grieving instead of performing her motherly duties, like I feel like the writers of this show have a problem with women taking some time to themselves, whether it be to grieve, or go take care of your dying mother and then grieve, or having postpartum depression, the women are the villain for wanting, no, needing a break, mostly because of things they had no control over, if they deviate from their motherly/spousal duties because of any tragedy, they're not the victim but their partners are, [(I know chim tried his best and didn't deserve to suffer, but neither did Maddie. Chim's storyline after Maddie left literally made me bawl and I'm so glad they're back together, they need each other, I wish they never broke up) so I'm mostly talking about Eddie and Hen here.]

The writers just had to make it all about Hen, when Karen was grieving and staying in bed, all Hen did was complain about HAVING to do the things Karen usually does, Hen looked at it all like an inconvenience. The writers then made Hen accidentally kill that cello girl and justifiably Hen was wrecked with guilt and fear and didn't know how to handle it, can't blame Hen at all for the way she took it but I can blame the writers. Karen put aside all her heartbreak abd grief from her lost embryos and stood by Hen throughout, and I love her for it, Hen deserved Karen to be by her side at such a time, but just before that incident when Karen needed Hen to stand by her and support her emotionally, all Hen did was be impatient and basically tell Karen to wrap it up. The writers made a new emergency tragedy to make it about Hen and tossed aside Karen's grief and made her never talk about it again like it never happened. I hate the writers for that.

Again as a note, these are my opinions about the show, you're free to have your own opinions. I'm just trying to vent out my frustrations with the show on my blog. Don't come at me with your angry anonymous asks and justifications because at the end of the day it's a fictional show. I haven't spoken about what I love on this show yet that doesn't mean i hate it, I'm frustrated by some of the characters' choices because I love them. Viewers will have vastly different opinions about it, to each their own.

Do recommend similar shows to watch while we all wait for new episodes. Lone star is on my watchlist next.

[look-at-the-soul]

The Photoshoot - Part 47

Cillian Murphy x OC

Series Master list: Part 1 (2014), Part 2 (2015)

I’ve to start this part by saying I’m surprised how this chapter got written by itself-and no, I’m not talking about AI-, what I mean is I had the idea súper clear from the beginning, the dialogue flew or slipped out of my fingers as I typed like a maniac 🤭 and I know it’s because of how much I love this story and all the journey I as a writer have been with them, the ups and downs, the turns… I cried and laughed so much and it fills my heart in a way that anything else can’t.

To the families/people going through adoption, I hope you get those papers, from the bottom of my heart. Last but not least, @forbidden-forest-witch thank YOU for the niece inspiration 🥰💕

Word count: 3,368

⚠️ Extra fluff

Cillian flopped on the couch with a groan, after loading the car to its maximum capacity with all the things Yael bought for their visit to the orphanage. Scout jumped next to him exhausted from following them inside and outside.

“What are you doing?” His wife called from the kitchen, getting closer she decided to join them on the couch, by sitting on Cillian’s lap.

“Taking a break.” He chuckled and her whole world lit.

“Lee-Anne sent me money to buy a few snacks for the children and Jenna bought them boxes of orange and apple juice.” Yael explained running her fingers through his locks. “God, I’m going to miss these.”

Cillian closed his eyes, giving into the relaxing feeling her fingers were providing him.

“They did? That’s very, very thoughtful.” He opened one of his eyes a little, if she continued doing that he’d be sleeping in less than five minutes.

“Yes, and your sisters donated loads of new toys, can you believe they still have the tags attached?” Her eyes sparkled in excitement.

“Mhmm.”

“You’re not even listening to me.” Yael half complained attempting to get up, but Cillian’s arms wrapped around her waist firmly to stop her.

“‘Course I’m.” He rubbed his nose against the crook of her neck, taking in her fragrance.

“Oh there it is… the Tommy Shelby voice.” Yael leaned back to look at her husband, he had a gushing expression as he cupped her face.

“No it’s not.” Cillian debated.

“ I can totally see it, don’t try to hide it.”

She saw him tilting his head and doing his signature pout.

“Staaaawp.” She giggled, the more she looked at him, the more evident it was.

In a fluent motion, Cillian pinned her beneath his body.

“And now you’re going to tell me you don’t like it?” Cillian raised his eyebrow.

Yael bit her lower lip, her eyes sparkling. “Actually… I love it.”

“I’m sure those kids will be so happy with all the things you bought for them.” Cillian admitted leaning down and kissing all over her jaw.

“Don’t you think it’s too much?” Yael asked tentatively, doubting for an instance.

Cillian’s hands cupped her face gently. “Not at all,” he held his weight above her and went back for another kiss, “why do I have a feeling that this isn’t the first time you’re getting involved in a project like this?” A soft smile spread on his lips and his blue orbs were shining just like hers.

“I feel like this is my call, you know? Just like when I chose to study photography…”

A tender smile grew on his lips while he ran his hand up and down her thigh.

“You know I support you fully on this, right?”

Instead of answering her husband with words, Yael choose to give him kiss after kiss, a small peck on the corner of his lips, smooches sounds filled the living room, Cillian felt Yael smiling and his hand cupped her cheek as she moved back. She’d be forever grateful for having him by her side not only during the difficult times, but also to see the growing in different aspects of their lives.

She ran her hands over his shoulders, feeling his biceps. A content sigh slipped from her lips.

“I’m really excited about this.”

Cillian smiled widely at her happiness, it was literally oozing from every pore reflecting beautifully in her eyes and features.

“There’s so much to do, these kids they don’t have someone who looks out for them, wh-what if they need shoes? Or glasses to see? A doctor if they get sick?”

Cillian was mesmerized by the passion in her voice, she was so humble and genuine, so it wasn’t really a surprise to see how her engagement was enveloping him as well.

“We’ve plenty of time to see what else they might need at the orphanage, we should get going though.” He gave her then a playful slap on her bum. “So you’re not going to spend our budget on spa days and shopping huh?”

“Nope, I’m going to buy loads of things for the orphanages.” Yael accepted the coat Cillian was holding for her and after letting Scout know they’d be later, she linked her arm with his.

“More than one?” Cillian added a dramatic look but didn’t hide the grin that turned the corner of his lips upwards. “Are you sure you don’t want a spa day? I’m sure it’s cheaper.”

Yael laughed feeling her cheeks burning. “Don’t worry I’m planning on doing a professional photo shoot in a few weeks to raise funds.”

As Cillian drove, he placed his hand on her thigh. “How so?”

“People like accountants, nurses, anyone basically will have the chance to get their picture taken professionally to use it for their resume it’s a quick session I’m thinking twenty-thirty minutes, one after another and then sending the digital images so they can upload their resume or web page. So from the price I’ll only take the money to rent the office and the rest I’ll donate it equally to two or three orphanages.”

“I love this and I love you. This speaks volumes about you and your heart.” He felt more than proud of the way Yael decided to turn things around. Instead of becoming anger and resentful for not being able to have children biologically or the slow process she was looking for a way to help.

*

“We’re touched by your generosity Mr. and Mrs. Murphy.” The responsible of the orphanage thanked them as they finished unloading the truck of their vehicle.

“We’ve family and friends involved in this, although they couldn’t join us unfortunately.” Yael explained.

“That’s lovely, having the community support and share a little bit of what they have with the children has a huge impact.” She motioned them to join the children in the patio of the house, volunteers helped them organize the children in a line. “Kids, we’ve visitors today, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy and I heard they brought snacks over!”

A loud round of cheering took them by surprise, bringing Yael to the edge of tearing at the happy smiles they got in response after a loud thank you the kids shouted in chorus.

“Do you like it Shioban?” Yael crouched down at the little girl’s height as she handed her a stuffed animal.

“I love it! Thanks!”

Ages varied just as personalities, it was a shock at first to be surrounded by so many kids, but they all were so well behaved, listened carefully to the instructions and remained in silence when an adult was talking, sharing excited glances at the boy or girl standing next to them.

Yael and Cillian explained they brought over books to read, a few chairs, toys and game boards they would be giving the responsible of the place to take to the reading room they had, they also brought a few first aid kit, plastic glasses and some clothes. The happiness in the children’s faces hit them deep, touching every fiber of their bodies.

“That was the last one,” Cillian sighed surprised by all the energy he felt the kids had been taking from him, they were so demanding, asking loads of questions, shouting over to get whatever they had in their hands.

“Shall we give them their snacks? That should keep them busy for a while.” Suggested the orphanage’s director.

Cillian nodded touching the head of a girl who was already in line. “How about you go and take your place at the table sweetie? I’ll bring your lunch in a minute.”

The girl nodded and stormed to take her place.

Later on when they left the orphanage, Yael felt something else, it was a bittersweet feeling. For leaving so soon and for thinking that she wasn’t doing enough.

Before they left, Cillian was gifted with a couple of drawings and Yael had a few colorful bracelets made by the girls. They both promised they’d go back soon and invite their family and friends.

“Did you see that little boy, Jax playing with the ball we gave him?” Yael beamed once in the car, touched by the memory of the kid running to give her a hug and then storm to play.

Cillian kissed her temple, still fighting the lump in his throat after such emotional moment at the orphanage they visited.

Learning the background stories of some of the children left them heartbroken as it was very mixed, some had been taken away due to violence or their parents passing away, others were left because they couldn’t cover the kid’s expenses. But either way it was hard to digest.

“If I could, I’d adopt them all.” Yael admitted, her voice sounded shaky.

“I know you would, love.” Cillian gave her hand a firm squeeze. “Now how about we grab a coffee before your photoshoot?”

Adjusting on her seat, Yael nodded and leant onto his shoulder as her husband drove. His comfort and support meant to her a lot more than words could express.

****

Sometimes her photo sessions got longer than expected, so Yael arrived home past seven o’clock. Tired but pleased by the way the photos turned out.

Noticing a vehicle in her driveway, she stepped inside greeted by Scout and the loud tap of his tail, wiggling from side to side. Kissing the top of his head, she caressed the muzzle gently noticing the voices coming from the kitchen.

“Hey Orla, hello Sienna!” Yael greeted them going for a quick peck on the lips from her husband. “What’s the matter?”

She focused on her niece’s puffy eyes.

“Someone thought it was a funny idea to stick gum on Sienna’s hair, we had to cut it to get rid of it… I tried ice, well everything.” Orla shared with a sad expression.

“What’s the problem with these children?! Are you alright baby girl?” She went to give the girl a hug.

“She wanted to see you.” Orla smiled.

“Oh! Yes of course do you wanna have dinner?” Yael looked at her husband they didn’t know yet what they’d do but she was sure they’d figure something out.

“I wish, but I can’t… there’s a phone call I need to take with other parents.”

“Mama can I stay here?” Sienna asked.

“No darling, they’re probably busy-”

Yael looked at Cillian and he knew immediately what she was about to suggest.

“She can stay tonight, if you want of course.”

Orla had been on the edge all day, emotions right at the surface so having someone taking over mommy duty for one night sounded wonderful.

“Pleaseeeee.” Sienna asked with big puppy eyes.

“Are you sure this is alright?” She looked at her brother, finding a nod as answer. “Fine, but be a good girl, okay?”

“Okay!” Sienna clapped excitedly and jumped from the kitchen island to tackle Scout.

“We can drive her tomorrow morning.” Yael offered with a genuine smile.

Orla was still torn, but relieved at the same time. “Do you need anything?”

“Please just go, don’t be noisy.” Cillian waved at her, making Yael giggle.

“Grand, I’ll see you tomorrow kiddo.” Orla kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Enjoy the sleepover.”

“We can watch a movie, would you like that?” Yael felt a rush of love spread through her body as her niece gave a little jump. “Help me find the popcorn first.”

“Tell me what’s going on… Orla? What’s the problem?”

His sister looked down, he knew her so damn well.

“I’m pregnant and we didn’t even planned for it.” She confessed worriedly.

Cillian’s features softened and hugged his sister. “Congratulations! But why are you acting like this?”

Orla let out a low sob, she was so emotional. “Because you guys have trouble starting a family and it kind of feels wrong.”

“Hey non of that, I’m so happy for you and you should enjoy it as well, it’s a wonderful news!”

“But I’m worried about Yael I don’t want to make her feel bad like I’m rubbing it in her face.”

“Stop worrying about that, yes we wish it was us every time we hear about a baby, but it doesn’t mean she won’t be happy for you.” He kissed his sister on the cheek. “Now take a deep breath and text me when you get home, love you.”

“Thank you, for everything.” She wiped her eyes and shouted goodbye to her daughter and sister in law.

Of course it was a bittersweet sweet feeling for both of them, but they were stronger than this and there was no chance to take it personally.

“Did you pick a movie yet?” Yael asked as she joined her niece in the TV room upstairs, already changed into a decent pajama top and bottom because she regularly wore Cillian’s clothes to sleep.

Placing the tray of snacks in the middle, Sienna had a look of surprise.

“I love your braid!” Sienna beamed pointing at her aunt’s hairstyle.

“Thanks, if I don’t braid it the following morning it will be a mess.” She chuckled. “Do you want me to braid yours?”

“Yes! Please.”

After a few minutes she came back from the master bedroom with a box full of hair ties, a comb and a brush, finding Cillian eating the popcorn.

“I hope you’re leaving some for us, mister.” Scout gave her a guilty look.

Cillian extended his hand to offer her a popcorn. One.

“Really?”

“I was showing you the one I’m eating.” He shoved it into his mouth and handed his wife the bowl with the rest with a smirk.

Internally melting at the sight of Yael brushing his niece’s hair. He simply knew she’d be the greatest mother one day.

Cillian was in awe at her abilities to move her hands as she braided Sienna’s hair, but at the same time he could see how careful she was.

“Okay drums roll please…” Yael handed Sienna a mirror so she could check herself and how the braids turned out. “It’s harder to make it to someone else ‘cause I need to think how to do in the opposite direction.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” He got comfortable at his wife’s lap now that she was free, resting his head on her thighs.

“I love it auntie!” Sienna expressed and Yael felt like her heart could explode.

So the three of them plus Scout snuggled closer to enjoy the rest of the film.

By the time the film was done, Sienna was sound asleep so quietly they got the remaining of their food downstairs. Cillian gave his wife a long look.

“Did she talk to you about the gum?”

“Yeah… guess it was harder than she showed, but luckily the piece of hair Orla cut can hide, she’s a fantastic kid I don’t understand why that girl is determined to bother Sienna.” She added while cleaning the top of the kitchen island. “I feel so bad for her, this human stupidity is getting out of hand.”

Cillian sighed, hands on his hips. “Hopefully the principal will take actions against that bully.”

“I know violence is not the way, but I swear some people need to see red from time to time.”

He couldn’t have said that better. “Let’s go upstairs now, we’ll clean that tomorrow.” He added grabbing his wife by the hips to guide her out of the kitchen.

Minutes later they went back into their TV room, and turning off the lights, Cillian and Yael went to lay down next to their niece and Scout. Whispering goodnight to each other, Yael snuggled into the crook of his neck, feeling his hands running up and down her back.

They both loved to feel that they were a safe place to Sienna, looking forward to be there for her as much as they could so in a near future when the teen age started their bond would be closer and stronger.

The following morning after having breakfast, Orla picked up Sienna from her brother’s house and Yael went to the suburbs for a photoshoot, her heart had been pounding from the first minute she let the couple who requested her photography services for their special occasion.

They had a gorgeous scenery, they oozed happiness and love for each other, but the reason behind their photoshoot it’s what touched Yael’s heart.

It was hard but not impossible to think this was a huge coincidence and she spent most of the session wiping her eyes. They were a lovely couple and the photos flew so easily. She was planning on edit those first thing once she got home to print and send the digital copies as soon as possible.

That’s why when Cillian offered to pick her up when the photoshoot was over, she agreed immediately, excited to see him.

“Wow, it’s safe to assume they didn’t give you loads of trouble with the poses?” He leaned in for a quick peck after seeing her big smile.

“You’re not going to believe this, but you can have a sneak peek.” Yael clicked a few times on her camera, scrolling through the images, stopping in one of her favorites.

“Can’t believe this.” His hand flew to his forehead in surprise and looked at his wife.

“I know! Thought the same, they’ve been in the process for a while, and the first time they picked a family at the last minute the biological parents called of the adoption papers and they were left with a broken heart. However… they tried again and this time they chose a little boy he’s seven-years old and they fell in love with him, like love at first sight.”

Without realizing Cillian’s hand was caressing Yael’s shoulders, touched by the story behind the photographs.

“They finally got green light from the judge to finalize the adoption and they’re heading to court next week to sign the papers. But they kept it very low key, she told me a lot of people tried to convince her this was a wrong idea.”

Sighing, Cillian thought about it for a second. “It’s always for the best to keep important things to yourself. Sadly people ruin plans if you share them beforehand.”

Yael wrapped her arms around his torso as they walked towards his car parked at the other side of the park.

“There are so many kids looking for a family… and parent looking for a kid.” Emotions taking over her. “But I also think…”

“Whot?”

The look she gave him sent chills all over his body. But in a good way.

“These kind of matches is just like love you know? There’s an instant connection.”

Brushing away a loose lock, he kissed the top of her head.

“Amen.”

Yael giggled, little by little she was getting more comfortable with the process, knowing that it was meant to be.

As they reached the car, his phone started ringing. When Cillian took a look at the screen his heart rate went up rapidly.

“It’s the social worker.”

Yael had an adrenaline rush. “Go! Answer it.”

As she helped him put it in speaker, her hands started shaking.

“Hello? Mr. Murphy?”

“Ya.”

“Just calling to let you know the home study has been approved,” the woman stated and they could t believe what they just heard, …”you can continue now with the interview process and-”

“Goodness! Is this real?”

“Yes Mrs. Murphy, my secretary will give you a call to tell you the date for the individual and joint interview.”

Their minds couldn’t process the rest of the phone call, everything was blurry.

Was that really happening?

“I’m sorry can you make sure it’s-” Yael’s hand flew to her mouth, her hands were shaking!

“The home study has been approved for Mr. and Mrs. Murphy…” she read part of the letter. “I’ll make sure to send the official papers to your house tomorrow morning.”

Thanking her and hanging up the phone, Cillian pulled Yael for a tight hug, not finding the right words to say, but feeling extremely blessed and relieved. This was a huge step in the process, so now they could focus on keeping their hopes high.

**

Next part

Tag list @lyarr24 @gypsy-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @winchestergirl22 @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @strayrockette @forbidden-forest-witch @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @heidimoreton @thenattitude @moral-terpitude @babaohhhriley @queenshelby @ange-thoughts @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @cilliansangel @rangerelik @already-broken144 @alessioayla @paprikabadger @dolllol2405 @conversationpits @itsilvermorny @lafell @imichelle-l-rigby @yrli8 @cutecurly-hair @mrkdvidal1989 @cillspropertea @hyperfixationsonshuffle @sydneyyyya can’t tag @abbymcguire @shelundeadxxxx @elk96 @pono-pura-vida @lovemissyhoneybee @slimeantha (can’t tag) @kmc1989

[heygerald]

I've never had a submission before this, and you guys... it's the best thing I've ever gotten. S/o to @white-wolf-buckaroo for both her skills and her characterization of future Tom/Parker as parents. I had another ask recently that wanted me to talk about this exact topic (I'll get to it, I swear!) and Wolfie has come through for me.

---

You’re the author and this is your story, and I absolutely respect that obviously, but I couldn’t get this scene out of my head so I had to write a short thingy about it (at least my writer’s block doesn’t affect all of my creativity lol); hope I don’t overstep here or anything 👉🏻👈🏻 I honestly don’t know where this came from (I suspect the chapter with Colt’s birthday party had something to do, and also my pinterest board, and I guess my hormones). Anyways, English isn’t my first language but I did my best lol 🙃 It for sure can be better, but I’ll send it to you just like how it first came out. I wrote it listening to ‘Birds of a Feather’ the whole bit, so that’s my vibe here lol.

Hope you like it G <3

The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore at night echoed in the distance as the bonfire was lit. Marshmallows were help up high above the flames, just the right amount of time for them to turn golden on the outside before they took them back to eat them with the chocolate and the biscuits already prepared on a little table next to them. The golden glow of the fire before them kind of made their smiles even brighter as they shared a laugh when Tom burnt himself with one of the smores, but instead of complaining about them laughing at him, he just rolled his eyes, and he ended up smiling as well.

Summer nights were his favourites. Sure, he enjoyed building Legos inside when it was raining in Autumn, sitting by the fireplace cuddling Parker in the living room in Winter was something he loved, and enjoying the soft golden hue of the sun during the first days of Spring while laying on their massive couch was incredibly relaxing, but Summer nights were something else. Living in California, he had insisted pretty early on having a house by the beach, even if it was only for vacationing during the hotter months; he liked having a private place just for them to enjoy, to invite family over for a few days (Colt and Jody had been there more than once since they bought it) and for him and Parker to relax together all alone. The days they spent there always seemed slower, more relaxed and brighter; he felt at peace there, a place to be completely himself with the person he loved the most.

Only now, after a few years, it wasn’t just the two of them anymore.

The little girl in his lap giggled as he finished eating his smore, still pretending to burn himself a bit while doing so; she had her own sweet treat in her hands, forgotten while she laughed at his antics, getting her fingers all sticky. Parker reached out then with a tissue, sitting by their side; she had already finished her smore, and while she wiped their little girl’s hands clean, she cradled their sleeping baby boy in her lap with her other arm completely wrapped around him. His little face was squished against her chest, covered almost entirely by his golden locks that looked just as Tom’s, snoring softly while his older sister still giggled in Tom’s lap.

Parker watched them as Tom finished their daughter’s smore in one bite while she telling Parker something about a seashell she had found, and he looked innocently away when she protested at it being gone. They laughed again, and Tom tickled her, making her erupt into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Although most parents wouldn’t let their children have that much sugar that late at night, when their daughter asked for more marshmallows, they gave in almost instantly; they were having too much fun to say no anyways. They had had a wonderful day building sand castles, swimming in the ocean and eating ice lollies, and now with the bonfire, Tom silently wished that his summers would always be like this for the rest of his life; sure, his job gratified him, he enjoyed himself when he went out with friends from time to time, but ever since Parker entered his life, and even more since they started a family together, he realized more and more every passing day that he didn’t need anything else to be happy.

Years ago a sappy thought like that would have made him gag, most probably, because the only thing he could think about was to become a famous and successful actor. That was his goal, and that was completely fine back then, because he was young, and he wanted to become something for himself, by himself. And he actually did; he would have been happy to go on like that with the rest of his life for… well, forever. He wasn’t interested in having a ‘permanent’ partner (why limit the fun?) or even get married or have children; those things seemed unimportant, until he found the woman he now calls his soulmate.

Parker cradled their son in her lap, with her hand absentmindedly stroking his hair, and he wished to never forget that moment: her soft smile, how her eyes shone with the small bonfire they had improvised in their backyard in the sand, and how she kissed their daughters cheek sweetly to thank her when she shifted over to her to hand her half of her new marshmallow. The heat from the flames in front of him was nothing compared to the warmth he felt in his chest while looking at those three people: his partner, love of his life, his woman, his forever, and their babies, who had become his entire world. He took pride in the awards he had won, the roles he had played over the years, and everything he had achieved on his own since he first stepped a foot in California, but the family he and Parker had created together? That was by far the greatest achievement.

When it was starting to get late, and their daughter began to rub her eyes tiredly even though she insisted on playing with them a bit more, they packed everything up to go back inside the house, promising her that they could play more in the morning. She accepted reluctantly, making a face she had one hundred percent gotten from Parker (she also shared that expression with Colt; she was a Seavers through and through), but she insisted on walking to the house herself; Tom missed the times she insisted on being carried all the time, always snuggling in his arms looking ridiculously small and sweet (which she still did, to be honest), back when she wasn’t telling everyone that she was ‘a big girl’ ever since her fourth birthday.

Parker noticed this, just like everything about him because she always got him like anyone ever did, and so she handed him their son, still sleeping; he accepted him in his arms, cradling him to his slightly exposed chest. His baby stirred a bit, complaining about the sudden movement, but Tom shushed him softly holding him lovingly, and the boy went back to sleep the moment his chubby cheek laid against Tom’s warm skin. Parker kissed their baby’s forehead, and then Tom’s cheek, before going after their daughter, who was walking (more like stumbling) through the sand, scooping her up when she reached her. Parker turned around back to him then, both her and their daughter looking over at him still standing by the now small flames of the bonfire; they called for him to join them, and he didn’t need to be told twice.

Oh these Summer nights. They were just perfect.

---

OKAY. Screaming. Crying. Throwing up because???? This is BEAUTIFUL! I've never had someone submit something to me before, and I am literally going crazy over this.

Wolfie, it is amazing. It's so heartfelt. So Parker coded. Everything I want for them in the future. I love it. I love it. I love it. Thank you eternally for your bravory and skills, as well as your constant interactions and love. I hope this cures your writing block, and am so flattered you chose to use my oc to work on it.

ETERNAL HUGS AND KISSES.

[livia-dovehallow]

gabrily fluff - takes place during chain of iron events

months of silence only for me to break writers block with pages worth of gabrily fluff snippets that have zero relation to one another

“Gabriel, bach, come to bed,” Cecily sighed. She stood in the entryway of Will’s office, where Gabriel had been firmly planted for hours since they took over running the Institute in his absence. Cecily knew Gabriel took this responsibility very seriously at the risk of his own health. “Will only left this morning. I’m sure whatever work needs to be done can wait until morning.”

“I’ll be up in a moment,” Gabriel answered, looking through a pile of correspondence. His head rested on his forehead, intensely focused. “You go on up and sleep, Cecy.”

Cecily frowned, her arms crossed in front of her. She knew well that if she did not bring him upstairs with her, he would fall asleep right on the desk. “Come with me,” she said again. This time, Gabriel looked up at her. “I do not want to sleep alone.”

His face softened. In the light, he looked just like he did when she met him; sharp features softened by the smile that grew across his face. “All right,” he relented. He stashed the letters he had been reading into a drawer and rose from his seat. “I can’t deny that request when you look at me like that.”

Cecily smiled. “You are not tired of waking up to this face in the morning, yet? Every day for twenty years?”

“Never,” he answered, looping his arms around her waist. She craned her neck back to look at him, the point of his jaw reaching right on the top of her head. “But you knew that.”

“I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Gabriel chuckled and kissed her head. “All right. Let’s go to bed then.”

.

Just as Gabriel would never tired of waking next to her every morning, Cecily would never tire of preparing for bed with him.

For twenty years they had their routine—a quiet and peaceful pattern where Gabriel would untie her corset and dress before moving to dress himself for bed. Then, after slipping into a nightgown, Cecily would sit at her vanity and brush out her hair as Gabriel undid his shirt buttons. He’d often catch her gaze in the mirror and shake his head affectionately, but Cecily would only wink at him. Could a wife not admire her husband?

There had been a time when Cecily dreaded the idea of married monotony—but with Gabriel, it was anything but that. He did not expect her to be docile or obedient like other women were expected to be. He knew exactly who she was and what she wanted to be when he proposed to her and had never complained, never asked for anything else from her. And, of course, their children were anything but ordinary.

“What are you thinking about?” Gabriel asked, interrupting her thoughts. Cecily smiled and placed her brush down.

“That after everything we did to move out of this place, here we are again.”

Gabriel laughed, pulling the sheets back from their bed. “At least this time your brother is not here,” he offered, climbing into bed. Cecily crawled in after him. “I do believe he chose not to acknowledge that we were married when he tried to give us separate bedrooms.”

Cecily pulled the covers over herself and turned to him with a suggestive smile. “Well, seeing as he is not here,” she sang, dragging a finger along his jaw. “And we do share a bedroom and Alex is sound asleep in the nursery...”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Our first night charged as heads of the Institute and you suggest we treat this bed as a marital bed?”

Cecily shrugged. “It’s certainly been a bit,” she said. “At our home, there is always some sort of trouble running about too close by. Here—Here, well, the boys’ bedrooms are in the other wing, as is Lucie’s.”

Gabriel’s questionable expression morphed into a ghost of a smile. “You, Cecy, are quite fearless.”

“I have been told.”

Gabriel rolled over until his hands were on either side of her head, his body hovering over hers. “Your wish is my command, Mrs. Lightwood,” he breathed.

[chloeafrazier]

Some Of the Times I Felt Caroline Was Unfair To Laura in Little House On The Prairie.

Hey Everyone How are You all doing Today ? I have some more things to share about Little House On the Prairie In season 1 Ep 24 Entitled

Founder's Day Mary and Laura want to Enter a 3 Legged race at there Church Picnic But Mary Ends up Hurting her Leg so she cannot Enter the Race Like they had Planned and the race is for woman and

children and when Charles says that Caroline could Enter it with Laura Caroline was Very reluctant to enter the race with Laura By

saying oh No i couldn't but yet it was said that women and children could do the 3 Legged race and Caroline almost did not do it like at

all she Ended up doing it yet she did it reluctantly But then in season 2 Ep 13 Entitled the Pride of walnut Grove when Mary said she had to

Go with her so she could take the state wide Mathematics Test she went with No Problem what so ever and also in season 3 Ep to Live

with Fear Part 1 and 2 Ep 16 and 17 when Mary Got Kicked By a horse and from the Moment they Told Caroline that she was Hurt Caroline

would Not Leave Mary side But in season 1 Ep 3 Entitled The Raccoon almost the whole Time that Laura was sick she was in bed

and Caroline was Barely Even Up there with Laura she was in Laura room talking to her one time and one time only the rest of the time

she was walking around the House Trying To Act Like she was Busy i think that she did that so that she did not have spend time with

Laura at Least that is what it seemed Like to me anyway and in season 2 Ep 2 Entitled Four eyes as soon as Caroline felt that there

was something wrong with Mary she went right down to the school to find out what was Going on but then in the same season season 2

Ep 16 Entitled Troublemaker Caroline Acted as if she could not be Bothered with what was Going on with Laura Even after Mr

Applewood Expelled her from school for No reason and when she came Home from school crying her Little Eyes Out Caroline even

Kinda said something pretty rude about Laura she said oh she is Not the Student Mary is and she Never will be but she dose try hard Like

Okay i Never Understood why the writers wrote Caroline this way where she was all Nice warm and Loving to Mary and she was

discipline this discipline that discipline this discipline that to Laura i mean Mary Acted Many times and Caroline Just Let it go she Hit

Laura for not reason in season 1 Ep 3 and Talked Over Laura in season 2 Over 13 and Yet when all of these things are Going on

Caroline and Charles just sat there and Let it Happen like for no reason Now once again i am Not saying that Loved or cared for Mary

More but i felt that when one Child is being Elevated and another is kinda being put down who do you think is Gonna Rise to the

Occasion the one that is Being Celebrated or the one that is being put down ? and to me If Caroline really felt that Laura was that Bad

of a Student then why didn't she sit down and help her we cannot say that it was because she had to take care of Carrie Because Carrie

was Long since Put to Bed by the time Mary and Laura were doing there Home work so Caroline should have stopped and Tried to Help

Laura with her Home work that is for sure i mean if Caroline really felt Like Laura was having that Much trouble in school then i wish she

would have sat down and worked on things with her Instead of Just Complaining that she did not know things sometimes was all well

Thanks for reading have a Great day know that God Loves You always and Forever.

