#signing my work emails today with 'throwing up'

[skeilig]

when shiv says "why didn't you come get me" and kendall starts apologizing but roman tells her it wasn't actually that much time (even though it was), that struck me as a really kind response.. they can't change it now. she's his baby sister and he can tell a little white lie so that she doesn't have to live thinking she missed a chance to talk to her dad one last time... throwing up

[adventures-in-the-mad-forest]

Voice Acting Volunteer Info

Taglist: @canvas-the-florist @awkwardqueercreature @bananaconda33 @prince-rowan-of-the-forest @bluebellieart

@dewberrybramble @strange-destinations @thewickedcompanion @duck-in-a-spaceship @kitkat4406

@general-kalani @astrowillscreamintothevoid

Kofi blog post (All the same information is located under the read more).

Please ensure that you read and understand this before signing up! If you have any questions, please ask!

Summary of the Podcast:

It's about Glacie, and their coworkers, who work at the Meeting Point. The Meeting Point is a restaurant/shop located near the Mad Forest. Coming back from a pretty long break, due to their own unreality problems popping up, Glacie is warned that the forest grows hungry. After some incidents, Glacie's hallucinations start getting real bad, and they eventually venture forth into the Mad Forest.

Content Warnings of this Podcast Include (but are not limited to):

Unreality

Ableism

Pain

Blood

Implied Death

Podcast Genre

Modern-ish (emphasis on the ish) fantasy horror/action

Some things to note:

This is Volunteer Work, while I will be doing my best to pay you all, I can not promise that this will happen.

You Must Be 18+ to Volunteer to Voice Act (Mainly due to the workload)

You do not need prior Voice Acting work to throw your hat in the ring! That is not going to be a factor in the form or a question I ask in the Zoom meeting

The form that goes out today is to schedule a Zoom Meeting where you’ll do your audition then on the characters that you selected that you want to attempt to Voice Act. You can try for multiple characters, and say how many you’d like to Voice Act for (maximum of 3 characters). Fill out the days and times you are generally available. We can schedule a specific date based on schedules two weeks before the meeting. (It is important to note that the form times are in MST, as I live in Arizona in the United States. That is UTC -7. Please convert to your time zone before saying you’re available.)

I’m going to state this again so it’s not too buried: Zoom meetings are when auditions will be held, I’ll be starting to schedule those in November and December, at least 2 weeks ahead of when I first email you!

One social media is required for me to credit you in the podcast officially! You may have up to three, (this is mainly so that intros aren’t too long). Yes, I will be annoying about this.

You may only work up to 20 hours per week on Voice Acting. Including practice and breaks of less than 1 hour. This is to ensure that, if money is made, I can pay you back for your time fairly without you overworking yourself for essentially no pay if no money is made from this.

Speaking of Making Money off of this

How am I attempting to do that? You’d be right to ask. Currently, early versions of the unedited script are available for early viewing for $6 each, and a bundle is available for $35 total. Only the first episode is free in the unedited version so that those who are unsure of their interest can find out if it’s their cup of tea or not! These are also currently on a 25% sale, as I'm about to get the edited script going up for early access within the next few days.

With the edited version, the first two episodes will be free for early viewing (since most of the main characters show up by that episode it will give a better idea of who they are), however the rest will be priced at $12/episode with a bundle available for $60.

95% of those funds will be going to back paying volunteers for this project. 5% will be for extra fees that may arise as we get further into the process of recording, editing, and uploading. (This is after Stripe takes out their fee).

There are also memberships available for anyone interested in supporting the podcast!

I also sell my own art on the side and will be opening up commissions! For these I will be putting 75% of the funds into payment, with the other 25% (after the stripe fee) going towards making more art.

Not only that, but after Voice Actors are picked, I will start building a kickstarter for the project that is planned to release in May or June. This is to give us time to record 1 or 2 episodes to share bloopers and behind the scenes with backers. As the max amount of time a kickstarter can be up is 60 days, I will be doing a lot of advertising for it when the time comes on different blogs. While I would recommend you share the kickstarter on different social medias too, it’s not a requirement. And it’s something I will be discussing in more depth with the podcast team.

How Will I Pay You if the podcast makes money?

If you have a kofi, I will be leaving some generous tips! If not, any app that takes card as payment (without me having to make an account) will do! I am not doing checks, as this is open to volunteers from around the world who speak english, and even if it was just the US, I’m scared that they might get lost in the mail!

If you don’t have a place I can pay you with a debit card, please be willing to find a way to do that before you fill out the form.

I am willing to teach you how to set up a kofi if you need help with that!

You will be paid back at $15USD/hour if this podcast starts making money

Again, this is not guaranteed! Voice Acting will be considered Volunteer Work unless money is made!

Now let’s get into the Available Characters for Season 1

Main Characters: 

Cameron - She/her, Cis, lesbian, works at the Meeting Point. Cameron is wonderful, she’s independent, but terrified of being alone. She’s sassy and protective, but she’d do anything for her friends.

Shaun - He/him Cishet, coolest straight guy you’ll ever meet. Gives everyone nicknames, even if they don’t stick. Doesn’t like being serious without room for whimsy, he enjoys having fun. Honestly, he’s just a silly guy.

Dwayne - He/him, transmasc, pansexual, aromantic. Single dad of two (Laila and Deon). Is doing his best to provide for his kids and give them the best life they can possibly have. Ms. Lemona is his babysitter, both of them feeling as if they owe the other for the help they provide each other.Priority for this role is for someone who is black and transmasc

Gerry - He/him, Cis, aroace. 19 years old, youngest member of the Meeting Point. He’s just been hired to work there and is finding his place, is closest with Dwayne at this point. Has a habit of calling Glacie boss for some reason (no he is not being forced to.)Priority for this role is for someone who is brown.

Side Characters:

Delmena - She/her, Cishet. Widow. She’s an older woman who uses a wheelchair. While she’s outfitted her house to be more accessible to her, the outside world isn’t as put together. This is why she hired Carmelita, a helper who lives with her but is mainly asked to do anything that requires going outside and dealing with jutting sidewalk, no pavement, things like that. While Delmena will go with her most times, sometimes she enjoys staying at home and doing things herself.

Carmelita - She/her, Transfem, Lesbian. Works as Delmena’s stay at home caregiver, while Delmena doesn’t need her most of the time, both of them provide wonderful company for each other. She recently (ish) moved to the area, after struggling to find a job in the bigger town of Campeal. Priority for this role is for someone who is Hispanic/Latina and transfem

Haeyl - She/her, Transfem, Straight. Shaun’s dogsitter, pretty mysterious. But she has a right to be. Wonderful to be around, Mellon (the dog) loves her, and she loves dogsitting for Mellon.Priority for this role is for someone who is black and transfem.

Laila - 8 years old, she/her. Dwayne’s daughter, and eldest child. She’s loves to tease her brother, and take his toys as she’s taller than him (she gives them back, she just likes to frustrate her brother). Really interested in dragons and magic, one of which she’s told doesn’t exist; the other one she hasn’t gotten a clear answer on.Priority for this role is someone who is black.

Deon - 6 years old, he/him. Enjoys trains and magnets, and is also interested in magic. Is tired of Laila stealing his toys and keeping them from him. Has a habit of accidentally leaving toys out on the floor, which caused the incident that happened to keep Dwayne from being in the first episode of the season.Priority for this role is for someone who is black.

Ms. Lemona - She/her, transfem, Laila and Deon’s babysitter as Dwayne works at the Meeting Point to provide for them. She enjoys watching these kids, and teaching them new things, even astounding them with the creations she makes. She’s a woodworker, and knows some basics on how to make some more mechanical bits and bobs.Priority for this role is for someone who is black.

Other Characters:

Glacie’s Guide - A hallucination of sorts, not much is known about it, but it claims in the beginning of Season 2 to be there to help Glacie navigate through the forest. (Although whether that is true or not remains to be seen).

Various Background Characters

This includes customers at the Meeting Point as well as, random chatter that is unintelligible in certain parts of the episode.

Audition Information

I have chosen lines for each character that I believe gives a good view of who they are!

See this google doc for those:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/19LNLDZgUOYPCCF6i8nH2iQrXe5UXK-S_nJGmqJ-Hzvc/edit?usp=sharing

If you'd like access to the full script before viewing, DM me on tumblr!

Forms open today, and I will begin scheduling auditions as early as Early November/Early December! As auditions happen, I will begin casting in Late December/Early January, because of this, if there’s someone you’d like to play I suggest getting the form in early. I will Not recast a part unless someone drops out so do not ask! As people are cast, I will be editing the form to reflect this.

How does casting work?

I will be attempting to schedule zoom meetings to cast specific characters on specific days. After the last zoom meeting for a character is done, and there are no scheduled zoom meetings for this character for a week, I will contact the person who got the role and give them the link to the discord server with information on what role they got. Then I will be removing said role from the form. This will continue until all roles have been filled.

I will also be contacting those who didn’t get the role to let them know that they didn’t get the role.

I would recommend, trying out as many roles as you’re interested in! While you can be cast for multiple roles, depending on how many people audition, roles will be 1 per person with the exception of background roles.

The various background roles will have between 2-5 people voicing those characters, and due to the amount of lines, only count as 1 extra role!

Joining the discord server is mandatory for Voice Actors! This is because I have things set up to record in the discord server itself.

Any questions? Feel free to ask!

Voice Acting Volunteer Scheduling and Sign Up Form:

[bornagainmurdock]

read my hands/read my mind

author's note: y'all ever had to finger spell directly into someones hands to communicate? nothing quite like it! also disclaimer, this is just one hoh voice and experience, and not universal for everyone that is deaf/hoh.

contents: fluff, matt murdock x reader, gender neutral reader, deaf/hoh reader & uses sign language while talking, sushi and a movie date night with matt

word count: 1.7k

Matt had started learning ASL quite early in your relationship, trying to find as many resources he could that catered to blind learners. You both knew it was a bit ironic that you were hard of hearing and Matt was blind, the major form of communication for one person was a struggle for the other. It made things interesting, and ultimately an interesting daily challenge.

Some days your hearing was better than others, and some days your hearing aids seemed pointless. Today was one of those days. You couldn't hear much, if anything at all, everything was unclear and wobbly, unstable and unmanageable. The first tell being waking up to Matt shaking you, mouth moving but no sound.

Matt kept his hands on your back, shaking you still when you opened your eyes and rubbed the sleep out of them. He was still talking, but to no avail.

Lipreading was an art and a science, and Matt unfortunatley in the morning was a mess of words, most of them slurred with sleepiness. The most you got from him was every other word. Something about him thinking you were awake when he got out of bed to find you still sleeping when he was doing the final touches.

And then he mouthed, 'oh you can't hear today.' He nodded and pointed at the side table where your hearing aids were charging. He waited for you to put your hands in his and sign. Sometimes your voice was reliable, but it was too early and silence filled your throat.

You put your hand against his and signed 'no' before throwing the covers off your body and sitting up.

Matt wasn't the greatest at sign, but could finger spell and have basic converstion. Once you stood, sliding on your slippers and making your way to the closet to find clothes for work, he waved to get your attention, pointing then to the kitchen and signing 'food' with his eyebrows down.

You hummed in affirmation, doing your best to wake up your vocal chords.

Matt smiled, signed 'i love you,' and left the room for you to get ready.

You could smell breakfast being cooked in the other room, unable to hear the sizzling of the skillet or plop of orange juice into a glass.

You put your clothes on, settling on something basic and casual to stay comfortable at work, before grabbing a pair of oxfords and sitting on the edge of the bed to tie them.

Matt returned to the bedroom doorway and waved again, waiting for you to look up at him and confirm attention verbally.

"Hmm." You looked up and whispered, "Matty?"

"Hi love," He signed as he spoke, hoping maybe your brain and ears needed to just adjust to being awake, "Breakfast is ready. Eat with me?"

You hummed again, standing up to join him, grabbing his arm to walk.

"Matty, looks so good." You voice sounded distant and un-resonant, having to trust your voice over your hearing to confirm you were making any sound.

"Let's eat" Matt signed and spoke, raising a glass to cheers.

When you both finished breakfast, Matty wrote down his plans for hte day on the dry erase calender in the kitchen. You wrote your own schedule, and once you had both reviewed, you confirmed dinner plans.

'See you later, baby' Matt signed, handing you your keys and bag before opening the door for you to walk together.

'Love you Matt.'

'Love you.'

Work went about as good as it could when you couldn't hear, most people opting to send you emails or write on the notepad you kept on your desk for days like these.

Eventually sounds came back to you, just a little bit, but making everything more tolerable and clearer. You hadn't brought your hearing aids thinking it wouldn't get much better throughout the day, which probably wasn't the brightest idea, but the decision you made regardless. As the clocks moved closer and closer to 5pm, you became impatient, unable to sit still, packing your bag far too early and having to look busy for about 10 minutes.

One of your coworkers, Alex, walked to your office, waving to catch you attention and started signing about office gossip they'd heard throughotu the day that you hadn't been privy to yet. Almsot no one knew ASL at work, and this was one of the moments where that was a good thing.