[jade-parcels]

Fatherly Instincts

Some of them may think they’re not be cut out to be fathers but they’re better than they think! Everyone has parental instincts somewhere within them. With: Diluc, Xiao, Ayato and Dottore (something fluffy, short and fun while I get over writers block!)

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

Being a dad is something that scared but excited Diluc. He wanted to be the kind of dad his own father was. He has a knack for stopping tantrums, stepping in when you’re at your mental limit to de-escalate the situation. His ‘dad hugs’ are truly magical, you’ve told him yourself, they heal every scraped knee and fix every small problem. This time, a block tower toppled over when the family dog raced through the living room, sending your child into a full on tantrum. Diluc knew this was not just about the blocks, there was a lot that probably led to this moment: no nap, too much time outside, no more cookies in the house, the loud barking from your dog. In one big swoop, he scoops your baby up, hushing them as he moves to sit in his chair. The tantrum only lasts a few more minutes before they settle down and fall asleep. You collapse next to your husband, resting your head on his shoulder ‘I don’t know how you do it’ He chuckles and kisses your head ‘I don’t know either, dear’

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

His parents didn’t give him much attention, they were always too busy to engage in imaginative play or outdoor activities other than sparring. Ayato sets time aside to play knights and dragons or make paper puppets with his children. He shows them how to make toys from his own childhood and, don’t worry, he purchases all kinds of fun toys that he was never allowed to have. Rocking horses from Mondstadt, fluffy stuffies from Fontaine, kites from Liyue! It’s sweet to see him get so excited about spoiling his kids. They’re well behaved, they deserve to have fun while they’re young. Weekends are exclusively for family time unless it’s a dire emergency. Ayato will lay on the floor with his children, sporting casual clothes with grass stains on the pants, and just…. Be there for them. He listens to the stories they tell, watches the silly dances they choreograph, plays along in their pretend games. He does what he wished his parents did with him and Ayaka. He does his best :’)

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

Xiao has developed a 6th sense for his baby. Ever since your kiddo has learned how to crawl on their own, he’s been extremely vigilant. He follows them around to make sure they’re not getting into trouble and when he leaves them unattended for more than 30 seconds, he gets nervous, he’ll give in and go see what they’re doing. Your baby is a little trouble maker and they know it, Xiao often finds little baby handprints on the windows or flour footprints in the kitchen. “Where do you think you’re going?” He’ll ask as he blocks the baby’s way into the bathroom. Those big, innocent eyes look up at him and the baby laughs, definitely thinking this was a game “You know you’re not allowed in there. Come on, let’s go help make lunch” He’ll scoop up his lil chunky baby, kiss the top of their head and return to your side. He’s a very protective baba <3

-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

Dottore never truly envisioned himself being a father but since you wanted a baby so badly, he allowed it. As much as he complains now, it truly didn’t take much convincing at the time. When babies learn to walk, they often take a tumble and cry. Dottore has mastered the art of preventing those falls that always end in shrieks and tears. He sits with his feet up on the couch, flipping through another textbook from the Academia (one he stole as a student). The baby pushes up off the floor, wobbling as they take a few graceless steps. Then, just as they start to fall, he grabs the back of their shirt, hauling them up into his lap ‘Alright, that’s enough of that’ he huffs, frowning as he’s head butted in the face as his spawn child gets comfortable. You can’t help but grin as you take a photo when you find the two asleep on the sofa together :’) see… he complains so much but he does enjoy fatherhood more than he lets on

[pluviophile-imagines]

Sleeping in the Garden: Part I

in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 21.5k genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type: longfic (6 parts) reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) part warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34) note: this is the first part of my submission to the @mybigbangacademia big bang! this was an incredible opportunity, absolutely full to the brim with such talented writers and authors, and i for one can’t wait to check them all out! i’d also like to give a quick thanks to @phen0l​ and @sipsteainanxiety​ for their incredible beta work ♥️ this fic is a real work from the heart, something i’ve been working on for over a year now, so i hope you all enjoy!

masterlist || part ii ⟹

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.

It’s a nice neighborhood—admittedly most of the inhabitants are getting on in years, and at times can be unbearably wealthy, but you’re not about to complain when you inherited your half of the duplex already paid off by your grandparents. It’s an unusual western-style house, connected on one side to a reflected twin, with three floors, three bedrooms (though you’ve converted one into an office), two (and a half) baths, and a shared rooftop terrace with the remains of planter boxes and a run-down little greenhouse that your grandfather once used to grow food; a nice place, something you’d never have been able to afford if you hadn’t come into it by luck.

The leftmost wall is shared with none other than the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, though contrary to what the name might suggest he’s actually a pretty okay neighbor. That is to say: an almost entirely absent one.

You don’t see the man very much. Hero work, you presume, keeps him more than busy; when he’s home there’s always a shiny, clearly expensive sports car in the driveway (you have no clue what kind but it looks like something a car nut would drool over) and you definitely see it gone more than not. The older ladies like to coo at him when he shows up—sometimes with another tall, built hero in tow, often with groceries in arm. You’ve only talked to him a few times but he remembers your name, and he gives a brusque little nod of acknowledgement whenever you wave at him in greeting. He’s not exactly known in the news as the friendliest type but you’re never felt entirely unwelcome when you’ve gone over to let him know that you’ll be on vacation for a week, or that you’re expecting a handyman to stop by to fix your sink. And that’s just about all the friendliness one inherently needs from a neighbor, so you’re content with the whole relationship.

That kind of goes out the window when the girls show up, because you’re too meddling for your own good and nobody, not even (or perhaps especially) an incredibly busy top hero, is prepared to suddenly take on two children without warning.

You’re not one to keep up with hero gossip—not one to pour through those magazines filled with blurry photos taken from a distance, speculating about which pros are dating which models and how long they last in bed—but since you’ve moved in next door to Mister Number Two you’ve kept half an ear out for stories involving him.

It’s not as if you’re prying, really, because the whole damn country has been unable to shut up about it since the day Dynamight went into a hospital and came out with an elementary schooler in arm and a teenager trailing behind. Your own grandmother called you a day afterwards to ask if you’d met them. And more importantly you’re there—you work from home and you share an entire wall (and a porch and a roof) with them, so it’s really only natural for you to take notice.

It’s only been two weeks, and things are showing no sign of dying down. You don’t know their names or their ages or even how Dynamight is really related to them—it’s all been conjecture, from what you can tell, and either way you figure it’s none of your business—but it’s impossible not to have noticed the younger’s red eyes. They’re stark in contrast to the other’s dark brown, and they match perfectly with those of the very man they’re living with. The conclusion is less of a jump and more of a modest step.

Today, when you lock up your door behind you with Tadeo on his leash for his afternoon walk, you find that they’re standing at the top of Bakugo’s front stoop. The younger sits pouting on the top step with her head propped in her hands and the elder leans back against the railing with an angry expression, phone held up to her ear as she speaks rapidly into it. You don’t entirely want to impose or assume, nor do you want to seem unapproachable, so as you pass the pair of them you give a little smile and a friendly bow of the head in greeting.

The little one perks up slightly, responding in kind. The older one glances at you, but is solidly preoccupied.

“I’m Riko!” says the girl. “Your dog is cute!”

You give her your own name. “I live next door. It’s nice to meet you. Tadeo is cute, isn’t he?”

Riko nods excitedly. When she opens her mouth to speak again, however, the older girl behind her lets out a huff that startles her into turning around. At the same time, Tadeo yanks you along, eager to continue his walk; and while Riko looks disappointed to see you go, her companion distracts her quickly by bending down to hand her the phone and, you’re fairly sure, giving her some kind of order for what to say into it.

You pay it little mind. In fact it’s dashed from your thoughts quickly as you allow your dog—surprisingly strong for how little and old he is—to lead you down the road, determined to sniff at a fire hydrant and then a telephone pole and then a mailbox. The neighborhood streets are familiar. It’s the very start of spring so the early flowers are beginning to break through the soil and the weather is nicely brisk but not too cold, and you let Tadeo dictate your route according to his own graying canine whims.

Soon enough, though, you’re approaching your house the way you’d left. Thirty minutes have passed—a longer walk than typical, but it seemed Tadeo needed it and it was a pleasant enough day that you hadn’t minded—and that’s why you’re mildly concerned when you come up to the building to find Dynamight’s two mystery wards still hovering on his front porch. Riko perks up once again at your reappearance, pulling her head out of her hands.

“Ayame,” you hear her hiss, turning around to tug at the other girl’s pleated skirt, “Ayame she’s back.”

Ayame looks up from her phone, looking terse and annoyed, and glances down at Riko before zeroing in on you.

“Hey!” she calls out. “Can my sister pet your dog?”

You smile, pausing right in front of the stairs. “Yeah, sure thing. He’s friendly. And old, so don’t let his excitement fool you—he’s about to go in and take a nap until dinner.”

The girl races down the steps like a bullet, falling to her knees on the sidewalk right in front of your dog and reaching out to pet his face. Tadeo responds in kind, hindquarters swaying frantically to keep up with his tail and barking excitedly as he puts his front paws up on her knees to get closer.

“Riko!” Ayame scolds immediately. She puts away her phone and comes down the steps herself to stand over her sister with hands on her hips. “Don’t just sit on the ground like that, you’ll get dirty.”

Riko only laughs as your dog licks at her face. Ayame’s nose wrinkles in distaste. You can’t help but smile at the pair.

“He’s so cute,” Riko coos. She looks up at you with a grin—there’s a gap where she’s missing a tooth in the bottom row. “My dad says dogs are messy and too much work and so we’re not allowed to get one unless we’ll be taking care of it.”

“That’s a reasonable rule to set.”

“My dad’s a hero so he’s really busy.” Her attention is back on Tadeo. “But I think he’d like a dog anyway.”

“You think?”

“Mhm.” She nods. Her hair is pulled up into a pair of pigtails, tied by two sparkly pink bows, and it sways back and forth with the motion of her head. “He always goes on runs and he keeps asking Ayame if she wants to join him. I think he gets lonely.”

“He is not asking me to come with him because he’s lonely,” Ayame mutters.

“But if we get a dog he’ll just take it and you can stay behind!”

“Yeah, maybe.” It’s absent-minded, a little dismissive; she’s returned her attention back to her phone, clearly wanting to drop the topic and equally clearly disagreeing though she doesn’t outright say so.

“I don’t think staring at your phone is going to make daddy come home any sooner,” Riko says matter-of-factly. Then she leans forward to whisper to you, in that loud way little kids do when they don’t understand how to be quiet yet, “Ayame forgot her key.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem,” Ayame snaps, “if he would answer his phone! Or act like the guardian he’s supposed to be!”

Her tapping is furious as her thumbs fly in a flurry across her screen. When she puts the phone to her ear, she shoves her free hand in her pocket and glares off in the distance as she waits.

“He’s just—ugh.” She huffs and shoves the phone into her pocket; you’re pretty sure it had immediately gone to voicemail. “He turns off his phone when he’s on patrol so the only way to contact him is his earpiece and his secretary says this isn’t an emergency.”

“Well, it’s not!” chirps Riko. You’re pretty sure it wouldn’t be received well if you agreed.

Ayame just huffs again, this one a bit more growled. She bites her cheek, glaring off at the distance for a moment—surely cursing Bakugo out in her head silently—before letting her eyes roll back, heaving a big sigh, and then turning her attention to you curiously.

“You live next door, right?”

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’m glad to have the chance today—even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ayame grumbles under her breath, but she holds back the eye roll that you can tell has been building up and instead gives you a short bow of introduction, stating her name.

You give her your own in turn. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Now we don’t have to keep calling you Miss Sunny.” She snickers a little, not entirely cruelly but certainly with the kind of vaguely derisive tone only a teenager can manage. You don’t take it to heart.

“Miss Sunny?”

“‘cause of the sunflowers!” Riko pipes up from where she’s still doting upon Tadeo. He’s relishing the attention, rolling around on the street with his tail valiantly putting up an effort to keep wagging despite being pressed into the pavement. Looking up at you and beaming, she points over at the meticulously kept flower boxes you’ve managed to fit along your stoop and down the sides of the stairs, filling up every available space in front of your house. And the balcony above, the leaves lush and full and spilling out down the railing.

The boxes are painted with bright, pretty sunflowers. You can see how they made the connection.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Sunflowers are one of my favorites, actually,” you tell them. “I can’t grow them year-round but when they’re in season I keep as much as I can. And when they’re not, well. I supplement.”

“Did you paint them?” Riko asks in awe.

“My mother did, actually, when I first put them in.”

“She’s a really good painter.”

“They’re just sunflowers, Riko,” Ayame says.

Riko pouts at her. “But they’re nice.”

“Anyone could do it.”

“No, I bet you couldn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, I could.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah, I could.”

“Then do it.” Riko finally stands from where she’s been petting Tadeo to fix her sister with a baby-cheeked glare and put her hands on her hips.

“We can’t get inside our house, Riko. Where are you expecting me to find paints?”

As if on cue, before you can decide whether to intervene or not, Ayame’s phone begins to ring again from her back pocket. She answers with such speed you might think it was her quirk. The conversation is short, barely a few sentences exchanged, and when she hangs back up she’s somehow notably more agitated.

“He has to stay out longer,” she says, now so angry she’s moved past shouting and turned monotonous. Or, perhaps, moved past the anger stage of grief and launched straight to depression. “It’ll be another hour and a half, Riko, I dunno what to do.”

The statement gives way to another huff. She glares down at her phone like that’ll somehow make it light up with a response saying he’s five minutes away.

“Ayame,” you say kindly, and her head snaps up immediately to look at you. “Do you want to wait for your father at my house?”

For a moment, more anger flashes across her face. She blinks it away, frowning, then glancing over at Riko not for advice but rather to check-in. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’d be irresponsible of me to let you two stay out here when I live right next door and can let you in. C’mon, or Tadeo will get impatient.”

She nods. Riko jumps up, following you closely as you lead them both up the front stoop. Tadeo leads the charge, excited to return and have his dinner. He scratches at the base of the door as you pull out your key to open it, and he sprints in with you tripping behind him the moment it opens; Ayame and Riko follow after you. You find your large guest slippers easily, and your smaller guest slippers with much more difficulty—you don’t have children over particularly often, admittedly—but soon enough you’ve pulled off Tadeo’s harness and leash to hang up and are leading them further into the house.

“Here, make yourselves comfortable.” You gesture to your dining room table. “I’m sure you both have work to do, I can help if you need. Do you want any food?”

They both shake their heads, though Riko hesitates and waits for Ayame to respond first. You choose not to check a second time with her.

Soon enough the girls are sitting around your dining table. Riko has her homework pulled out, and so does Ayame, but Ayame’s work is long forgotten as she’s sidled over next to her younger sister and is bent over the younger’s work, helping her. From your kitchen, where you’re fetching yourself a glass of water, it makes a sweet sight.

“Ayame,” you realize suddenly, “you should text your father and let him know you’re here.”

She glances up at you. Again that anger passes across her face like a shadow, but when she speaks it’s calm. “Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You watch as she slides herself back over to where her things are, including her phone. Her work is organized cleanly, papers and notebooks stacked by subject with only a few on the table while most remain in her bag. In contrast, Riko’s side is a mess; she has fewer papers but despite that has more supplies. Three pencil cases, all different shades of light pink with varying baby animals on them, have been opened and half their contents strewn about the table and even the floor. Despite this, she’s dutifully working on a writing assignment, face scrunched up and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration.

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

“Thank you! Okay,” you nod, making up your mind about how to proceed. “Okay, let’s pack up now so you’re both ready to head out when he arrives. We can watch some TV or something.”

Riko perks up at the mention of TV. She’s already packing up her things before Ayame can agree; it takes them both little time at all to gather everything and fit it all back into their school bags. Soon enough they’re both seated on the couch with a brightly colored hero cartoon playing on the screen.

Ayame is on her phone; Riko is enraptured by the television. You have work to do still, so you sit at the table facing the kids with your laptop before you.

Soon enough Ayame is standing, announcing that “Uncle’s home!” mere moments before a harsh knock raps on your door. Both the girls follow you as you head to the door and open.

Bakugo is there. He’s scowling—though admittedly, you’ve often wondered if that’s the only facial expression he’s capable of. He’s gruff when he greets you, gruff when he greets the girls, and gruff when he tells them it’s time to go.

“Y’have fun?” he asks, seemingly to Riko, though his eyes end up on Ayame as he says it.

“Yeah!” Riko bounds up to him, already in her outdoor shoes. “Miss Sunny’s great!”

The grunt he gives in return is pleased. “Good. Comin’ home with me, though, right? No fuss?”

She shakes her head, pigtails flying across her face with the notion. “Nuh-uh!”

He nods at the bright pink bag in her hand. “Y’want me to carry that, kid?”

Her expression falls. She clutches it closer, face scrunching up, and stares up at him with a look that isn’t quite suspicious or accusatory but certainly doesn’t seem inclined to take his offer.

The low puff of air he lets out is something like a sigh, perhaps disappointed, though you don’t think it’s quite at her. He lowers himself to her height—lower, crouched down with arms braced on his knees to look her in the eye. When he speaks it’s startlingly placating.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes. Was just tryin’ to be nice, yeah? C’mon. I’ll walk you in. You can carry it.”

Then he rises to his feet, and holds out his hand, and Riko’s hesitance disappears as she takes it. In fact she’s beaming. She doesn’t look back as she follows him over to his door.

Ayame hovers in the entryway, leaning through the open door watching Bakugo lead Riko into his house. Once they’re out of sight, she turns to you.

Her eyes are cast downward, a little to the side. She seems to rock on the balls of her feet slightly, almost as a comfort, and is clearly working up the nerve to say something. You wait, letting her take her time.

“I, uh. Earlier, when you called Uncle my dad…”

“No worries,” you assure her. “I shouldn’t have assumed, and I’m sure you get it a lot and I know it’s been a stressful day, so really. It’s fine. If anything, I’m sorry.”

“Nobody’s ever… apologized before,” she mutters. “Not for real, anyway. It’s always—like, they all start saying uncle all rude and condescending like I’m not well aware they’re still calling him my father in their heads. But you apologized and you haven’t called him that since, so… I dunno. I ‘preciate it, I guess. It feels like you’re the first person who’s really listened to me in a while.”

You give her a quiet smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult to have to go through.”

“I just said you were the best one to respond, y’don’t gotta apologize more…”

“But I upset you,” you counter. “I do regret it.”

“Right.” Her shoulders heave, not really a shrug. “Well. I better go off then. Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re always welcome.”

She turns and heads to her own door. You wait for her to get inside, too, before you shut your own and make your way back to your office. You have a little more work to get done before you can start making dinner.

Not five minutes later, however, you hear a knock on your door again.

Bakugo is standing there when you open it, fist raised to knock a second time. He lowers it immediately, letting it fall to his side aimlessly.

“Did Riko forget something?” you ask, thinking back to the messy array of writing implements and assorted school supplies—all glittery or pink or shimmering—that she’d strewn about your living room, certain she must have misplaced one or two beneath a pillow or a rug.

“Hah?” His brow furrows at the question. “No. What, did you find somethin’?”

“No.” You snort a laugh. “Why’d you come back, then?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

It’s gruff, low, said without meeting your eye.

“For letting them in? No worries. I couldn’t just let them wait around out there for you.”

His eyes narrow. When he speaks the tone is defensive, the words slightly growling. “We‘ve been looking for some new sidekicks to pick up the slack so I won’t be working so late anymore, but it’s a process ‘n we’ve only just started.”

“Whoa, hey, I’m not judging you here. You’re a busy man. I get it,” you rush to say. He’s still glaring at you a little, and admittedly it’s probably one of the most intimidating glares you’ve ever been on the receiving end of. “I get it, really. It’s been sudden. They’re great kids, I was happy to have them over for an hour or two. The company was nice, actually. It’s usually just me and the dog during the week.”

The words soothe him. Or maybe he realizes he’d been overreacting—either way, his shoulders relax and the tension eases. Though he doesn’t quite seem like he’s no longer glaring, you’re coming to realize that perhaps he never does look very relaxed. At least you’re no longer feeling like he’s attempting to send you flying back into your home with a single, very intense glare.

“They’re welcome any time,” you continue. Steer away from need and help, you decide. And anything too critical. “If they want.”

He grunts in what you decide is appreciation. Better, then, than the other attempt. Could be even more coherent, if you tried at it a bit—but you’ve already made the appeal to Ayame, so you suppose she can pass along what you told her. In the meantime you choose to change the subject.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask… why’d Riko respond like that when you offered to carry her things?”

You’re not sure he’ll tell you, really. But he surprises you. He sighs, long-suffering and annoyed, and says, “Ayame told her I’d take all their things when they moved in with me. She hasn’t quite stopped believing it.”

There’s an attempt made at biting back your laughter. It’s a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Your stifled giggles earn you another glare, but this one seems less serious.

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” you lie through stuttered puffs.

“It ain’t funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “You ‘n fuckin’ soy sauce face…” he mutters, and you don’t know who soy sauce face might be but he sounds like he has a good sense of humor. “Don’t go laughin’ in front of Ayame, it’ll only encourage her.”

“I promise I won’t laugh in front of Ayame.” You do mean that—you really don’t want to encourage her.

“Good,” he grunts, then pauses momentarily. “You said it was just you and the mutt during the week?”

“Over the work week I don’t get many visitors—I mean, I’m single, no roommate. My family lives about an hour away by train, not a trip anyone’d wanna make on a work day. My friends have careers.” You pause after that spiel, realizing finally what he likely meant by the question. “I work from home. Have an office here.”

His brow furrows. “The fuck do you do, then? As a career”

“I’m an accountant,” you reply easily, getting used to his mannerisms. “Freelance. Clients are mostly small businesses, a few tiny companies. Most of my work’s done in my office. So, yeah, here pretty much all day, save for the occasional in-person meeting. Those only happen a few times a year.”

“So, what, just some fuckin’ hermit?” It’s not entirely derisive, the way he says it. More just surprise, a little curiosity.

“I have friends, Bakugo. I go out for drinks, the occasional girls’ trip. I visit my family and they visit me. Perfectly healthy, I promise. Not a hermit.”

He grumbles at that, but clearly you’ve convinced him that you’re annoyed by the implication, because he mumbles out a, “sorry,” afterwards and sounds genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine. Nothing wrong with making sure. I’m just offering for if you need it. I’m sure you have plenty of options, but. If you think of me. I gave Ayame my phone number; you should have it already, from when I first moved in, yeah?”

Nodding at first, he pauses, and then frowns. “Actually…”

“What, you lost it?”

He looks a little sheepish, somehow. Still surly and cross, but apologetic. “I got a new phone. Lost all my contacts. Was about a month ago. If you’d’ve texted me I’d’a figured it out, but…”

“No worries.” You reach into your pocket and take out your phone. It takes a moment to find his contact—the pair of you really haven’t spoken beyond the initial exchanging of numbers and one incident where Tadeo had gotten loose and Bakugo had found him for you—but you send off a quick text once you do, and are filled with amusement when his own back pocket immediately plays the sound of an explosion.

He doesn’t acknowledge it, so you don’t either. You wonder if he even knows how funny that is (endearing, even, if you were to be bold) or if he thinks it’s completely normal. What he does is pull out that phone (which looks downright tiny in those huge hands… it’s the same model as your own, your mind is left spinning a little) and, clearly, add you to his contacts once more.

“Perfect. We’re all set, then? Just text me if you need me. Yeah?”

A nod, a low grunt of approval; his phone is back in his pocket quickly, and then he’s turning to go. You shut your door right as he opens his own.

The next time you see him afterwards is a week later; he’s locking his door on his way out of his house, you’re on your way in from your morning walk with Tadeo.

“Bakugo!” you call out as you make your way up the front stoop.

He turns to you as he pockets his keys, gives a curt nod and a low rumble of your own name. “Mornin’.”

“This is great timing, actually. I needed to talk to you.” Pausing, you take a moment to take in his attire and recall that it’s a Tuesday and he’s almost certainly headed off to work. “I promise it won’t take long.”

He raises an eyebrow, not exactly kindly but not altogether brushing you off. “Spit it out.”

You shift the leash in your hand to the other one. The process tugs Tadeo over to your other side, crossing in between you and Bakugo, and it draws Bakugo’s attention to your dog, who pauses briefly to sit and beg at his feet. To your surprise it works—your neighbor squats down, raising a hand to scratch at Tadeo’s ears. He looks at him for a moment, and that stern look softens just a bit.

Then you remember what he’d just said. “I was thinking about starting a garden,” you say quickly.

Bakugo pauses, looking up at you and then rising to his feet to regard you fully. “A garden?”

He seems to be sneering, and you bristle.

“Yeah, my grandfather had one back when he and my grandmother lived here—”

“The fuck’re you telling me for?” he interrupts. This time you recoil, pursing your lips.

“It’d be up on the roof, which we share,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t it be rude of me not to check with you first?”

You might add that you hadn’t bothered to ask when you’d made your little flower garden in the front—it’s on your side entirely—so you haven’t exactly made a habit of asking him about unimportant things, but that scowl softens a little, replaced by a slightly furrowed brow and a seemingly sheepish breaking of eye contact as his eyes dart to the side.

“Do what’cha want. I don’t care.”

You nod. “Okay. Thank you. And if Ayame and Riko—or you, I suppose—want to help out at all, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

At mention of the girls, he finally seems to register exactly what you’re saying. He nods finally, expression relaxing, and though you almost feel it’s too little too late you’re pleasantly surprised—and appreciative—when he apologizes.

“Sorry. That’d be good for ‘em. Real good for ‘em. Thanks for reachin’ out.” He pauses, seems to hesitate, then clears his throat and tells you, “Their mom had a gardening quirk, y’know. They’ve both got ‘em too. I dunno if they told you.”

You blink. “No… I didn’t know. It’ll be a team project, then. If they’re interested, anyway.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know.” He’s nodding, clearly having convinced himself. “When’re you gonna start?”

“Mmm, next week. It’s still a little early to start planting but I’ll probably head up to clear out the space and make planter boxes this weekend. You’re welcome to join for that but it’ll be tedious stuff. Next week I’ll start planting, though.” You purse your lips. “The greenhouse is too broken down, I’ll have to completely remake it, but we shouldn’t need it for a while yet so I suppose I can put that off…”

You trail off, realizing that you’re thinking aloud and rambling at Bakugo far more than he cares about. But when you turn your attention back to him, from where you’d been staring absently off to the distance, you find that he’s regarding you with an amused look.

“That what that mess up there is? A greenhouse?”

Frowning, your response is indignant. “My grandfather built that ‘mess’ himself, I’ll have you know.”

“Not very well, clearly, seein’ as it collapsed like that.”

Your jaw drops. Coming from someone else, you might interpret his words as teasing—but he’s so blunt, and gruff, and his expression hardly shifts to indicate that he’s anything but serious, so you blink at him in almost shock.

That makes him tense. “What?”

“Was that a joke? I didn’t know you were capable of humor.”

“Hah? I’m funny as fuck.”

“Mmm. Very.” You purse your lips, playing at disinterest, but the smile tugging at them does you no favors. “Making fun of something my grandfather poured his heart and soul into… very funny. You’re a real upstanding hero.”

“That damn greenhouse fell down weeks after he made it, ‘n when I offered to fix it up he refused every time. Stubborn old man insisted he’d get ‘round to it. Never did. Obviously.”

“You offered to help?” you ask in shock.

He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly indignant. “I worked on that garden for months after his back gave out. Your grandmother wouldn’t stop nagging me when I missed too many days, said he got restless and wouldn’t leave ‘er alone. ‘course he only ever watched me by then, but I get it. ‘n she fed me in return, always reminded me of that when I slacked off.”

Bakugo had moved into the house next door during the five year stint between graduating university and your grandparents moving out that you spent living in an ever-changing series of small apartments further in the city. You’ve known that he’d had a good relationship with them, but you hadn’t known that he’d helped with the garden at all.

They ask you about him, fairly often in fact, though you’ve never been able to give them the detailed report of his current status that they always want. You’ve always thought that at least part of them giving you the house had been some convoluted attempt at setting the pair of you up together. Perhaps that’s why he’s always kept his distance. Perhaps it’s your other theory—that he just likes old folks. Or maybe he just makes more of an effort to be there for them. Considering his heroic choice of career, it’d make sense if he felt obligated. But it’s undeniable that he’s always reached out more to the elderly in the neighborhood over the younger corporate executives and trust fund kids who otherwise populate it—understandable, frankly, considering how unbearable the latter kind of person tends to be even in the best of circumstances.

Though, you admit, you’ve also lucked into your own property through inheritance. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to separate yourself.

“They ask after you, you know,” you tell him in an effort to break the silence that’s fallen over the pair of you as you’d ruminated.

“Don’t s’ppose you had much to tell ‘em.” He chuckles, then pauses. “‘til Riko ‘n Ayame showed up, anyway.”

“Trust me, I didn’t have to tell them about the girls. Grandma called me the moment she saw them on the news.”

Anger crosses his face when you say that. You tense when you see it, wracking your mind in an attempt to figure out why he might be suddenly pissed at you, but when he growls out, “fuckin’ paparazzi, damn shitty gossip magazines, waste of fuckin’ space,” you realize it’s about the fact that you mentioned the news.

“Oh. That’s… an understandable response. To that photo.” You hadn’t quite put that together, but it does make sense. Dynamight has always been known to be especially private regarding his personal life and even antagonistic towards the press; he has an infamously bad attitude towards reporters out in the field and is rarely interviewed, and when he bothers it’s always abundantly clear that his manager has forced him to. “Really intrusive, actually.”

“No fuckin’ right to take photos of my fuckin’ kids when their damn mother just fuckin’ died.” The scowl on his face is heavy, and you’re very happy that it’s not directed at you. “Wish I could blow up every damn copy of it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get that. I guess it’s lucky that others haven’t been spread around…” Or their names, you think. Names and ages and life stories—none of that is out there, which is frankly surprising, but good.