Once you both had finished the conversation, you signed goodbye to Alex, and made your way down the elevator and out the lobby, waving goodbye to the desk staff there.

Once you had gotten home, you unpacked your bag, put on clothes for dinner with Matt, and placed the hearing aids around your ears, turning them on and using a YouTube video as a sound base to adjust the volume levels correctly. You sat down on the couch and scrolled through Twitter for a while.

Matt got home not long after you did, opening the door and unpacking his bag once he walked around the entry way to the dining table.

You turned back to look at him, Matt immediatly lighting up with a smile.

He signed the beginning of his sentence before realizing he could hear the buzzing of your hearing aids.

"Better than this morning?" He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

"Mmhm. Not a lot, but enough to wear them. Still fuzzy and muddled together but working through it." You signed as you spoke, both out of habit and as a method of confort even though Matt couldn't see it. "Missed your voice."

Matt appraoched you on the couch, sitting next to you to pull you into his chest carefully, holding you to him.

"Well then I should keep talking, hmm?" He was leaned in, mouth near your ears to make sure you could hear the nuances in his voice. He started kissing there under your ear and across your jaw.

"Keep it in your pants, tiger. We got dinner plans." You placed your hands in his to sign, trying to be slow enough for him to keep up.

"Let me get dressed and then we can go." He signed back into your hands, speaking as well.

He got up to change, leaving you on the couch happy and buzzed with affection.

When he emerged out of the bedroom, you took his hands and grabbed your bag to leave.

"Sushi still okay? That place on the corner is doing happy hour right now." Matt said grabbing his cane.

"Yes, please."

He led you out of the apartment building, taking your arm to look like you were guiding him.

"Just one more block, left at the light." He pointed ahead, signing key words to help you in the sound nightmare of NYC.

Once you got to the restaurant, Matt asked for a table a bit isolated to give you a better chance at focusing on his voice and not distracted by the cities distorition.

Once they sat you, the waiter came by with cucumber waters, giving you a minute to look over the menus.

"What're you thinking, baby?" Matt felt your body become overwhelmed, heart pounding. "Tell me what you want and I can order when they come back."

"Cali roll with crab, eggplant roll, hmmm, edamame, and maybe the fried tofu." You pointed as you spoke hoping it would help you remain focused.

'Drink?'

"Lemonade, please."

'Got it.' Matt signed, taking a moment to put it all to memory.

The waiter came back and Matt ordered for both of you with ease, looking over at you ever other word to make sure you were still okay.

"Sounds good. We'll have that right out." The waiter said, closing their notebook and walking away.

'How was work?' You signed and spoke to Matt, your hands in his again.

"Foggy and I goofed the whole day to Karen's dismay. I think she's sick of us." He said, laughing.

'People at work were kind to me today but I just think they feel bad for me. Alex told me the office gossip. Boring day.'

"Good thing we're here then."

The food was brought out pretty quickly, you and Matt eating everything without a word.

He payed the check and smiled. 'Home?'

'Home.'

You walked back together, Matt signing stories the whole way home with one hand while the other held onto your upper arm.

When he opened the door you about collapsed, exhausted from the day.

He half-carried you to the bedroom, supporting most of your weight.

'Let's get these off you.' He signed, reaching for your hearing aids waiting for confirmation to remove them.

Once you nodded he gently unwrapped them from around your ears, placing them in the case and making sure they charged by listening for the hum of the battery working.

You were slumped on the bed still, itching to get out of the clothes you had on.

'Too much. Hearing Fatigued?' Matt said working at the buttons of his shirt to start getting undressed. 'Help you?'

You signed, with a verbal yes, sitting up for Matt to start stripping you.

'Movie? Couch?'

"Yes, and yes."

He hung up both sets of y'alls clothes and grabbed two of his oversized shirts, one for him and one for you.

Matt reached a hand out for you to grab, helping move you to the couch. He grabbed the remote, scrolling through options.

'New or usual?'

Matt had messed with the TV settings so the sound was audio descriptions of each scene, and the text was captions for you to read.

"Usual."

Nights like this felt simple, even with all the complications. Matt would sign, you would speak. It was nice. It felt like being safe.

He sorted through your favorite movies in his head, eventually spelling out a few names. 'Crimson Peak? Shrek? Train to Busan?'

"Those are silly options."

'American Psycho?'

"That sounds good to me."

'Start?'

"Mmhm."

Matt hit the speak button on the remote, pulling up the movie and starting it with ease.

You leaned into his body, cuddling into his side, looking up at his face.

"I love you."

'Love you.'

[fuck-customers]

This situation truly felt like the closest I've ever gotten to reenacting the L vs. Light from Death Note battle lmaoo I kept my cool and plausible deniability, but I was dying laughing internally.

(I think I've won the battle, btw. I'll have to wait and see. There's more to this war, though)

So, for background (and I've complained about this on this blog several times...sorry) my moron boss refuses to put price tags/signs on the products in the store, especially at the register. Considering I work in a retail store...this is obviously a problem. So I've made several attempts to get products priced, in varying degrees of extremity.

1. I made handmade signs/tags out of receipt paper/scratch paper and put them on the products around the register. (Candy, toys etc.) Braindead manager took them down.

2. All but 4 of the shopping carts at work are broken, but customers are stupid and still try to drag them halfway through the store and then abandon them or somehow blame me personally for them being broken. So I put signs on the broken ones and blocked them off. Dumbshit managers keep unblocking them and then customers try and fail to use them and abandon them throughout the store, rinse and repeat daily.

3. I then got the idea to go over my manager's head, but without having it fall back on me. Write to corporate. I originally started snatching receipts to leave negative reviews on the store survey, but that seemed to be a dead end, as the SM and DM are the ones who are supposed to read the surveys, but appear not to, as not a single thing was fixed in over 6 months of "customers" complaining weekly. (Usually at least 1 every 2-4 days)

4. I found a clearance price gun and tagged everything with it, even if it wasn't clearance. One way or another, it had a price on it, right? Of course the braindead moron took them off.

5. I then found actual price tags that were technically for different products, but had the same prices as our current candy, so I tagged the items with that. (For example, we'd have a tag for chocolate that we no longer carry that was $3.99 and we have some current chips on the shelf that are $3.99, so I'd just put the old tag for the current candy, since all customers need is the dollar amount and blacked out the old product description) These lasted longer than the previous attempts, but were ultimately taken down, but this is (hopefully) the turning point.

6. Just to really make sure something would change, a month or so after reusing old price tags, I (simultaneously, while also putting up old tags) made several fake emails posing as disgruntled customers and emailed corporate complaining about the lack of prices and the broken carts (among other things) at my specific location. (I did not name any specific employees or throw anyone under the bus. I just complained about the appearance of the store and any mention of employees was simply left at "the cashier" "the manager" etc. with no personally identifying info) I did this on the feedback section of the company website as well.

This all came to a head today when the braindead's mini-me (the ASM) pulled me aside before I clocked in today to basically call me out. She said that she knew that I was the one who put the handmade tags and also put "broken" signs on the broken carts and blocked them off. I, of course pretended not to know about it, because I'm not THAT stupid. But I'm not in trouble, because she has no real proof. (It was very much "I know that she knows and she knows that I know she knows lol) Anyway, she says (and we'll see about this) that new carts have been ordered and are on their way and also that she had to go around and undo all the tags (oh boohoo, she had to do her job, poor her) and will be putting real, correct tags on the products.

We'll see. In the meantime, "customers" are still going to leave bad reviews and contact corporate until changes are actually made for real. There are still other issues that need to be fixed, but are not as important as the lack of price tags and carts. (Such as the lack of price checkers, the shit radio music, the lack of employees, the dysfunctional inventory system, the bare shelves, the disorganized store, etc.)

Posted by admin Rodney

[laora-ryn]

Chester, [ERROR], and Jonathan Sims: The Anthill Theory

Hello Tumblr, may I present a follow up to my initial thesis that [ERROR] is Jon? As well as a rebuttal to the argument I've seen floating around:

"[ERROR] can't be Jon! Jon is in the computers!"

Why are you treating these like two distinct eventualities?

Jon died as an omniscient, omnipotent demi-god half a step down from The Eye itself. Jon died at the exact moment that he was pulled through a rift in space-time. If Jon survived that, I doubt he'd end up human on the other side. He'd probably end up as something else entirely.

Something none of us, and none of the Protocol-universe characters, have ever seen before.

"Imagine you are an ant, and you have never before seen a human - "

1. We have Chester, who has Jon's voice, and has shown signs of autonomy and a personality where Norris and Augustus have not.

I have another meta post picking apart the fr3-d1 stuff, but for the sake of staying on topic, I will show an abbreviated, summarized list from that post below:

Mystery emails sent to various OIAR employees:

Episode 4: Gwen receives an email from an unknown source showing Lena trying to kill Klaus

Episode 4: "the system" sends Alice a notification that Sam searched for "Magnus" and "protocol"

Episode 7: Sam receives an email from a "John" with an internal email address, with Gerry's name and address

Episode 20: Sam receives an email from a garbled email address, with documents from 1999 regarding Starkwall and TMI

Error messages:

Episode 3: Alice receives a jmj error that Colin troubleshoots. Freddy snarks back at both of them

Episode 17: Alice receives a jmj error that Gwen troubleshoots. There are plenty of error noises, but imo it comes across less snarky than it did in episode 3

Other miscellaneous interactions:

Episode 5: Alice: "what the hell is wrong with everyone today?" OIAR computer, not having been touched or interacted with: [error noise]

Episode 17: Chester reads a universe-hopping statement to Celia

Episode 19: Sam asks Alice to talk with him about the Magnus Institute. Immediately, Alice's computer throws an error, like it wants her to stop working and talk with Sam

Magnus Institute Statements read to Sam:

All of the below statements are read out by Chester, and are (meant to be, in 21) read out to Sam specifically:

Episode 1: RedCanary

Episode 9: the cursed dice Magnus statement. This one starts on its own, while Sam is doing the Response Dept paperwork

Episode 14: the snake emporium. I'd almost mark this one as too much of a stretch, but Sam himself caught the Institute mention and was bothered by it

Episode 19: the one with Newton's alchemical tree that talks about the Protocol

Episode 21: the one about the Dome construction in the 90s, which Alice intercepts on Sam's computer

As far as I can see, the only statement that mentions the Magnus Institute that isn't read by Chester to Sam is the one that is read by Chester to Celia, as mentioned above

In terms of Norris and Augustus:

Martin was pulled through the rift at the exact same time as Jon, except as someone mostly human. Relatively human.

Jonah was too, but Jonah was already a static dead body at the moment of the rift - it wasn't the released potential energy of his death that catalyzed and pulled everything through the rift.

It makes sense, to me, that if all three of them are here, Jon is in a uniquely powerful/sentient position in comparison to the other two. Which leads us to point 2:

2. We have [ERROR], exhibiting characteristics that are indicative of Jon and no one else

See my other meta post for more info, but in summary:

The tape recorders spawned specifically for Jon in TMA, via the Web

Did even Elias show abilities to compel people to give their statement? He could tell people their statement, and force images into their heads, but could he force it out of their mouths? I don't remember seeing that

Along with the other evidence that isn't Jon-specific but is indicative of a TMA character:

They were initially trapped underneath the Magnus Institute - which could also be Jonah, or Martin

Their apparent desire to protect Gwen and "all of them" - which could also be Martin, or some non-familiar benevolent being

Jon being Chester and Jon being [ERROR] are not mutually exclusive.

Who's to say Jon, the Archivist, or what's become of him, or what's left of him, isn't the fingernail, and the boot, and the eye? Maybe he's even something else we, the ant, never live to see, or don't have the senses to perceive at all!

Additionally!

I think this might even tentatively explain why [ERROR] is voiced by Beth Eyre instead of Jonny - beyond "it would be way too obvious if they want it to be a plot twist"

If Jon/the Archivist is split into multiple parts of the same whole, in this universe. If, in the chaos of interdimensional travel, traits/attributes/parts of Jon were not distributed equally or correctly. For our anthill example, perhaps the color of our gazing eye, or the rubber material of our stomping boot, was applied to our fingernail instead. Maybe [ERROR] should have Jon's voice, but they don't. Maybe they didn't have a voice at all. We didn't hear them say anything at all in episode 10, only take a deep breath

Maybe they had to take a voice from one of their victims. Do you think there was a reason that we heard the autopsy statement secondhand, after the doctor transcribed it, rather than the victim's voice herself?

(When, as far as I know, the common ways to record information during autopsies is either with a voice recorder, or dictating to a secondary person to write, who was demonstrably not present? When, by all rights, there should have been a voice recorder present?)

I'm currently working on a master TMAGP timeline (and a TMA one otl), but an extremely abbreviated, specific version of it is as follows:

9 March: Sam and Alice visit the Magnus Institute and release [ERROR]

20 March: the autopsy victim is found dead in a park

22 March: Alice encounters the drowning woman

12 April: [ERROR] appears during Ink5oul's attack on Gwen

How many victims do they have, since Sam let them loose? Is it just the ones we've already seen, or were there others too?