“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it. My team knows how to stop that shit before it spreads.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to have the threat of number two hero Dynamight coming after you to stop it, too.” You shoot him a grin.

He doesn’t return it. The topic at hand, you think, bothers him far more than he’s even letting on; now he’s silent, and you hover awkwardly, not entirely sure how to continue the conversation. It isn’t unbearable exactly, but considering you’re holding him up from going to work you decide the silence is better off broken.

“Hey,” you say, “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually, and because you mentioned them earlier I might as well. What are their quirks?”

“The girls’?”

“Yeah. They haven’t told me—well, I never asked them, anyway. You said they were related to gardening?”

“Riko’s is called Boom Bloom. She can speed up the growth of flowering plants ‘n when they bloom they’ll explode. Ayame’s is similar—’s called Bloominescence, hers glow. Takes a lot out of ‘em, though. Can’t do it often.” He pauses for a moment. Then he adds, “I expected ‘em to be real filthy tree-hugger types when I learned. Figured there’d be fuckin’ flowers everywhere. Thought the petals ‘n leaves’d get all over the damn place. Thank fuck they ain’t like that, think I’d go insane.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds like something you’d hate.”

He snorts. “Let that be a warning, then, yeah? Don’t go trackin’ dirt around my place. If ya turn ‘em into that shit I’ll never let ‘em visit you again, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, Dynamight, sir!”

You get another snort of laughter for the dig. But then he falls silent, looking at you pensively. That crimson stare regards you as you twist the leash in your hand a few times, a nervous tick. The way he’s looking makes you feel a little raw—like he’s taking you in, pulling you apart, seeing what makes you tick. And the silence is heavy, palpable.

“What about you?” he breaks it suddenly.

“Hm?” You know, and you stiffen despite yourself. You know what he’s asking, and you only have two options: the truth, or evasion. You’re giving him one last chance not to ask. He doesn’t take it.

“Your quirk. You haven’t told me what it is.”

It’s not an altogether unexpected question, not when you’ve just asked about the girls’ quirks, but it’s one that you hesitate answering nonetheless. And you could refuse to—it’s personal, though not technically rude most people understand when you choose not to say.

But you don’t really want to, not the least because the man before you is a pro hero who could most certainly look it up on his own time; if he’s going to cut whatever this relationship is brewing into short because of your answer here, then you’d rather know now than months down the line.

So you roll your shoulders back, look him in the eye, and tell him you’re quirkless.

Dynamight isn’t known for being the most understanding of pro heroes. In fact what he’s known for is a certain level of ruthlessness; a resolve to win fights while on duty and a lack of patience for anyone who he butts heads with, professionally or otherwise. Where no.1 hero Deku is considered the modern Symbol of Peace—all charismatic smiles and diplomacy, having learned well from his late mentor the great All Might—the man you’ve just informed of your quirklessness is colloquially called the Symbol of Victory, and weakness is hardly something you’d assume him to be particularly accepting of. Despite your logic telling you it’s ridiculous to be concerned, there’s a little nagging worry in your mind that he’ll turn away, get in his car, and drive to his agency and you’ll never talk to him or his girls again.

But Bakugo doesn’t do that. He hardly reacts at all, in fact. Instead he nods, purses his lips as if in thought, and grunts out, “a’ight. Good to know.”

Somehow he’s managed to give the best possible response. You have to give him credit; you never would have assumed that from the interactions you’ve been having with him all week.

“I can garden despite that, though,” you assure him with a smile. “In fact I can’t say it has a single effect on my gardening ability whatsoever.”

“Mmm.” He grunts. “And carpentry? Can you rebuild that fuckin’ mess of a greenhouse up on that roof?”

“Well, I’ll have you know it isn’t my quirklessness that makes my carpentry skills suck. It’s a lack of practice. And there’s no better time to start than the present.”

Bakugo wrinkles his nose, brow furrowing in tandem. “Don’t fuckin’ think I want you to practice with a big ass structure made of glass that my girls’re gonna be goin’ into.”

“Mmm that’s understandable, I suppose. Maybe you should find me a good carpenter to help me out, hm? Since you’re so—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Tadeo begins to bark frenziedly, lunging at the end of his leash and tugging you towards your front door. You stumble that way for half a step, unprepared for the sudden attack, before you manage to steel yourself and brace against his forceful jerking.

Bakugo, however, takes that as his cue to leave.

“‘m runnin’ late already,” he tells you. “Don’t build that greenhouse without supervision, I won’t have it collapsin’ on my fuckin’ girls.”

Then he nods in farewell and then turns to walk away, off towards that sleek, flashy car sitting parked waiting to take him into the city where his countless sidekicks and managing staffers and support technicians await his return to work.

You turn back to your front door and let Tadeo drag you inside.

The roof, when you first go up, is a mess.

You’d expected it. You’d experienced it first-hand before, even; you’ve often gone up with intent to clean it since you’d inherited the home and moved in, yet it’s always been too looming of a task to tackle on a whim and a mere weekend of time.

But there’s nothing quite like outside pressure to make you buckle down and take on such a challenge, and doing something for other people is precisely the pressure you apparently needed. It takes you a little longer than a weekend—in fact, in the week between you beginning the project and the roof being ready for planting, you spend most of your long, agonizing meetings with your laptop set carelessly on the concrete floor amongst the dirt and rotting wood, and a bluetooth headset in your ear as you advise your various clients about their finances.

It’s a good process. Mind and body moving, allowing for each to operate at a better capacity. You barely realize that you’re making progress on the roof until your daily alarm goes off alerting you of Riko and Ayame’s potential arrival, and then it’s a mad dash to get down to your house and shower off all the dirt and grime accumulated by your efforts. You often return up there the following morning, when the wind is biting cold and nipping at your cheeks and ears, to admire your handiwork with a new eye.

There’s an end in sight, eventually; by the time most of the old planter boxes are gone and you’ve reclaimed what you can of the greenhouse Bakugo had once called a mess to pile up in the corner for what will eventually become your own, it’s Friday, and you’re ready to start making new ones.

You’d created a plan weeks ago, complete with growth times and when to plant so that you’ll be able to harvest throughout the spring and summer and on into autumn. Now you take the time to design the layout, easy to see now that the space has been cleared out, and spend a day assembling salvaged wood and new supplies—helpfully brought up for you the evening before by, you’re informed but not present to witness, a small team of Bakugo’s pro hero friends—into the calculated sizes, shoving them into the designated spots, then filling them with soil.

The plants you choose to take on for the first year are simple, relatively easy to care for; carrots and zucchini, tomatoes and chard, cucumbers and potatoes. You’ll add more as time goes on, expanding and improving, especially if Ayame or Riko (or, ideally, both) take to it enough to reliably help you.

They both certainly enjoy it enough that first weekend to show up the second day early in the morning. Ayame has more of an attention span than Riko, naturally; Riko will help for a good fifteen or so minutes at a time, then wander off to do her own thing. That’s solid, you think, for a seven year old.

They help you out more than you anticipated; a few hours every weekend, in Ayame’s case at least, and in Riko’s often passing the time with you after school when she’s done with homework. For the first couple weeks after your initial meeting, they’re around more often than you entirely expect (though you’re happy about it, to be honest).

Ayame has her key past that first day. You doubt she’ll make that mistake again. But it’s hardly fair, in your opinion, to expect her to take care of Riko in Bakugo’s absence—especially when you’re around and more than capable. So they both spend much of their time at your place during the hours before dinner that he isn’t around.

He hadn’t been lying that first day. Once the new sidekicks are hired, he’s back long before dinner, often right when they’re getting home from school, far more consistently, and it becomes less frequent for the girls to stop by out of need for an adult; Ayame is more than capable of being in charge for the hour or so between their arrival home and Bakugo’s, but you always keep an ear out and often end up answering the door to one or both of the girls at some point during the day.

Riko takes, almost immediately, to paying visits to your door and no further just to stand outside and talk to you; Ayame stops by as well, though she’s far more abashed and taciturn about it, and tends to come in entirely with the excuse that she wants a quiet place to study. You enjoy both forms of visitation. There’s no shortage of occasions where Bakugo is unexpectedly required to stay later or go back in after returning home, however. You’ll get yourself a text on those days, curt and straight to the point and a bit crass—though you wouldn’t expect anything else—asking you to let them in, though more often than not the knock comes before the request and they’re already settled.

Ayame soon joins an after-school club, however. She’s cagey about what it’s for but it has her staying later at her high school three days a week, which leaves Riko with nobody to watch her on the occasions her father cannot.

You’re the natural pick to fill that role. And you like it. What you’d said that day still stands, the break from your typical workday is appreciated. Riko is good company for the hour or two she tends to spend with you. You’ll make her something light to eat and help with her schoolwork for much of it, then take a break and do something else for the rest of the time. Sometimes she wants to watch TV—there’s a show she adores, a cartoon called Twinklestar after the titular character who is, naturally, a pro hero and princess of a deserted human colony on Mars—but sometimes you can get her to garden with you, or help out with things around the house.

That’s what you’re doing now.

Ayame is still at school, at her mystery club. Riko has been with you for nearly an hour now. After an episode of Twinklestar, you’d convinced her to come join you outside while you hang up a suncatcher that a friend had sent you while overseas, and she’s been entertaining herself with a little keyring game that she’d found squirreled away in some drawer in your house. You’re not really sure where you got it, or when—it’s probably a holdover from your uni days, there’d been times when you’d hoarded such little pockets of joy and played them under your desk during lulls in lectures; low on brain power and high on dopamine—but it’s age appropriate and she’s been well absorbed while you work, so you’re not going to complain.

Your biggest worry now, frankly, is the very real chance that Bakugo will arrive home and witness you in your currently failing attempts to set up the suncatcher. You’ve brought out a step stool, and you’re perched at the top of it, hammer in hand as you stand on your tiptoes to put the nail in place and pound it in as a peg to hang the decoration. You’re just barely too short. Really what you ought to do is go back in and retrieve the taller step stool from the kitchen, or the ladder that you keep folded up under your stairs, but somehow that feels like admitting defeat.

Instead you balance precariously atop the one you first brought out, tapping at the nail far too lightly so as not to knock yourself off balance and hoping to whatever might be listening that your dour, captious neighbor doesn’t arrive home to lecture you about setting a good example for his daughter and not doing something so needlessly dangerous. He’d probably startle you—for how big the man is, he’s annoyingly quiet when he wants to be. Then it’d be his fault if you fell, really. For scaring you. Some hero he’d be.

Of course that’s when your foot slips. It’s only fair. Punishment from the universe for getting angry at something Bakugo hadn’t even done yet, a swat on the back of the hand.

And it’s your fault, really; hardly even a slip so much as your ankle rolling and your legs being thrown from under you. Though the stepstool you’re perched upon is small, your life flashes before your eyes; you imagine dashing your head on the concrete steps, breaking an arm or a leg at the very least, already trying to figure out how you’ll call an ambulance and what you’ll do with Riko—send her across the way to stay with Ms. Rose or Ms. Tulip for the remaining few minutes before Bakugo comes home? You certainly wouldn’t bring her to the hospital—when, rather than slamming into the hard ground, you’re suddenly caught by a pair of big arms.

It’s effortless. They hold your weight without struggle, having found purchase on your form with practiced ease. You’re left reeling, wide-eyed, and unable to do much beyond staying limp within them in an attempt to reorient yourself.

“Whoa, there!” your savior says good-naturedly. He doesn’t hold you any longer than necessary, placing you down on your own two feet before you can even fully register what had happened. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Still a little dazed—understandably so, you should think—you shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you regard him.

The man who’d caught you is someone you really ought to recognize immediately, though in your defense you’re a little too busy thanking everything that you haven’t fallen and busted your head open (or at least broken a limb) to register his face until he sets you down.

He’s absolutely massive, towering well over you and boasting an equally impressive width, with a mane of bright red hair and a warm grin exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Another point in your defense for not recognizing him: he’s out of uniform, dressed in casual clothes, and you are not nearly versed enough in pro heroes to recognize even the top ten without those brightly colored and intricately decorated hero costumes.

It’s Red Riot, sturdy and robust, not even batting an eye as he subtly inspects you for injury. You brush yourself off a little self-consciously.

Up where she’s been hovering near the door, Riko squeals in excitement. Your attentions are both pulled to her as she darts down the stoop and flies past you, making a beeline for Riot. His face lights up as she approaches.

The moment she’s close enough, he grabs her from the ground and swings her up, pulling excited giggles from her lips as he sets her up on his shoulders. “How’s it going, kiddo? Being good for your sister?”

“Ayame isn’t here,” Riko whines a little, pouting, and though he can’t possibly hear her at all the evidence is plain in her voice. “She’s joined a club after school.”

“Really, now?” Riot is even better than you, you realize; he sounds even more interested than you do without even a hint of condescension. He’s always been known for how well he works with kids—even you’ve heard that—and it’s evident in full force as he interacts with Riko. “What club?”

Riko wrinkles her nose. You watch as she rests her elbow on his head and braces her chin in the palm of that hand, pouting, in a pose reminiscent of a grouchy adult lost in thought.

“She won’t tell me.”

“Oh?” Riot laughs good-naturedly. “Well, everyone gets to have their secrets. I’m sure you have yours.”

“I don’t,” Riko says flatly, in a tone so confident and annoyed that it makes both you and Riot burst into laughter. Luckily she takes it as a compliment; grinning wide, even joining in on the laughter though you doubt she quite knows what’s amusing.

“You must be the neighbor, yeah?” Turning his attention to you, Riot says your name, and at your nod, he gives a quick bow, Riko still perched on his shoulders and giggling wildly as she holds onto his neck. He does most of the work, keeping a hand on her legs to ensure she won’t fall even as his head bears most of her weight. “Kirishima Eijirou. Red Riot.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Bakugo had to stay behind at work, something came up. He asked me to come relieve you of duty.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Just doin’ my job as a hero, ma’am. And, uh, hey.” He gives you a warm smile now, softer than the victorious smirks after won fights and beaming grins during awards ceremonies that you’ve always seen in the press. You think you might be a little flattered to be receiving it. “In case he hasn’t said it himself, thank you for helping Bakugo out. You’ve been a lifesaver more than you know. He really appreciates it, though I’m sure it might be hard to tell.”

You snort. Clearly he knows his friend well. “He’s said it, actually, but I’ll say again that it’s no problem. We have fun. Right, Riko?”

“Yeah!” Riko cheers with hands thrown up in the air carelessly, prompting Kirishima to again grab her legs to keep her stable before she can fall the impressive distance to the ground.

“Good to hear it!” he gives back the same energy, even uses his hands to kick her feet against his chest, drawing out more giggles from her. When he says more, though, it’s aimed directly at you, voice amiable. “What were you doing up on that death trap, anyway?”

“It’s just a step stool…”

“How can I help?” he clarifies. The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little as he smiles at you.

You gesture back at the mess behind you. You’re not even sure where the hammer went, you’ll have to go searching before you go back in, but it’s okay; you’d managed to get the nail in deep enough that it’s in no danger of falling, so it’s mostly the unhung suncatcher lying in a heap on the stoop that draw Kirishima’s eye.

He whistles at the sight. “Pretty.”

It does look pretty lying there, crystalline prisms tied together with fishing line. It’ll look even nicer hanging up where the morning sun will catch it and cast rainbows across your front doorway. You think that’ll be a nice way to start the day, out on your porch after you’ve walked the dog, laptop in hand to begin working.

“It’s a Prism Prison.” Riko bends down and leans over so that her mouth is right near Kirishima’s head, and speaks in a stage whisper, eyes wide like she’s telling him a secret.

“Like from Twinklestar?” he asks without missing a beat, and with just the right amount of awe in his tone.

“Uh-huh!”

“Does it have any villains in it?”

“Yeah, yeah! Miss Serpent and Gunk Guy and Novagleam!”

“Novagleam?” Twinklestar’s greatest nemesis—her evil clone, created by a mad scientist, determined to hunt her down and steal her quirk for herself. It’s wildly endearing that Red Riot recognizes the character immediately. “Well, then, we’d better set it up, huh? Otherwise the villains might escape!”

Riko gives a horrified gasp. “Oh, no! We gotta, we gotta!”

She starts squirming around from her perch; Kirishima’s grip tightens on her legs as he chuckles and approaches. A nod from you to the suncatcher takes you a moment to decipher, but as he gets to the first step you realize he intends to help Riko put it up herself and is asking you to hand it up. You dart up ahead of him and by the time you’ve retrieved it he’s moved the step stool and had his hand held out.

Handing it over, you watch as he passes it up to Riko, and with how tall he is—and, therefore, how high up she is on his shoulders—it’s no struggle for her to hook it onto the nail you’d put in mere minutes ago.

She cheers when it settles, and Kirishima whoops in turn, stepping back enough to make sure she won’t hit the very thing they’ve just hung up as he finally sets her down.

“There,” he says. “Now we’re all safe, yeah?”

He casts his gaze over to you, and gives a subtle nod at the step stool to let you know exactly what he’s really saying. It makes your face heat up a little—embarrassed, but only slightly, at the mess of an introduction and his apparent self-assigned duty to make sure it won’t happen again. Maybe you shouldn’t befriend any more pro heroes.

“All right,” he says assuredly, turning over to Bakugo’s door and fiddling with the knob, clearly to open it. “Riko, Daddy wants me to bring ya back to his work to have dinner in the city, we’ll stop by on the way and pick up Ayame from school. Why don’t’cha head on inside and grab somethin’ to play with for the ride? I’ll be right with you to help you pick.”

Riko, like all little kids, jumps at the prospect of visiting her father’s workplace. Squealing, she bursts into the house just as Kirishima pushes the door open and you hear the sound of her footsteps as she sprints up the stairs to her room. You stifle a laugh. She’s probably already dumped all her toys out of her toy chest and is sifting through all the options on the floor.

“Bakugo’ll have your head if he comes home and her room’s a disaster,” you tell him when he turns back to you.

“Ah, but he’ll clean it up anyway, and he likes taking care of things. I’ll be doing him a favor if I leave him a mess.”

You recall, distantly, what you’ve heard of their history together; that they’d been in the same class at UA along with a record-breaking number of other top heroes. Unprecedented, you remember all the reporters saying, even back when they were all first breaking out onto the scene at eighteen and nineteen and twenty. A monster generation of pros, all coming off a war in their first year, trained by All Might himself.

Living right next to you. Helping you put up your suncatcher. Dropping little bombs about the quiet interworkings of their friends’ minds, learned from years of camaraderie.

Best not to ruminate on that too much.

“Don’t think he’d take too kindly to you spilling his secrets, either,” you tease.

“He’ll forgive me.” Kirishima waves it off. He leans against the frame of Bakugo’s front door, one big hand around the edge of the door and swinging it absent-mindedly. “We should exchange numbers, by the way. Odds of this happening again are pretty high, would be good to be able to text you so you can tell Riko what’s happening.”

“Ah! Yeah, sure.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll call myself.”

You reach into your back pocket to retrieve it and unlock it to hand it over without question. That hand that’d been swinging the door around abandons it, letting it close on him without so much as a jolt to his body, and reaches out to take the device from your outstretched grasp. He looks down at it, finding the phone app easily.

“How’s the garden treating you, by the way?” he asks conversationally as he types in his number.

“Hm?”

“The garden,” he repeats, glancing up. His thumb presses the call button and you hear his back pocket begin to chime with a ringtone. “I helped bring up supplies a few weeks ago, how’s it going?”

“Oh! Thank you! I would’ve struggled getting all that up there without you guys, you helped a lot. It’s going well! Things’ve been sprouting and some are beginning to blossom, we’re gonna plant for the summer sometime soon. I could probably give you some if you want. You like zucchini?”

“I will adore any homegrown vegetables, dead serious.”

He certainly sounds dead serious. You smile. “Perfect answer. I’ll have Bakugo bring you some of the next harvest.”

Grinning, those sharp teeth on full display, he hands back your phone and you take it. “I look forward to it.”

Where Riko’s visits tend to be requested by Bakugo and done mostly out of necessity (no less welcome, though, of course), Ayame’s occur during much the opposite times. Often she’ll stay behind after he comes and picks up Riko, claiming that she works better at your place. She’ll also show up at your front door later in the afternoon, backpack slung over her shoulder, complaining about her house being too loud with Riko watching shows or Bakugo helping with her homework. You invite her in every time.

Then she joins that club, and for three days a week she doesn’t come home until after Bakugo has. Her visits drop in frequency at first. Then after the first two weeks they increase; she’s compensating, you think. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she missed you. She’d never tell you that, though.

There’s a concept known as parallel play—two toddlers playing adjacent to each other, not quite interacting with one another but undeniably playing together. Ayame’s visits remind you of it. She’ll unpack her bag onto your dining room table and set to work silently while you do your own work, typically on your laptop sitting at the couch or across the table from her or up at the counter bar in your kitchen. You’ll venture into your office to take phone calls, or excuse yourself to the back terrace, but you tend to stay on the main floor with her.

At first she rarely holds more than a few conversations with you, and they’re often little more than you offering food or help with schoolwork and her turning you down. By the time she joins her club she becomes a little more talkative—often about her work, sometimes about her day. The latter you tend to have to probe for.

You ask if she wants to stay for dinner every time. She’s yet to accept. As the weeks go by, however, she grows more hesitant to reject the offer; soon enough, you think, she might just do it.

Today she’s been particularly quiet. It’s been three weeks since she joined the club; even you can’t tell how much she’s enjoying it and how much she’s merely done it to get the adults in her life off her back. You’re pretty sure she likes it okay.

Her teachers, you know, had been pressuring her to join an extracurricular. There’d been leniency for the first few months of the semester, a general understanding of and sympathy for her situation (it’s hardly easy to transfer to a new school so suddenly, let alone as a result of one’s mother passing and being forced to move away from one’s childhood home to live with a man you’ve never met before) allowing her some time to breathe, but life doesn’t stand still no matter how much one feels it ought to. Teenagers might be distinctly lacking in forethought, but Ayame has enough sense to give in on certain matters.

You haven’t pushed her to tell you about what she’s doing. You know she’s wary of you, worried you’ll go running to Bakugo immediately, and you can respect that. Frankly you’re also just not as interested as he and Riko are—you figure if it’s something embarrassing then you’d just feel bad if you wheedled it out of her, and it isn’t as if you think she’s doing something wrong.

So you haven’t so much as mentioned that Riko keeps asking you about it, even if you find it amusing. Ayame, however, is notably more suspicious than thankful.

“You haven’t asked me about my club,” she says as you sit down across from her after making yourself tea. She’s been working for nearly two hours with you; you’d just had to step out to take a call. “Why not?”

You shrug. “If you wanna keep something a secret that’s your right, I’m not gonna try to pry it out of you.”

“Oh…” The tension in her shoulders eases a little, defensive posture loosening as she sits up straighter. “Thank you. I thought for sure you’d be curious.”

“Well, I’m not not curious,” you clarify. “But my curiosity doesn’t trump your comfort. I’m okay never knowing if you never want me to.”

She doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. She stares at you, mouth slightly agape, but doesn’t say anything; instead, after a few moments and with a light dusting of pink across the bridge of her nose, her head snaps downward and she returns her attention to the papers before her.

You do the same. It’s silent for some time, a few minutes, as the pair of you work sitting across the table from each other. But then Ayame speaks, suddenly, voice wavering a little with hesitance and bashfulness and unable to meet your eye fully.

“It’s cooking,” she says. You look up from your laptop and raise a brow, silently asking her to clarify. She does. “The club I joined. I wanted to join the cooking club at my old school but… I never had the chance to. I always had to watch Riko.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding. “I’m glad you have the chance now. It’s an important skill to learn.”

“Don’t tell Uncle,” she demands curtly. “Or Riko, because she’ll tell Uncle.”

Now you lower your laptop, just slightly. Her shoulders tense from the motion. You ask anyway, though you know it’s at the prospect of the question you’re about to pose.

“I won’t, I promise. But… can I ask why not?”

For a moment, you wonder if she’ll answer at all, or if she’ll stubbornly ignore the question and remain silent for the rest of the visit as she has so many of the other times you’ve pushed for explanations like this. She surprises you instead by sighing, and tapping her pencil rapidly against the table, and then answering.

“Because he’ll get pissy.” It’s sullen, and she obstinately refuses to look up from her work, but she responds. You give a warm smile of encouragement, and she sighs again. “He’s, like, really particular about cooking, okay? But if he knew I wanted to learn from someone else he’d get all… y’know. Pissy. ‘Cause he cares or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, not entirely mocking but rather in agreement. “Is he bad?”

“At cooking? No. He’s good. Really good.”

“So..?”

“So that’s the problem. It’s intimidating being in the kitchen with him and not knowing, like, how to cut things or what temperature to cook at. He’s always judging, and yelling at me when I mess up.” She hunkers down where she’s seated, crossing her arms. Her next words are quieter, and you might call them petulant if they weren’t clearly laced with hurt. “He never yells at Riko when she makes a mess…”

You wish you could comfort her more. Maybe Bakugo does yell at her, and maybe he doesn’t yell at Riko, but in your experience even his normal voice sounds irritated and you’d probably wager a guess that she’s misinterpreting, and whether or not that’s the case it certainly doesn’t help the way she feels about it. So you take a different approach.

“It’s very mature of you to find an alternative way to learn, then. You must care about this a lot.”

It works. She perks up at the praise.

“Mom was always busy… she never had the time to help me learn. Or cook much at all, anyway. But I’ve always wanted to know.” It’s the first time you’ve heard her talk about her mother, you realize. Her tone is melancholy, a little wistful. She swallows, shakes her head, and adds, “And—and when I go visit Grandmother, I’d like to have some skills beforehand, so that I can focus on learning the recipes and not the basics.”

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. And…” you hesitate, not entirely sure how she’ll take it, but say it anyway. “I’m willing to teach you some things, too, if you want.”

Her head snaps up to you, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

“Of course! You’re always welcome, and I’m always making something.”

“Thank you!”

“In fact,” you start, “do you wanna help me cut strawberries?”

“Like… right now?’

“Yeah. I’m making a strawberry shortcake later this afternoon.” You look down at where she still has schoolwork scattered across the table. “Oh, if you have to keep working that’s okay. We can do it another time, too—”

“No!” she exclaims, already jumping to her feet. “I’m okay. I wanna help! But I do have to go back soon, Uncle’s gonna be making dinner soon and he’ll probably want me home so I can make sure Riko doesn’t interrupt him.”

Nodding, you stand up after her. “Understood. We’ll be quick, then. But not too quick, because we’ll be cutting things, and I’m pretty sure if I send you back to Bakugo with fewer fingers than you had when you showed up then I’ll get arrested or something.”

The joke gets you a little laugh. You think it might be pity, but you don’t really mind.

The strawberries are in the fridge. You direct Ayame to get out two cutting boards as you rinse them, dropping them into a paper towel lined bowl and setting them down in between the two cutting boards she’s laid out on the counter.

“Knives are in the knife block next to the sink,” you command her next. “You want a small one, a paring knife, not a really big one.”

She nods. It’s not until she’s pulled out an older one that you realize the one she ought to be using isn’t in the block at all—you’d used it this morning and cleaned it by hand, so it’s on the drying rack where you’d put it to let it air dry,

“Mmm, sorry, not that one.” You reach over to take the knife from the drying rack and slide it over on the counter for her to use. “This one’s sharper. Safer.”

Ayame’s brow furrows. “Wouldn’t that be more dangerous?”

“The opposite, actually. A dull knife can still cut you easily, but you’ll struggle more with cutting what you want to cut, so accidents are more likely. A sharp knife, however, will cut things far easier, and do what you want it to do with less force.”

“I see…”

“Now. Let me cut one.” You pull out a strawberry, one big enough for her to see what you do with it. “Pull off the leaves, throw those out. Then we cut it in half, put the flat side on the board, and cut out the center white part with the stem. Other half, and now we’re done.”

You hold up the cutting board to show her more clearly what you’ve done. Then you pick up both pieces and drop them into the bowl you’ve set up in between the pair of you.

“Now you try.”

“Okay,” Ayame says, clearly more to herself than to you. She pulls the leaves off, then holds out her knife and begins to follow your lead, cutting the fruit in half before setting the flat side down. “Cut out the center.”

“Careful, don’t point the blade at your fingers like that. You could slip really easily and chop off part of them instead of the strawberry.” You reach out slowly, trying hard not to startle her, and move the knife and her fingers into a far more safe position. “There, see how your fingers’ll be out of the way even if the knife slips?”

She nods. “Yeah… Okay, yeah. Lemme try again.”

She does it perfectly the second time around. You tell her as much, watching as she swells up with pride, and then turn to your own cutting board to take your half of the strawberries and start hacking through them. She doesn’t need any more help past what you give to her at the start; you’re still faster by leagues, certainly, but it’s to be expected. You’ve had far more practice.

Soon enough you’re finishing not just your own portion, but half of Ayame’s that you stole as well. She’s nearing the end of what’s left in her bowl; in fact, just as she finishes the last one, her phone lights up. You pause in your own work, glancing over as she checks the message.

“It’s from Uncle,” she says, attention fixated on the phone screen. “He wants me to go help Riko with her homework while he works on dinner.”

“Then you’d better head back over.”

She looks up to meet your eye. She seems hesitant—a little dejected. “Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll help clean up? I’m sure it can wait a few minutes…”

“No need, you were already helping me by cutting. I’ll bring over some of the shortcake when I’m done with it, sounds good?” You wink at her. “The best part of cooking is getting to eat the fruit of your labor, we wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

“Okay.” She’s smiling now, nodding at you, clearly excited by the prospect.

“And if you like it, I could send you the recipe. It’s fairly easy, good for beginners.”

“Yeah! Definitely! See you after dinner, then.”

With that promise, she’s heading for the door, pausing only momentarily to nab a cut strawberry to pop in her mouth as she’s leaving.

Spring gives way to summer. Your days are occupied with the garden and with work; the end of the semester draws near for the girls, Ayame is busy preparing for exams which, ironically, means you’re seeing more of her. She studies late with you now, staying for dinner on occasion, and she even helps you make it sometimes, finally confident enough after weeks attending her cooking club to allow herself more freedom in the kitchen.

You find it surprisingly nice. There’s a certain kind of pride that comes with aiding her, helping her along and cheering alongside her when she does it properly for the first time. And with seeing her become more and more comfortable cooking, and by extension with you.

That isn’t to say she’s entirely open. She still locks up sometimes, goes quiet when you say something that reminds her of her mother or pry a little too hard. On very sparse occasions she’s had to leave and go back home—you look on the bright side when that happens, that she’s comfortable enough at Bakugo’s (or, perhaps more accurately, with Riko) that it’s a place she can go to calm down when she’s feeling too much.

Riko, meanwhile, eagerly awaits summer break. She’s made countless friends at her new school, and she talks at length about every one, excitedly telling you about how they’ll see each other every day while school’s out and play when they don’t have to do schoolwork. She’s expressing a bit more interest in the garden, too, after a day where her teachers explained how good for the environment household gardens are.

In the last remaining weeks of the first semester, a large plant appears in a pot in the corner of the roof.

You certainly didn’t plant it, nor did you bring up the pot or the soil or anything else. But it’s meticulously cared for, large and thriving, and though you don’t mess with it too much you do pay enough attention to notice when it begins to flower and then, slowly, bear fruit.

It’s a pepper plant. Not a bell pepper, certainly—hot peppers. Thai chili peppers, you’re fairly certain; they’re the right size and, as they continue to grow, your little inspections begin to leave your fingers feeling itchy with the telltale sensation of capsaicin.

Where before you thought it might have been Ayame’s pet project, the realization of what they are has you assuming a new culprit. And that assumption is proven correct a few days into the girls’ summer break.

Now that the weather is sweltering, and the midday sun is borderline unbearable, you shift your gardening time to after dinner when the sun is lowering. Of course that does very little for the bugs, and it leaves you with fading light, but you prefer it over the heat.

Bakugo apparently does too. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have the time otherwise. Either way, when you climb up the metal steps to access the roof, you find him crouched over the mysterious pepper plant.

For a moment, you watch. He’s solidly occupied by it, with his own set of supplies at his feet and his attention solely on the plant. You can’t quite see what he’s doing, but he’s definitely looking at the peppers; you get small glimpses of his face and he looks, you think, strikingly serene.

The missing scowl almost throws you for a loop. You’d have thought it’d be permanent by now, but clearly it isn’t.

And you’ve had enough of your creeping. You clear your throat, walking up onto the roof to catch his attention. “Lovely evening for gardening, huh?”

He looks up. The serene expression is gone; you almost wish you could bring it back yourself.

“I was wondering what that plant was,” you say, undeterred by his silence. “Should’ve figured it was yours. Dunno why Ayame would be growing chili peppers.”

“I’ve had it for years, actually.”

His voice, when he finally speaks, is nice to hear, even if it’s gravelly and curtt. You cock your head at the admission.

“Really? Kept it indoors?”

“Balconies, mostly. The terrace for a bit. Too shady, though. Full sun up here’s better.”

“It seems to like it.”

“Yeah…” Bakugo looks back down at it, clearly proud. “Been usin’ this plant forever. You like spice?”

You shrug. “Normal amount.” Then your eyes narrow as you give him a side-eye. “Something tells me my normal is different from your normal, though.”

He snorts. “Probably. S’okay, just means we won’t be competin’ too bad for these things.”

“True enough, I suppose. How long have you had it?”

“‘bout a year. Give or take. Longer than I’ve had this house, that’s for damn sure. Lugged it all the way to the back terrace when I first showed up, dirt ‘n all.”

“You take good care of it.”

He puffs at the compliment, just slightly. Not much.

“‘Course I fuckin’ do.” He stands, rolling out his shoulders and loosening himself up from squatting for what you’re sure is a long while. Meanwhile you pick a spot and kneel next to it, pulling out tools and other supplies from the tote you use to bring it all up. “I better head back down before the girls drive each other insane. Enjoy your gardening.”

“Mmm. I will.”

He goes to head down the stairs, but pauses, turning back momentarily to look at you. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” You lean back to look at him, just in time to see his eyes jump up from what you’re pretty sure is the spot under your legs. You look down, where your thighs are taut from your position and bulging where the tiny shorts you have on are pressing into the skin, and move them to check beneath. “What were you looking at?”

When you find nothing, you return your gaze to him, and he’s pointedly looking away; it’s difficult to tell in the fading light but you think he might be a bit pink.

“Nothin’,” he mutters, barely audible from how far away you are.

“But—”

“Nothin’!” he says again, louder, as he raises a hand to rub down his face in exasperation. “Just—forget it. Didn’t see shit. Wasn’t even what I wanted to tell ya.”

“Okay…” you draw out the word in confusion. “What did you want to tell me?”

“We’ll, uh. We’ll be taking a trip to see my parents next weekend.” He’s flustered, you realize; voice gruff as always but less assured than normal, stumbling over his words just slightly. It’s endearing, though you’re still perplexed by what brought it on. He clears his throat. “Just… y’know, figured you should know.”

“Oh? Have fun.”

“We’ll be back ‘round Tuesday.” His attention snaps over to the pepper plant. “Peppers should be ready to harvest ‘round then… ‘ll be able to grab the early ones ‘n the late ones, but go ‘head ‘n nab the rest if I’m gone.”

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t let ‘em go to waste.”

“I make no promises except that I’ll try.”

“‘kay, y’got me there. Night, then.” He pauses, a little frown, eyes off in the distance as, despite saying goodnight, he still hovers. That red gaze darts back to you. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“I won’t.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t fall on your way down.”

This time he huffs out a bit of laughter. And rolls his eyes, taking the hint as he turns to really leave. “Fuckin’ won’t. No nagging needed.”

Before you can retort that he’d nagged you first, he’s gone, and you stare a little dazedly at the place he’d just disappeared. Had he been dawdling to keep talking to you? You couldn’t tell.

Shaking your head, you turn back to your plants. No use lingering on it.

Ayame shows up at your door unannounced one Tuesday morning directly after they return from their trip to Bakugo’s parents’. You find her leaning up against the side of your house, right next to the door, as you return from your walk with Tadeo’s leash in hand.

She greets Tadeo eagerly, though that’s easily overshadowed by his own frenzy. His tail wags so enthusiastically that his whole butt shakes, and he attempts to jump on her once—she puts a stop to that by pushing his paws off her thighs and giving him a stern “no” before bending down to his height to pat his head.

“Good boy,” she coos to him, then looks up at you without letting up from her affection. “Morning.”

“Morning! You’re here early.”

She’s dressed fashionably, in distressed jean shorts with fishnets beneath and a ripped-up black t-shirt with a skull on it. The bright pink band on her wrist might ruin the aesthetic, but she makes it work; Riko gave it to her. At your words she stands to look at you fully.

“I know, I…” She frowns, looking away and shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I dunno. I needed to talk, I guess? And you were… my first thought? So here I am?”

“Here you are,” you repeat. “You’re always welcome to talk with me, whenever you want to. Come inside, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thanks.” The tension in her shoulders eases at your words. She follows you quietly when you open your door and gesture for her to join you. You haven’t set out your guest slippers for her—this visit, after all, is unexpected—but she’s seen you take them out enough times that she finds them with little prompt before you can finish taking Tadeo’s harness off. He sprints off to wait by his food bowl the moment he’s free.

“Have you had breakfast?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen. “I usually make mine now.”

“Um… no, but I’ll be making breakfast with everyone this morning. Uncle’s up but we’re waiting on Riko, she’ll probably wake up in an hour or so. Thanks, though.”

You nod in acceptance. “Let’s just have some tea, then. Let me know if you change your mind, though; we have time and I have plenty of food.”

The first thing to do is feed Tadeo—you direct Ayame to do that, turning your own attention to brewing a pot of green tea for both of you as she scoops kibble into his bowl. Predictably, he sets about devouring it as soon as it hits the metal, and without you asking her to, Ayame has already removed the water bowl from the raised tray to dump and refill it.

It’s quiet as you prepare the tea. You decide that if she wanted to talk now, she’d have initiated it; instead she leans herself back against the countertop and watches as you pad about the kitchen. She might not be eating with you but you take the chance to start the rice for your own breakfast, rinsing it and turning the cooker on while the water comes to temperature.

Once the tea is steeping, however, you send her to sit at your dining table; she seems a little stiff still, but better. Hopefully even more so as she gets more comfortable. You join her quickly.

Sliding her cup of tea over the table and hugging your own as you sit down, you give her a warm smile. “All right, what’s up? Is this about your trip?”

She’s been stressing about it, you know. Worried that Bakugo’s parents will reject her.

“No. It’s—” Ayame cuts herself off with a sigh. Shoulders tense, she stares down at the steaming cup in her hands with a strange look on her face. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh?”

Her nose wrinkles. “If you’re gonna be weird I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“I won’t be weird, promise. You sound like you’re very conflicted.”

“Hayao’s his name. He’s the first guy who’s ever been interested in me and he’s, like… I dunno. One of the cutest guys at school. All my friends were so jealous when he asked for my phone number.”

“Yeah? Sounds flattering that he was interested.”

“It was. Is! I mean, he really is cute… They say he was on the hero track in junior high, but his parents refused to let him do something that dangerous. And he’s pretty smart. He asked me to help him study for our literature exam at the end of the semester, which is how I knew he was, like, into me? Because he didn’t really need the help, yanno? Which was cute. And—yeah, flattering. He asked me out on the last day of the semester, right before break. I thought it’d be nice, getting to go on dates and stuff when school’s out. But…” She trails off. Her gaze falls to her tea before her, and she traces the rim dejectedly with the pad of a finger.

“But?”

“But, I dunno. It’s just not really working? He kinda ignores me whenever we hang out as a group and his friends kinda laugh when I try to talk to him. And he lets other girls hang around him all the time—people don’t really know we’re, like, together, so I don’t blame them but I mean he should tell them right? I dunno. I feel kinda sick when I see him now, or when I might see him, or when he texts me. Like my stomach drops and I almost wanna throw up? My friends say it’s probably butterflies but I really don’t think it is. I think it’s anxiety? I dunno.”

“I see.” You nod sagely. “We do not like this boy. Message received.”

“No, it’s—” She cuts herself off with a huff and her eyes cut to the side. Still cradling her teacup, her knuckles go white with a self-soothing grip. “The truth is I don’t think he really likes me.”

“Oh.”

“Like…” Ayame’s shoulders slump. “My friends are like ‘just go along with it, you’ve never been asked out before’ but I’m miserable. All he wants to do is talk about school and Dynamight.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t quite thought about it, but it makes sense in hindsight—people wanting to get to know her and Riko because of their connection to the number two hero. Especially stupid, shallow teenage boys with no understanding of how much that might sting.

“Well… okay. Firstly, I have to say I disagree with your friends here. No guy is worth feeling miserable for.” You pause, and she snorts, but doesn’t disagree. So you continue. “Do you wanna work out what you think you should do? Or just vent, because I’m here either way.”

“I… dunno what I can do.”

“Well, you could always break up with him, no shame in that. Or,” you add quickly when she opens her mouth, “you could talk to him about it, communicate what’s wrong. If he’s the kind of boy you should stick it out for, he’ll be receptive to that.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring dejectedly into her tea before her. You let her think, process your words, while you sip on your own and watch as Tadeo, done with his breakfast, waddles over to his favorite armchair and hauls himself up to settle in for the morning.

Then you turn your attention back to your visitor.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I…” She sighs. “I don’t know if he’ll be receptive.”

“You never will unless you try.” You take a sip of your tea and give yourself a moment to arrange your thoughts. When you can order them into the right sentences to get across what you want to say, you lean in, lacing your fingers together on the table in front of you. “Look, Ayame, relationships are hard. They take work, even when it’s the right person. I’m not going to tell you if this boy is right or wrong, you’re the only person who can decide that. But no matter what, none of your choices here are going to be easy.”

Ayame squirms in her seat. That, clearly, had been the wrong way to go about it. You can practically see her shutting down at the prospect. A new approach, then—you lean back instead, bracing yourself on the floor with your arms and looking across the table at her.

“You know, the first guy who ever expressed interest in me was the school delinquent when I was a second year. Real cute—though he’d take issue with that description—very charming, got in a fight for me. I liked him a lot, I really did. But..” You let it linger, hoping to create intrigue.

It works; she looks up at you, tilting her head in question. “But?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

She ruminates on that for a moment. Her face is pensive, her gaze unfocused. “How’d you figure that out?”

“I melted down two days after he first asked me out and my mom had to break up with him for me on my phone while I was crying my eyes out on our living room floor.”

Ayame gives a burst of laughter, then covers her mouth. You shake your head and laugh, too.

“It’s okay to laugh, it’s funny. Really!” you insist when she shakes her head in disbelief. “She read the text out loud and I was wailing, absolutely bawling, rolling around on the floor begging her not to and then begging her to just send the message. I swear, that woman had so much patience for me…”

“How’d your dad react?”

The question, admittedly, takes you aback. You tilt your head, trying to gauge Ayame’s intent—it’s an odd jump to make, you think, but she’s looking a little expectant and you realize she’s fishing. You haven’t talked to her about your father before. So you decide to be candid.

“I don’t have one, actually. Had a stepdad for a bit when I was really young but he left… when I was about Riko’s age, maybe a bit younger. Then it was just me and my mom—at least, until I got accepted to university and my grandparents offered to put me through it.” You smile softly, hoping to get across your affection instead of letting Ayame feel awkward or ashamed for asking. It only kind of works.

“Oh.” She deflates a bit. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, it’s not something I try to hide. And you didn’t know either way. Besides,” you gesture between the two of you, “we gotta stick together, yeah?”

If you weren’t looking for it, you might have missed the way her lips quirk up slightly at your declaration. “Yeah.”

“Good. So I wasn’t ready—that was my point. Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d tried to force it; maybe I would’ve been miserable and come to resent him, and he didn’t deserve that. The way it worked out was better for both of us.”

“How?” She sounds a little desperate. You think you understand. It must be hard to believe that her situation can work out. Maybe that’s right—maybe this specific boy really can’t—but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.

“How’d it work out? Kenzou and I stayed friends—well,” you hold up your hands to do air quotes, “‘friends,’ because admittedly we were both still pining—until graduation when I kissed him and we started going out for real. And that lasted a good long while the second time around. I don’t regret taking a little longer to date him, because it meant that when I was ready it was a much more successful experience. And trust me, if a boy really likes you, he won’t care.”

“You mean he’ll wait for me?”

You tilt your head. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, walking the line between encouragement and setting her expectations too high.

“If he likes you,” you settle upon saying, because it’s safe. Safer than telling her this boy will wait for her; you honestly doubt that, from what she’s been telling you. “And if he’s the kind of person who’s satisfied with that. But if he doesn’t, it’s not your fault. There’ll be other boys who do like you and who are the kind of person who’ll wait for you, if needed.”

“I guess.”

“Just trust me on this. It’s true.”

“I… okay.”

She doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious. It’s never going to be easy to convince a teenager that life continues after high school—never going to be easy to convince them that what’s before them right now might not be the ultimate happiness they think it is. Maybe you should have just told her that he’s a jerk and she shouldn’t waste her time.

But no, it means more if she comes to that conclusion herself. All you can do is finish your cup of tea and hope she takes what you’ve said to heart.

“How’d he get in a fight for you,” Ayame asks suddenly.

“Who, Kenzou? My high school boyfriend?” You chuckle. “Teenagers tend to be a lot more subtle than younger kids, but I still got picked on a lot for being quirkless. He caught some boys stealing my stuff—one of them was levitating it up above me so I couldn’t reach it—and stepped in.”

“And beat them up?” She’s excited now, a little starry-eyed at the concept.

“Oh, soundly. Used his quirk to overpower them—he was a hero prospect, too, once upon a time, though he’s always been too critical of the hero system to become one, even back then. ‘Course quirk usage got him in a world of trouble with administration, but… he always said it was worth it to meet me. I learned later on that he’d liked me for a while, actually, just didn’t know how to approach me.”

“Wow, that’s… so romantic. I wish a guy would do something like that for me…” A sigh, wistful, and you’re reminded that the girl before you has never had a relationship before. She deserves a first boyfriend like your own, you think. “I can’t believe you’re not still together.”

You snort. “Well, our lives just diverged. We’re still friends! He visits me whenever he’s back in Japan.”

“Back in Japan?” The awestruck tone has returned tenfold. “Where does he go?”

“Oh, all over the place. To tell you the truth I hardly know what he does. Something about quirk research, it’s all a little over my head honestly. But he comes back about twice a year to see his family and stops by when he has the chance. I’m sure you’ll see him someday.”

Just as you finish the sentence, in the kitchen behind you, your rice maker gives a little chime to indicate it’s done. You pause to look back at it, and—prompted by the music—Ayame glances at the clock on your wall.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the time. “Oh! I should probably go back, Riko should be up now.”

She jumps up from her seated position, careful not to rattle the teacups on the table. You follow after her, albeit more slowly, as she removes the house slippers (you should get a pair just for her, you think; Riko, too) to change back into her shoes.

“Thank you!” she says as she opens the door to go, turning back to give you a small bow that makes you grin from where you hover just inside. “I don’t know if I’ll break up with him… but your advice helped. I’ll see you this weekend? For the garden?”

“This weekend,” you assure her, and with that she runs off to catch her train.

The following morning, as you return from your daily walk with Tadeo, you find your neighbors (plus one) gathered at the front stoop.

The addition is a teenage boy. A little taller than Ayame, dressed in the most unremarkable teenage boy outfit you think you’ve ever seen, he hovers near her and seemingly refuses to take his attention away from Bakugo, who he’s intently talking to. Riko stands at her father’s side, hand in his, while Ayame is turned away with her arms crossed over her chest and a frown gracing her lips.

Riko is the one who notices you, turning and waving with her free hand as she tugs at the other one to get Bakugo’s attention.

“Miss Sunny! Miss Sunny!”

You give a little wave, gesturing for her to return her attention to her father, and intend to pass on by without issue. Unfortunately Tadeo has different plans.

He goes certifiably insane as you try to pass, barking up a storm and managing to tug so hard against his leash that you stumble (a true feat of strength, considering how small and how old he is) towards the group of four at the front of the steps. You do your best to reel him in but he’s making a beeline straight for Ayame’s visitor and before you can manage to pull him back towards you to pick him up, he reaches the boy’s legs.

The kid (what was his name? Hayato?) yelps, leaping back and almost cowering behind Ayame. She seems unimpressed—the whole family does, and you almost feel sorry for him considering he now has the number two pro hero, a seven year old, and his own high school sweetheart staring at him in varying levels of disdain. You hadn’t even known Riko could look that bored.

Tadeo seems largely unfazed by the sudden movement. He attempts to out-maneuver and bypass Ayame’s body but she’s faster, head whipping down from where she’d been staring down her nose at her friend to bend over and snatch up your dog swiftly and gently.

He’s still yapping up a storm when she hands him off to you with a troubled expression.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily. “He’s usually so chill. Dunno what’s up with him today.”

The kid (Hayao, you remember suddenly. You’d been close enough) side-eyes Bakugo, stepping forward slightly and opening his mouth to speak when your neighbor beats him to it.

“Nah, s’fine.” He gives a dismissing wave of his hand. “Mutt’s so old I doubt he even has teeth left to bite with.”

“Yeah,” Hayao rushes to agree. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Tadeo makes a particularly valiant struggle in your arms, wiggling around. You might be playing up how hard it is to keep hold of him, if only to watch the boy’s eyes land on your dog and widen as he hesitantly takes a step back. “Don’t worry, I got him.”

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ayame cuts in, “because we gotta go or we’ll be late.”

Hayao’s attention is pulled from the dog as she grabs him by the wrist and begins tugging him away down the road. He stumbles after her; before they can get far, however, Riko darts forward to intercept.

She gives the teen a hug, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up with a bright grin to say, “Bye-bye!”

He seems to startle from it. He’s stiff as he stares down at her with wide, baffled eyes and clearly has no clue what to do with his hands as he holds them both out wildly. “Uh, yeah, bye.” Then he looks up at her father with a strikingly nervous expression. “Good to—to meet you, Mr. Bakugo—Mr. Dynamight, sir.”

Ayame pulls her sister off him, hissing something like stop being weird before grabbing Hayao’s hand again and pulling him down the road all the more insistently. Riko is entirely unaffected as she stands with suspiciously innocent posture and waves as they head off.

She comes bounding up to where you’re hovering next to Bakugo with Tadeo still in your arms. You set the dog down as Ayame and Hayao disappear over the hill, and Riko sidles up next to her father.

“Did he notice?” he asks, still looking down the road.

“No, daddy,” she says sweetly, giggling like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever made. You glance down at her to find that she’s not-so-subtly trying to shove something into Bakugo’s hand.

“Nothing less from my best fuckin’ sidekick,” he responds gruffly as he takes whatever she’s trying to give him. You can only gape as he turns to you—no, your dog—and bends down to offer Tadeo the mystery item.

It’s a dog treat. You remember a jar full of them always on the kitchen counter back when your grandparents still lived in your current home. You’d asked them where they bought the things, because they looked fancy as hell and Tadeo always seemed to adore them—still does, clearly, judging by the way he barks and his whole lower half shakes with the force of his tail wagging—but you’d never gotten a straight answer. Now you think you might have found it.

“Played your part well, too, mutt.” It’s surprisingly affectionate—for Bakugo, anyway. He gives Tadeo a pat on the head as the dog snarfs down the gift; you haven’t yet overcome your shock when he stands.

“What the fuck,” you’re saying before you can stop yourself. “Is that why he was being weird?”

“Used to love those things. Made ‘em for him all the time.” Bakugo stands to his full height before turning to his daughter. “Ready to go, bug?”

“Whoa, whoa, no you can’t just leave after that, I need an explanation.”

Bakugo doesn’t answer you at first; he lifts Riko with ease, resting her on his hip. She’s still acting incredibly self-satisfied.

“My dad asked me to put a dog treat in Hayao’s pocket,” she tells you smugly.

Her father frowns, turning to her and raising his free hand to press a finger to his lips and shush her playfully. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Secret mission, yeah?”

She pouts at the reprimand. You interrupt, slightly annoyed.

“Why, exactly?”

“He’s not really interested in Ayame,” he tells you hotly, though you get the feeling the anger isn’t directed at you. “Punk’s just some fuckin’ hero fan. Wanted to meet me, weasel his way into my good graces or some shit. If I told Ayame directly she’d just get pissed off at me. Trusts the mutt, though, so figured I’d use that.”

The explanation surprises you, just a little. Frankly you hadn’t thought he’d paid enough attention—not to Ayame’s emotional state but to her boyfriend himself and his unsaid intentions behind asking her out—to have come to such a conclusion. Ayame almost certainly hadn’t told him as she’d told you, so it had to have been his own observations and his own conclusion from them. You wonder, briefly, if you ought to tell him about the conversation yesterday morning, but decide not to. It feels like a breach of trust somehow, and even if she doesn’t feel comfortable talking to her guardian about things you’d rather not make her feel like she can’t trust you, either.

Riko, however, has a different plan. Perched against Bakugo’s hip, she squirms, calling for the attention of both of you.

“Ayame told me Miss Sunny told her to break up with him,” she informs the both of you proudly.

Bakugo’s head snaps back to you. You shrug. “She came to ask for my advice yesterday morning.”

“That’s why she was stompin’ around so early? Thought she had a school thing.”

“Don’t you get up that early?”

“I don’t stomp.”

Biting your lip, you meet Riko’s eye and widen your own comically until she giggles. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I don’t,” he insists, sounding indignant.

“He does!” Riko interjects. “He stomps all around and wakes us up when we’re sleeping even though we’re all the way upstairs.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet Bakugo’s gaze. It doesn’t even require words—he narrows his eyes in response and turns Riko away from you.

“Don’t manipulate my daughter. She’s only sayin’ that ‘cause you laughed.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Playin’ dumb doesn’t suit you.” You watch his jaw tighten with his words, and it makes a smile pull at your lips. It’s never less than amusing, the way he takes things so seriously.

“Still in the dark here,” you respond, voice sing-songing. “I’ve thought up my fine, by the way.”

“Your fine?”

“Yes. My fine. Well, Tadeo’s, I suppose.”

“For what?” Bakugo sounds incredulous.

“For his participation in your plan,” you chirp in response. “You used my dog, you have to give him something in return.”

“We gave him a treat!” Riko pipes up helpfully in response.

“Ah, true, but he played a vital role, no? Wouldn’t you say he ought to get more?”

“Hmmm…” she purses her lips, mimicking someone thinking hard, before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! He should get all the treats he can have!”

“I agree.” You nod with her before returning your attention to her father. “So, in order to provide him with as many treats as he deserves, the fine is you telling me where to get those, because I could never get a straight answer out of my grandparents…”

His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s going to brush you off. Sorry, bud, you’re already telling Tadeo in your head, because you’re never going to learn where his favorite treats come from.

Riko, however, has different intentions.

“Oh! Oh! I know!”

“Riko—” Bakugo starts, but she’s already saying it.

“Daddy makes them! He makes them from scratch! I helped him yesterday, he asked me to help knead the dough, but I wasn’t allowed to help put them in the oven because the pans are too heavy and it’s too hot and I might burn myself.”

Against your will, your jaw drops a little. When, you wonder, will this man stop surprising you—making dog treats from scratch for your grandparents’ elderly dog? You’d never have guessed. Your mind recalls the jar of them from a year ago, full to the brim every time you’d stop by, and wonder how much baking he’d had to do to keep it that way.

“Oh,” is all you can say in response. “So it’s not some… crazy expensive boutique.”

Standing before you, he looks embarrassed; a little sheepish. “Nah. Was gonna give you the rest of the batch tonight, actually. Wouldn’t want ‘em to go to waste.”

“How much?”

He shrugs. Riko bobs with the motion, giggling excitedly. “‘bout thirty. Not a ton.”

You nod. “Okay. Okay, how’s this. If Tadeo did his job properly, and Ayame comes back single… you’ll take a day and make five batches. If he didn’t, we just get the leftovers.���

“Deal,” he barks. Riko cheers. Tadeo, not to be outdone, barks as well.

That afternoon you don’t see them—you have a call with a client that lasts well into the afternoon, and on Fridays Bakugo always makes sure to come home early to make and eat dinner as a family. It’s sweet, you think; your mother used to do the same, though on a less consistent schedule. The perks of owning one’s own agency and being one’s own boss, and not having to be subject to the ever-changing requirements of the service industry as your mother had been.

In the evening, however, Ayame and Riko wander up while you’re working on the garden. It’s been thriving; you’ve had to wage a small war with blossom end rot on your beefsteak tomatoes lately, but other than that you haven’t had any pressing issues, and everything else you’ve harvested has been on time and good quality. With summer coming to a close, and the weather beginning to cool, you’ve begun the process of planting for autumn and winter harvests.

Riko finds a spot near the stairs and sits herself down on the concrete before one of the dilapidated flower boxes you’ve yet to clean up, filled with overflowing weeds and stubborn herbs. Her hair is plaited now, two long braids down her back tied with little pink bows at the end—it had been down this morning, and you get the feeling her sister might be behind the style change.

“Uncle’s finishing up dinner,” Ayame tells you as she approaches, and you nod.

“Well, you two are more than welcome out here while you wait, if he says it’s okay.”

“My dad’s a really good cook,” Riko says from behind you.

“Is he now?”

You can’t see, but you can hear how vigorously she’s nodding from the sound of her voice. “Yeah, yeah! He says his daddy taught him.”

“Your grandpa?”

“Yeah! He’s a really good cook, too. He made us food when we went to visit him last weekend.”

“Really? What’d he make?”

Riko regales you with all the food Bakugo’s father made the three of them over the two days of their visit. She lists off all the dishes, then starts on the ingredients—with extensive help from her sister, who corrects her when she mispronounces things or gets lost in her train of thought.

“I got to practice cooking a little,” Ayame adds to you quietly while Riko is talking, smiling excitedly. “Uncle’s mother didn’t let him in the kitchen while I was there, so his father helped me, and let me help him some.”

“Was it fun?”

“Yeah. It was.”

“Did you learn some stuff?”

“He showed me how to make tonkatsu. Said I was a natural, actually.” She sounds proud as she tells you, perhaps a little bashful. “I wanna visit again soon. Uncle said we might go back for a weekend when school starts back up, I think I’d actually be really excited for it.”

It’s then that you realize Riko has stopped talking. You raise a finger to quiet Ayame, who pauses immediately.

“Riko? You wanna keep talking?”

She doesn’t answer. You turn around, only slightly concerned, but find her attention completely gone. She’s turned away from you, having scooted even closer to the busted flower box, and she’s put herself to work on her own form of unstructured gardening as she pulls up weeds and pushes the dirt around into piles. It isn’t impossible to get her to focus and do real gardening with you, but it’s hardly worth it for the minor upkeep you’re doing tonight, so you turn back around and drop the conversation to let her play.

With Riko solidly lost to the infinite possibilities of her imagination and the planter box, you’re left with Ayame, who stands across from you. Beckoning her down to join you in your work is easy; a quiet gesture with your head and she’s kneeling with you, pulling from her pockets gloves that she’d taken from the pile near the stairs.

You hardly have to direct her on what to do. She’s already weeding with you, meticulously plucking unknown stems from amongst the shoots of your late-blooming carrots and radishes and onions.

“It sounds like it was a productive trip for you, too, then,” you tell her.

She nods. “Yeah. It was really nice. Uncle’s parents are great, they were real nice to me. I appreciated it. His mom took me to her work on Monday, actually. She’s a fashion designer. She took me to lunch, too, and we talked. It was… fun.”

“That’s great!” Not that you’d thought it likely for Bakugo’s parents to react poorly, it’s still good to hear that they’d welcomed Ayame readily.

She doesn’t seem to want to keep talking, though. She lets the conversation die down, and you let her, the pair of you focusing on the work before you in silence. Though there’s a more pressing discussion to be had.

Once the pair of you seem to get into a groove, you broach the topic. “So did you do it?”

“Do what?” Ayame blinks at you, and you push down the urge to tell her that she’s not nearly good enough at lying to convince you.

“Break up with him,” you decide to say instead.

“Oh… yeah. I wasn’t really sure this morning—I mean, I wanted to but I didn’t want to? So I wasn’t going to? But…” She moves to kneel next to you, not even bothering with gloves as she digs her hands into the dirt. “Tadeo’s freakout this morning made me change my mind.”

That throws you for a loop. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting it—somehow you’d thought it’d have been your talk with her, if anything. Maybe you should give Bakugo more credit.

“Your talk helped a lot too!” Ayame rushes to add. “I just… well, you told me to choose and I was still unsure. But, like, dogs are really good judges of character, you know? And Hayao… really didn’t like Tadeo, either. He kept talking about him on our way to school. And I don’t wanna be with a guy like that. So I told him we were through when we showed up. Which was probably not a good plan, I probably should have done it after school so he could have the weekend to, like, process or whatever. But I can’t take it back now, I guess.”

“Hey, look at it this way: if you’d waited then you’d have spent the day fretting, and that’s worse than what he got. Plus you might’ve overthought things and not gone through with it. Good on you for getting it over with.”