This could go off in about 5000 different directions so I'm going to cut it here, but what I'm getting at here is - it makes a LOT of sense to me that we might be looking at another "creatures far beyond our comprehension" here; it'd make a lot of sense thematically; and it's just really freaking cool, if I'm being honest!!

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Hey everyone, welcome to my blurb masterlist !!

This is for the cute little ideas I’ll randomly come up with instead of the one shots that take up a lot of time and energy.

This is for when I have random bursts of creativity!

There will be angst, fluff and sometimes poorly written smut 😭

Word of warning, these blurbs will most likely be under 5k as there only supposed to be short, so enjoy <3

baby, you’re a firework.

in which, some school friends of harry’s is hosting a firework display round his house, and thought it would be nice to invite harry and the family, the wife is over the moon and the little one is awestruck.

sun, sea and sandy footprints.

in which, it’s your daughters first time at the beach, the sun is shining, the sea is cooling and this is where you realise there’s no place you’d rather be.

family bbq.

in which, with a rare day of sunshine in london, harry and the missus decide to throw a little bbq where all of the close family are invited, drinks are spilled, games a played and memories are created that last a life time.

daddy’s little girl.

in which, harry holding his baby for the first time is everything he had wished for and more.

he knelt to the ground….

in which, you and harry have been together for three years now, and at this point your relationship basically has a third with the amount of times you play taylor around the house, so at the eras concert he surprises you with something you’ll never forget.

the best interruption.

in which, harrys been in his at home office for the majority of the day, and your little one is getting antsy after not spending time with there best friend, so when he’s typing away and answering emails, they stroll into the office, crawling onto his lap.

the finish line.

in which, harrys wife is running the london marathon, having been signed up by her sister in law gemma as a joke and now as she is nearing the finish line, harry is determined to be there to greet her.

airport security.

in which, harry and his daughter madison have a tradition of going on a little father-daughter holiday, they first did it when she was six months old, just before her first birthday and now there doing it just before her second birthday, but today, let’s just say little miss is in a very cranky mood.

in the stars.

in which, harry is remembering you, his beloved wife, mother of his child, that passed away, this is him grieving, remembering the lives that the two of you shared together and will always share together, no matter the circumstances.

sky high.

in which, your an airhostess for british airways, and harry’s been a pilot for british airways for the last four years, and your both working on the same a380 to the big apple.

school pick up.

in which, harrys on school pick up duties for his little one, and it’s his babies favourite time of the day when he sees her best friend, her father standing at the gates.

uncle harry.

in which, after the birth of her baby, you and harry decided to stop by the hospital to see her, where tears fall and memories are created.

boys day out.

in which, manchester united are playing luton town fc in the premier league, and so what better thing to do then take your two football obsessed children to watch there favourite team hopefully win.

carribbean privacy.

in which, you and harry decided to go for a little family holiday to start the new year off on the right foot, and went to a caribbean island, where your just trying to enjoy yourselves, and spend some quality time with your two children, when a couple of fans spot your husband.

when the clock strikes midnight.

in which, you and harry broke up just over a year ago, and have not seen each other since, but when your friend invites you to a new years eve party with all your close ones there, the last person you expected to see walk through the door was him.

underneath the tree.

in which, since officially dating harry for a total of eight years now, courting for three, being married for three and parents for two, you’ve both given each other, such wonderful gifts over the years, and here’s a few of them.

do you still love me?

in which, harrys been acting shifty lately, when your looking for a shirt in his wardrobe, he gets hostile, when you say your going to go and shower, he gets hostile and for some reason doubts start to creep into your mind about what he’s been doing, so when you confront him about it, he tells you of his secret all along.

santa’s grotto.

in which, harry takes his two year old son, sebastian, to go and see santa because your at home sick from the flu, but it doesn’t go aswell as he hoped seeing as all little kids appear to have a phobia of the man dressed in red.

i saw mummy kissing santa claus .

in which, when you and harry are putting the christmas presents under the tree on christmas eve, with harry dressed up in a santa costume just for his own novelty, and share a little moment to themselves, unbeknownst to them that there four year old son arlo, was watching the whole time.

daddy’s new hair style.

in which, your fiancé returns home one afternoon, shocking both you and your son milo when he appears to be sporting a new hair cut, neither of you seemed to be prepared for.

pumpkin patch.

in which, you and harry decide to take your son teddy to the pumpkin patch in honour of it finally hitting october, the three of you decide to make a day of things, and let’s just say the day doesn’t exactly turn out how you all expected it, a series of unfortunate events occur and that all starts out with your fiancé getting annoyed that the sat nav isn’t helping him very much.

snack wars.

in which, on this episode of snack wars, we sit down with a certain curly headed lad who goes by the name of harry styles who happens to be comparing british and american snacks.

the terrible twos.

in which, travelling with your husband around europe hasn’t been the most smooth sailing, especially when your daughters currently experiencing her terrible twos.

sick on tour.

in which, touring europe was meant to be a fun thing to do as a family, but when your toddler suddenly developes a sickness bug, you watch with fond eyes as your husband takes care of your little one, nursing them back to full health.

london experiences.

in which, whilst walking around the streets of london with your fiancé harry and two year old daughter mila whose currently getting her molars growing in, things appear to be going swell until a fan asks for a photo and your little one has to be disturbed.

broken ankle, karma rules.

in which, going on a run with your fiancé of two years means harmless flirting and teasing, that is until an incident occurs and he has to carry you back to the car.

jealous baby styles.

in which, five days ago, you and harry welcomed another little baby into the world, but the blissful baby bubble isn’t all it turns out to be when you have a toddler as well.

airport chaos.

in which, harry’s just finished his show in barcelona, and is en-route to madrid, but there’s one more hurdle that needs to be jumped when fans bombard him, you and your one year old son finley. this results in a very agitated harry, a tearful toddler and a wife that’s claustrophobic.

like father like son.

in which, in 2018, you and your fiancé harry welcomed a little baby boy into the world, and his name was sammy. him and his father were exact replicas of each other, same brown tousled curls, forest green orbs, matching dimples and bunny teeth, harry jr. loves everything to do with his father, wherever he went, he wasn’t far behind.

the box.

in which, your husband is ready to go on stage for fifteen out of fifteen nights at the kia forum, and the crew team come up with a way for him to get to the stage unnoticed, but his three year old daughter wants to get involved as-well.

the bath tub.

in which, your looking for your husband backstage at his concert, and get directed by a crew member that he’s in his dressing room. things get heated the second you walk into the room, and there’s nothing like a quick quickie in the bathtub.

styles on the reins.

in which, harry’s looking after his two year old son, parker whilst you go out with your aunt, so they decide to go on a walk around the small streets of italy where your currently residing, but that’s easier said then done when the little one is just as feral as his father.

a helping hand.

in which, your six months pregnant, your sweaty, ankles are swollen and your nauseous all the time, getting on the boat was a slightly easy task, but the task of getting off the boat is a lot harder, but luckily your husband is there to help you.

wedding day blues.

in which, it’s your and your fiancés wedding day, getting married in the garden of your shared italian villa, surrounded by your close friends and loved ones, but you can’t help but let the nerves get to you.

tired baby styles.

in which, you, harry and your one and a half year old son, elliott are holidaying in spain, where your little one won’t go down for his afternoon nap, so your boyfriend comes up with an idea to get him to doze off.

your blue birds.

in which, whilst your at home dealing with your sickness bug, harry takes the little one to the stadium with him so he’s out of your hair, that’s where you get sent a photo of them that makes you feel ten times better.

[pedrosgrogu]

Born Too Late - Chapter 2

pairing/au: neighbor!joel x reader // no outbreak

Warnings: MDNI, age gap, angry!joel for a second, blood, fighting, drinking, no use of y/n, i think thats all idk let me know if i missed anything xoxo. 

Summary: Between your awkward encounter with Joel, and being thrown a new student right at conference time, you just need a break. Your best friend from high school comes to visit, and you both hit the bar. What could go wrong? (1.5k+)

a/n: i was so excited to write this chapter. i think this is going to be a slow burn pwp moment because im a slut for that. im not sure how many chapters, ill just see how the first few go :p. as always, special thanks to my gurl raven for helping with the mood board and ideas. let me know whatcha think :)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3 - Main Masterlist

It’s been a month and a half since your distant but awkward interaction with Joel. You’ve been avoiding him like the plague. You’ve listened for the rumble of his truck to take off before you head out, and are always home before him. You hope he’s forgotten. Your school year so far is okay. You have 18 fifth graders, and share a teacher's assistant with the grade level so your life consists of work and home. Your friend Penny is coming to town for the long weekend and you’re picking her up at the airport right after work today. 

Penny: I can't wait to see you! We have to hit some bars after I get in and clean up.

You: Please. I'm dying to get out of this god forsaken house, and I need a break before parent teacher conferences. 

Penny: Yessss!! My flight is supposed to land at 4:03 so I’ll text you when I'm headed up the concourse to you! 

You: See you then. Love youuuu! 

Work was alright, it's getting close to the end of the quarter and you’re dreading it. You have 18 parent teacher conferences to schedule and 15 of them are for kids that could give a shit. It truly surprises you how little parents and students care about their education but there's only so much you can do. You write out an email for parents, detailing how to sign up for conferences. When going through your roster, you notice a new name “Sarah Miller”. Weird, she makes 19 on your roster and you let your head fall into your hands. You email your admin asking about the new student. The reply reads: 

Good Evening, 

Sarah was in Mrs. Williams' class across the hall, but after an incident involving her and 3 other girls, her father requested she be moved. If you have any questions, please reach out to Mrs. Williams. Her information sheet, including test scores and parent information is attached. 

MillerSarah5thGrade.JPEG 

Best, 

Dr.Tate

You open the attachment to look over her test scores and familiarize yourself with Sarah and her strong suites. She seems like a smart girl, straight A’s and perfect attendance. You click through and see it. The parent information sheet. In big bold letters under Father/Guardian it says “Joel Miller.” You get nauseous. “There's no way” You mumble, now throwing your head into your hands. 

You never knew Joel had a daughter, but you have been avoiding him like he's the second coming of the Black Plague so why would you know? Before you know it, it’s 3:30, and it's time to go get Penny. 

You wait at the end of the concourse, as far as you can go before security stops you. You have a bouquet of her favorite flowers, calla lilies. You see her at the same time she sees you. She runs and borderline knocks you over with the giant hug she throws at you. “I missed you SO much yellow!!” -a childhood name that always stuck. “I missed you too, Pen.” You both follow the signs for baggage claim and grab her small black suitcase, decked out in stickers from all over the world. Penny is an anthropology TA at a college in Ireland. She's a few years older than you, and working on her doctorate. You guys have been friends for years, ever since high school when you were a freshman and her a senior. You met in biology class and have been inseparable ever since. 

You make your way to the car and load her bag in. You shut the door and before you can ask about anything, she says “Soooo how's sexy old neighbor? I forgot his name.” she laughs.  You made the mistake of telling her about what happened, and honestly hoped she had forgotten. “I haven't seen him in weeks. Truthfully, it's full avoidance mode from my end.” She frowns. “I bet he thought it was hot. You HAVE to talk to him!” You blankly stare, trying to forget what happened, and wishing you’d kept your mouth shut. “Funny you say that Pen.” She double takes. “What do you mean?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “His daughter just got moved to my class, and I have to schedule a parent teacher conference with him.” Her eyes grow wide, wider than you thought humanly possible. “HE HAS A DAUGHTER?! WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME?” You sigh. “I didn’t know until today when I was going through my roster after work. I told you, I've been avoiding him.” Silence ensues for a few minutes before Penny begins to talk again. “I just think-” “Penny can we please just drop it? I don't want to talk about it or think about it, not this weekend. I want us to have fun, I want to find a cute age-appropriate man in a bar and never talk to him again after tonight.” “Alright” she sighs. “But I'm picking the first bar.” 

It’s 8 o'clock and you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup. Penny is in a long golden silk cami with white jeans and sandals. You chose to wear something similar, except a blue denim miniskirt with a hot pink cami. You fix your strapless pushup bra and add a little more lipstick. “The cab will be here in 5, you ready?” You hear Penny exclaim from across the house. “Yeah!” 

The cab ride takes about 10 minutes, not too long. You pull up to a bar with a gravel lot and big neon sign that reads “The Tipsy Bison”. “Penny, what the hell is this?” You ask, handing the driver a $5 bill as a tip. “It’ll be fun!! I heard about it years ago back in Dallas years ago.” You groan. This place truly looks like a shit hole. You hear the music bumping through the front doors, and try to make the best of it. Penny is always so busy so you appreciate that she took time to visit you, and plan the evening. You both head to the crowded bar and order 2 vodka tonics and 2 shots of tequila. While waiting you scan the bar, noticing the varied ages at the tables and on the dancefloor. Your bartender brings your drinks back and before you can pull your wallet out, Penny is signing the check. “My treat, you get the next round” she says with a smile. “To hot neighbors, and men we’ll never talk to again after tonight!” she yells, laughing and raising her shot glass. You roll your eyes, raising yours and throwing it back. Both of you slamming the shot glasses on the bar at the same time. “Let's Dance!” Penny yells over the loud music. 

You have no clue what time it is, and no clue how many drinks you've had. Penny is dancing with some guy she met on the dancefloor and you’re off to the side at a table. You’re struggling to hold yourself up and realize it’s probably time for some water. You wobble over to the bar, and ask for water. On your way back to the table, a man approaches you. “Hey sugar, need some help?” he says, attempting to grab your waist. “No thanks, I'm good.” You say, stepping out of his reach. He follows behind, this time grabbing your wrist. “You sure baby? You look like you could use a hand. I know a real nice-” you interrupt, “I said I'm good.” you say, jerking away once again. You make it back to your table, water in hand, making sure to lock eyes with Penny so she knows you're safe. Before you can get a sip of water in, the man is back. “Lets go darlin’” The man says, grabbing your wrist yet again. You try to stop him but no words will come out. The music is loud, Penny is dancing, and your legs are barely moving as he drags you toward the door. All of the sudden, you stop moving and fall. And when you fall, you see a punch hit the man right in the head, all you can see from the floor is a large man standing over the man trying to drag you out. “I believe she asked you to stop.” Another punch. “Why cant you fuckin’ accept no for an answer, John?” Another punch. You recognize that gruff voice, but can pinpoint where from. There's now a crowd, and the floor has opened up where this was happening. The man who was dragging you, John, tries to stand. His eye is swelling up, and blood pours from his nose. You feel like you’re going to get sick. You need to find Penny. 

A few minutes pass. People pass by, laughing at the mess you created. You feel helpless. You try to stand but your footing is nowhere to be found. Your anxiety has taken over and you're stuck. “Darlin', can I help you up?” You hear. You try to grab the hand you see reaching down, but the room is spinning. Once you get to your feet, you turn and see Penny. An instant wave of relief. washes over you. You look up and begin to thank the man. “Thank you. I have no idea what-” as you pick your head up, you now realize why you knew the gruff voice.

It’s Joel. 

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ʙʟᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ || ᴘᴛ. ꜰᴏᴜʀ||

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

Getting kidnapped was not on the checklist today.

Saving an old lady from a speeding car? Check.

Show up to class barely on time? Check.

Grab a burrito on the way to meet the girl who needed his help from yesterday? Check.

But getting kidnapped and signing a contract he never wanted? Not on the list. Never was it on the list.

Miles stares at the girl before him for a second, then down at the contract in her hands. He contemplates using his webs to grab and tear it up so it’d be rendered useless. 

Unfortunately, she seems to have sensed his intentions because she turns around and waves the contract in front of him with a teasing smile. 

“Sorry dude, I already took a photo and sent it to all my emails. Living in the twenty-first century really has its perks.”

Damn it.

How did he even get into this situation in the first place? Maybe it was when he didn’t knock on wood after he talked about nothing bad happening with Ganke. Yeah, it was probably that. But it still doesn’t completely explain how you found out about his identity. He’d been so careful too!

“How’d you even find out?” He finally voices his curiosity, unwrapping the sub in his hands and taking a bite. He pauses, looking down at it with intrigue. It was given to him as an apology after you had both left the store, and it’s surprisingly good. He recalls the bemused glance the owner had given them both when he opened the door, only to let her go without another word or further question.

It was almost impressive.

Then again, this is Brooklyn, after all. He'd probably seen weirder. 

Now, he and the girl are on the rooftop, the latter sitting down a short distance from him and starting to sketch absentmindedly in her sketchbook. He’s still guarded, having intended to treat her coldly for how she had borderline kidnapped and blackmailed him. 

Scratch that; he did, in fact, get kidnapped and blackmailed.

But her calm demeanour throws him off. What was one supposed to do in this scenario? He’d never encountered this before, not even once in the three months or so that he’d been Spiderman.

“Y’know, the usual.” 

“The usual?” He repeats, raising a brow before taking another bite. He still has half the mask on, not fully taking it off around her even though she knew who he was.

“Yeah, just did a little digging. Y’know, you’d think you’d be more careful for a superhero.”

“I was!” He defends himself, a sharp edge to his words. 

She chuckles, lips pulled into a half-smile as she looks up at him with amusement. “Then you might want to be more careful about how you sneak in and out of your dorm, Morales.”

He flinches at the use of his last name. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.

His dorm? Since when was she around his dorm? 

“Did you stalk me?”

She looks up again from her sketchbook with an offended gasp, holding her hand over her heart with a frown. “I would never! The only time I ‘followed’ you was when you basically revealed your entire secret identity by very openly crawling into your dorm window. Literally anyone would’ve found out if they were around the area.” 

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “So much for secret identity.” He mutters to himself, taking another bite of the surprisingly addicting sub. The bread is fluffy, albeit slightly soggy from the sauces that coat the vegetables and meat. He tastes a hint of cinnamon, arching a brow in intrigue. 

Little odd, but it works. 

“It’s good, right? Mr Perez does the best in the city.” 

He merely shrugs in response. He hears a soft sigh, choosing to stare at the citizens on the sidewalk below.

“I’m sorry,” He hears her speak up, turning around with a sceptical frown. An apology? Now?

“If you’re sorry, you’d forget my identity and tear up the contract,” he mutters. 

“Yeah… I can't afford that.” 

“Why not?” He’s taken aback by her sheepish smile. 

“Here’s the thing… I kinda need you to be my model regardless. I’m an art student in need of a muse. I’ve been in such a slump lately, and I’m a little…desperate.”

“And I’m that muse?” He questions, oddly flattered yet still wary of her true intentions.

She shrugs. “Yeah. Look, you’ll get it once you see this.” She rifles through her backpack, grabs a large sketchbook and hands it to him. Instead of taking it from her like a normal and trusting person, he uses the web shooter on his wrist to spray a thin line, tugging it toward him. It dangles from the web, and he double-checks it in case it’s another trap. 

“There’s like, a mustard stain from years back, and the white powder is chalk.” Her comment makes him scoff, already having recognised the powdery residue. He flips it open, scanning through the pages. 

The first few are rather good, with sketches of people he doesn’t recognise. The shading is done well, putting his own to shame, actually. He continues to turn the pages, the next few a lot more colourful with the added use of watercolour pencils and charcoal. A soft coat of bright dust rubs off on his fingers, and he rubs it off quickly before continuing to look through the sketchbook.

He notes the slight wince on her lips in his peripheral, taking great care to ensure he doesn’t accidentally tear the pages. If she’s really an art student, then from one artist to another, allowing someone to view their sketchbook — containing their most private thoughts and inspirations, is practically sacred.

And just for that, he pauses eating his sub, wrapping it up and stowing it away for later.

Miles recalls his own sketchbook at home, the first pages already occupied by a half-finished sketch of Gwen. He subtly shakes his head to rid himself of the lingering nostalgia, focusing instead on the drawings before him. He frowns from the sudden and apparent lack of motivation. Though details were technically accurate, it was as if they had no life, just flat, one-dimensional drawings against the blank paper.

His breath hitches when he turns the page to see a full sketch of him leaning against the wall. He subconsciously leans in close, studying the details on his suit he hadn’t even noticed. It’s good. Really good. It’s only half-coloured, but even then, the way she did it can’t help but draw your attention, as if he’d step off the page and give himself a playful salute.

“So?” Her voice is calm. He senses her thoughtful gaze. 

“It’s good.” He replies simply. “Was this on the day we met?” He turns the book around to show her the drawing he's referencing. She nods, and he hums in response.

“I need your number, by the way. To schedule our next meetup.” She holds out her phone for him, the keypad on her screen and waits for him to key it in. He stands up, walks over, stops two feet away, and hands her back her sketchbook.

He reluctantly puts his number into her phone. He has half a mind to put in a random number instead, just to inconvenience her. He decides against it, however, and taps away at the keypad. 

She’d probably find out his number somehow if he did that.

“May I at least have the pleasure of knowing my kidnapper's name?” Miles asks sarcastically, keeping an eye on her as she continues to tap away at her phone. 

“The name’s Ray, Ray Paynt.” 

He chokes on his drink. 

“What?” He asks through the tissue he grabs from his pocket, wiping his mouth of any orange juice that had spilt from hearing her name. Unique is one way to describe it.

“But you, however, can refer to me as Ray.” 

He doesn’t know how to feel. 

“Ray, short for Rachel?” He asks. She nods confidently.

“Right.” 

She stands up, brushing off the dirt on her pants before sending him a halfhearted grin, and he nods in response. “Well, this has been…fun. But I gotta get home for dinner. I’ll text you when our next meetup will be. See you soon.” She says briefly, heading to the door that leads to the staircase. She opens it, pausing to glance back at him.

“Also, you might wanna check out the side of your head just in case,” she adds sheepishly before shutting the door behind her.

He reaches up to the left side of his head, only to wince when he massages the slightly sore spot. Right. He forgot about that.

Swinging back to his dorm room is peaceful, crossing the familiar well-lit streets and the occasional pickpocket on the way. In contrast to the chilly night air and calm breeze, his thoughts overlap like crashing waves on a once-calm shore.

Who really is she?

What kind of person is she?

Why him?

Even though they had spoken (rather begrudgingly on his behalf) after she knocked him out and made him sign a contract that was surprisingly in his favour, he knew next to nothing about her. 

Besides her name, he supposes. But where is she from? How did she find him in the first place? Did the store owner know her? 

Is she an enemy?

He sighs, walking under the subway bridge. Whatever she is, he has to figure out if her intentions really are as simple as she says. From one artist to another, he understands having an art block. It’s one of the worst things in the world.

But from one superhero to a civilian, she’s an enigma. 

All this thinking was making his head hurt.

“Yo, one pack of the usual painkillers, por favor,” Miles requests upon walking into the small convenience store he frequents. The owner looks up from his phone, reaching down and handing him a palm-sized red box. 

“Thanks, Lenny. How much do I owe you for this?” He reaches into the suit’s concealed pocket for his wallet, eager to return and get some well-deserved rest.

“Ten bucks. What’s got you so roughed up?” Lenny asks curiously, leaning over the counter after taking the cash he hands him.

Miles sighs, shoulders slumping at the question. How was one supposed to explain the series of unfortunate events that happened to him in fifty words or less? 

“Nothin’ much, just a little tired, I guess.” He chooses his words carefully. 

“Ah, I hear ‘ya. I got one regular who’s always walkin’ in here looking for energy drinks.” Lenny chuckles. “Man, the bags under her eyes were insane. Haven’t seen her in a while, though. I’m tellin’ you, kids these days have to rest more, not stay up all night studying. Y’all gotta have fun.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Miles nods vigorously, agreeing with the sentiment a little too deeply. He exits the store with a final goodbye, continuing to swing his way back through Brooklyn.

He crawls up the wall back to his dorm, pausing near the window as his fingertips brush over the edge. He takes a moment to look around and survey the area. His eyes land on the alleyway nearby, in clear view from his current location. If he could see it from here, then that meant whoever was there could see him, too. 

“The only time I ‘followed’ you was when you basically revealed your entire secret identity by very openly crawling into your dorm window. Literally anyone would’ve found out if they were around the area.”

He groans, hanging his head.

“Damn it.”

— — — — — 

A brand new day always means a brand new start.

In your case, it takes the form of a signed contract, framed and hung on your bedroom wall. You stare at it in satisfaction, smiling giddily at the fact that you had finally, finally, secured your muse. 

Even though the method used was a little unethical.

But that didn’t matter, because he signed the contract!

He. Signed. The contract.

It’s set in stone now, and this particular reminder sends a rush of adrenaline through you, the physical contract cementing this fact. It had been a couple of days since the incident, and this had become your new routine every morning. 

“Honey, it’s time to wake up!” You’re startled out of your thoughts when your mother calls you from the kitchen, having already almost finished getting ready. All that’s left is to get out of the bathrobe you have on into proper clothes and brush your teeth.

Once done, you enter the kitchen cheerfully, patting the leftover bits of moisturiser into your skin before greeting your mother with a big hug. She laughs as you pull away, raising her brows curiously. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” 

“Not much,” You hum, taking the bowl of stew she hands you and sitting down at the dining table. You begin to dig in, alerted to your father's presence, who walks into the kitchen with a groan.

Your mother hands him another bowl of piping hot stew, the scent of spicy chilli flakes helping to clear his head. He sits down opposite you with a soft grunt, your mother sitting beside him with concern. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask through mouthfuls, blowing on the spoonful of tofu in your hands to cool it down. 

“Someone accidentally hit me on the head with a binder at work yesterday,” Your father replies with a wince, sending your mother a thankful smile when she starts to feed him spoonfuls of stew. You watch his hand massage the spot on his head with a tinge of guilt, recalling how you had gotten Morales to be your muse. 

You should probably get him a gift as an apology.

“Get well soon, Dad. You should go see the doctor if it gets worse.” You add, placing your now-empty bowl in the sink after the last mouthful. 

“Will you be back home for dinner today?”

You pause, tilting your head in thought. “I don't think so. I’ll message you guys if anything comes up, though,” You promise, grabbing your bag and heading toward the door. 

The walk to school is as usual, nothing out of the ordinary besides the weather being a little sunnier than normal Brooklyn weather. Luckily, you have your trusty portable fan, using it to stay cool in the heat.