She doesn’t seem like she believes you; she nods absently, keeps her attention fixed on the work before her. You decide to go for a different approach.

“How’d he take it?”

Ayame makes a face.

You chuckle quietly. “That bad, huh?”

“He was awful. Told me I was a bad girlfriend anyway. Said I was all distant, I guess? Like, we were dating for two weeks. He really can’t judge that. And—and if I was that bad, why didn’t he break up with me first? Would’ve saved me the trouble…”

“How’re you feeling, though?”

“Uh, good, honestly?” She shoves her hands in her pockets, then seems to realize just how dirty they are and removes them, instead moving to brush them off over the seeds she’d just planted. “I mean, all things considered. Also I’m not supposed to know but Riko told me Uncle got me purin from my favorite bistro to cheer me up, so. Great? I guess?”

“Food solves all of life’s woes,” you tell her sagely, and she huffs a laugh. “Really, though, I’m proud of you. Breakups are hard on everyone involved, including the one who does it. It’s a difficult decision to make, but I think you made the right one.”

Again she makes a face, this one even more exaggerated. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird! I just think you made a mature choice and I’m proud of you!”

“Yeah, okay.” Despite the dismissive tone, her next words are clearly genuine as she sidles up next to you. “Thanks for the advice, weirdo.”

“You’re always welcome.” You nudge her softly, drawing a smile from her surly face with ease. “I’m just glad it helped.”

She nods. The pair of you fall silent for a moment, you returning your attention to the seeds you’ve just planted and her simply squatting next to you watching you work.

Then a voice calls out her name.

“Ayame!”

You both startle, whipping about to find Bakugo standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. Though his face is stern, he doesn’t seem angry—no more so than typical, anyway—and the call of her name hadn’t been particularly irate either.

“Set the table,” he orders, then turns to go back down before Ayame has even acknowledged him.

She huffs audibly, and mumbles a snippy response under her breath even as she stands to do as he asked. “Couldn’t even say please? Like living with a drill sergeant.”

Despite yourself, and the knowledge that laughing will only encourage her, you snort in amusement. Luckily he couldn’t have heard either her comment or your reaction—Ayame does, though, and you catch a hint of a smile as she walks over to the stairs where Bakugo waits.

He lets her go down first, then follows, though not before locking eyes with Riko and telling her to behave for you—and then giving you a curt nod before ducking down.

Riko is entirely occupied with her broken-down planter box. It’s funny, you think (adorable, even) how much she enjoys the dirt, when her other primary loves have always been pastel pink and sparkles. Considering her quirk, though—and her mother’s—it makes sense. You suppose you ought to be happy she’s not using it to explode half your garden. Instead, she’s tearing up the weeds from the dirt and using them to make what you’re fairly certain are dolls; little stick figures with arms and legs made of stems and flowers as heads, which she’s moving around in piles of dirt. If you asked, you’re certain each pile would have a convoluted, highly detailed story behind it, explanations for what structures they are and what the different dolls are doing within them. You choose to leave her alone.

Instead you focus your attention back on gardening. While the conversation with Ayame had, obviously, been important to have, you hadn’t actually gotten much work done during it; too busy talking.

So you take the time now to actually garden. There’s mulch to be added, leaves to trim back, plants to water. You tentatively have hope that you’ve fixed the blossom end rot that had been plaguing your tomatoes, though it’s a bit too early to be fully certain of it.

You get to the eggplant, however, and realize that while you hadn’t anticipated it, it’s ready for harvest. You’d brought up the right tools to do it, a pair of shears, but they’re not on your person—they’re over in the pile of supplies you’ve left near the top of the stairs.

Now, you could go get them yourself. But there’s a certain child in the vicinity that you’d like to get to help out at least a little.

“Riko, sweetie,” you call out, “there’s a pair of shears over there that I need. Could you hand them to me? The orange ones?” You reach out your palm and wait for her.

But it’s not an eight year old’s hand that gives you the shears. The hand that reaches out is far too large—larger than your own, even, hardened with rough work and attached to a massive forearm that also couldn’t belong to a little girl. You yelp in shock, yanking your hand back and dropping the tool in the process.

Bakugo grumbles as he stoops to pick it up and you’re left reeling with your hand pressed flush against your chest where your heart hammers rapidly beneath your ribs.

“It’s just me, dumbass.” He holds the packet of seeds out for you again, scowling all the while.

“I didn’t know you were still up here, prick.” There’s a number of more obscene insults you might have employed if not for Riko still hovering in the vicinity, but unlike her father you refuse to encourage that kind of language from her. It doesn’t escape him; his eyes crinkle and his mouth twitches in what must be him holding back laughter. Your own eyes narrow as you stare at him. There are more pressing matters either way—such as how he in all his pro hero muscle managed to climb back up the metal staircase to the roof without making a sound. It’s worth asking. “How are you so quiet when you’re that big?”

“Trade secret.”

The only response you have to give to that answer is a low hum—not quite dismissive, but certainly unamused. You make an attempt to turn your attention back to the box before you, seeds in hand, but Bakugo doesn’t stay quiet for long.

“Riko,” he says suddenly, drawing the girl’s attention from her little floral dolls. “Go help your sister set the table.”

She pouts a little, but with a stern look from her father she’s quickly tossing the handmade doll in her hand to the side, rising to her feet, and darting off back towards the top of the stairs where, you realize, Ayame hovers and is clearly waiting for her—she must have come back up with Bakugo, you think. On her way over, Riko pauses briefly near Bakugo to stand up on her tip-toes and pull him down so that she can press a kiss to his cheek. You smile a little at the sight, at how he caves to her tugging so easily, and at how Ayame beckons her to lead her down the stairs—they’re steep, a little rickety, and you’re glad that Ayame is making Riko go first to ensure she stays safe. They disappear down, the metallic sound of their feet tapping on the iron rungs fading as they descend.

And then you realize that Bakugo is still standing before you, watching you as if waiting for something.

“Is there… a reason you’ve stayed? Need to tell me something?” you ask, but he remains stubbornly silent, still scowling, not quite meeting your eye. You sigh quietly, this time turning away from him entirely to focus on the dirt before you, and mutter under your breath, “Okay. Nice chat.”

There’s a kind of tension in the air. You can’t quite place what it is, but you can feel his stare on your back like the midday sun, and you have a funny feeling that if you were to turn around he’d be wearing an expression on his face like he’d smelled something funny. The only thing you can do, you decide, is continue until he eventually says what he wants to say or gives up and leaves. Luckily you don’t have to wait nearly as long as you feared.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to join us for dinner,” he says after a few minutes. You pause in your work.

“Huh?”

“Dinner,” he repeats. “You got plans or d’you wanna eat with us?”

Now you stand fully, staring at him with your mouth a little slack. “Oh! I’d, uh—I’d love to! I was hoping to finish planting tonight, though.”

“How much?”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “How much planting, dumbass. How much time.”

“Um, well, like half an hour if I’m doing it—”

“Then I’ll help.” Bakugo nods decisively. “Food can wait ten minutes.”

Arrogant—for reducing the time to one third by virtue of his help—you might say teasingly if you weren’t half in shock. Instead you nod silently, mouth a little slack, and gesture towards the pile of supplies at the edge of your planter boxes before lowering yourself again to return to your previous task. In your peripheral, you can see him retrieve what you can only assume is gloves and perhaps a trowel before he returns to your position.

Crouching down next to you, he sets to work by your side.

It’s silent for a while. He doesn’t seek direction nearly as much as you had expected; that’s a pleasant surprise, not needing to handhold him through helping you. The other pleasant surprise is that the quiet between you two isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, easy. There’s no air of awkwardness lingering, or any hovering inability to speak. That’s proven, if anything, by Bakugo breaking it quite suddenly halfway through the work.

“She broke up with him.”

You pause. Ayame, surely, hadn’t informed him; that leaves only one option. “Riko told you?”

He grumbles inaudibly towards the dirt in front of him, and you suppress a laugh. It doesn’t work; he shoots you a glare that has no heat.

“Shaddup,” he barks at you with a scoff. “Ayame told you herself, then?”

“I think she likes me more than you,” you tell him smugly, earning yourself a second scoff, this one louder.

“Y’don’t gotta rub it in. Riko tells me everything, anyway.”

“Mmm. Smart, getting the little one in your pocket. They do teach you some good tricks at those hero schools, huh?”

The huff you get this time is certainly laughter. He nudges you with his shoulder—just like Ayame had done, you note with silent amusement and perhaps an equal amount of affection, though admittedly this one leaves an ache beneath your skin that she certainly hadn’t managed—and doesn’t budge a millimeter when you return the gesture.

“You still owe Tadeo a month’s worth of those treats, though.”

“Hah?”

“Your little scheme worked, that was what finally convinced her. I can’t take all the credit. Though,” you add, pretending to think carefully, “he is my dog, so I think I get half credit for that trick anyway—”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he interrupts. “Riko was my assistant, if anyone gets half credit it’s her.”

That gets you to burst into laughter. He says it so seriously; as if he were genuinely offended you hadn’t given his daughter the recognition she deserved.

“Okay,” you say through your peals of laughter, “okay, that’s true. But I really do have to hand it to you. It was smart. Maybe smarter than my own approach.”

“Nah, you told ‘er what she needed to learn. She needed that, too. And she ain’t gonna fuckin’ hear it from me, even if I’m right.” He pauses, then rolls his eyes and huffs angrily. “Scratch that, ‘specially if I’m right. She listens to you more.”

It isn’t as if you can refute that. Though, to be fair to him, his ability to bond with Ayame is weighed down to an extent you’ll never have. Even if you don’t know every detail, that much is abundantly clear.

“She’ll come around,” you say finally, and though you can’t possibly guarantee it you’re pretty sure it’s the truth. “Eventually.”

And he grunts, a tentative agreement. You both fall back into that comfortable silence.

Ayame and Riko have to venture back up to fetch the pair of you, lost as the pair of you become in working together. You haven’t become so absorbed in gardening with another person, you realize, since your grandfather’s health had grown so poor he’d been unable to maintain the prosperous garden you’d been accustomed to while attending university. It isn’t until Ayame’s voice calls your name, and Riko calls for her father, that you realize how dark it’s become.

The feeling that blooms in your chest as you watch Bakugo pluck Riko from the roof and swing her into his arms to carry her inside, as you gesture for Ayame to go down ahead of you and follow behind as she tells you what they made for dinner, is a little odd but warm. You think maybe you’d like for this to be your new normal.

[nnight-dances]

ANNOTATIONS OF LOVE

summary: although you're always looking out for any mistakes he makes, you think you've found the perfect rival in kazuha. but when you begin to spend more time with him, you begin to realize he's also the perfect love interest... after all, why else would someone lend you an personally annotated book?

pairings: kaedehara kazuha x gn!reader

tags: enemiestolovers!au, modern!au

genre: fluff, humor, slight angst

a/n: i've been having something of an obsession with sylvia plath even tho we finished reading her work last november. i love it and i will not stop talking about her potrayal of women and will include it in a fic about kazuha. god, i just want to have an academic rival who will convince me to read an annotated book so that i can fall in love with them. okay, enjoy this brainrot <3 also ps: i enjoyed writing this kazuha a lot so if you have any requests i will be more than happy to cater to them :)

“So, class how did we like reading Sylvia Plath?” Miss Aranaki, your Literature teacher, crosses her arms across her chest as she regards the twenty or so of you sitting in front of you, “Any thoughts?”

“I didn’t like it much, actually,” a voice pipes up and without seeing, you know who it is, a groan escaping your lips. Aranaki gives an amused laugh, “Kazuha. Please do elaborate on why you dislike Plath so much.”

Unwillingly, your eyes travel until they come to rest on the mostly-platinum-blonde-headed boy who has his copy of The Bell Jar dismissed on its back by his elbow. “Well, to start with, her poetry is too easily interpretable once you know everything about her enough and the themes are usually just the same old feminist, complaining about privilege and children. Although I must say the touch with the cheating husband in The Rival was interesting, but that was as good as it got.”

Before Kaedehara Kazuha can continue, you, who’s had Plath’s novel clutched tightly in your hands, interrupt him. “Excuse me, to me it sounds like you’re complaining about having to read about a complex female experience. It’s a shame to see men like you roaming around in the campus’ feminist activism clubs when in class you cannot tolerate the slightest shred of powerful women in action.”

Kazuha meets your eyes in a flash, a familiar smile in place - one that is almost friendly, but at the last moment, turns smug. “I’m sorry if I came across as discarding Plath’s unique persona - but I just refuse to credit her writing simply because she’s a woman. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise, don’t you think, Y/N?”

“Please,” you scoff, ears a little red from exasperation, “Her poems are not easily interpreted, Kazuha, you’re just overly entrenching them in context. You can’t make Plath’s poems all about her factual life if you want to take anything from them. The Rival is not definitely about her bastard husband’s mistress - it could just as easily be about her mother if you try to keep your mind open.”

Kazuha opens his mouth to speak but Aranaki cuts him off, “Alright, alright, the two of you. Always a pleasure to hear you go back and forth. Some very valid points have been made. But remember, this class consists of 18 other students. Let’s allow everyone to speak.”

“I don’t know about that, Y/N. You both seemed like you were having a lot of fun-”

“Fun? Hu Tao, that man is borderline misogynistic and you think-”

“I think I deserve a little more credit than a borderline misogynist, my dear Y/N.”

You stop in your tracks with a sigh when you spot Kazuha behind you, bag slung lazily over his back. He’s holding his copy of The Bell Jar by the very edge, you notice much to your dismay. “You’re going to have to work harder if you want to seem like you actually care about reading feminist work from writers who are actual women. Not just old horny men—”

“Please don’t tell me you’re still holding that time I praised Murakami against me?” Kazuha’s brows furrow, looking almost genuinely concerned about what you think of him. You roll your eyes, catching the ill-covered laugh that leaves Hu Tao, who has been observing the two of you silently.

“No, but you really don’t think Murakami’s flat female characters, who by the way only function to serve the lonely loser men, are anywhere near the same kind of writing as Plath’s honest depiction—” You cut yourself off when you catch Hu Tao throwing you a suggestive look and scoff, “Never mind, I don’t have time to have this conversation. Let’s just go, Hu Tao.”

“But—” You promptly block Kazuha’s attempt to probably retort by taking Hu Tao’s arm and marching off, carrying a growing a feeling of doubt in your chest.

“That will be $15, please.” You nod at the cashier, internally crying at how expensive a single coffee was. You feel yourself cry even louder when you rummage through your wallet to only find a total of $10.

“Um, sorry, just a moment,” you feel yourself beginning to panic, ready to just about be hit by lightning, “I couldv’e sworn I saw another—”

“Here, I’m paying for them.” You jump up at the voice beside you and you swear to God if this morning could get any worse, it’d have to be because Kazuha stepped in to save you from some kind of financial crisis that would’ve inevitably lead into a public mental breakdown.

“W-What? No, I can pay for myself— ”Thank you for buying from us. We hope to see you again.”

You’d rather not the hold up the rest of the line any longer so you step away, pulling Kazuha with you, with a scowl on your face. You shove the $10 you’d been holding into his palm which he looks at in confusion, “I’ll pay you back the rest of it later, I—”

“No, you really don’t need to do that, Y/N,” the boy smiles, a soft comforting look in his eyes that you’ve never encountered before. It annoys you.

“Honestly, would you stop cutting me off all the time?” Kazuha shuts up with a serious raise of the brown, “I was very much capable of paying for myself back there but thanks. Bye.”

You intend to distance yourself from him as much just because you’re equally embarrassed and confused by his presence, especially at having been caught in a moment of somewhat vulnerability by him of all people. You take a seat in the cafe by the window, hoping to ease your worries with a productive rush.

Of course, the universe, and specifically, one crimson-streaked head, has other plans. “What the fuck are you doing?” you question as Kazuha settles into the seat across from you, resting his bag beside him, hands coming to drum against the table - the table that you’d taken to get away from specifically him.

“I’m doing what you’re doing. Studying,” he says, pulling out his laptop, nonchalant as if the two of you aren’t after each other’s throats in class all the time. You’re actually speechless as he actually starts typing away, eyes on the screen. You let out a frustrated sigh at his behavior, unable to just ignore his presence, a weakness of yours you absolutely despise.

“Kazuha, I think you’ve asserted your compassion enough for a day. You don’t have to continue acting like you don’t actually hate me,” your voice threatens to falter when Kazuha looks up with wide eyes.

“What do you— But I don’t hate you,” Kazuha replies, not losing a second of time after you’ve spoken. You shake your head at him, a headache imminent, as you stand up. “Wait- where are you going?”

“Somewhere else. See you in class, Kazuha. Leave me alone or I’ll report you.”

You suppose you feel kind of bad about the recent encounters you’ve had with Kazuha. You only met him in class, first in a course called The Graphic Novel where you had your first argument with him (you wanted to focus on the postmodern themes of V for Vendetta, while Kazuha was overly obsessed with the art and a specific sequence of events). From there, it just seemed like the two of you couldn’t get away from each other - next it was a creative course about nonfiction where you found yourself competing with him to see who could impress the famously cold teacher.

Before you’d known, you’d settled into a sort of rhythm with Kazuha where you’d each challenge and infuriate each other, always ready to pounce. It was surprisingly an interesting part of your education - maybe even the most interesting, since you hardly were able to spend a lot of time doing anything other than work on essays and study for the next thing. But recently, you were feeling more... bitter? around him. It was unsettling, especially when suddenly it seemed like Kazuha was capable of more emotions outside of disdain for you. You weren’t stupid enough to not realize you were having fun but when Hu Tao had so explicitly pointed it out... it almost felt wrong. Like you’d been lying to yourself somehow.

You groan as you zone back into reality, coming to terms with the fact that you had made no progress with the last assignment of the Plath course. It has been a few weeks since the course ended but Aranaki had sent out a final feedback-slash-evaluative essay question asking you to talk about a favorite text from Plath. It is optional, you recall, but you physically cannot forgo the opportunity to do extra work. You hit your head in thought, wondering what you are to do with yourself.

“Having trouble picking a favorite?”

You are not proud of the squeak that leaves you in surprise as you jump around in your seat. “Kazuha! You fucking— Stop sneaking up on people in the library! I swear that’s so insensitive.”

Kazuha, clad in a red sweatshirt that matches the red streak in his hair, sits down besides you with an amused laugh. You’re met with a sweet almond scent as he shifts closer to peek at your screen. “Sorry,” he whispers, “You’re writing about Ariel? I’m surprised.”

“Why? Don’t want me writing about the same thing as you?” You gesture toward his bag, which reveals the corner of a sheet with the essay question, “I’m sure you wrote a whole pretentious thing about how shallow and trite Plath’s poetry is.” The boy pins you with an unreadable look as he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you.

What is he so serious about?

“You don’t actually think I’m a woman-hater, do you?” You are tempted to retaliate with a compilation of all the times he was even remotely dismissive of a female author, but you cannot bring yourself to the longer you look at Kazuha. His eyes are downcast and don’t meet yours when you give a preliminary laugh of ridicule, which greatly worries you. Though you find it hard to believe, Kazuha seems genuinely hurt at the idea of you perceiving him as someone against women.

“Oh, well, not really. But you did seem slightly on the wrong side when you dismissed Plath’s experiences like that. And then, making her seem like she was entirely about her hatred for her husband wasn’t a very good look, either.” You try to stay in character without actually hurting Kazuha’s feelings but he seems crestfallen either way. You begin to feel bad for some reason when he pulls out a few sheets of paper from his bag, before handing you one.

“And what is this?” You raise your brow questioningly and all Kazuha replies with is, “Read this.” You look down at the sheet and find that it is a print-out of Plath’s poem, The Munich Mannequins. Your course on Plath didn’t include this particular poem because there wasn’t much time but regardless, you’ve read the poem enough times to not have to go through it again. What catches your attention is the little scribbles in green around the printed text.

It’s Kazuha’s annotations of the poem, you realize, and already find yourself somewhat moved. You know for a fact that Kazuha does not annotate something he doesn’t find truly meaningful. “Hmm,” you look back at Kazuha with a smile that is completely unlike you. But you can hardly help it, “Your analysis of the metaphor of the mannequins is... insightful, although I don’t agree with it.”

Kazuha’s dullness suddenly melts away when you speak, a bright grin in its place. “I’m glad you think so. I realized I was spending so much effort in trying to find out what Plath actually wanted to convey that in the end, I didn’t even have my own interpretations. And looking back at it, her work is actually pretty cool.”

This time you laugh, teasingly nudging Kazuha’s shoulder, “Way to go with the academic language, Kazuha.” Your laughter only grows louder when the boy’s cheeks color slightly pink. “But I’m really happy that you were able to appreciate Plath. I think maybe we found something we agree on.”

He nods, his usual easy smile returning, “I have to admit that I only gave Plath another chance because I couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking I was a borderline misogynist.” You feel yourself flush and you cough to cover it up, “Still can’t believe you were so bothered by that comment.”

“Of course, I was,” Kazuha says matter-of-factly, “You said it so seriously. And then that day in the cafe, you seemed to truly hate me. You even accused me of hating you. I felt like I’d done something unforgivable.”

You grimace in guilt. “Sorry about that,” you pat his back hesitantly, “I was just a bit in my head back then. I don’t actually hate you. Or think that you hate me.”

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want to have you stop talking to me, I think some life-giving part of me would die.”

Here's the thing: you know how you’ve hardly been able to do anything outside of worry about your grades and keep track of your deadlines? Yes, that meant you hadn’t even enough time to have crushes, or even think about who you’re attracted. Which is why you’re caught in some real fucking trouble when you realize you like Kazuha.

Since your conversation with him in the library, something had changed between the two of you. You still made sure to battle each other fiercely in class, no doubt, but when you weren’t in class, you were actually able to hold a civil conversation. In fact, sometimes your conversations outside of class were more enjoyable than your arguments and disagreements, given that those same dissents would often turn into inside jokes outside of class.

It started with Kazuha asking you to peer-review an essay for another class (he wouldn’t dare to ask your help with a common assignment, that meant war) and you getting impressed again by his ability to analyze and argue. Slowly, it became a ritual for you to meet Kazuha after classes to work on something together, which took more time than required because you’d be bothering each other the whole time, chattering away loud enough that the librarian had banned your entrance in the library. So now you met him on the college lawn where your time together almost felt romantic.

“God, I hate myself,” you mumble into your hands as you cringe at your internal monologue. Hu Tao who’s keeping you company while you wait for Kazuha, laughs knowingly, “Stop hating on yourself for having feelings, Y/N. Believe it or not, it’s normal.”

“I know, but not for me! I’ve had like one romantic experience before and it involved hand-holding.”

“Hey, hand-holding can be pretty intimate, too,” she retorts, frowning, “I’m sure if you tried it with Kazuha, you’d actually combust on the spot.”

“Keep it down, Hu Tao, this is not exactly something I’m proud of—”

“What are you not proud of?” You freeze as Kazuha comes into sight from behind you but relax when you examine his expression and see nothing out of the ordinary.

“Nothing, just her usual spiel about hating life,” Hu Tao covers for you as she rises from next to you, smirking as she pushes Kazuha in her spot. He falls all too close to you, head hitting your shoulder.

“Careful!” You scowl at Hu Tao as you steady Kazuha with a hand on his back. She winks at you as she turns to leave, “See ya for dinner tomorrow, stupid.”

Kazuha chuckles beside you and you can feel the sound vibrate through your hand, still warm against his back, “You must be really close to her if she can walk away alive after calling you stupid.”

You cough a little as you are suddenly reminded of the proximity, thanks to how Kazuha has made no move to remove his head from against your shoulder, even though you’d retracted your hand from his back long ago. “I’m not that easily offended, you know.”

Kazuha looks amused as he shifts to look at you, much to your chagrin because fuck! you’re still way too close to him so now you’re basically sharing the same air. “So if I called you stupid—?”

“Don’t even dream of it,” you push his head off and he pulls away, laughing lowly. You sigh in relief now that you’re at a distance that won’t kill you as Kazuha pulls out a red book from inside his jacket pocket.

“What book is that?”

Kazuha holds it for you with a hesitant smile, “It’s for you, actually.” You hum questioningly as you take it and scoff when you see the title. Sputnik Sweetheart. By Haruki Murakami.

“Before you chase me away for bringing Murakami in your sights, listen to me, okay?” he says, with a hand on your elbow and you fall silent, a little nervous. “I think you should read it because this book actually has complex female characters, unlike all his other work. There’s a lesbian relationship in there and a very unexpected plot twist, too. You might like it... I think.”

The amount of effort it takes to not scream on the top of your lungs because Kazuha’s cheeks are dusted adorably red as he rants to you about the book, his eyes not meeting you and you can’t take it because he’s so shy about it all. You silently open to a random page and you swear you die right there when you see notes in pencil along the margin.

“You’ve annotated this?” you ask through a small smile. Kazuha rubs the back of his neck, “Well, yes. I usually annotate my novels. I hope you don’t mind. Think of it as having a really long conversation with me?”

You chuckle as hit Kazuha’s forehead with the book lightly, “Why the fuck would I want to have a conversation with you about a book? I’m bound to give myself a migraine.” You bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning as you continue, “But oh, well. Since you went back to Plath for me, I think I’ll give Murakami a chance.”

Kazuha pumps a fist in the air, beyond delighted, “Yes! I promise you’re going to love me after this.”

“Kazuha, I have to something to tell you,” you say, hands clutched behind your back. Kazuha turns away from the conversation he’d just been having with Aether to give you a warm look.

“What is it?” He waves goodbye to Aether, grinning when you reveal the red book he’d lent you a few weeks ago. Kazuha jumps up and down as his hands cup to hold yours and you can’t help but jump excitedly with him. “Did you finish? What did you think of it? How was his description of Miu and Sumiere? Oh, what was your reaction to Miu’s backstory?”

You laugh as you pause to form your response. “Well, I actually did not hate it. I actually enjoyed his descriptions of the women—” Kazuha squeals in excitement as you continue, “But! There was man still, you know. And his presence as the narrator of everything was a bit suffocating. So, not perfect. But dammit, the parts about Miu watching herself that night in the park and everything Sumiere writes in her letters - Ahhh, that was just amazingly disorienting.”

“So?” Kazuha grins at you, shaking you by the shoulders, “You don’t hate Murakami anymore? I succeed in convincing you that he wrote one decent novel? You love me?”

You successfully ignore the last question he asks as you reply, “I guess I don’t hate him but I can’t say he’s a good writer still. He’s definitely got some dimension but he needs to stop putting men at the center of his universes.”

Kazuha nods as he takes back the book from you, “That’s fair enough, I suppose. I didn’t expect to—” he pauses, a new kind of smile blossoming on his face as he fans through the pages, “Oh, what’s this? Did you make notes on the book?”

Shit, you’d nearly forgotten about that. “Oh, right. I thought it would be funny to respond to some of your annotations. You like some really strange paragraphs, you know.” You quickly take away the book from him before he can grin at anymore of your notes, “I made them on sticky notes so that I can remove them. I just forgot.” You begin removing the loosely glued pieces of paper when Kazuha snatches away the novel back, holding it away from your grasp.

“No! Don’t do that. I want to read them. I can’t lose this opportunity to actually get to read your annotations,” he says, a full-fledged blush on his cheeks for some reason.

You laugh awkwardly, “F-fine, weirdo. Just remove them after you read them.”

“Why would I do that?” Kazuha hugs the book protectively with an annoyingly smug smile on his face, “I’m cherishing this for the rest of eternity.”

You turn around at that, clutching at your chest as if in pain, heart racing, “W-Whatever. I’m going to study. Come if you want.”

An hour later, you fall back into the grass with a whine because you really cannot get your mind off of Kazuha, which was not exactly aided by the fact that the boy was right next to you, opting to bump knees with you as he managed to concentrate with no issues.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” You open your eyes to find Kazuha leaning over you, arm placed next to your head. You watch as his forehead is curtained by his hair and you pout as you silently flick at a chunk of his hair. “I don’t know why you even bother to tie your hair if it’s all over the place anyway.”

Kazuha shrugs with a playful smile and is about to reply before he cuts himself off, “Oh, there’s something in hair, I think.” You reach for your hair but Kazuha beats you to it, leaning closer to your face as he gently plucks off the said something off your hair, holding it up so you can see. “It was a leaf. Heh.”

You reach for your hair self-consciously and are surprised when you find Kazuha’s fingers through the strands. You pull away just as quick you touched him but his hand chases after you, coming to capture it in his, his fingers resting through yours.

“Mhmm,” Kazuha hums delicately, face hovering dangerously close to yours, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

You make an embarrassing choking sound before you place a hand against his chest, pushing with little effort. You avert your gaze as you speak, “S-Stop doing that.”

You can’t see it but Kazuha’s smile weakens as he asks, “Stop doing what?”

“Stuff like this. Like what you did back there with my annotations and- and- right now, this hand-holding stuff. It’s not funny, you know.”

“I don’t think it’s funny either, Y/N,” he says, “I’m always serious about you. So would you please look at me?” Your hand twitches in Kazuha’s as you glance at him and instantly turn away when you see him gazing at you. He does look serious, intense in fact as he looks at you.

His fingers tighten around yours when you suddenly feel a cold pressure against your ear. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you realize it’s Kazuha’s nose pressed up against your neck. “K-Kazuha, cut it out—”

“I like you, Y/N,” he whispers softly, “Actually, that’s an understatement. I really, really like you. I’ve never been so excited to have arguments with someone and I’ve never cared so much about what someone else thought about a book. You’re the smartest person I’ve met.”

You can’t believe your ears, though they turn red anyway as Kazuha pulls away to look at you. “I think you’re so beautiful. I can hardly think right when I’m around you.”

You feel breathless when Kazuha looks at you like that, with an intimacy of a lover and fumble to reply, “I- I like you, too, Kazuha. You’re cool, I guess. And ridiculously handsome.” You mumble the last part but he seems to hear it, probably because you’re so close.

“Would you go out with me?” His eyes are swimming with adoration when you finally meet them. When you nod, a gasp falls from your lips at the feeling of Kazuha’s lips against your cheek. “Kiss me already, would you?” This time, you feel his laughter through your own bones, strong and loving.

Bonus:

“I really wish you would go easy on me in class, dove,” Kazuha complains against your lips and you pull away to laugh at the slight pout in his features. You run a hand through his open hair, arranging the red strands together, “No way, babe. Sorry but sometimes, you’re just wrong.”

He deflates against your neck and you pull him inside the blankets with you with a chortle, “But if you want, we can read Mrs Dalloway together for class?” He instantly perks up, arms coming to hugging you tight, “I would love that. I want to hear your reading voice. We can even play the parts to make it more realistic.”

You groan, “No, we’re not doing that, Kazu. Please don’t make me regret this.” Regret it you do later that week, when Kazuha proudly declares to the whole class, including Miss Aranaki, that the two of you had read the assigned reading together.

[sirensmojo]

"Collection" - Hubby!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Big fluff, typical wife/hubby scenes.

gif of @mistress-gif {here is the post}

Summary: Tommy ruining your carpet collection.

*Masterlist*

“Tommy, what’s this?” You calmly asked, pointing down.

“The ground, Y/N.”

“On top of it, you idiot.”

“Carpet?” He responded not sure about what your point was.

“Yeah. Now, what’s on top of it?”

“What’s the thing, eh?” Tommy was puffing on his cig while reading the newspaper, as usual for this time of the day.

“Just answer me, Thomas.”

It was around 4 in the afternoon, the only time in the day when he wasn’t too busy these days. He spent most of the time at the House Of Commons, so much that a little routine had settled.

Each day at 3:30 you heard his car outside, a maid telling you your husband was back home. And as each day at that hour, you were reading your weekly book, training your creativity for the novels you were writing.

When Tommy was back at the Arrow house, you weren’t there to welcome him, but you always had the maids put some tea in the living room along with biscuits for him.

“Wine.” He confidently responded, still reading his papers.

You knew your husband, despite whatever he was doing outside the house, he loved his cocoon, this moment of peace you gave him. In the only free hours of his day, he could drink without thinking too much, but Tommy being him, he soon began to read some books about politics, he couldn’t stay too long without doing anything.

You would always let him spend this time alone, sitting on the armchairs of the living room, a drink of whiskey next to his cup of British tea and a plate of biscuits. You let him charge his batteries, so he wouldn’t be too exhausted when coming back late at night.

All you wanted was to nourish him so he could be better at “work”, because that’s what he wanted for himself, and even if you loved him so much, you couldn’t know what was best for him better than himself, right?

It was pretty unusual of you to disturb him like that, and he wasn’t even ready for what was coming.

“No. No.” You shook your head to the left and right, “It’s blood. You fucking stained my expensive carpet with fucking blood.” You accentuated ‘expensive’ and raised your brows to voice your displeasure without even looking at him, which made your husband stop what he was doing to look up to you, blinking.

It’s the first time he lifts his eyes to you since you started this conversation, and an unreadable expression was all over his face.

Your working desk was turned towards him, which means you could still write on your typewriter as you were settling a score with him, you didn’t even lift your gaze to him and this added a dramatic side to the scene.

“So you’re not mad about the blood, you’re mad I stained the carpet.” He said utterly to himself, wrinkles of confusion drawing at the corner of his eyes.

You throw him a quick glance and see that he had dropped his papers on his crossed legs, he was now attentively looking at you.

“My fucking carpet, Tommy.” You highlighted, making him exhaling deeply.

You weren’t usually swearing that much, and the fact you did in this situation made him realize how mad you were.

“I can buy you another one.”

“You offered it to me the day we were coming back from our weekend in Paris.” You said, pouting.

This time you stopped writing and stared at him with puppy eyes.

“Yeah, because a couple days prior to that you made a scene about another carpet, Y/N,” Tommy said outright. He seemed fed-up with your obsession with carpets and came sipping on his drink.

You remember that day as if it was yesterday and couldn’t hold a laugh that escaped your throat, echoing in Tom’s ear that looked back to you.

The face he was making made you laugh even louder, so much he gave you his side look.

Of course, he loved to see his wife smiling and hearing her laugh, but with you, it was always more than just a smile, more than just a laugh, you were pretty dramatic, in everything.

When he would come home late, you used to sit in the armchair of your room and wait for him there, in the dark, lightening up the bedroom as soon as he set foot in it.

You were always lightening up the mood, you brought him something light. He knew that with you nothing was too serious, contrasting with his life where everything was, so no need to say you were succeeding at easing his mind.

He and you first met at the garrison, you forced the barmaid to give you a drink even though you were alone, using the excuse that you finished writing your first book and that it deserved to be celebrated.

When Tom heard that, he was instantly intrigued by you. A woman writing? It wasn’t the type of woman he knew. Of course, there was Lizzie but she was writing secretary things, not a book.

He was impressed, and somehow wanted to know more. That night was the first night since forever that Tommy spent the night with a woman without fucking her.

And a thing leading to another, you grew very fond of each other before the love came, submerging both of you with its violent waves.

Your marriage was still very fresh in your memory, as were your shared memories such as the day Tommy referred to before he took you to Paris for a weekend.

If you were, to be honest with yourself, you would say that the only reason for this weekend together was to make you forget about the time his men wrapped up a body in your carpet.

It was a windy spring day, Tommy was sitting in the garden at the table, his head dropped back to feel the wind fondle his face and embrace his figure.

The area was so calm and peaceful that your voice almost made him fall off the chair.

“Tommy Michael fucking Shelby! I’m fucking going to kill ya!” You were yelling at him, walking towards him in the grass, barefoot.

His eyes opened abruptly and he tilted his head towards you, hands crossed on his stomach.

As soon as his vision got used to the bright light, he frowned and straightened up on the chair, you were dragging a gigantic embroidered white carpet on the grass. And this wasn’t all, you were wearing your almost see-through grey satin nightgown.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” He desperately let out, getting up, ready to reach you.

“You fucking put down your little ass on that chair, Mr Shelby.” You screamed again while breathing heavily from dragging this huge luxurious piece to him.

He exhaled deeply and sat down, passing a hand over his face. He wondered what was on your mind this time.

You ultimately reach the perfect spot so he could perfectly see what you will be complaining about. You dropped the heavy piece of fabric you were holding and pushed strands of hair that were on your face behind your ears.

Sweat beaded on your forehead but you were sure it was worth it.

“What the actual FUCK happened with my carpet, Thomas?” You pointed to the multiple burn marks on your carpet. “Do you know how fucking expensive it was? It came from Italy, mate!” You angrily let out.

Tommy’s jaws dropped when seeing the integrality of the carpet, he knew what happened with this, but he wasn’t sure that telling it to you was a good idea at first. It’s when he saw your scolding look that he cleared his throat.

“Y/N… There was a fucking body in this.”

You opened your mouth in a perfect “o” shape, “There was what, where?” You solemnly repeated, hoping you didn’t hear right.

You didn’t care about Tommy’s business, you’d never showed any reticence toward the way he lived his life. You will never judge him, he was doing what he had to do.

But this… This was too much.

“There was --”

“Ssshh,” You interrupted him, “you fucking crossed the line Thomas, I bought that one with my own money. You owe money to me now! Fucking Blinder Devil.”

“What the fuck are you saying, Y/N? What line?” Tommy frowned even more. He was amused but a bit scared if he was, to be honest, how his oh so tiny wife could spit like that, he’ll never know.

He even thought for a second it was him that woke the monster inside of you by buying you your first carpet on your wedding day.

He coughed at the last part of your swearings. Well, it was true you were a writer so he shouldn’t be surprised you came out with such a nickname for him.

“Don’t forget you owe me carpets still. I ain’t forgotten about my Italian carpet!” You squint your eyes while looking at him, and that’s when you glimpse a smile at the corner of his lips.

You tried your best not to smile, but the vision of a smiling Tommy made your heart flutter more than anything else.

Your warm smile lighted something inside of him, and it was with haste that you got up to join him. Tommy was intently watching each of your movements as if you were mesmerizing him. You came to sit on the armrest of his chair, placing both your arms around his neck, your eyes anchored in his, and stayed there.

It wasn’t the only times he did shitty things to your carpets, and it’ll probably not be the last, but at least you will have plenty of stories to tell your children when you have some.

[spine-buster]

Patience is a Virtue ft. Matthew Tkachuk | 𝒯𝑒𝓂𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒

CONTENT WARNING: this story deals with cults, polygamous cults, escaping cults, strict adherence to religion, gender roles, abuse, miscarriage, and a character with a traumatic past. ̲𝖳̲𝗁̲𝗂̲𝗌̲ ̲𝖼̲𝗁̲𝖺̲𝗉̲𝗍̲𝖾̲𝗋̲ ̲𝗌̲𝗉̲𝖾̲𝖼̲𝗂̲𝖿̲𝗂̲𝖼̲𝖺̲𝗅̲𝗅̲𝗒̲ ̲𝗁̲𝖺̲𝗌̲ ̲𝗆̲𝖾̲𝗇̲𝗍̲𝗂̲𝗈̲𝗇̲𝗌̲ ̲𝖺̲𝗇̲𝖽̲ ̲𝖽̲𝖾̲𝖺̲𝗅̲𝗌̲ ̲𝗐̲𝗂̲𝗍̲𝗁̲ ̲𝗍̲𝗋̲𝖺̲𝗎̲𝗆̲𝖺̲ ̲𝖺̲𝗋̲𝗂̲𝗌̲𝗂̲𝗇̲𝗀̲ ̲𝖿̲𝗋̲𝗈̲𝗆̲ ̲𝗆̲𝗂̲𝗌̲𝖼̲𝖺̲𝗋̲𝗋̲𝗂̲𝖺̲𝗀̲𝖾̲𝗌̲ ̲𝖺̲𝗇̲𝖽̲ ̲𝗌̲𝖾̲𝗑̲𝗎̲𝖺̲𝗅̲ ̲𝖺̲𝖻̲𝗎̲𝗌̲𝖾̲.̲ Please be warned.

Word Count: 15,503

A/N:  I have been loving your feedback on this story so far.  Your canon question about Matthew and Effie are great and I would love to hear and answer more.  It means the world to me that a plot this...unconventional, let’s say, is really taking hold and generating interest.  I know that there’s some really, really serious stuff dealt with in the chapters, so I appreciate everyone’s feedback and maturity about it.  As always, please check the content warning for this chapter.  Otherwise, I hope everyone enjoys the update!

                                                          *     *     *     *     *

She wrote every message on Instagram like an email, and Matthew couldn’t get enough of it.

Hello Matthew,

Today was interesting.  I started classes for my business certificate today.  I sat in a room with about 50 other people and I listened to my professor speak about the course prospectus and what we would be learning and doing.  I didn’t meet any new people or make any new friends but that’s okay.  I want to focus on my studies.  I already have homework.

How has St. Louis been?  I bet you are excited to be back home.  I hope you are relaxing and staying safe.

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

I know you are going to ace that program, Effie.  You’re very talented and smart and it’ll be no time until you find yourself with a certificate and able to explore more job opportunities.

St. Louis is good.  Brady and Taryn are home too so it’s good to be surrounded by family.  I know it’s not the same for you but one day I think you will find a group of friends that will make up your family.  Most days I go golfing with my dad.  I usually relax by our pool too, or play basketball or some other sport with Brady.  I go to the gym too, to keep up on my fitness for next season.

*

Hello Matthew,

Class was good today.  We started the beginning lectures.  The professor went quickly but I was able to keep up.  I’m definitely learning how to type fast on my laptop!

You said in your message that I’m very talented but I don’t think I’m talented.  I’m maybe talented at some things like baking, but I don’t think I’m talented in much else.  Talents are developed over time and I was never given the opportunity to develop anything because I was expected to be a good wife, tend to children, and read the Bible.  Sometimes I think about if I could have been a piano player or a singer or something creative.  Maybe I could have been a writer like Geneviève if I was given the opportunity young, but I wasn’t.  But that’s okay.  I am trying to make my peace with it.  I will develop what I have now and try to use it for good.  

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

Nobody bakes like you, Effie.  Please don’t think you are not talented, because you are.  I know you weren’t able to develop anything like you said, but you can still find your talents now.  You’re still young!  You’re only entering your 20s in a few weeks.  You can do whatever you set your mind to.

*

Hi Matthew,

Levi and Jenna took me to the mall again today.  We bought some new clothes that fit me better and aren’t so baggy.  They look really nice.  I even bought a dress that falls right at my knee.  Can you believe it?!  I never thought I’d wear something like that.  I never thought anybody else would be able to see my legs!  It’s a very weird feeling but it’s a very pretty dress.  Jenna said I should wear it for my birthday and I think I’m going to do it.  Do you want to see it?  I can send you a picture of it if you want.

I checked the weather in St. Louis and saw there was a big thunderstorm.  I hope you weren’t caught it in or anything.  I can’t imagine your curly hair getting wet in the rain and what it would look like.

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

What are you trying to say about my hair??????????

I would love to see your dress.  I bet it looks great on you.  And you will need to send me pictures of you wearing it on your birthday.

*

They happened daily.  Usually sometime after dinner, when Matthew knew Effie had just finished eating and was either winding down for the night or preparing to do homework.  Every day, he waited for the message.  And every day, he’d grab his phone the second he heard the notification, not bothering to wait, and read the message eagerly.

***

Matthew found himself at a raucous house party, one that could have been characteristic of any stereotypical college experience or American movie trying to depict a traditional American life.  It felt like it was straight out of the American Pie movies.  A friend of his was hosting, and there was everything – beer kegs, jungle juice, trashed guys jumping into the pool, music blasting so loud Matthew almost couldn’t hear his own thoughts, girls taking selfies and posting to Instagram or complaining about boys at the party not paying attention to them.  

Hot girls taking selfies and posting to Instagram or complaining about boys – he and Brady – not paying attention to them.

Brady was taken and accounted for – Emma was great and Matthew loved her, even though he saw her only sparingly – and so most of the attention tonight was placed on Matthew.  He was the shiny new toy every time he came back to St. Louis in the summers – well, shiny always, but new not so much.  Nothing was new about him being in St. Louis in the summer, but everybody always treated is as such a big deal because he spent most of the year in Calgary.  That’s why attention was always on him, especially at parties like this.  That’s why everybody wanted to talk to him.  That’s why all the girls wanted to talk to him.  Matthew didn’t want to think about it.  He wanted to enjoy his night with his buddies, drinking beer and chatting them all up.  

That was…until Leah made an appearance.

Leah, a girl.  Leah, a girl he would hook up with in the summers…occasionally.  Sporadically.  Like, once a summer when he was back.  Maybe twice.  She’d always show up everywhere and smile and be nice.  And when Matthew was tipsy, or just a little bit drunk, he’d think ‘What the hell’ and let the night take him where it wanted to take him.

Just like now.

“Hey Matty,” she cooed, smiling as she always did and biting the bottom of her lip.  She went in for a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.  He could swear she spilled some of her jungle juice on his neck.

“Hey Leah,” he said, his lips in a tight smile as she pulled away.  She was wearing a frilly crocheted top and cut-off denim shorts.  She looked hot.  Any guy at the party would have wanted to hook up with her.  “How are you?”

“Better now that I see you,” her flirting was automatic.  “How long have you been back for?”

“A few weeks,” Matthew shrugged his shoulders.

“And no call or text?  Ouch, Matty.”

“You always show up places,” he found himself saying, feeling his lips curve into a smirk.  “Didn’t think I needed to call.”

“Well then maybe I should have sent you a text.”

The party went on.  Matthew hung out with his buddies and talked up a storm.  Everybody got a kick out of his hockey stories and were practically begging for more.  He’d catch Leah staring at him from a few friend groups away where she stayed with her girlfriends, or from across the backyard or something, and she’d always bite her lip and flutter her eyelashes.  The beers kept pouring down his throat and he noticed her get closer and closer until she wiggled her way in with her friends.  It probably took a while, but in Matthew’s mind, it felt like it was only a minute until she was right in front of him, red solo cup in her hand.  

“Have you tried the jungle juice?” she asked.

He shook his head.  “I’ve been drinking beer all night.”

“Come get some inside with me,” she said, already grabbing his hand.  She wasn’t taking no for an answer.  She pulled him as he staggered behind her, almost tripping on the steps of the patio and while walking through the screen door.  When they finally got to the kitchen, Leah looked over her shoulder and winked before tugging Matthew nearer to her body.  She spun around in front of the jungle juice to pour some more into her cup.  When she did, Matthew could feel her ass up against his groin.  He felt like he was going to pass out from the beer.

“Did you miss me, Matty?” she asked as she looked at him over her shoulder again.

“I miss everyone in St. Louis,” he replied.

Leah apparently didn’t like that response, because she grinded her ass up against his groin even harder now.  “Don’t say that,” she cooed.  “I know you miss me.  It’s not like there’s anybody in Calgary like me.”

Matthew hummed.  She was right.  There wasn’t anybody like her in Calgary.

Effie was nothing like her.

Matthew’s stomach twisted as images of Effie flooded his mind.  The first one that came was the day he had picked her up at the hairdresser’s when she’d chopped off all her hair.  She looked so cute, and he remembered how bashful he was.  Then came the image of her sitting on another couch watching Little Women intently, at least fifteen bags of candy spread out on the coffee table of Levi’s basement.  She was so into watching the movie, and he was so into watching her.  Then came the image of her face, sweet and innocent and beautiful – the last face he saw in Calgary before heading to the airport and boarding a plane to St. Louis.  “No,” he mumbled out, half-drunk and heart aching.  

“No,” Leah repeated with a smile on her face, turning around finally to face him before trailing her finger down his chest and letting in linger on the hem of his jeans.  “There’s nobody in Calgary like me.”

He furrowed his brows.  He wanted out, but his feet felt like cement.  They always were when he was on the edge of being drunk.  He gulped.  “Where’s Brady?”

“Come with me, Matty,” she tugged at his jeans before grabbing his hands again and dragging him through the house.  She kept looking over her shoulder to smile at him and he kept looking back towards the backyard.  “I know what you need.”

She led him down a hallway, and at the end of that hallway was the bathroom.  She turned on the light and dragged him inside, shutting the door behind them and locking it.  She looked at him suggestively when the click filled the air.  “Le—”

“Shhh…” she pressed her finger against his lips to shut him up, replacing them quickly with her lips as she began to kiss him.  

Matthew closed his eyes.

These weren’t Effie’s lips.

She was kissing his neck now, and had backed him into the sink so he could lean against it.  Her hands wandered down to the button and zipper of his jeans.  Suddenly, she dipped down and was on her knees in front of him.  “Want me to suck you off, Matty?”

“N—No,” he stuttered out, looking down at her.  Matthew felt the zipper being pushed down and her hand on his groin.

“You can come down my throat,” she offered.  

He closed his eyes tightly, and in the darkness, he saw only one person: Effie.  

The only thing that brought him back – because he could have stayed alone in the bathroom with his eyes closed and the image of Effie in his mind for the rest of the God damn party if he really wanted to – was the sound of his zipper being pushed down dramatically.  He opened his eyes.  “Would you stop?!” he demanded, wiggling out of where he’d been backed into the sink.  He grabbed the front of his pants and zipped them up again.

Leah, still on her knees, spun around and glared at him.  “Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she got up slowly, not breaking eye contact.  “You have someone in Calgary?” she demanded.

Matthew refused to answer as he did up his button.

“Who the fuck is she?” she demanded again.

“There’s nobody.”

“Fucking hell there’s nobody.  What’s her name?”

“Don’t go there, Leah.  As if I’d tell you.”

“You’re fucking someone in Calgary?  Since when?”

“As if I’d tell you,” he repeated.

She gave him one last glare because unlocking the door.  “Fuck you Matthew Tkachuk.  You’ll fucking miss me.”

“Doubt it.”

***

Hi Matthew,

I went to a Starbucks today to work on some school work and people watch.  When you get back to Calgary, we will need to find a new Starbucks because the one near Levi’s house is too far away now.  Anyway, I was working on an assignment and watching people interact and go about their daily lives.  It was eye-opening and a bit weird to me.  A lot of people were on their phones!  It makes me wonder if I should be on it more…?  A lot of the girls who walked in were really fashionable and it makes me want to go shopping again.  I don’t think I’ll ever look as good as Geneviève or Annica but I could definitely try, and they could help me.  I learn a lot by people watching.  Does that make me weird?

I had a Zoom call with Geneviève and Jacob in Sweden.  She is doing well and helped me with my assignment a little bit.  I’ve been baking shortbread recently, and I’m going to make butter tarts tomorrow.  I miss you being my taste-tester, but I bet you are happy to have home cooking.  Sometimes I wonder if my siblings miss my cooking but I doubt they do.

Did you think I was weird when I said I didn’t miss my family at all?

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

I do not think you are weird at all for not missing your family.  They were abusive.  You have no reason to miss them.

People are addicted to their phones these days, which is why you’re so refreshing.  You’re not a slave to it…at least yet lol.  I hurt my eyes sometimes from staring at my screen too long.  

I can’t wait to eat ALL of your baking when I get back.  It’s the best, Effie.  It really is.

I miss you a lot.

*

Hi Matthew,

I miss you too.

Thank you for not thinking I’m weird for not missing my family.

I’ve been watching a lot of movies and listening to a lot of music.  I’ve been researching what’s been popular since I was born and I’m trying to, like, catch up I guess.  Some of the movies I don’t like or don’t get.  Some of them are really funny, and I watched them because I know people quote them all the time.  Like this movie called Bridesmaids.  I want to be able to get references people make even though I wasn’t in the moment of them.  There are some movies I’ve read about online that seem amazing, but I don’t want to watch them alone.  They are:

Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind Moonlight There Will Be Blood Shoplifters Brokeback Mountain The Master Unorthodox

When you come back to Calgary, would you watch them all with me?

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

Of course I’ll watch them all with you.

***

Effie Schaffer woke up the morning of her 20th birthday, on July 7, 2021, to her phone ringing.  Birthdays were not a thing in the People’s Dominion of Christ.  They were not celebrated.  Effie always knew when hers was, but as a kid she never had a birthday party, and when she was forced to marry the prophet, she hated her birthday.  Hated it.  She always wished that the prophet would forget about it but he never did.  It was the one day of the year she spent the most time praying, and when she was not praying, she was with the prophet on his demand.  Several weeks later, usually, after a lot of blood loss and visit from the cult’s midwife (though she wasn’t properly medically trained), Abraham would tell Effie that everything was her fault, that God was testing him when He spoke to Abraham and told him to take Effie as his wife.  “July 7.  7/7.  One number above the Devil,” he’d tell her.  “That’s what you are.  Just above the devil.  Your blood and your loss are the signs of having the devil in you.  That’s why you refuse to carry my Son of God.”

She wasn’t expecting anybody to call besides Levi and Jenna, but they said they would be picking her up at noon anyway.  After she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up in bed a little bit, she was pleasantly surprised, albeit a little shocked, to see Matthew’s name flash across the screen.  The giant FaceTime text was at the bottom of screen.  Effie swiped to answer.  After a bit of lagging, Matthew’s smiling face appeared.  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” he screamed, loudly, causing her to jump slightly.  

“Thank you, Matthew,” she said, her heartbeat going back to normal.

“How does it feel to officially be in your twenties?” he asked.

Effie could barely think, so she shrugged.  “When I wake up and my brain starts working, I’ll tell you.”

Matthew furrowed his brows.  It was only then that he noticed half of her hair in a scrunchie and the pillows behind her head.  “Oh shit, I fucked up time zones, didn’t I?” he asked worriedly.  “What time is it there?”

Effie looked at her watch.  “It’s 7:30 in the morning.”

“I woke you up!  Jesus Effie, I’m so sorry,” he began to apologize.  “I’m such an idiot—”

“It’s okay, Matthew,” she said, smiling at how his own smile had faded from his face when he realized he had woken her up early.  7:30 in the morning would have been a godsend two years ago, when she usually woke up at 5:30.  “It’s nice to be woken up by your voice on my birthday, actually.  Someone is at least treating it like a birthday.”

“Levi’s gonna treat you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  As if Levi wouldn’t.

“I know,” she said.  “I mean, like…before.  Birthdays weren’t exactly a celebration.”

“You never used to celebrate your birthday?” he asked, thinking back to all the amazing birthdays his parents had thrown he and his siblings over the years.  Because his was so close to Christmas, it was extra special.  His parents always made sure Christmas didn’t overshadow it too much.  Same with Taryn being born on Halloween.  Brady’s parties were always good too because they were right after the start of school, so usually the entire class would be invited.  

“No,” Effie shook her head.  Matthew was sort of waiting for her to elaborate, but it seemed like she didn’t want to.  He left it at that.  “Levi’s taking me to that steakhouse we went to for Noah’s birthday,” she informed him.  “I think I’m gonna have another tomahawk.”

Matthew smiled again.  “Please do, in honour of me.”

“Maybe I’ll take a picture of it to show you what you’re missing.”

“Believe me, I know what I’m missing,” he said.  He bit his lip, wondering for a quick second if he should tell her about the gifts coming her way.  He quickly decided against it, thinking it would be better left as a surprise.  “I’m sorry I can’t be there, Effie.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Matthew,” she told him, meaning it sincerely.  “It’s an amazing thing that you’re so close to them.  I…believe me, I know how important that is…to be able to have people who love you unconditionally, to be able to have people who love you and want to see you and always have your best interests at heart.  I would never want to take that away from you.  And besides, when we watch all those movies together…you’ll be there.  We’ll be reunited.”

He licked his lips, nodding quickly.  “You bet.”

***

Matthew had been lying around the house all day after playing a round of golf with his dad that morning.  He’d tanned by the pool with Taryn and ate straight from the bag of Veggie Straws, but he was pretty glued to his phone because he wanted to see the delivery updates for the gifts he’d gotten Effie for her birthday.

The first gift was a giant bouquet of flowers.  Peonies, mostly, of course, because of her tattoo, set in a beautiful vase.  He’d gotten the delivery notification, then about five minutes later he’d received a picture of it from Effie over Instagram saying thank you.  Fifteen minutes later, she uploaded a photo of it to her Instagram feed and tagged him.  ‘Beautiful bouquet of peonies from my friend Matthew!  I am twenty years old today.’ was her caption.  That was the first gift.

The second was a delivery of some cookies from an amazing bakery in Calgary that Annica and Geneviève always ordered from.  The cookies were divine, but realistically, they weren’t better than Effie’s cookies.  But Effie making cookies for her own birthday wasn’t exactly a gift, so he knew he’d have to order her a batch.  Again, he’d gotten the notification that the cookies had been delivered, and ten minutes later, Effie had sent a selfie of her with one of the chocolate chip cookies.  ‘Yum!’ she’d texted with the photo.  Another notification on Instagram told him Effie had uploaded another photo and tagged him in it.  ‘My friend Matthew gave me cookies too!  How sweet!  Cookies are some of my favourite treats.’  He absolutely loved her feed and the way she used Instagram.  If he had to delete everyone else and just follow her, he’d do it.

The last gift was the trickiest.  He didn’t know how she’d react.  But she didn’t have one of her own – she’d been borrowing Jenna’s – and she needed one, quite literally, for her job.  He wondered if she’d like the colour.  And the make.  And all the attachments.

A ‘MATTHEW, YOU DIDN’T’ text suddenly came through on his phone, and he couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.  It was the first time it didn’t sound like an email.

Do u like it? he texted back.

I LOVE IT IN THE PISTACHIO TOO MY FAVOURITE COLOUR AND THE SIFTER ATTACHMENT AND THE ICE CREAM MAKER ATTACHMENT MATTHEW!

Im happy u like it! Now u can bake all you want and not have to borrow Jenna’s

“Taryn, mom needs you inside to help with something,” Brady’s voice boomed through the silence of the backyard.  Matthew heard the screen door burst open, and watched conspicuously through his sunglasses as Brady more or less barged towards them.  

“Can she wait?” Taryn didn’t make any effort to move.

“Now Taryn.  She seems pretty adamant,” Brady didn’t give up, his tone serious as he continued to walk towards them.

Taryn grumbled and got up from her seat.  Matthew locked his phone and pretended not to care, even when Brady took Taryn’s place in her lawn chair right beside him and didn’t bother lying down.  Instead, he sat facing Matthew, elbows on his knees and hands joined together, like he was a cop about to interrogate his brother.  “Who’s in Calgary?”

Matthew looked over at him.  “Huh?”

“Who’s in Calgary?” Brady asked again.

Matthew was confused.  “G…Gio?” he asked.

“Who’s in Calgary that made you not hook up with Leah at the party?”

Matthew’s heart dropped in the pit of his stomach.  For fuck sakes.  He sighed deeply and took off his sunglasses, trying to make it seem like everything was being blown out of proportion when, really, Matthew just didn’t want people knowing.  But he told Brady everything – everything.  He was sort of impressed that the secret had lasted this long, if he was being honest.  “Brady…” he began, his voice low.

Brady took off his sunglasses too.  “There’s a girl.”

“Sort of.  It’s complicated.”

“It’s complicated?  What’s her name?”

Matthew thought about not telling him, but there was no point.  Brady would find out eventually, and Matthew would rather Brady learn the news from him than from the rumour mill or from Leah stalking his social media.  “It’s…Effie.”

“Effie?”

“Who’s Effie?” Taryn voice boomed.  The boys whipped their head to see her standing at their family room’s sliding doors, hiding behind the screen door.

“Taryn!” both brothers yelled at their sister.

“Effie?  Who’s Effie?” Chantal called out from the kitchen.

“What’s an Effie?” Keith asked from beside Chantal.  

“Oh my GOD this is a disaster!” Matthew screamed out in frustration.  “Get out of here, Taryn!”

“Who’s Effie?” Brady demanded once more.

Matthew put his heads in his hands dramatically before giving up.  There was no way he was going to get out of this.  Now his whole family would know.  It would be a game of telephone, and by the end of his and Brady’s conversation, Keith would hear Matthew married a girl named Jessie who’d grown up in a hut.  “You remember me talking about one of our physio guys?  Levi Schaffer?” Matthew asked.  Brady nodded.  “His younger sister.”

Brady furrowed his brows.  “Isn’t Levi in his thirties?  You’re dating an older woman, Matthew?”

Matthew rolled his eyes.  “No, you dolt.  She’s fifteen years younger than he is.”

“SHE’S FIFTEEN?!”

“WHAT?!” Taryn screamed from the screen door again.

“AAAAAAARGHHHH!” Matthew screamed in absolute frustration.  “You are literally the dumbest person alive, you know that right?!” he screamed at Brady.

“Matthew!  Apologize to your brother!” Chantal called from the house, opening the screen door and stepping through into the backyard with Keith.  

“But mom!  He’s an idiot!”

“Matthew,” Keith’s voice bellowed. “Now.”

“Sorry,” Matthew grumbled.  His parents always made the siblings do this stuff, ever since they were kids.  “Can we just drop it all?” he asked.

“Nope.  We’re all here now,” Brady said.  “Who’s Effie?”

Matthew sighed heavily.  “She’s a girl I met through my friend Levi at work.”