Your phone buzzes with a notification, and you take it out to see a new message from Morales.

Ray (Paynt) [ 10:00 PM ]: Yo, you free tomorrow at 3 for our first session?

Morales [ 10:30 PM ]: When you put it that way, no.

- [ Morales ] has changed your name to [ The Kidnapper ] -

- [ Morales ] has changed their name to [ The Kidnappee ] -

The Kidnapper [ 10:30 PM ]: Boooo. I’ll take that as a yes, though. Anyway, meet me at Fort Bridge Park at 3. I hope you like waffles :)

The Kidnappee [ 07:50 AM ]: Who doesn’t?

Ray Paynt. You have to admit, few can come up with such a good fake name on the fly. You mentally pat yourself on the back for it, grinning at how easily he had believed you. Ray, short for Rachel? Absolutely priceless.

“Are you texting your crush or something?” 

You yelp at the sudden hand around your shoulders, instantly shoving your phone in your pocket and glaring at Michael’s mischievous smirk. You push your elbow against his rib, but he’s already prepared for your reaction, moving away before he can get hit.

“How’d you even meet, anyway?” He continues to ask, undeterred by your response. You shrug.

“Just ran into him and recognised his face,” You answer simply, entering the school gates together. 

“What’s for lunch today, anyway?” Michael changes the subject, already bored with your short responses. He’d probably try to dig deeper into it another time. 

“From what Greta told me, it’s lasagna for the special. I think it’s something else for the regular.” 

“I don’t know how you got her to do it, but you gotta hook me up with that staff discount of hers sometime,” Michael complains, sticking to you like glue through the crowded hallway as you make your way to your locker. 

“Just be better,” You say nonchalantly, reaching your locker and taking out the textbooks you need for the day. You huff in amusement from his eye roll, greeting Nicole with a smile when you spot her a few feet away from you both.

“Hey, you got something here.” You grab a wet tissue from your locker and lean down slightly, using your thumb to brush against the corner of her lips where a spot of grease is, wiping it off and tucking her messy hair behind her ear. You straighten your back with a soft smile, noticing the slight pink that coats the tips of her ears when you do so.

“Thanks.”

“Hang on.” 

Pausing at Michael’s words, you watch him lean down, reaching his hand out to try and replicate what you did. Instead, Nicole twists his hand, bringing him to his knees with a glare. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“But-”

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Nicole warns clearly, finally letting go as a sign of mercy. You smile sympathetically, helping him to his feet and massaging the sore spot on his wrist. He mutters his thanks, pulling his wrist away after. 

School passes by in the blink of an eye, and you find yourself at the gates ready to leave at Two P.M. Nicole had her chess club — she had a match coming up that she couldn’t afford to lose. You’re more than certain that she never will, having watched her break her opponent down mentally during a previous match. Michael had his neighbourhood basketball game that he rushed off to, promising to introduce you to a new cafe another time.

Cafe. Right. 

The plan for today is simple. Grab some amazing waffles from the cafe you’d seen people rave about online, and meet Spidey-Boy at Fort Bridge Park, where you’d chill out and draw him in different poses or something. 

You’re still not entirely sure how this muse thing is supposed to go. But that’s okay! You’ll figure it out along the way.

Public transport is a blessing to have. The thought of owning your own car in the future makes you excited. You’d never have to deal with other people’s bad body odour ever again. The lack of hygiene of some commuters makes you determined to push forth a project on personal grooming in the future. 

Standing next to a man grabbing the handles in the train, revealing the sweat-soaked spot under his shoulders, only reaffirms this resolve. 

You finally hear your stop being called out over the speakers, all but rushing out the doors and inhaling deeply. Your lungs burn from the shallow breaths you took standing next to him, grateful for the existence of oxygen. 

Surprisingly enough, Google Maps gets you to the cafe in only fifteen minutes, and you order your waffles to go, waiting patiently in the store while blissfully inhaling the smell of freshly baked croissants and ground coffee. 

You’ll definitely be coming here again for a study session. 

You hear your name being called shortly after, thanking the server who hands you your order before exiting and heading to Fort Bridge Park with, yet again, the help of Google Maps. Thankfully, you reach five minutes before the scheduled time, choosing to sit down at a random bench and waiting for your muse to show up.

The Kidnapper [ 02:55 PM ]: I’m sitting near the bridge. Hope you’re hungry 

The Kidnappee [ 02:55 PM ]: Are you the one looking down really intensely at your phone?

“I am not looking intensely, thank you very much.” You say with a lighthearted scoff once Morales plops down next to you seconds after you read his message. 

“Right,” He replies sarcastically. “Where’s the promised waffle? And my ten bucks?” 

“Here’s your waffle. Payment will only be made at the end of each session.” You hand him the waffle, and he takes it without complaint, though his eyes narrow at the last few words. 

“That’s not what you promised.” 

“It’s in the contract,” You reply with a hum, taking a bite and grinning in delight at the fluffy texture. “Eat, eat!” 

He reluctantly pulls up his mask slightly, unwraps the waffle and bites down at your strong encouragement, lips pursed as he chews. “It’s…not bad.” 

“Not bad? It’s insanely good! No wonder it got so many popular reviews. The kaya in this one is incredible. You gotta try this.” You hold up the half-eaten waffle to him, and he looks at you warily.

“Here,” You tear off a piece of your waffle instead, eagerly holding it out to him. 

He takes it. “I think this is better,” He holds up the one in his hand after eating the piece you offered. 

“To each their own,” You comment, finishing off your waffle in mere minutes while he’s still slowly enjoying his. You dust off the crumbs on your hands and pull out your sketchbook, making yourself comfortable and crossing your legs before turning to face him. 

You notice him stiffening from the sudden attention, chuckling at his reaction. It was kinda cute. 

“Just pretend I’m not here,” You assure him, smiling warmly. “Just do what you normally do when you relax or when you’re not off fighting crime in lovely Brooklyn.”

His shoulders are still tense, but he slowly rests against the bench backrest, watching the people pass by. They notice his presence but ignore him in favour of rushing off to their own destinations, as are the lovely people of your city. Some linger around but quickly get bored once they realise that there’s nothing exciting happening.

“So, what’s your favourite food?” You break the silence with a question. You need him to relax so much more than his current self, who looks as if he’d bolt any chance he gets. 

“Pasteles, they’re probably the best food to ever exist.” 

“What’re those?” You pause, looking up with interest at this new dish you’ve never heard of. 

“Oh, pasteles are like, this food. It’s got pork and adobo in it, and it’s just amazing. My mom makes the best,” He answers excitedly, animatedly using his hands to describe the food. You grin in amusement, nodding at his words. 

“I’ve never tried them. The closest thing I’ve tried is a rice dumpling.”

“Rice dumpling?” Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Yeah. Usually, when you hear dumpling, you think, like, gyoza or whatever, but these rice dumplings I’m talking about are on a whole other level. It’s basically pork or chicken, filling in sticky glutinous rice, wrapped in banana leaves in a triangle, and then steamed. It’s so good. I’ll bring some next time!”

“Cool, I’ll bring some pasteles too. But why are they triangle shaped?”

“That’s a good question,” You pause when you realise you don’t know the answer, pulling out your phone and doing a quick Google search. It proves fruitful, with Wikipedia being your one and only saviour. 

“Says here that they used to be in bamboo tubes, but they wrapped them in chinaberry leaves so dragons wouldn’t consume them. That’s actually pretty cool. I respect the dedication,” You remark, turning your screen to show him the Wikipedia page. He leans in, scanning the words with an intrigued hum before leaning back.

“Imagine having dragons, though.”

“I dunno, man. I’m talking to Spiderman right now. Dragons aren’t that far-fetched to me.” You crack, watching his shoulders shake with his laughs. You pick up the pencil and sketch as quickly as possible, satisfied with his relaxed state. Quickly finishing it up and polishing a few strokes here and there, you realise you’d gotten so absorbed in your drawing that the sun was already beginning to set.

He’s waiting patiently for you, scrolling through his Instagram feed. You pack your tools, feeling guilty for keeping him here for so long. “Thanks for waiting for me,” you say gratefully, zipping up your bag and standing up.

“Couldn’t leave without my ten bucks.” He quips. Your eyes widen at the reminder, patting your pockets and feeling for the ten-dollar bill stowed away in one of them. Once you find it, you pull it out and hand it to him. He takes it happily.

You’re both alerted to a food truck playing a short jingle over the speakers. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a gelato truck. 

“Their stuff’s pretty good,” He says, eyes trained on the sign offering a special discount from now till next weekend.

“Here’s a fun fact: I’ve never tried gelato,” You admit.

He scoffs. “And you call yourself a foodie.”

“I do not,” You defend yourself, lips pursed into a slight playful frown. He strides off to the cart, returning with two small cups. A single scoop of vanilla rests in one, and he hands you the other with a scoop of chocolate gelato inside. 

You take a quick bite, eyes widening slightly at the heavenly taste that greets your tongue. You take another spoonful, then another. 

“It’s good, right?” You nod vigorously in response, his lips tugging up into a satisfied smirk at your bright smile. The gelato is absolutely decadent and insanely creamy to the point that it feels like you’re just drinking it.

Wait. Creamy?

“Does this have dairy in it?”

A quick nod from him confirms your fear. You look down at the gelato in your hands, taking another small spoonful and sighing blissfully in your head. You sense his eyes on you, filled with slight worry. “It’s fine; I can deal with anything. I’m not that weak,” You chuckle with a dismissive wave of your hand. You both soon finish the gelato and part ways with a simple goodbye.

You’d deal with the consequences later.

At least, that’s what you told yourself before now, hunching over the toilet bowl while cursing out the inferior genes you had inherited from your parents. 

So much for being able to handle anything.

— — — — — — — — —

taglist:

@oh-kurva @brunnettiwik @queerponcho @sleepingnova @1theestallionyas @horologiumwise @ken-zah @sockgoblin @itstooearly-its3am @anuncalledbridge @ditto737 @sophipet @mirophobic @dilucpegg3r @urmotherswhor3 @arraxthatsonjah @ameliabs-world @superiorbyfar @swaqlover @janyiahsucks-blog @choco-malk-blog @akemiixx01 @a-cult-leader @berryunderscore @scarletrosesposts @stargirlhayven @bellstwd @edgyficuselastica @psyche404 @sukisprettyface

[choicesficwriterscreations]

January MC of the Month: Nora Rose

Please welcome January 2024's MC of the Month! Each month, we highlight one MC or OC on our Meet My MC / OC List. They are selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!

This month’s MC of the month is…

@inlocusmads's Nora Rose

More below...

In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC / OC.

The thing I like the best about Nora is how she has a killswitch alternative to any plan she comes up with. Even if it is something as simple as coming up with dinner options. She has this interesting perceptive ability that's akin to playing 4D chess, but at the same time, she has elevator music running in her head.

At the same time, she's sometimes terribly wrong and isn't afraid to acknowledge that. The things she's able to do today - from keeping a level head and a calm composure in the hardest of situations come from her childhood where things were hard, and she had to grow up quite quickly. A lot of times, she'd have to think on her feet, run through options, remember new stuff, and be able to work with her constraints, not just pertinent to her job but in her adulthood as a whole. Her capacity to be able to stand up on her own feet came from so many instances where she couldn't even get off the floor or look straight ahead. 

Nora's also a slow learner but an avid one nonetheless. She was kicked out of so many schools when she was young, mostly because of her not being able to focus properly or standing up to her bullies (something the school calls ‘stirring trouble up’), and it kind of stunted the faith she had in herself. She had to build up an open mind to be able to differentiate between what is good and bad for her. She had to learn how to carve out her own path, despite dealing with so much grief she could never move on from. All of these things stuck to her when she grew up, which made her more aware and sponge-like to gather the mental ammunition needed to face all kinds of problems. 

Nora's far from what she pictured herself to be as a kid, but she's kind of bittersweet about making it this far. Optimistic that if she just doesn't think too much about stuff, the space and time around her would heal even the bloodiest of wounds, but also disappointed she can't deal with things more openly and faster, like in a brawling match. But I'm happy for her, given the circumstances she was in. Nora's always had this ability to chew her way out of things - by hook or by crook. If she can't decode a lock, she'd just give it a slight nudge. If the nudge doesn't work, she'll just straight-up shoot at it and deal with the fallout later. Her main motto is to “just keep going”. 

Do you feel your MC / OC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

I'd say I took a lot from my experiences growing up and gave them to Nora - dealing with people at school, understanding where she truly “belongs” (before she realized that was a load of bull and she should just stop tunnel-visioning a perfect outcome and instead think about laying down a different road to her path). Nora and I share this trait where we can't sit still, but if something's up, we'd spend hours at the same place, even if it involves doing absolutely nothing. Plus, it takes both of us ages to respond to a message. Nora more than me, for sure, and half the time, she's just bored of the routine email chore (not a good sign in her line of work, but she manages.)

That's where the similarities stop haha.