“What’s the big deal?  Are you dating her?” Keith asked.

“No,” Matthew answered immediately, shaking his head.  “No.  We’re not dating.  Not at all.  She…” he began, trying to find the right words.

“She…” Brady egged on.

“She’s a bit…” Matthew began again.  How was he going to tell them?  How was he gonna word it?  Should he sugar coat it or just come out and say it?  “She’s a bit…different.  She…she and Levi grew up in one of those, like, religious cults, out in rural Alberta.  But a year and a half ago, she escaped, and she’s been trying to adjust to the real world ever since.  I met her in January, at Noah’s birthday.  And ever since, I’ve just been, like…helping her experience the normal world.”

The entire Tkachuk family was silent as they processed the information.  They were definitely expecting a much different explanation from Matthew, that was for sure.  “A religious cult, Matthew?” Chantal was the first to speak.  Matthew nodded his head.  Chantal grew serious.  “Was she abused?”

Matthew hesitated, but he eventually nodded his head.  It wasn’t his business to tell – he knew that – but he couldn’t lie to his own mother.  “She could only wear dresses.  She had to read the Bible all day.  She was married at fourteen to the leader of the cult who was 55.  That sort of thing,” he explained briefly, not wanting to give any more details.

Chantal looked concerned.  Keith looked at his wife before looking back at his son.  “So you’re not dating her, but you’re helping her learn about the real world,” Keith clarified.  Matthew nodded again.  Keith looked at Brady.  “Then that’s none of our business! What’s the big deal?” he huffed.

“It’s not—”

“Why’re you busting his balls then?”

“Keith!” Chantal chastised.

***

Hi Matthew,

I still can’t believe you got me the stand mixer.  I love it so much.  It’s the only thing that I have out on my countertop because there’s no reason to hide it.  And the pistachio colour is sooooooo beautiful.  I promise that as a token of appreciation, I’m going to bake you whatever sweets you want when you get back to Calgary.  Seriously.  Anything you want.  Even if I haven’t made it before.  And I’ll make ice cream too!

I have been taking some walks around Calgary in my spare time.  It’s a really beautiful city.  Sometimes I will do my walks at night and see all the young people out at restaurants and bars and all the light are lit up downtown, and it’s even more beautiful.  It’s so nice to see life in people.  Everybody in the cult was so miserable.  Maybe I’m just saying that because I was so miserable, but that’s how I remember it.  Nobody was happy about life.  Well, they weren’t happy about life like the people in downtown Calgary are on a Friday or Saturday night.  

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

Calgary is definitely a beautiful city, and I’m happy that you’re starting to see that.  Wait until you see even more of the country and the world one day!  All of those young people that you see out and about are your age.  I know you are probably very nervous to make new friends, but if you ever want to go out to one of those places, I’m sure Levi or Jenna would take you.  When the team gets back into the city, I know any of the guys would take you too, just like when we went out for Andrew’s birthday.  You just let us know when.  And I apologize in advance for Noah’s behaviour.

I’m going to put in a request for snickerdoodles.  My mom used to make them a lot growing up, but she doesn’t make them as much now because then I’d eat them all and get too pudgy.

*

Hi Matthew,

Snickerdoodles it is.  I will perfect the recipe before you come back.

On top of movies, I’ve also been listening to music.  Levi lets me use his Spotify.  He also told me what an iPod is…was.  Have you heard of Adele?  She’s amazing!  I love her voice.  Most of the time I just let Spotify recommend me things and I end up liking them, but Levi introduced me to some bands too.  Have you heard of Bruce Springsteen?  Taylor Swift?  The Tragically Hip?  Red Hot Chili Peppers?  They’re all so good.  Red Hot Chili Peppers is Levi’s favourite band.  I also really like listening to Coldplay.  I think they’re my favourite out of all of them.  But I also like dancing songs, like the songs that have a good beat.  I wasn’t allowed to dance before (it was too sensual and would tempt the men) so now I feel like I should let it all out.

Sincerely, Effie Schaffer

Dance your heart out Effie.  Fuck them.

Fuck them.

***

Matthew was antsy.  Antsy.  The second the plane landed in Calgary, his leg was bobbing up and down to get off the plane, grab his bags, and go straight to Effie’s apartment.  

It was the first time since he had lived in Calgary that he wanted to go anywhere but his apartment after a flight back to the city.  But Effie had that effect on him these days.  He hadn’t seen her in three months – almost four.  And he was dying to.  FaceTimes and Instagram-messages-formatted-as-emails could only do so much, and satisfy so much in his mind.  He needed to see her, physically see her.  He didn’t know what had happened to him in the past few months, especially since he and Effie had left on such a good note.  No need to rush things.  Take the time.  But this entire summer, all Matthew could think about was her.  All he dreamt about was her.  He wondered if it was the same for her too.  And he wondered, if it was, if she would admit it.

Once he got his bags from baggage claim, he hightailed it out of the airport and got into a taxi.  He gave the driver Effie’s address, and within half an hour, he found himself with his suitcases at the foot of her apartment.

Okay, so maybe he didn’t think this through.  

He hauled both of his suitcases up the staircase, most definitely putting chips in the wood steps along the way.  It reminded him of moving her in to the place months ago, with him yelling at Sean for half of the day but ending with a slice of pie and his first kiss from Effie.  He didn’t know what to expect now, but he knew that whatever he’d get, he’d be happy with.  He knocked on her door and waited.  

When Effie opened it, she looked confused because she wasn’t expecting anybody.  But the second she saw Matthew’s face, her face lit up like a night show of fireworks.  “Matthew!” she squealed, jumping on him and wrapping her arms tightly around his broad shoulders as he wrapped his arms around her waist.  “What are you doing here?!  You weren’t supposed to be back in Calgary for a few days!” the shock was still evident in her voice.

“Just thought I’d take an earlier flight out,” he said casually.  “Gonna need to customize to the time change anyway.”

As if an hour was going to be a big shock to his system.

When Effie pulled away, she still kept her hands on his shoulders and he kept his hands at her waist.  She’d gained more weight throughout the summer, thankfully, and filled out more.  The pair of jeans she was wearing actually fit.  The top she was wearing actually fit too – a simple navy-striped long sleeve.  He was happy to see that.  She’d been so frail when he met her in January.  She looked like she had life in her now.  “Have you even gone home?” she asked, looking down at his suitcases behind him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Uh…no,” he said awkwardly.  “Can I bring them in?  I just wanted to see you.”

Effie couldn’t help but gulp at his words.  “I just wanted to see you.”  Nobody had ever said those words to her before – not even her own mother, she thought.  Nobody was ever happy to see her in the cult.  But in the real world, Matthew was.  “Yeah, come in,” she said, moving to remove her hands from his shoulders to give him more space to haul his suitcases into her entrance.  He closed the door behind him when he was done, and that’s when the reality snapped back into Effie’s mind.  “Oh no!” she exclaimed worriedly.

Matthew automatically got worried too.  “Oh no what?”

“You came home early and I—I didn’t make your snickerdoodles!”

A smile automatically appeared on his face.  “Effie, it’s okay,” he said softly, slipping off his shoes.  “It’s not like I told you I was coming back to Calgary.”

The worried look didn’t leave her face.  “Are you sure?  I—I didn’t mean to forget.  I actually made one batch but I thought they could be better for you so I was going to make another and—”

“Effie,” he said sternly, placing a hand over hers, which had bunched together nervously.  “It’s alright.  It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” she asked one more time.

“I’m positive,” he squeezed her hands gently.  “Just gives me another excuse to come over again in a few days, really.”

A small smile crept on Effie’s face as she realized Matthew wasn’t angry.  Usually, when something like this happened, the outcome was much different.  She didn’t have to worry about that anymore.  “Well come in then, come in,” she said, moving further into her apartment so Matthew could follow her.  “D’you want something to drink?” she asked, already opening up her fridge.

“Tell me what you’ve been learning in school,” Matthew said instead, leaning against it.  “I want to hear everything I missed.”

Effie couldn’t stop talking after that.  They had managed to migrate to her couch and she told him about her courses and teachers and homework and assignments and textbooks and her new computer and the classroom and the building and the campus and the Starbucks on campus and the cafeteria she’d eat in and the vending machine she’d buy snacks from and the bench she’d sit on waiting for class and everything.  Everything.  There was nothing she didn’t talk about.  And he listened to it all, listened to all of it intently, not interrupting once, asking follow-up questions and asking her for more more more more more.  He couldn’t get enough.  He forgot about his water.  He forgot about the homemade Rice Krispie she gave him on a plate on her coffee table.  He forgot that he was going to suggest they go out to a Starbucks.  He forgot that he hadn’t seen her in months and was so desperate to see her that he came here before he even went to his own apartment.  All he could think about was here, and all he could pay attention to was what she was saying.  

He wanted it like this all the time.

“How’s therapy going?” he asked, finally remembering his water and taking a quick sip from his glass.  

“I’m seeing a sex therapist now too.”

That was a bombshell.  Matthew tried not to make it show that he was shocked at the news, but she’d said it so casually – like everyone saw a sex therapist.  And, like, a therapist was one thing, but a sex therapist was another.  He understood why she’d need one, but it was still a shock to him.  “Oh yeah?” he tried to say casually.

Effie nodded her head.  “I told Dr. Barlow how we’d been kissing,” she said, biting her lip and blushing slightly.  “And, um…well, I told her some other things, so she suggested I see the sex therapist to help fix them.”

Fix them?  Matthew had no idea what she meant.  He moved slightly closer to her on the couch as he furrowed his brows.  “What else did you tell her?” he asked softly.  Effie averted his gaze, looking away as if she were embarrassed.  “Effie, come on, you can tell me,” he urged.

“Well…when we—do you promise not to freak out at me?”

His heart ached.  “Of course.”

“When we started kissing—well, when I started kissing you…I liked it a lot,” she said.

“We were kissing each other,” he said, correcting her, because he knew language was important and the way things were phrased was important and he wanted her to know he was 100% in on it too.  He wasn’t exactly innocent.  He was a willing accomplice.  “I was kissing you too.  I liked it a lot too.”

Effie nodded her head.  “Well…I liked it a lot.  But then we had that talk and you left for St. Louis and we were in a good place.  Dr. Barlow told me that was very mature of me, and that she was very impressed.  But then…”

“But then…”

Effie kept averting his gaze.  “Um…but then, well, you weren’t here, and I started to have dreams of us kissing.  I’d lean into you and close my eyes and kiss you.  And your lips were soft like I remembered.  But then it would change.  Quickly.  And it would hurt.  It—it would hurt.  And I’d open my eyes and instead of you, it was…Abraham.  And I’d get so scared.  I’d wake up screaming.”

Matthew’s heart fell in the pit of his stomach.  He felt like he was going to be sick.  “I made you feel that way?”

“No!  No you didn’t,” she shook her head vehemently.  “It was only when you left.  When you’re—Matthew, no,” her words were jumbled because she had started crying.  “When we kissed, I liked it.  I liked it so much.  But my mind was playing tricks on me.”

“Effie, if I hurt you—”

“You didn’t.  You didn’t hurt me at all,” she pressed, her hand extending automatically to grab at his forearm comfortingly.  “You could never hurt me Matthew.  Ever.  I just…” her voice had gotten softer, frailer, more like it had been in January.  “I still see him sometimes.”

If Matthew’s heart had fallen into the pit of his stomach before, then now it had just shattered into a billion pieces.  “Oh, Effie…” he barely got out.

“I don’t want to see him ever again,” she said.  

“C’mere,” he said softly, pulling her body towards his so he could hug her.  He wrapped his arms around her tightly and could feel Effie melt into him, her head cradled on his chest.  He wanted her to feel as safe as possible with him – he’d wanted that since the beginning.  With this new revelation, he now wanted it more than ever.  “You’ll never see him again, Effie.  I promise you.”

“I know I won’t.  I know.  This is happening because of what happened to me.”

“When he would hurt you.”

Effie looked up at him, nodding, almost embarrassingly.  “I know that he can’t hurt me anymore.  But my dreams would take me back to when he did.  It wasn’t you, Matthew.  You didn’t make me feel that way.  I told Dr. Barlow and Dr. Stevenson that.  They’re just trying to help me not see him anymore, and move past the things that he did to me.  And they’re…they’re trying not to make me feel guilty about something so simple like kissing.”

“You felt guilty about us kissing?” he asked.

“Women couldn’t date, right?  So it wasn’t like I was kissing any of the other boys in the cult. We were harlots and sinners if we kissed men, and we were responsible for them straying away from God.  My first kiss was on my fake wedding day.”

Matthew could kill them all.  He had half the heart to jump into his car and drive to Sheerness so that he could.  “I will give you as many kisses as you want if it helps you forget,” he blurted out.

Effie couldn’t help but smile.  “Can we start again now?  Slowly?”

Matthew smiled slightly.  She craned her head up and placed one of her signature chaste kisses on his lips, and he reciprocated readily, the feeling of her lips on his after months of not having them there ranking up there with the best feeling in the world.  When she pulled away, her eyes were still closed, but there was a smile on her face.  Her prior tears had stained her cheeks.  “Hugging you feels nice too,” Effie said, finally opening her eyes.  

Matthew smiled.  “Well then we’ll start doing a lot of that too.”

***

At the beginning of every hockey season, right before training camp, the Calgary Flames hosted a gala to benefit the Calgary Flames Foundation.  The team would set a fundraising goal for the night – often surpassed – and then set one for the season – also surpassed – to give back to the city and community that supported them endlessly, through thick and thin.  The gala was unofficially the kickoff to the season.  Every member of the team, coaching staff, and head office attended.  It was one of Calgary’s biggest events.  It was the one night of the year Matthew didn’t mind being out and having to small-talk with hundreds of strangers, because he knew it was all for a good cause and a greater good.  

Matthew was forced to wear a tuxedo.  All the members of the team were forced to wear tuxedos.  He kept fiddling with his bowtie and Mark kept slapping his hand away.  Matthew thought they all looked like penguins.  He searched around the gala room, already filling up with people.  He took his phone out of his pocket.

You guys here yet? he texted Geneviève, knowing that since Elias and Jacob were already here, she and Annica were coming together.  

We’re in a taxi.  Eyeliner needed to be reapplied because Effie kept crying.

Matthew chuckled to himself, picturing the image of Effie sitting in a chair while Annica and Geneviève fussed over her makeup.  Before he could text her back, another text from her came through.

She looks beautiful, by the way.

Matthew was impatient.  He kept looking towards the doors even though he was supposed to be pretending to be interested in what these rich people had to say.  Levi and Jenna were already there, too, so it really was just him waiting for Effie to arrive.  This entire night didn’t start until Effie arrived.  

Matthew was in a conversation with someone when he saw her walk through the doors.  Annica was wearing a navy blue bodycon dress that showed off her curves, and she looked great.  Geneviève was wearing an emerald green midi-length dress with a high slit, high collar, back cut-out, and cap sleeves, and she looked impeccably chic and stylish, like only Geneviève could.  

But it was Effie, of course, who looked the best.  A bright red dress that fell to her knees, with floral lace and sequins and cape sleeves that covered her otherwise bare arms.  She wore a pair of low nude heels, and her blonde bob was styled professionally as a barely-there curl.  She looked impeccable.  Beautiful.  Stunning.  Gorgeous.  Divine.  Exquisite.  

“Excuse me,” he said quickly to the man and wife he was talking to, and left Elias alone with them as he made his way through the crowd and towards Effie, Annica, and Geneviève.  He pushed past some people gently before finally appearing in front of them.  He could see Geneviève smirking the second they saw him, but he locked eyes with Effie.  When she saw him in his tux, her breath hitched in her throat.  He looked good.  “Hi,” he said to Effie breathlessly.

Annica saw the look in his eyes and knew she had to skedaddle out of there.  “Where’s Elias?”

“Over there,” Matthew pointed behind him, somewhere in the crowd of four hundred people, as if that answered the question and helped her.

“Thanks,” she left, winking at him as she passed him.

Geneviève was next.  “I guess my husband is in the same place?” she asked him.

“Mhm,” he nodded his head quickly.

“Great.  You two behave.  If I don’t see you, I’ll assume you’re in a broom closet,” she said before disappearing into the crowd of people.

Matthew and Effie hadn’t taken their eyes off each other.  Effie thought he looked great in his tux; it was tailored to perfection, and really showed off how thick his body was, but in a good way.  She’d felt it when they hugged when he showed up to her place after landing in Calgary, and if she was being honest with herself, she had been thinking about it ever since.  She kept thinking about being physical with him, about touching him and hugging and cuddling and doing all the things she couldn’t have done with another man before.  And she only wanted to do them with Matthew.  Her mind – and now increasingly her body – wanted to do that only with Matthew.  With the dress and the makeup and the whole look all together, Matthew was a man possessed.  With Geneviève and Annica gone, Matthew couldn’t help but bite his bottom lip to suppress himself from smiling bashfully, like he usually did with Effie.  “You look beautiful, Effie,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” she smiled.  “This is the second dress I’ve ever worn that has shown off my legs.  It’s Geneviève’s.  And – if you can believe it – this is the first time I’ve word something red.”

He couldn’t take it anymore.  From her hair to her makeup to her dress to her shoes, he just couldn’t fucking take it anymore.  He looked around the room quickly before grabbing her hand.  “Come with me,” he mumbled.

“Where are we going?”

He dragged her out of the room and into the foyer.  There were more people out there, sipping on cocktails and eating hors d’oeuvres and getting checked in, so he kept walking with her behind him down the long foyer that connected all the different hall rooms in the complex together.  When it got quieter, and the rush of people were too far away, he led her into a short corridor where a men’s and women’s washroom was.  They were far enough away that he knew no-one from the gala would find them.

“Matthew?  Is everything okay?” she asked as she watched him close the door behind them.

“Everything’s fine,” he said, his voice strained.  “I just…God, Effie, you look so fucking beautiful.”

Effie could pick up on the strain in his voice.  She could also see the fire in his eyes as he looked down at her.  She didn’t know much about the world, and she knew even less about men, but those things alone were telling her something.  Her body was telling her something too, something she’d never heard from it before.  Instead of being repulsed by the body in front of her, she was drawn to it.  Instead of being scared to touch it, she wanted to feel it all over her.  Instead of allowing her mind to take her somewhere else so she didn’t have to focus on pain on hurt or anything else, she wanted to be in the moment and feel everything.  “Kiss me, Matthew,” she said.  She’d never been so bold in her entire life.  She didn’t think she had it in her.

Matthew didn’t need to be told twice.  He held her face between his hands, dipped his head, and began kissing her passionately.  Effie loved it.  It wasn’t a chaste kiss like the kisses they had shared in the past.  This kiss was hungry, and told her almost everything she needed to know about Matthew’s feelings.

Her feelings were similar.  She wanted to explore them.  She wanted to do more.  

That was why, when it was Effie who slid her tongue along Matthew’s lips, he stopped in shock.  Not that he wanted to – the action was just surprising.  He pulled away slightly, making sure it was something she wanted to do.  When he saw her open her eyes slowly, she was bringing her hands up, placing them over his.  “You can touch me, Matthew,” her voice was barely above a whisper.

He let out a shaky breath.  He knew they weren’t exactly gonna hook up in the bathroom or anything, but this was still huge, especially for Effie.  “Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded her head.  “You won’t hurt me.”

He dipped down and kissed her again.  And he kept kissing her, letting his hands wander to her waist and hips, where he gripped them and pulled them closer to his body.  And she kept kissing him, letting her hands wander down his chest and under his tuxedo jacket to his back, feeling the thickness of his body.  And for at least a few minutes, they were in their own little world, kissing in the men’s bathroom of a banquet hall, hands all over each other as Matthew probably got lipstick all over his mouth.  

Effie was loving it.  The feeling of his soft lips on hers was unlike anything she’d ever felt, and his tongue in her mouth, tasting slightly of the alcohol he’d drunk before she got there, was intoxicating to say the least.  She felt like it could go on forever.  She was pretty sure she would let it go on forever if she could.  She was happy, so happy that she was doing this – that she could do this.  Two years ago, if she’d even thought about it, she would have been scared of being damned to hell for eternity.  Now, she was enjoying it.  Now, she wanted to do it all the time.  Now, she could—

She could—

She—

Now, it hurt a little.

Now, the lips weren’t as soft.

Now, she could feel a prickly, unkept beard scraping at her skin—

“STOP,” she instinctively pushed the body away, scrunching her face and gulping hard.  Before she could see Abraham’s face – before it could appear to her in her mind – she opened her eyes and looked at Matthew.

Matthew.

Matthew.

She saw him staring back at her worriedly and she let out a shaky breath.  He knew why she stopped; he didn’t need to be told.  “I’m—I’m so—”

“Hey hey, it’s okay,” he said soothingly.  “It’s alright, Effie.  We can stop.”

She diverted her eyes from looking at him.  She was so embarrassed.  “You won’t be mad?” she asked.  That was usually how it went for, well…

Matthew put his hand under her chin so he could look her in the eye.  “No,” he said, with as much conviction as he could muster.  “We can stop whenever you want.”

“I’m so—”

“Do not apologize to me,” he said sternly.  She didn’t need to.  He needed her to know that.  “Never apologize to me for that.”

She bit her bottom lip.  “Thank you for stopping.”

“There’s no way in hell I’d keep going.”

Effie nodded.  She understood.  “At least I’m getting better,” she said.  “I didn’t give you a black eye this time.”

Matthew couldn’t help but snort.  It released all the tension in the air immediately; even Effie was giggling slightly.  “That you did not,” he said, grabbing her hand slightly.  “Wanna go back out there?  Well, after we get all this lipstick off of me.”

***

The gala was nice.  It was formal and the food was decent and even though Matthew basically kept his eye on Effie sitting with Levi and Jenna the entire night, it was nice.  He had fun with his teammates.  He embarrassed himself on stage for charity.  At the silent auction, one of his packages with signed memorabilia went for the second-highest bid.  He was proud of what he and the team were able to accomplish in terms of giving back to the community.

But now he had more important things on his mind.  

By the time he found Effie again, she was standing in a group with Levi and Jenna, Jacob and Geneviève, and Annica and Elias.  It looked like they were chatting about something exciting, so Matthew knew he needed to be there.  When Geneviève saw him butt his way in, she smiled.  “I was just reminiscing about when Jacob and I met, and how my friends and I went to the pubs in Oxford after our graduation in our robes and Tudor bonnets,” she said, filling him in.  “There’s nothing better than showing up to a place severely overdressed and then having the time of your life dancing.”

Matthew looked at Geneviève in her dress.  He looked at Annica in hers, and Effie in hers, and Jenna in hers.  He looked to his teammates in his tuxedos, and to Levi wearing a form-fitted navy suit.  “Wanna go dancing?”

Elias smirked.  “The night’s still young.”

***

They ended up at a bar downtown, one that Matthew had been to before but couldn’t really remember exactly what happened (it was his first year in Calgary and he’d just found out hours before that the legal drinking age was only eighteen).  The bouncer looked at them all weirdly in their getups but let them in anyway.  It was only when they entered that they realized it was frosh week for the University of Calgary, and the bar was full of university students drinking and dancing.  The floor was slightly sticky.  It was the perfect venue for the goal they wanted to achieve.

“Oh, this takes me back,” Geneviève giggled, looking out at the sea of people.  She looked at Annica and Jenna.  “Spicy margs?”

Both women nodded.  “Spicy margs.”

She looked at Effie.  “Have you ever had alcohol?”

“No.”

“Do you want to try it while you’re safe with us?”

Effie nodded.  

Geneviève, Effie, and Matthew headed to the bar while the rest of the group went to find a bar table to take over.  Matthew made sure Effie got a spot right at the front as he stood directly behind her, his body pressed against hers.  Geneviève waved down the bartenders and ordered all the drinks.  All the university students clamouring to get a spot at the bar and the attention of the bartenders looked at them weird for their too-fancy clothes.  Geneviève didn’t care – it wasn’t like this was her first time doing this.  Effie was a little self-conscious, but that soon went away when she saw the drinks being made in front of her.

“Whenever you go out to a bar like this, you always want the bartender to make your drink in front of you.  Don’t ever accept a drink from a stranger or if you haven’t seen it made in front of you,” Geneviève cautioned her.  

“Okay,” Effie nodded.  “What happens if I don’t like the spicy margarita though?”

“Then we’ll get you another drink.”

Once all the drinks were made, they were brought back to the bar table the rest of the group managed to find and everyone began drinking.  Effie liked her spicy margarita.  Matthew let her take a sip of his beer but she didn’t like that too much.  She ordered another spicy margarita.  Her body began to feel tingly because of the tequila.  The music started to get progressively louder, too, the bass making the floor vibrate.  Effie looked out onto the dance floor to see a bunch of people her age dancing – grinding, as Matthew called it at Andrew’s birthday many months ago.  She watched them intently, while they were having the time of their lives.  

“You okay?” Matthew asked, bending down to ask as she was looking out at the crowd.  

“I want to dance but I don’t know how to,” she revealed.  “I’m just…looking to see what everyone else is doing.  I wouldn’t be comfortable with that grinding.”

Matthew couldn’t help but smile.  “Nobody knows how to dance, Effie.  We all just move our bodies to the beat of the music.”

The song changed suddenly and it made Geneviève scream at the top of her lungs in excitement.  Effie watched as she grabbed her drink and Jacob’s hand and dragged him towards the dance floor as they began to dance together.  Levi and Jenna followed, and so did Annica and Elias.  The couples weren’t grinding like the university students, but instead danced facing each other, holding hands or swaying back and forth, holding their drinks it their hands and raising them up in the air, miraculously not spilling a thing.  She and Matthew were the only ones left at the bar table.  “This was their wedding song, I think,” Matthew explained, watching Effie watch Jacob and Geneviève dancing.

“What’s it called?”

“I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston.”

“Levi hasn’t introduced me to that one.”

“Levi isn’t the type to listen to Whitney Houston.”

Effie continued to watch them dance, Geneviève singing the lyrics to Jacob at the top of her lungs.  They were so in love with each other, even she could see it, and she barely knew what healthy love was.  A part of her wondered what made them love each other so much, and another part of her wondered if she should ask.  Was it rude to ask something like that?

“D’you want to dance, Effie?” Matthew asked.

Effie looked up at him.  “Do you think people will laugh at me because I don’t know how?”

He shook his head.  “There’s so many people and they’re all so drunk, they won’t even notice you.”

She gripped her margarita tighter.  There was something to be said about overcoming fears ever since she left the cult, and this could be classified as one of them.  But she wasn’t like these university students who were moving their bodies so freely and easily.  She was much more restrained – with everything really – but she wanted to actively work to move away from that.  Conquer her fears.  Do what she needed to do to shed herself from the past.  So she nodded her head.  “Let’s go.”

Matthew grabbed her hand and led her on to the dance floor, moving his body to the song with his beer still in his hand, doing his best not to spill it everywhere, but especially not on Effie wearing Geneviève’s expensive red dress.  Effie watched, moving her feet back and forth awkwardly.  She looked up at Matthew for reassurance, only to see him already smiling at her.  “You got it, you got it,” he said, moving his feet in a similar way.  

“What do I do with my hands?” she asked.

“Just throw ‘em up!” he showed her.  She did the same movements, but she couldn’t step or move with the beat of the music.  Matthew could tell she was nervous.  “Just move your body, Effie.  Move it however you want.  Doesn’t need to be on beat.”

Effie closed her eyes, trying to get the feel of the song in her, but she lost her groove because it soon ended and another began.  This one was even more upbeat – well, it had a better beat – and Effie began to move again.  

Feel buried alive This city is airtight Suffocated and lonely in the crowd I'm surrounded by All the screens of their life Screaming in to space to drown them out

Effie not only began to move her feet and hands, but she tried swaying her hips a bit.  She liked this beat.  She loved this beat.  She lost herself completely in it, dancing with no inhibitions.  Matthew watched as she let loose, moving her body in tune with the music.  Her dancing was unlike anyone else’s around her, and the only thing he wanted to was copy her.  It looked a bit ridiculous, but it didn’t matter to Matthew.  He’d made himself look more ridiculous than this before.  This was nothing.

I felt down so low Found nowhere to go But I know you wait for me You wait for me So far out of sight Straight into the white But I know you wait for me I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

Effie opened her eyes to see Matthew.  Matthew, who would wait for her.  Matthew, who had waited for her.  

'Cause I've been hypnotized by the lights But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight Yeah, it's taken time to realize But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

“Go Effie!  Go Effie!” Annica chanted, coming up beside them with Elias, grooving to the beat of the music.  Annica watched Effie moving and followed her movements too – albeit more fluidly – and when Effie looked up and saw Annica, a giant smile took over her face.  Annica screamed in excitement and cheered their drinks together before moving with her, beside Matthew, letting him get closest to her.

So hold me tight I just wanna fade out Somewhere we can ship the world away I'm ready to hide Far from the fallout They won't find us in the paradise we'll make

“Woooooooo!  You go girl!  Get loose!” Geneviève screamed from her other side, approaching them with Jacob beside her who was doing a modified version of the robot.  Matthew watched as Effie closed her eyes, going into her own little world, raising her arms and bopping her body to the music.  It was the happiest and most carefree he’d ever seen her.  He vowed right then and there to take her dancing whenever she wanted to go so she could feel this same way.

I felt down so low Found nowhere to go But I know you wait for me You wait for me So far out of sight Straight into the white But I know you wait for me I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

Effie was feeling it.  She loved it.  She loved this.  She loved the people she was surrounded by.  If this was love, she wanted to feel it all the time.

'Cause I've been hypnotized by the lights But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight Yeah, it's taken time to realize But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

When she opened her eyes again, she saw everyone dancing around her.  She stepped closer to Matthew, almost so close that she could feel his body against hers.  They moved together to the climax of the song, Matthew looking down at her and smiling.

Free falling from the high I'm following the voice I know Free falling from the high I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

In his tuxedo and in her frilly red dress with cape sleeves, surrounded by people. it felt like they were the only ones in the world.

'Cause I've been hypnotized by the lights But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight Yeah, it's taken time to realize But I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight I'm coming home I'm coming back down tonight

***

“I think I can live a normal life with him,” Effie told Dr. Barlow as she sat in her usual seat in the office, looking down at her hands.  She’d already been talking for almost an hour during her session, but she felt the need to get that statement out.  Dr. Barlow had the right to know.

“With Matthew?” Dr. Barlow clarified.

Effie nodded her head.  Who else would she be talking about?  “He’s never once made me feel uncomfortable or unsafe or…like…ashamed of what I went through,” she elaborated.  