She's a tough person. She throws a good punch, having undergone a lot of physical training to qualify for her NYPD officer job and more recently, for her private eye job (Mafalda had some strict requirements). She's also a great problem-solver as aforementioned. Besides the usual differences in physicality and all, she doesn't get startled easily - as in, the world could possibly end tomorrow and she'd still be at her desk, responding to a two-year old email. Her self-assurance at that instant (not anytime or anywhere else) but at that very instant is so strong, it is honestly remarkable. 

Nora also enjoys doing things on her own. Whether it be making dinner from scratch, down to the bread-baking, deducing information (without relying on scraping the bowels of the internet) or stitching her clothes if they don't fit her. It was one of the only lessons her mother taught her before she passed. Which is also the reason why she doesn't like frozen food. More on that later. 

What is most important to your MC / OC? What is their motivation in life?

Vengeance. 

Just kidding. 

It is actually vengeance. I don't know how else to put it. 

Nora's been wronged by a lot of people in her life. From losing her mother because the hospital in charge neglected her to losing her father also because her co-workers neglected him, she went through pretty much the same neglect-arc in school and college. She was always dismissed as a “traumatized kid” half the time and the other half the time, people didn't listen to her when she'd say, for example, report a bully for what they did or critique a faculty member for showing their bias. It resulted in a lot of things that went wrong in her life - from not having a good support system to being an actual orphan when she was barely thirteen. 

This kind of manifested in horrible ways when she was a kid. She suffered from a lot of anger issues and would immediately resort to physical violence if she were confronted. It isn't fair to blame her either, because she was so helpless. She'd wanted someone, just anyone to listen to her - to be there for her. This desire to help her child-self developed well into adulthood. Nora began building back the stability she never had. She's still doing it. She allows herself optimism even when she doesn't believe in anything. She puts her faith in the arbitrary workings of the universe so there's less burden to carry on her shoulders. Even though the things she tells herself aren't all perfect, they would be something her younger self would have appreciated so much. 

Taking revenge for the child in her to rest easy, for the teenage girl in her to find joys in stupid things such as trashy television shows and emo music and for her to be at peace in her own skin without wanting to explode every five minutes has always been her plan ever since she grew up. That and simply because she uses it to feel more proud of what she does. When something isn't getting anywhere, she's like “Yeah well, f it, we'll get it done. A setback ain't shit.” It was always about the “we”. 

Nora is also driven by the motivation to finish something as fast as possible. Everything is like cross-country running to her because she relishes in the satisfaction of getting a chunk of time just to herself right after getting something done. Which means she's either very good at jumping through hoops or crashes and burns. If something takes longer than her intended expectations, she'll drop it in an instant or table it until she gets her motivation back to finish it. It resulted in a lot of half-completed, archived projects but a few she's proud of, including having made her own quilts and bedsheets for the winter. 

This mentality is something she can never get rid of. At school, she was either the best player on her soccer team or the absolute worst. (Hey, at least there's no in-between to her.)

What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes?

She hates frozen food with a burning passion. Being from a Chinese household, her parents, in the few good years they had with her - taught her the importance of a home-cooked meal or just any cooked meal. Nora, being the impressionable naive child she was, caught onto it and developed this visceral hatred for frozen anything. While she digs the convenience, she isn't a fan of how it tastes either - apart from her family values. This seeps into how Nora sees everything. She's the weird survivalist aunt with a shotgun in her closet because her personal goal is to make everything she consumes. From food, down to the clothes she wears or the curtains in her window, everything has to have had her work and hours put into it. 

Nora is also not a fan of people who don't listen first and just yap, yap and yap. This is why she often got into “creative differences” with her co-workers in her precinct. This is also the reason why Mafalda gives Nora full control of the wheel when she isn't there at the Agency, because the fewer people yapping, the happier Nora is and the better she works. 

As for visceral dislikes, boy oh boy does she have a lot:

Starting strong with the NYPD because they suck, point blank, period. She also thinks there's a special place in hell for people who just assume a lot and can get away with baseless accusations. She can understand broken promises - after all, people move on sometimes, and it's hard to keep track of them, but she draws the line at a proper betrayal. Words don't matter much to her, but actions do. Nora also isn't a fan of people who jump to the easiest conclusion just because it's easy. She’s seen a lot in her life not to automatically red-flag them. It’s worse when it comes from authorities, y’know people you’re taught to trust.

Also, people who gate-keep their expertise. She’s come across so many pretentious people who’d rather let an important investigation hit a dead end than worry about spilling their “trade secrets.” Kind of a niche dislike, but if you’re running out of time and your only hope banks on a mystery novelist’s ability to describe what he saw and tell the truth like his characters would have done, you too would be frustrated if he’d rather drink his coffee when he knows he’s purposefully jeopardizing the investigation’s momentum. And that’s just one of her ‘good’ experiences. Nora loathes academia and wouldn’t touch it even with a six-foot pole.

If your MC / OC could change one thing - anything - what would it be?

Be blessed with a readable medical textbook so she could diagnose her mother earlier than her doctors ever can (and) get magical surgery skills to revive her dad after he got stabbed. 

She still regrets not being able to do anything because she was “just a kid”.Nora has learned to cope with it, knowing she can't do anything about it but she still has this itching feeling of what if things had turned out for the better. It's this heavy rock she's gonna have to deal with for sometime now. 

Nora has this tricky relationship with her heritage. She isn't a fan of how different she is compared to the rest of her family and how they'd ostracized her after her settling down far from home. She wants to be able to change that aspect but knows it is too late to repair the damage. If she could go back in time and “pick a side,” she wouldn't have to feel the FOMO.

This regret of hers, however, is attributed to her never feeling she belonged somewhere among her family. Someday, she'd have to find her own family, own circle of friends, and culture to build. Someday, she'll learn that she's as valid to celebrate her heritage as her Aunt Mei or Uncle Tommy. That there aren't true extremes to anything there's no “one way” to be something, but until then, she's going to angrily sew back some loose stitches and groan about not being able to speak Cantonese as fluently as her relatives or being a “true” New Yorker. 

Also maybe her hair. (Also it is so hard to draw her hair consistently.) Sometimes it gets in the way. And maybe fix her eyesight without needing contacts or glasses. Automatically give herself 20/20 vision whenever needed and blur her eyes out when she doesn't want to.

What is your MC / OC’s favorite quote or song?

It's hard to pick one song, because Nora listens to anything and doesn't really have a music ‘taste’ as long as the song she's listening to has some spunk to it. Something she relates to would be I Talk To The Wind by King Crimson. Combined with the slow pace and the lyrics that basically put her life as a picture, it's a bop.

Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC / OC?  (It can be why you created them, how they’ve inspired you, or you could write a little blurb as if it is coming from your OC - an acceptance speech. :) )

I've struggled a lot with naming characters before but Nora's was the only time I knew her name wayyy before I could give her a personality. I was like “yep she's Nora, she's definitely one, yep.” and somehow I didn't anticipate how much she'd like, write herself and the story just writing itself. It literally popped into my head as outlandish as it may seem. And somehow that process worked because I don't ever run out of new headcanons to add.

Nora's also the first character I've created a 100k-worded introduction for (which will never see the light of day and is chucked into my files). I honestly expected her to just be fleeting. I'd make up something about her character, and I'd leave it at that, but nope. 

She's the most organized person in the universe. Her clothes never had a chance to get folded since 1999. She is so methodic and yet will pull off stupid shit like kickboxing a door because she doesn't want to open it. Nora is the character to every character but she stops charactering if she's in front of any screen with something playing on it. She can calculate the angle she needs to throw something so it can hit something, but she fails at basic math at the checkout line. She's masterful at cooking up a storm in the kitchen but enters her flop era when she forgets to take her stuff from the oven when the timer beeps.

Honestly, Nora was such a good lesson in writing as well because people are not always black-and-white. Sometimes, their strengths are their weaknesses. Sometimes the things they are chasing after work against their benefit. Maybe their opinions are skewed after all, even though the narrative conditions into believing that they're the Hero character. They should be allowed to be terribly piss-pathetic poor at something before learning to solve the problem, and sometimes it's okay if they're just bad at something if they can improv a way forward.

Plus, she's cool and stuff. Sometimes. 

[chicgeekgirl89]

Festive Friends- Read on AO3

Rating: T

Words: 8600

This one is for @strandnreyes as part of the @tarlos-santa 2023 exchange! I chose the prompt: AU - Carlos and TK unknowingly have each other for the office secret santa exchange. Up to you if they’re pining idiots, “enemies”, secretly dating, or anything else! Hope you enjoy and have the most festive of holidays!

“Good morning Mr. Reyes.”

Carlos looks up to find the office intern, Mateo, standing cheerily next to his desk, a stack of envelopes in his hand. “Good morning Mateo. And again, you can call me Carlos. Mr. Reyes really isn’t necessary.”

“Sorry Mr. Reyes, I’m just not really used to being like, a real adult yet I guess,” Mateo says sheepishly. 

Carlos keeps a chuckle to himself and doesn’t admonish the kid again. “I understand. Whatever you feel comfortable with is fine.”

“Cool. Thanks Mr. Reyes. I brought your mail over for you.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, accepting the stack from him.

“Can I get you anything? A coffee? Oh! I think Mr. Strand has some new kind of energizing smoothie or something in the break room. Although, it looked kinda gross to me,” Mateo says.

The thought of that smoothie sends a shiver down Carlos’ spine. He hasn’t known Owen Strand for very long, but his health nut tendencies have quickly become too much for Carlos’ taste. “No, that’s okay. I don’t need anything right now. Besides, your job here is to learn about the business, not fetch everyone’s coffee.”

“Right. Yes. Learning. I love learning all the things. Hey, are you coming to the office tree lighting on Friday afternoon? I heard they’re gonna have those little pigs in a blanket.”

Carlos’ eyes dart back to his screen and the half finished email staring at him. “Um, yeah. I’ll be there for a little bit.”

“Awesome!” Mateo seems genuinely thrilled and Carlos once again has to bite back an amused smile. The kid is ninety nine parts enthusiasm and one part overly helpful. “Well I’ll let you get back to it. Lots of…what exactly does HR do?”

“Emails,” Carlos says. “Lots of emails.”

“Right. Sounds fun. Good luck with that!”

Mateo sends him a parting wave and then disappears around the side of his cubicle. 

Things have been absolutely crazy at PD and Sons since they merged with 126 Designs a few months ago. Owen Strand had been brought in to manage the merger and insisted on hiring a significant number of new staff. Onboarding the new hires like Mateo has been a ton of work, especially since Owen insisted on being extremely involved in the entire process. Carlos has been in non-stop meetings for weeks and today is the first day he hasn’t felt completely overwhelmed in forever.

He flips through the stack of mail, tossing a few random flyers in the recycling, and setting aside the important envelopes to open later. He wrinkles his forehead when he finds a folded up piece of red paper at the bottom of the stack. When he opens it his eyes immediately widen in horror.

What. The. Hell?

“Lexi.” He stands up and looks down into the cubicle next to him where his work wife is busy with some kind of design project. “Why did I just get a paper telling me who my Secret Santa is this year?”

“I signed you up because I knew you wouldn’t do it otherwise. It’s the season of giving and part of that means giving up your Grinchy ways and pretending like you’re interested in getting to know all the new people in the office,” Lexi says without looking up at him.

His jaw drops. “Okay, first of all, I’m not uninterested in getting to know them. I just haven’t had time to get to know them. And secondly, I hate Secret Santa. Nobody ever really knows what to get you, so you end up with all this random crap and candy that you don’t want and it all sits in a drawer for three or four years until finally you throw it out.”

She finally stops and turns to look at him. “Wow. Okay Uncle Scrooge. First of all,” she echoes him, “it’s not Secret Santa, it’s Festive Friends. Not everybody celebrates Christmas. Get your terminology right. And secondly, it’s not about getting good gifts, it’s about spreading joy for the holiday season. So take the Christmas tree out of your ass and start fa la la-ing with the rest of us.”

“Lexi,” he grinds out her name between his teeth and quickly glances around to make sure no one is in earshot. “I got T.K.”

Lexi is the only one in the office who knows what an incredible disaster meeting T.K. Strand has been for his life. A week after the PD Austin and 126 Designs merger the entire office had gone out for drinks. One thing led to another, which led to another, and ultimately ended up with T.K. very naked in Carlos’ bed. 

They’d been incredibly hot and incredibly heavy for a couple weeks after that, sneaking around together, making out in the supply closet, booty calling each other in the dead of night, and Carlos had been so ridiculously happy. T.K. Strand had turned him into a horny freaking teenager.

And then he’d made the mistake of surprising T.K. with dinner. He’d thought it would be romantic. That it might move them from booty call status into something a little bit more permanent. 

But T.K. had freaked out, stormed out, and shut Carlos out of his life. Thank god his cubicle is all the way around the corner on the other side of the building. They barely have to see each other except for the occasional awkward brush in the break room or men’s room.

Carlos’ heart has been more broken than he’d like to let on, not to mention his ego is bruised too. The whole thing has made getting to know the other people from 126 Designs like Marjan, Paul, Nancy, and Judd very awkward.. They’re T.K.’s friends. And he doesn’t want to piss T.K. off anymore than he already has. 

Of course he has to interact with T.K.’s father, Owen Strand, he is the manager after all, but other than that he’s kept everyone else at an extremely polite and professional distance.

So finding T.K.’s name in his hands is like a punch in the gut.

“Good,” Lexi says, surprising him. “You’ve been pining for him for weeks anyway. Might as well do something about it.”

“Lexi, this guy hates my guts,” Carlos says. “He doesn’t want presents from me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. You’re Carlos Reyes. No one hates you.”

“Please switch with me.”

“No.”

“Lexi!”

“No! I got Paul. I already have ideas. I’m not switching. It’s only three gifts, you’ll be fine.”

“Three?! I thought Secret Santa was only one gift!”

“God, do you even read your email? It’s three gifts in the week leading up to the holiday break. This will be good for you. Now go away. I’m working.”

Carlos sinks back down into his chair, misery settling in his stomach. This is going to be absolute torture.

He takes another look at T.K.’s scrawl. His writing looks hurried in a way that suggests he’s so excited that he can’t be bothered to slow down and shape his letters more carefully. It has that same kind of frenetic, joyful energy that drew Carlos to him in the first place. Now the only energy he exudes toward Carlos is coldness.

Carlos catches himself tracing his fingers over the letters of T.K.’s name and balls them into a fist before forcing himself to read T.K.’s answers to the Festive Friends questionnaire. T.K. has written down that he likes sour candy, Harry Styles, boba, and interesting tea flavors. He doesn’t like black licorice, the Mets, or anything with alcohol. 

Carlos frowns at that. He doesn’t remember T.K. mentioning anything about alcohol during their weeks together. But then again, they didn’t exactly spend much time talking. Their mouths had been occupied with other things.

It feels unfair to have this scrap of T.K., to get this little glimpse into his life. These are things he doesn’t want Carlos to know. He made that clear when he stormed out the door of Carlos’ condo and left nothing behind except Carlos’ fractured heart. 

He takes a breath and squares his shoulders. It’s just a stupid office tradition. They’re colleagues. They’re going to have to become cordial at some point. Maybe this is how he can start to smooth things over. Besides, it’s not like he has to talk to the guy. That’s literally the point. To keep it secret.

This is going to be fine.

It is not fine. It’s not fine because Carlos is the type of person that agonizes over gifts. And in this case, there’s even more pressure because the gifts have to be perfectly impersonal so they don’t say, “Your dick was life changing and I don’t think I’m ever going to recover because now you hate me and I don’t really know why.” He’d much rather they say, “I’m fine and I don’t ever think about you and that thing you did with your tongue that one time.”

Ugh.

He arrives Monday morning the week before Christmas with a gift bag in hand, a Yankees baseball cap tucked inside. It’s a lame gift. Perfectly impersonal. And the rest of his gifts for the week aren’t much better. There’s a small part of him berating himself for not doing a better job. He could at least try. The guy broke up with him, he didn’t murder anyone.

But then he remembers how miserable he was in the days after T.K. had stormed out. Whatever. He didn’t sign up for this anyway. T.K. deserves his boring gifts.

The office is quiet as he makes his way to T.K.’s cubicle. Even just the sight of his desk makes Carlos’ heart ache a little. There’s a picture pinned to his bulletin board of T.K. with their other co-workers, Marjan, Paul, Judd, Mateo, Nancy, and Tommy all smiling and having fun, clearly out for a night on the town together. He’d known 126Designs was small and that was part of the reason for the acquisition; to bring on a tightly knit team to help their own, but seeing T.K. so happy with them all doesn’t really feel great.

He’s been so preoccupied by his own shopping that he completely forgot that he is also getting gifts until he steps into his cubicle and sees a bright green bag with little white Christmas trees all over it. He inspects it carefully, relieved to find there’s no glitter anywhere. 

He hates glitter.

There’s a little card attached to the handle and when he opens it it reads “Hope you have a Write Christmas- FF.” It takes him a second to figure out that FF must mean Festive Friend.

He carefully extracts the tissue paper and looks into the bag. It’s office supplies. Pens, post-its, a new stapler, blue paperclips, and a ball of rubber bands.

The pun on the card makes sense, even if it is as terribly lame as the gifts inside. At least it’s practical. He can always use new pens.

“Hey!” Lexi pokes her head in. “Ooh what’d you get?”

He shows her the bag and she nods in approval. “Your Festive Friend knows you like office supplies. Nice.”

“If you’re expecting a thank you for going behind my back on this, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” Carlos tells her as he sits down and opens up his laptop.

“Pretty sure people with that attitude get coal in their stocking,” she tells him, flipping him off before heading to her own cubicle.

It’s midway through the morning and Carlos is about to make yet another phone call when Owen Strand steps into the middle of the bullpen. “All right, attention everyone!” he calls.

The ambient sound of typing and low chatter ceases. “Thank you,” he says. “I just wanted to remind everyone that we have our first team building activity this afternoon. So if you have anything scheduled this is your last chance to rearrange. Mandatory fun is in store for all!”

Carlos bites back a groan. He is really not into mandatory office fun. Especially when it means he’ll be in close proximity to T.K. But he’s also not one to flaunt the rules, so he’s going to have to suck it up and deal.

No one has been allowed in the conference room all morning and when one o’clock rolls around Owen waits at the door with a massive grin on his face. The man is clearly thrilled with whatever he’s cooked up to torture them today.

When Carlos walks through the door he sees why. The tables have been covered in red plastic tablecloths and every two feet or so sits a pile of materials like graham crackers, marshmallows, frosting, and candy. It’s immediately obvious how they will be team building today.

“All right everyone!” Owen says when they’re all assembled. “As you can probably guess our team building activity for today has taken a turn for the festive. And I’ve taken the liberty of assigning you all a partner to work with. Each team will be assembling a pre-determined part of our gingerbread village. Paul, you’re with Marjan.”

They immediately turn and high five, clearly thrilled. 

“Nancy with Lexi, Judd with Tommy, Mateo with me,” Owen flashes him a smile and Mateo lets out a whoop.

Carlos’ stomach drops. That leaves him with—“T.K., you’ll be with Carlos.”

Fuck.

“Send one person to grab your pre-assigned building assignment! Remember this is not a competition. We’re all working together to build our village. Just like it takes a village to run a company.”

There’s a brief silence in which everyone internalizes what a dumb, schticky thing Owen has just said and then he claps his hands. “Okay, get to work!”

Everyone claims a spot around the tables. Carlos takes a paper slip from Owen and then looks around to find T.K., who is sitting across the room with his back to Carlos.

Carlos reluctantly walks over and sits in the empty seat next to him, all the while wondering if he can fake sick or claim a family emergency to get out of this. When he finally looks up at his partner he recoils in shock. T.K.’s lip is split and swollen, and there’s a dark ring of bruising underneath his right eye. “What happened to you?” Carlos asks, a surprised reflex releasing the words from his mouth before he can stop them.

The look T.K. sends him immediately reminds him that they’re not friends anymore. It’s full of vitriol and misery and…Carlos looks a little closer. Pain. There’s a rawness there that Carlos doesn’t remember seeing before.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just…that looks like it hurts.”

“Doesn’t feel great,” T.K. agrees, his voice stiff. “What are we supposed to be making?”

Carlos looks at the paper. “Police station.”

“Perfect. Way to read the room Dad. ACAB and all that,” T.K. grouses as he reaches for a pile of graham crackers and immediately begins squeezing icing all over.

“Um,” Carlos hems and T.K. stops.

“What?”

“Don’t you think maybe we should make a plan first?”

T.K. sighs and dramatically drops his piping bag onto the table. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“No I—I didn’t mean—” Carlos struggles to find the right words. “It’s fine. Let’s just try and get something standing first. That’s the hardest part anyway.”

They spend a couple minutes in silence gluing graham crackers together with icing and using some marshmallows to prop them up until they have something that roughly resembles walls and a roof. “You’re kind of good at this,” T.K. says. 

It’s the closest thing to niceties that they’ve shared in weeks.

“I have a lot of nieces and nephews. Not my first gingerbread house. Although it is my first police station,” Carlos admits.

“Cool,” T.K. says, then winces, his lip clearly hurting.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me what happened?” Carlos asks, feeling a little emboldened by T.K.’s compliment.

T.K. shoots him a glare. “You’re kind of annoying. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Carlos says, trying to let the jab roll off his back. “But I know you’re new around here and you’ve obviously gotten into some trouble. Sometimes it helps to talk things out.”

He gets silence in return. God what the hell is wrong with this guy? He’s literally just trying to help. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me. But you should probably tell someone before whoever gave you that shiner comes back to give you a matching set.”

T.K. goes quiet, fiddling with the icing bag in his hand. When he speaks his voice is soft.“I went to a bar last night.”

“Ah. A little drunk and disorderly,” Carlos says, aware that he’s being snarky and not caring in the least. “So you have an idea of how the inside of this police station should look then.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” T.K. says quickly and Carlos remembers his Festive Friends answers. He looks down. “I just went through a really bad break up. Like nuclear bad. And then I relapsed.” He looks around and lowers his voice. “I relapsed with substances.”

Oh.

Carlos sets down the graham cracker in his hands, his full attention now on T.K. as memory slices through him. “I tried to pour us champagne during dinner. I’m such an idiot I’m sorry—“

“It’s fine, ” T.K. cuts him off quickly, like if he gets interrupted now he won’t ever be able to find the strength to share this again. He fiddles with the peppermint wrapper in his hands. “Ever since I’ve gotten here it’s just…it’s grey. And I just feel numb all the time. So I went out to a bar looking for trouble. And I found it. Big time. I guess I just…I wanted to feel something.”

He’s pulled in on himself, his body looking vulnerable and wounded. Carlos gets it now. The overenthusiastic sex. His no-strings attached mentality. The complete meltdown during dinner. This is a man who has been hurt, and he’s struggling to find a way to heal. Carlos had unknowingly probed at the wound in his soul and T.K. had lashed out. It makes sense, even if it wasn’t fair.

T.K. looks miserable and despite their history all Carlos wants to do is make him feel better. “Judging by that lip, I’d say mission accomplished,” he says, trying to lighten the moment.

“You’re really busting my balls right now?” T.K. asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

“No,” Carlos says. “I’m busting your jingle bells.” He tries and fails to hold back a smile at his incredibly stupid joke.

T.K. blinks at him. “That’s terrible,” he says, but he is also struggling to keep his face neutral.

“And yet you’re smiling,” Carlos says. He feels lighter, like there’s been an ominous blizzard hanging over him in the weeks since they stopped seeing each other. Now it feels like the snow has finally started to fall and all the ugliness of the bare world in winter is being covered in a fresh layer of soft white powder. There’s a sense of hope to it.

“I’m laughing at how stupid it is,” T.K. says.

“Well laugh while you work,” Carlos says, reaching for a bar of Hershey’s chocolate to put on the roof. “I know your dad said it wasn’t a competition, but Marjan and Paul seem to be working on a second story. So I’m not sure they know that.”

Together they finish the roof, adding on lots of dripping icing as snow and icicles. Carlos carefully starts to add windows while T.K. works on the landscaping. 

“Tommy I don’t know why you’re trying to make me do these little details when you know I’ve got fat fingers,” Judd is saying across the way as he and Tommy try to add a steeple to their church.

Marjan and Paul’s apartment building does indeed have two stories and they’ve somehow managed to chisel out actual windows in the graham crackers. Lexi and Nancy are creating a ski chalet that includes a chairlift, and Owen and Mateo’s fire station sports a fire pole made of pretzel rods.

“There,” T.K. says, plonking a creation down in front of where Carlos has crafted a front door out of Kit Kats.

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“A snowman.”

Ah. Now Carlos sees it. There are two marshmallows stacked on top of each other and T.K. has shoved pretzel sticks in each side for arms. There is a lifesaver on each one and they’re connected by a thread of Twizzler. “What’s on its arms?” he asks.

“Handcuffs,” T.K. says.

“The snowman is getting arrested?”

“Or getting ready to do something kinky.”

“In front of a police station?”

“Some people get off on a little exhibitionism. Don’t judge Carlos,” T.K. says, a smirk on his face.

Damn it. They should have stayed mortal enemies. Now that they’re talking again, Carlos feels the urge to drag T.K. into the nearest cubicle and kiss the shit out of him. He didn’t need to go to a bar to find trouble. He could have shown up on Carlos’ doorstep and gotten into plenty.

Carlos’ attempt at a police cruiser has them both laughing; the oreo wheels keep falling off the rice krispie body (which T.K. snuck out and stole from the break room and has loudly been declared illegal by half the staff in the room) no matter how much icing he uses to try and stick them on.

“Stop eating our building materials,” Carlos admonishes a few minutes later when he goes for another red gum drop and finds they’re nearly gone.

“Why? They’re delicious. Tis the season for sugar,” T.K. says.

Carlos goes to give him a look and notices a dab of frosting on the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got some—“ He mimes brushing it away.

T.K. grabs a tissue and wipes, but misses completely. “No other side,” Carlos directs without success. “Here just, let me.”

He swipes the tissue from T.K.’s hand and dabs carefully, taking care not to pull on T.K.’s split lip. Their eyes meet and a heat passes between them, setting Carlos’ bones on fire. He clears his throat. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” T.K. says quietly.