“That’s a very positive thing,” Dr. Barlow said, her voice steady.  “It’s good that you’re thinking about these things, Effie.  You’re thinking about your future.  You actually see a future for yourself.  But how normal do you think a friendship or perhaps even a life with a hockey player can be?” she asked.

Effie shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t know.  I barely understand hockey as it is.”

“Well, hockey players don’t exactly live the most conventional of lifestyles.  They travel a lot, as I’m sure you know since Levi travels with the team.”

“Yeah…” Effie didn’t know where Dr. Barlow was going with this.  “That’s…that’s not the biggest deal to me.”

Dr. Barlow nodded her head, writing something down on her pad of paper.  “Have you continued to kiss him since he’s come back?”  Effie nodded.  “Regularly?”

“Semi-regularly.”

“Have you told Dr. Stevenson?” she asked.  Effie nodded again.  “Do you still envision Abraham sometimes?”

Effie hesitated before nodding her head.  She knew she couldn’t lie.  “It’s been getting better though.  We kissed for a couple of minutes once before I, um, felt Abraham’s beard.  And when he stopped, he didn’t get mad at all.  I means it’s progress from when he brushed up against me in bed and I gave him a black eye,” she tried to joke.

Dr. Barlow apparently didn’t find it funny like Matthew had.  She just nodded again and wrote on her note pad.  “You should tell Dr. Stevenson about that.”

***

“I made another pint of maple pecan ice cream,” Effie told Levi as she handed him a Tupperware full of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.  They were mostly for Jenna – she was craving them.  Jenna had been craving a lot of things lately, ever since Effie got her own mixer, anyway.  Effie had been experimenting making ice cream.  The café was pleased about this as well.  The owner was already looking to invest in ice cream storage to be able to serve it.  “I’ve found a real gem in you, Effie,” the owner would repeat over and over again to her.  Matthew had to stop himself constantly from getting a third bowl on nights he’d come over.  He’d tap at his stomach and say “I can’t” but when he’d go and put his bowl in the sink, she’d always see him hesitate before he did so.  “Do you want it?”

“Please,” he begged his sister.  She moved to open her freezer.  “I swear Effie, the best thing Matthew’s ever done was get you that KitchenAid.  I’ve been gaining weight ever since.”

Effie smiled.  “At least you’re not the hockey player that has to stay in peak physical condition.  Matthew’s been complaining that I’m making him pudgy.”

“Thank God.”

“Speaking of…” she began, handing him the pint of ice cream.  “Do you think you can teach me about hockey?”

“You mean like the rules and stuff?”

“Yeah.  You know, like what’s going on out there whenever I’m at games.”

“Okay,” he nodded, shrugging his shoulder slightly.  “Any reason?”

“If I’m going to be surrounded by hockey because of you, then I should learn it, shouldn’t I?” Effie asked rhetorically.  

“Sure,” he side-eyed his sister playfully.  “But does this have anything to do with Matthew?”

“What if it does?”

Levi smiled.  He knew there was something going on between the two of them, regardless of whether or not they wanted to tell him.  He liked Matthew, he knew he was a good kid, so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.  She could have hooked up with someone way worse.  Actually, she could have gone the opposite route of where she currently was (which many former cult members went), which was becoming a hypersexual after being sexually repressed for so many years.  Effie was taking her time with it, and that was fine, but if her friendship…or relationship, or whatever she had going on with Matthew was any indication, Levi figured Effie was thinking about it.  “I don’t care, Effie.  It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“So you’ll teach me?”

“Of course.  I’ll have you screaming at the referees in no time.”

***

“So Levi’s teaching me about hockey,” Effie said as she marinated chicken in her kitchen, her phone call with Matthew on speakerphone as she moved around and got her hands dirty.  

“He is?”

“Mhm.  By the time the home opener comes around, I’ll be able to understand what’s going on,” she revealed.

“I better get you a Tkachuk jersey then.”

Effie smiled bashfully, even though he couldn’t see it.  “You don’t want me wearing a Markstrom one like last time?” she joked.

“Effie.”

***

Effie was nervous as she sat in Dr. Stevenson’s office.  Not because she was scared, or because she wasn’t a good sex therapist, or because of anything like that.  She was nervous to admit to her the thoughts she’d been having about Matthew, even though she knew Dr. Stevenson wouldn’t judge her at all and that it was his job to help her.  Help her make peace with these thoughts; help her realize they were completely normal and okay; help her act on them, eventually, in a healthy way.  Dr. Stevenson already knew about Matthew – she knew about him from Effie’s very first day.  

“My mind may not be ready but my body is physically attracted to him. I don’t know how to…you know, mend the two so that both are on the same page,” Effie admitted after almost an hour.  “I want to be with him.  I do.  I know he won’t hurt me – that he’d never hurt me.”

Dr. Stevenson nodded.  “When you were in the People’s Dominion of Christ, there was a huge power imbalance between Abraham, being the prophet and leader, and the followers – you,” Dr. Stevenson began to explain.  “This imbalance made it impossible for you to give true consent to sex.”

Effie’s body stiffened.  Consent.  Geneviève had taught her that term early on.  Consent was giving permission for something to happen.  Effie had never given her consent to marry Abraham.  She’d never given Abraham consent to consummate their marriage.  She’d never given Abraham consent to touch her, stroke her, do anything to her.  She’d surely never given him consent to impregnate her.  “Okay…that makes sense.  But I didn’t know I had to give consent.  I thought that men could do whatever they wanted with my body.  Especially Abraham, since he was the prophet.”

“The institutionalized sexism in the cult is nothing I haven’t heard before.  Many victims like yourself have said the exact same thing to me,” Dr. Stevenson said.  “You are not alone.  There are many people like you, unfortunately.  When females are not equally valued because of misogyny, because of outdated traditional gender roles that are disempowering, it makes women like you experience sexual inequality and become more susceptible to leaders who will exploit you.”

“So how do I get it back?”

“Get what back?”

“My agency.  My…my…” Effie began to tear up, thinking about all the things she had to endure at the hands of Abraham – literally and metaphorically.  “How do I get my mind back?  My body is finally mine, and I can do what I want with it, but I don’t feel like I have my mind back yet if I’m kissing Matthew but then all of a sudden I remember the feeling of Abraham’s beard or that I can’t sit or lie at the foot of a bed because that’s where…”

Dr. Stevenson took a deep breath.  “One way to do so is to embrace, appreciate, and celebrate your sexual self.  That is what I am trying to help you do here.  You need to understand that your capacity for pleasure is not a luxury, and it is not shameful either.  It is a necessity for a well-balanced and emotionally happy life.  As a woman – as a survivor of sexual abuse, of rape – you should take a stand for your own sexual healing and embrace sexual pleasure as something that will help heal you.”

Effie nodded her head, more tears escaping her now, but she understood.  She knew what she needed to do, and the mental shift she needed to go through.  Touching could be pleasurable for the woman.  Sex could be pleasurable for the woman. Not everything had to hurt.  Not everything had to come with pain.  

“I’m not saying this is going to happen tomorrow for you, Effie,” Dr. Stevenson continued.  “I’m not saying it’ll happen next month, or year.  It happens quickly for some, and for others it can take years.  Everybody has their own timeline – you included.  You have to remember that your trauma comes with complex PTSD.  If you set goals for yourself, like you already have been doing, with a person you are comfortable with – Matthew – your sexual self will grow with your physical self and your mental self.  When those three parts of you are aligned, they will all grow stronger, and make you stronger.”

Effie kept nodding.  The words were permeating through her like lightning.  “I’m going to try.  I’m really going to try.”

“Just stop when you need to stop.  Go when you want to go.  You’ll get there, Effie.”

***

“Did you learn about gay people in the cult?” Matthew asked as he prepared Brokeback Mountain on the TV while Effie finished pouring the popcorn into the bowl.  

“Not in a good way, if that’s what you’re really asking,” she said from the kitchen.  “You know the stupid Bible verse.  The prophet called it an abomination.  But it was one of the first things that Levi and Jenna taught out of me when I first went to live with them, because Jenna’s brother is gay and has a husband and two kids.  Levi didn’t want me to be shocked if I ever saw them.”

Matthew didn’t know that about Jenna.  But he nodded his head and watched Effie bring the bowl of popcorn over.  “Have you met them?”

Effie nodded.  “They came over a few months after I arrived.  They were so incredibly kind,” she explained.  She handed the popcorn bowl to Matthew to take before folding her leg and collapsing onto the couch beside him, facing him.  “It really…it really messed with me.  I mean, it’s not like I wanted to think that way.  It was what I was conditioned to think.  I didn’t know better.  And I felt so bad, because I knew they knew, but they were so understanding.  From the moment they walked through the door they were so nice and they didn’t hold it against me,” she explained.  

Matthew could only listen.  And though he listened through her entire explanation, he was hung up on one thing.  “You should stop calling him the prophet,” he said suddenly, not really thinking it through but needing to get it out.  “He wasn’t a prophet.  He wasn’t even your husband.  He was just some guy.”

Effie looked stunned by what he was saying.  She’d never considered that before.  She was so used to calling him the prophet that the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind – ever.  “You’re right,” she said, unable to say anything else.  It was such a simple sentiment but it held so much power.  “I…you’re right, Matthew.”

He smiled slightly.  “Wanna start the movie?”

Effie nodded.  Matthew extended his arm to move the bowl to the side, and his other arm moved upwards slightly, signalling to Effie that it was already to cuddle.  She moved closer to him, snuggling into his side and letting both legs drape over his thigh.  Only then did he let his arm down, draping it over her back.  Effie looked up at him.  “Is that okay?” she asked.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered, placing the bowl of popcorn between their bodies so they had equal access to it.  “You comfortable?”

“Mhm.”

“Effie, are you comfortable?” he repeated.

She knew why he was repeating himself.  She looked up at him and smiled.  “The comfiest I’ve ever been.”

Matthew pressed play.  From that moment, Effie’s eyes were glued to the screen, hooked on the love story unfolding in front of her.  For Matthew, he was more hooked on watching her than the movie, but he kept up slightly.  At some point during the movie – Matthew didn’t pay attention when – Effie’s hand settled on his abs, and it was all he could think about for the rest of the night.  He was acutely aware of its placement.  Then, the sadder scenes started happening, and he’d feel the hand grip his t-shirt, and his body would seize up.  She’d soften it, but then grip again when something emotional would happen.  Then the scene where Ennis visits Jack’s parents after his death occurred, and Ennis was let into Jack’s childhood bedroom and found his old shirt.  Matthew watched as Ennis smelled it and clutched it against his chest.

Then he heard Effie let out a sob.  

She gripped him tighter than she ever had.  He tightened his hold on her too, shifting slightly and letting his shirt ride up against the couch, just so she could cuddle into him even more than she already was.  He could feel her hand on his skin now, gripping at his side tenderly as the tears still rolled down her face.  He took the opportunity to place his hand in the small sliver of space where her shirt had ridden up too, squeezing and massaging it gently to comfort her.  “Y’okay?” his voice was barely above a whisper.

She didn’t respond.  Her eyes were glued to the TV.  As the movie continued, Matthew left his hand exactly where it was, and Effie left her hand exactly where it was.  Holding each other.  Clutching each other.  

When the movie ended, Effie didn’t move for a long time.  Not even when the credits began rolling on the screen.  “Are you okay, Effie?” Matthew repeated his question from earlier, albeit a bit louder and more pronounced this time.

“I think my heart is broken,” she finally let out, bringing the hand that was squeezing his side to her face so she could wipe her tears away.  “That was beautiful.  Beautiful.”

“It was,” Matthew agreed.  It was very obvious the movie was affecting her a lot.

Effie moved so she could look up at Matthew, craning her head and bringing her hand up to cradle his face so she could kiss him.  When their lips connected, Matthew could feel the wetness of her cheeks.  “I can’t believe I was ever scared of that,” she whispered against his lips when she pulled away.

“Doesn’t matter.  What matters is what you think now.”

Effie nodded.  He always knew the right things to say.  He was helping her change her past and way of thinking one way or another.  “I think I want to kiss you again.”

Matthew kissed her.  And even as the credits finished, neither of them would let go of the other.

***

The Calgary Flames home opener at the Saddledome had Effie buzzing with excitement.  She wore a brand new pair of jeans for the occasion, and arrived at the game with Jenna, Annica, and Geneviève.  As was normal for them, Annica was wearing her tried and true Lindholm jersey, while Geneviève was sporting a Markstrom one.  Jenna wore Levi’s old Iginla jersey.  

Effie had Tkachuk sprawled across her back.  

“Do you want to go down near the ice and wave?” Annica asked, and Effie nodded her head.  “It might get a big crowded, so stay near me.”

The ladies descended down the steps, joining the pretty big crowd that had formed against the glass beside Jacob’s net.  A bunch of kids were up against the glass with homemade signs, their parents near them taking pictures.  Some men around Effie’s age were there too, drinking beers with their jerseys on and taking videos on their phones.  Other girls her age were there too, taking pictures of all the players.  “Can you see Matthew?” Geneviève asked as she looked down at Effie.

“He’s over there,” she smiled, pointing at Matthew across the ice.  He was practicing his stickhandling, in such deep concentration that he didn’t look up for a while.  When he finally did look up, happy with his stickhandling, he began skating around the ice, bumping into Noah and Andrew along the way.  

Effie waved excitedly.

Matthew stopped when he saw her.  Even though there was glass streaked with puck shots and some distance between them, she could see him smile from ear to ear, his mouth guard hanging out.  He waved back, his hockey glove looking like a giant bear claw.

“God you two are insufferable,” Geneviève said jokingly.

Matthew continued to skate around, shooting the puck at the net, each of them going in.  Geneviève noticed all of his glances back at them, and the small smile constantly on his face as he went about his drills.  When the practice was almost over, she kept an eye intently on him, watching as he skated over.  She knew what he wanted to go.  “Go closer,” she said to Effie, urging her with a little nudge.  

Effie took her cue and stepped down, closer to the glass.  Matthew had flipped a puck over the glass towards a kid with a sign for him.  Now, as Effie watched, he pointed to her and made sure everyone around knew who he was pointing to.  She turned around slightly, pointing to his name on her back.  He smiled wide and flipped another puck, perfectly, right into her hands.  

Geneviève watched as the young women around them eyed Effie suspiciously.

***

“Matthew!” Effie squealed once he finally emerged from the locker room, his suit back on and his tie tied loosely around his neck.  She hugged him excitedly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he reciprocated.  “Great game!”

“Thanks, Effie.”

“And your goal!” she continued.  Now that she actually understood hockey, and now that she wasn’t scared about every little thing around her at the arena, she could actually enjoy the experience and know what was going on.  “What a great goal!”

He had the puck in his pocket, and had planned to give it to her, but right now his mind was elsewhere.  Seeing her in his jersey at the beginning of the game did things to him, and although he was able to focus throughout the sixty minutes, now that he saw her again with his name sprawled across her back, his mind was right where it was the moment he first saw her that night.  “Wanna come over mine and watch a movie?” he asked, his voice low so no-one else would hear.

To his complete surprise, Effie nodded her head immediately.  “Of course.”

They left inconspicuously without saying goodbye to anyone.

***

Effie broke down during the first scene.

Matthew had changed out of his suit and into a sweater and track pants, and Effie had taken off the jersey and hung it up in his front closet.  They cuddled on the couch together, exactly as they’d done when they watched Brokeback Mountain, and Matthew pressed play on Netflix.  The first scene was the main character, Esty, packing up her most valuable belongings, including a small picture of her grandmother, and running away from her Hasidic community.  All before the opening credits.  When the show’s opening played, he heard Effie let out a loud sob.

“Hey hey hey,” he cooed, watching as she brought her hand up to cover her mouth to try and control herself, but there was no use.  Tears were streaming down her face.  “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

“It’s me,” she said softly, through tears.  “It’s me.”

“C’mere,” he said, pulling her even closer against his body, if that was possible.  Every inch of her was touching him now, with his arms wrapped tightly around her, and he hoped that brought her at least some reprieve.  She was wiping her face with her hands, and he could see her chest heaving, though he could tell she was taking deep breaths to calm herself down.  Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.  “We can stop it or watch so—”

“No,” she interjected sternly, looking up at him.  “I can do this.”

“I know you can Effie, but—”

“No buts.  I can watch this,” she was adamant.  

Matthew lost.  He knew he would.  He bit his bottom lip and nodded his head.  “Will you promise to tell me if it becomes too much?”

Effie nodded.  She snuck her hand underneath his sweater to feel his skin again, and she – surprisingly – game him a quick peck before laying her head on his chest again.  “Press play.”

Matthew kissed her forehead, then the crown of her head, then laid his cheek there before pressing play.  

Effie broke down again less than ten minutes later, when the grandmother was listening to an old German song, An Die Musik sung by Elisabeth Scwartzkopf.  And again, when Yanky was searching her childhood bedroom and found her personal items and her music.  The last scene she cried to was near the end, when Esty’s biological mother showed up and gave her documents to prove German citizenship “just in case you need somewhere else to go”.  When the episode ended, Effie was shedding her last tears.  Matthew paused Netflix before the episode could switch over.  “You okay?”

Effie nodded, despite her tears.  “I know it’s different religions, but a lot of things were just, like, so similar,” she explained.  “The…the beginning brought me back.”

“I can only imagine,” Matthew whispered.

“The grandmother crying listening to that beautiful song.  Esty’s music.  Her mom still looking out for her despite abandoning her.  It all just…it all just really hit home.”  Matthew nodded.  It was the only thing he could do.  If Effie wanted to elaborate, she could, but he wasn’t going to force her.  Instead, he shifted her body so she was sitting more in his lap as opposed to right beside him.  She steadied her breathing, and her tears had stopped.  “When I went to live with the proph—Abraham, as his wife,” she began, “he made me leave everything at home besides my clothes.  I couldn’t see my favourite things unless I was visiting, and even then, I’d never be alone in my room for more than two minutes because he knew I’d be reminiscing, and he said it was a sin to dwell on my past life when I should have been looking forward to my future as his wife and as a mother to his son of God.”  She paused, biting her bottom lip; Matthew could tell she was remembering it all vividly in her mind.  “After a year my mom threw out all my things anyway.  Because she agreed with him.”

“What did you have?  What were your things?” he asked, sad and angry and disturbed all at once.  

“Just simple things.  Nothing special,” she said.  “My…my own Bible that I’d been using since I was a kid.  A journal I had where I recorded my favourite verses.  A doll I had when I was a kid that another member made for me.  Just stupid things.”

“They’re not stupid things if they were special for you,” Matthew said.  “I can’t believe your mom threw them all out.  My mom has kept my kindergarten paintings.”

Effie smiled slightly.  “That’s because you have a good mom who knows how to be a mother.”

Matthew digressed.  Effie obviously hadn’t meant Chantal yet, but Matthew talked about her enough that Effie knew a lot about her.  “I know I keep saying this, but you’re so strong, Effie.”

“It’s a lot to overcome,” she whispered, nodding her head.  They sat for a while in comfortable silence, just being with each other.  Matthew’s arms were still wrapped around her.  Effie was still in hip lap, looking at him.  “Will you kiss me, Matthew?”

Matthew smiled slightly before dipping his head down and capturing her lips in a kiss.  It wasn’t long before – once again – Effie took the initiative to slip her tongue into his mouth.  There was kissing – so much kissing – and Matthew took it upon himself to start to lay Effie down on the couch, his body looming over hers slightly and—

“Stop,” Effie said, her hands on his chest, pushing him off her slightly.  Matthew immediately stopped and moved away from her.  Her chest heaved up and down once before she pushed herself up.  “I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize,” he said.  “Did you see him again?”

Effie didn’t answer.  “I think it happened because we laid down,” she said, her lips puffy from all the kissing.  

Matthew was catching his breath.  He was thankful that he was wearing track pants or else Effie would see how…excited he’d become.  “How about you stay on top then?”

She furrowed her brows.  “What do you mean?”

“We—we can stay upright,” Matthew explained.  “You can sit on my lap if you want…facing me.  Or you could just…you know, like, sit…” he was losing his words.

Effie looked confused.  Nervous.  Like she didn’t know what to think.  Like she was picturing the scenario in her head and couldn’t really make sense of any of it.  “W—Women are allowed to do that?” she asked softly.  Matthew couldn’t speak; he could only stare at her flabbergasted.  He nodded his head slightly, and Effie thought about it.  How women could be ‘on top’.  What that would look like.  What that would entail.  “C…Can you—can you show…” she was too embarrassed to even be asking.  

“C’mere,” he said, extending his hand.  She put her hand in his and he pulled her towards him.  “Put your one leg over here,” he said, patting to the space on the other side of him.  She did so slowly.  “And your other leg goes here,” he explained, and she did the same movement, “and now you can just sit on my lap.”

Effie took a deep breath as she lowered herself down until she could feel his thighs as her seat.  Both she and Matthew had barely blinked the entire time during his simple act of showing her how to straddle him, but she had never done it before (and it wasn’t like she would have been allowed to), and so everything about it was new to her.  Now, she was face-to-face with him, her hands resting on his chest, his hands resting near the bend in her knees.  “This is new,” she said.

“Are you comfy?” he asked.  She nodded.  “D’you like it?” he asked again.

“It’ll take some getting used to,” she admitted.  “But I can see it being nice.”

Being nice.  Matthew couldn’t help but grin.  “It’ll be nice.  Trust me.”

Effie nodded.  She did trust Matthew.  So when she went in to continue their kisses, it was nice, and it was beautiful, and it wasn’t so bad anymore.  Which is why, when Matthew’s hands moved from her knees up her thighs, it was okay.  When his hands squeezed at her flesh through her pants before going higher, it was okay.  When his hands moved to her hips and pulled her even closer, it was okay.

It was okay.

[endlich-allein]

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of ​​what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

[specialagentlokitty]

Chandler x Sister!reader -Stop

Hi this is the friends anon! I had another idea sorry. It’s one where chandlers little sister comes to visit she is an up and coming Author (not like her mother lol), chandler is very proud of her but very protective he usually has an arm around her because as children he felt like he had to shield her from their parents. Joey tries to start saying “how you doing” but chandler cuts him off with like no no none of that. Then Ross takes a liking to her and asks her out which she declines but chandler goes on a rant about how Ross kissed his mum AND asked out his sister. - Anon 💜

When you stepped off the plane, you honestly weren’t expecting your brother to come pick you up, you were just going to turn up at his place and steal his bed for a nap.

“(Y/N)!”

Before you could react you were wrapped up in a tight hug and spun around before he finally let you go.

“Chandler!” You laughed.

He grabbed your suitcase and slung his arm wound your shoulder as he led you out off the airport.

“So how’s the little writer doing?” He teased.

“Little?! I sell books all over!”

“But you’re still a small time author.” He hummed.

Elbowing him slightly, you hailed a cab while he complained about how it was rude to hit people and he was your older brother and you couldn’t do that.

While driving to his apartment, you took a short a short nap, and he woke you up when you arrived.

“Hey, do you want to sleep before meeting everyone?” Chandler asked.

You laughed and shook your head, following him up the stairs.

“No, it’s alright, I’ll sleep later.”

“You sure?”

You grinned and nodded your head.

“Yeah! I’m sure, I wanna meet the people who deal with you everyday.”

“Why are you so rude?!” He pouted.

When you guys reached the landing, you pushed him a little and watched as he tripled over, rolling on to the floor.

You laughed loudly, and crouched down beside him, patting his head a little.

“Sorry, didn’t think I pushed you that hard.”

You gave him a hand up, and hugged him before skipping through his door after him.

He showed you his room where you’d be staying, then he took you across the hall.

Instantly everyone went quiet and stared at the pair for you.

“So where did you find this one?” A woman smirked.

You smirked and before your brother replied you spoke up.

“He picked me up at the airport.”

“Chandlers picking women up at the airport? I might try that.” A man hummed.

“Ew! No! Okay! Stop!” Chandler yelled, “this is my sister, (Y/N)!”

He introduced to them all, and you sat with Phebe, Monica and Rachelle talking with them all, making plans for the next day.

Monica went to talk to Chandler, Rachelle had a phone call and Phebe wanted something to eat, so you were sat on the couch by yourself.

“Hey, hows it going?” Joey said, sliding next to you.

Before you could even utter a word out, Chandler was dragging his friend off the couc by his ear and sat next to you, arm around your shoulder.

“No.” Chandler said.

You snickered while Joey pouted on one off the chairs, everyone all came back over to sit with you guys.

“But-“ “no.”

Everyone laughed, and your head on your brother, kicking your feet up over the edge off the couch.

“So what do you do for a living?” Rachelle asked.

“I’m a small time author.” You smiled.

“Anything like your mom?” Phebe asked.

“No.” You laughed, “I focus mainly on fantasy, and more soft romance.”

“What kind of fantasy?”

“Joey! No! Stop! It’s my sister man!” Chandler whined.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head in amusement.

For the whole evening you guys talked until you fell asleep, and that was when Chandler took you back and put you to bed.

The following morning you woke up and searched around the apartment.

“Chandler?” You called out.

When you didn’t find him, you padded across the hallway and knocked on the door.

“It’s open!”

You poked your head in and waved, slipping through the door and closed it.

“Morning, hows you sleep? Want a coffee?” Rachelle asked.

“(Y/N) can’t have coffee, it makes her too hyper.” Chandler said.

“Why to ruin all the fun!” You huffed, “and I slept well thanks!”

You skipped over to the table and took a seat at the table beside Ross.

“Can I ask you something?” Ross asked.

“You just did.”

He opened his mouth, then laughed softly at you.

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“I know this is straight forward, sorry. Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?”

You smiled softly and shook your head and you, and instantly Chandler had his arm around your neck, his head on yours.

“No! Stop asking out my sister! You kissed our mom now you’re asking my sister out!? It’s weird, so weird!”

Resting your hand on Chandlers arm, you sighed and laughed a little.

“It’s fine Chandler, I said no. No offence to you guys, but I don’t wanna date my brothers friends.”

Chandler beamed proudly and let go off you, heading back to the kettle to carry on making his drink while the girls all smirked at the boys, this was going to be an interesting couple off weeks

[mdverse]

why don't you vibe with Rachel?

sorry this took a while, anon. i've been trying to figure out how to answer it because the short answer is that rachel tends to awaken a lot of frustration within me if i think about her for too long. i don't really know why i get as heated as i do just with her but it just happens. it's weird because i don't usually have strong negative feelings towards people, so there might be something aside from the more in-depth explanation i wrote under the cut that i just can't put my finger on right now.

rachel is one of the characters in glee whose storylines are regularly shoved in the audience's face, like the writers are trying real hard to get us to care about her. the thing is, though, i could not care less about most of it? i'm generalising a bit but half of her storylines are centered around finchel/her other romantic interests, and the other half is about how she wants to sing this song or play this role and how she deserves the spotlight more than the other glee kids and can't imagine a world where she's wrong about that. and then if it doesn't work out, she gets really overdramatic and we're stuck listening to her complain about things. even in the finchel dynamic, which i am not a huge fan of, a big part of their season 3 storyline is rachel talking about nyada and new york and ignoring all of finn's insecurities about what to do after high school. when puck told finn that he needed to start thinking about himself, i felt that. the fact that rachel treated even her close friends like garbage without even realising it until they stood up to her like kurt eventually did? everything just revolves around her and it's exhausting.

another thing i dislike relates to this gifset i reblogged on my sideblog. rachel gets so much favoritism regarding her singing/talent - it is mainly from schuester, whom i ignore, but it's so blatant. it gets to the point where other characters, particularly mercedes and tina, are used to taking a back seat because "only rachel can do this" and sure, rachel is talented and does put on some great performances, but that statement just doesn't sit right with me. everyone in glee club is talented, but most of them get sidelined in favour of letting rachel perform. i'm tired of seeing it, i'm tired of seeing rachel sing lead in almost every song in competition (with the exception of s2, where she assumed she'd sing the lead and then complained when she couldn't, and s3 sectionals where presumably the only reason she didn't sing was because she was banned from competing in the first place) or yet another solo after every minor inconvenience or argument, i'm tired of hearing her cover songs that don't suit her voice just for the sake of having her sing more, i'm tired of having to watch equally talented characters get pushed down just to stroke rachel's ego. not to mention erasing a bunch of interesting early-seasons friendships and giving them all to rachel instead (quinncedes? kurtcedes?) and of course i blame the writers for this, because they ignored so many characters who had a lot of potential to be interesting in order to let rachel shine more. i understand that with an ensemble cast as big as glee's, it might be harder to write parts that get an equal amount of screen time but you can tell they did not care about most of their characters. and as a result, they highlighted rachel so much that i just have to pretend she does not exist.

also... rachel's casual racism? need i say more? i know there were other racist comments from people like sue but sue is so obviously written as satirical and rachel does not have that same vibe. like that throwaway line to blaine about how they would have "vaguely eurasian-looking children"? as a relatively white-passing eurasian person that line always made me feel weird. or all of her comments towards mercedes. it wasn't really addressed aside from mercedes herself calling out rachel, even if it happened right in front of schue, and i don't appreciate that. there were a lot of double-standards in glee.

last but definitely not least is the part i struggle to put into words. i also might just be remembering some stuff wrong because it's been a while since i've watched through glee and i try to forget a lot of the rachel content anyway, so bear with me. some of my issues with rachel are similar to my issues with finn, in that they both do shitty things and then for the most part, they don't really face the consequences for it. in rachel's case, it does apply more to her high school self, because i do think she grows and faces reality more in the later seasons (ie: broadway and her downfall). Unfortunately for her, though, i tend to rewatch the first 3 seasons and then only pick certain episodes from the latter half of the show, so her high school self is more prominent in my mind. and of course she isn't the only one who does shitty things, 90% of the glee kids and adults have their shitty moments, but at least some of them grow from their mistakes and show proper development (it's not always consistent, but i blame that on the writers once again). with rachel - and maybe i'm just reading it wrong - it feels like her apologies aren't genuine? from what i can remember, they always come after she gets a lot of backlash for her actions or sees that her actions resulted in some shit going down with other people (ie: snitching to finn about the real father of quinn's baby, sunshine & the crack house, ditching funny girl for that tv audition, i'm blanking on other stuff right now) so it gives off the feeling that she's only apologising because people tell her she fucked up and she doesn't like hearing that, and not because she actually feels guilty and wants to do better.

that being said, i don't hate her anymore. at least i don't think so. do i like her? nope. but i've gotten to a point where i can go "yeah that was a sweet moment and i can appreciate that from her" and that's nice, because i really don't want to spend time and energy hating a character on a tv show (especially when there are worse characters on glee lmao). and i'm being very careful about how i portray her in vb au, because i do think that her dynamics with the rest of the team would be really interesting to explore.