They spend another half hour decorating before Owen makes them put all the buildings together into a little town while he snaps a picture for the company social media accounts. It’s actually pretty adorable once assembled and Carlos goes home that night strangely optimistic about what the rest of the week has in store.

Tuesday is business as usual and by the time Wednesday morning rolls around Carlos finds himself excitedly driving into work, his gift for T.K. in the passenger seat. He’s scrapped all his other gifts and spent the last two days looking for better items. Last night he visited a local tea shop and probably went a little overboard. They’d definitely upsold him on a few things and he’d let it happen because Monday’s gingerbread decorating had put a kernel of hope in his chest and…it can’t hurt to make sure T.K. likes his gifts, right?

He drops off T.K.’s gift bag and is only mildly disappointed when he walks into his own cubicle to find his desk is empty. It doesn’t matter; at least, that’s what he tells himself. Honestly, he’s not surprised. People are terrible at doing Secret Santa, it’s very likely that his person has forgotten him in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season.

He heads to his desk and gets right to work because they’re all heading out early to help with a toy drive at the local fire station; another of Owen’s brilliant ideas to encourage office camaraderie. It means he has a lot more to take care of than usual to try and make up for the lost time, and by mid-morning he’s in desperate need of a second coffee.

He’s about to get up and make one when his phone rings. It’s Ernie, their security guard from downstairs informing him that there’s a delivery waiting for him. Confused but intrigued Carlos heads for the elevator.

“Hey Ernie, all set for the holidays?” he asks when he reaches the desk on the ground floor.

“Just about. Got a couple more things to pick up today, but then I should be good to go,” Ernie tells him. He nods toward a bag and a coffee cup on the desk. “That’s for you.”

“Thanks.”

Carlos picks up the white paper sack and has to hold back a snort when he sees what’s written on the side. Hope the holidays don’t make you “cronuts”- FF. He peeks inside and inhales the scent of cronuts from Twiggy’s. Cronuts are a massive weakness of his, and a sip of the coffee tells him it’s made just to his specifications, a little bit of cream, no sugar. Whoever his Festive Friend is, they know him well. His suspicions are definitely leaning more and more toward Lexi.

He gets back in the elevator and when he steps off he nearly runs over T.K. “Whoa, sorry,” he says, holding up the coffee so it doesn’t spill all over T.K.’s chest.

“Lunch?” T.K. asks, nodding toward the bag.

“A snack from my ‘Festive Friend,’” he says. “Cronuts from the Twiggy’s.”

“That place is great. Enjoy,” T.K. says. 

“Do you want one?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. God he’s needy. “I um, I got two and I can’t eat both. They’re really only good fresh, it’s not like I can save one—“

“Sure.” T.K. thankfully interrupts his ramble and the affirmative response sends a jolt of electricity through him.

They step into the break room and T.K. boils some hot water for tea before settling down across from Carlos at one of the high top tables, a kitschy little vase of fake flowers between them. 

Carlos pulls out the cronuts and puts each one on a paper plate. They’re decorated for the season as little Santa bellies, and hopefully they’re as delicious as he remembers. He slides one toward T.K. before picking up his own and taking a massive bite. He has to hold back a groan. They’re freaking amazing.

When he looks up he finds T.K. staring at him with an amused smirk on his face. “Sorry,” Carlos says, feeling his cheeks heat. “I um, these are my favorite.”

“So I can see,” T.K. says, the smirk widening a little. “The last time I saw that look we were both way more naked.”

Carlos feels his entire face go red at the reminder. He finishes chewing his bite, trying not to let memories of said naked time take over his brain. “So your dad,” he says. “He’s really into the holidays huh? We’ve never had so many festive office events.”

“Yeah my dad doesn’t really do anything by half measures,” T.K. says. “I think he might be overcompensating on the holiday cheer a little bit this year. The move down here was kind of a lot and I haven’t exactly been a bundle of joy lately, so he’s trying to fix it with cocoa and faux Christmas wreaths.”

Carlos takes another bite and thinks carefully about his next move. This new dynamic between them still feels tenuous, and he doesn’t want to fracture it. But at the same time, he can see the unfiltered hurt in T.K.’s eyes and he longs to help bear the weight of it. “You mentioned a breakup the other day,” he says quietly. “Is that part of why you came?”

T.K. blows out a breath and looks down at his cronut. “It’s the whole reason we came.”

Carlos watches as he wrestles internally and he’s just about to say that T.K. doesn’t have to tell him anything, when T.K. starts to speak again. “I had a boyfriend, in New York. Alex. We were together for like…I don’t know, a year I guess? He was the first boyfriend I’d had since getting sober and I wanted it to work so badly. Like this relationship was proof I finally had my shit together, you know?”

Carlos nods.

“I had this plan, I was going to propose to him. Had a ring, a restaurant, the whole thing. I was basically down on one knee and he—he told me he’d been cheating on me. With his spin instructor.”

Something hot and violent shoots through Carlos. “That motherfucker,” he says, before he can stop himself.

T.K. looks up in surprise and lets out a startled laugh.

“Sorry,” Carlos says. “That’s just…wow what an asshole.”

“Yeah he definitely was,” T.K. says, looking a little more relaxed now, as if Carlos’ angered sympathy has put him more at ease. “For a long time I think. I can look back on it now and see little moments. We only ever went where he wanted to go for dinner. He was always busy when I asked him to meet my friends. There was stuff I was overlooking because I was trying to prove to everyone else that I was stable.”

“I get that,” Carlos says.

T.K. shifts a little. “I went home after that, found a bottle of pills and…took them until I couldn’t feel anymore. My dad had to bust down the door to save my life.” He shrugs. “And that’s how we ended up here. He knew I needed to get away, so he took me as far as he could get.”

He looks up at Carlos. “I’m doing better now. Well, kind of.” He indicates his black eye. “But that’s why I freaked out on you that night. It wasn’t the champagne or anything you did. You were—you were so kind to me Carlos. I just wasn’t ready for it. And I’m really sorry that I walked out on you.”

The urge to reach over and touch him, to hold his hands and soothe away the hurt that’s painted into the lines of his forehead is overwhelming. But he’s not sure T.K. would be into that so he grips his own thighs instead. “Thank you for telling me,” he says. “That all sounds really difficult. I’m sorry I ambushed you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more understanding when I realized you were uncomfortable. I think um, I think my ego took a little bit of a hit,” he says sheepishly.

“Oh you think Mr. ‘I Know It Doesn’t Look Like a Lot of Work’?” T.K. asks with a grin.

“Hey, that fish took me like three hours to make,” Carlos teases. “You missed out.”

T.K. sobers a little and fiddles with his cronut again. “I think I missed out on a lot.”

Carlos opens his mouth to offer a response, but Lexi pokes her head into the break room. “Carlos, your phone is ringing off the hook.”

“Coming,” he says, sliding off the stool and picking up his plate with the last couple bites of cronut on it. “Are you going to the toy drive this afternoon?”

“Boss dad said be there so yeah, I’m going,” T.K. says. “Thanks for the cronut.”

“You’re welcome,” Carlos says and then hustles back to his cubicle, where his phone is indeed ringing off the hook. He shoves the last bite of cronut into his mouth as he sits down, chewing furiously before he picks up. “This is Carlos.”

An HR crisis means Carlos is the last one to leave the office and arrive at the fire station’s toy drive. He looks for T.K. as soon as he gets there, but Lexi pulls him over to a table where they’re taking donations for one of the local food pantries. 

“So,” Lexi says as they fill boxes with canned beans and stuffing mix and mac and cheese, “looks like someone’s back on Carlos Reyes’ nice list. Although with the way you were looking at him, seems more like you’d prefer he stay on the naughty list.”

“Lexi!” Carlos hisses, looking around. “There are kids here!”

“Oh they can’t hear me,” she scoffs, handing him a bag of flour. “They’re all at the make-an-ornament station.”

Carlos looks over and finds T.K. hunkered down by that very table, laughing and smiling as he helps a couple kids glue pompoms and sequins to colored paper. It’s adorable and Carlos’ heart melts a little at the sight.

“See? That look right there. You’ve got it bad. You want him to jingle your ba—“

“I’m going to remind you that I’m your HR rep and you probably shouldn’t finish that sentence,” he says quickly.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “But you two did look pretty cozy in the break room earlier. The great branzino war is over I take it?”

“Yeah we had a good talk,” Carlos says.

She clears her throat. “You can say thank you anytime now you know.”

He furrows his brow. “For what?”

“For making you do Festive Friends and fixing your broken heart.”

“My heart was not broken,” he scoffs.

“You have been acting like you’re in the last ten minutes of a Hallmark movie for weeks. Time to finally realize you’re in love and kiss under the mistletoe,” Lexi tells him.

“Just because we’re friendly now doesn’t mean we’re going to kiss.”

“Okay. Sure. Believe whatever you want.”

There’s a massive influx then from a church group and thankfully the matter is dropped for the rest of the night.

On Friday Carlos stops at home to change his clothes before heading to a local bar for their holiday party and the big Festive Friends reveal. He puts on a pair of dark jeans and winces when he pulls on the ugly sweater that Owen insisted they all wear. As far as they go, his is pretty tame, albeit with a bit more sparkle and pizazz than he usually goes for. It says Feliz Navidad in tinseled letters with some primary colored pom poms decorating the rest for good measure. It had been part of a family white elephant a few years ago and has sat in the back of his closet since for good reason. 

He gabs the box he wrapped up for T.K. on the way out the door. It’s nearly as brightly colored as his sweater. Generally he tries for a more sedate theme in wrapped gifts, but T.K. is so vivacious and colorful that he broke into the stash of wrapping paper he usually saves for his nieces and nephews.

He’s nervous as he drives and he can’t quite put his finger on why. Is it because he wants T.K. to like his gift? Because things between him and T.K. have shifted in a more positive direction and his stupid heart can’t quite stop believing that tonight might be like that first night at the honky tonk? Is it because he feels very stupid in this sweater and he really hopes everyone else obeyed Owen’s instructions from the email invite?

Probably all of it.

Ah well. At least if things don’t go well there will be liquor around to help drown his sorrows.

There’s immediate relief when he walks in through the doors of the bar and sees holiday themed knit-ware all over. “Hey Carlos, glad you came,” Owen says, greeting him at the door in a sweater with a massive reindeer head on the front.

“Mr. Strand,” Carlos says, giving him a nod.

“Carlos we’ve been over this. You can call me Owen,” Owen says, a tinge of good natured exasperation in his tone. 

“Yes, right, sorry” Carlos says, embarrassed. Didn’t he just chide Mateo for the same thing last week? Somehow this seems different. And definitely a weird way to address the man who fathered his most recent hookup.

“Go ahead and grab a drink, there’s hors d’oeuvres, I highly recommended the stuffed mushrooms, and then when the time feels right make sure you deliver your gift to your Festive Friend,” Owen says brightly. Then he leans close. “I got Judd a new belt. Italian leather, handcrafted, this thing is a masterpiece. He is gonna love it!”

“I’m sure he will,” Carlos agrees.

“Oh! Nancy! Come on in!” Owen gives Carlos a pat on the shoulder and moves past him to greet her.

Carlos says hello to Judd and his wife Grace, his eyes searching the room and finally landing on T.K. who is standing at the bar chatting with Mateo. Carlos’ heart flutters at the sight of him even as he tries to figure out what the heck is knitted on the back of his sweater. It appears to be a long, yellow tail, but that can’t possibly be right, can it? He takes a breath and then abruptly loses courage and goes to find Lexi instead. “Nice earrings,” he says when he gets to her table.

“Thanks,” she says, pushing her hair back so he can see them better. “They’re from my ‘Festive Friend’ Marjan.”

“Great,” Carlos says as he grabs a chip from a bowl on the table. “Did you give Paul your gift?”

“Yes, he is thrilled with the crime novels I got him. He hasn’t read that author yet so hopefully he likes them.” She gives him a look. “Why do you still have T.K.’s?”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” Carlos says defensively.

“You mean you saw him and you’re too chicken to go over there because you’re having feelings and don’t know what to do with them,” she says bluntly. “Are you going to ask him out when you give it to him?”

“I—I don’t know,” Carlos says. “That seems pushy.”

“You two were practically making out in that break room.”

“We were literally sitting three feet apart,” Carlos says dryly. 

“Fine. You were emotionally making out.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That’s not a thing.”

“I think you should ask him. It’s Christmas. The season of miracles. And wishes. And Santa shit. This is your chance!” she says enthusiastically.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asks.

She scoffs. “This isn’t drunkeness. It’s my Christmas wish that you grow a pair and ask T.K. out.”

“That is a terrible wish,” Carlos says. 

“Well it is what it is. You wouldn’t want to break a girl’s heart at Christmas would you?”

He opens his mouth to respond but Paul calls Lexi’s name and beckons her toward him. “That’s my cue,” she says, hopping off her bar stool. “Gonna go kick Paul’s ass at darts. Good luck!”

And with that she’s gone, leaving Carlos alone with his feelings and his gift box. He stares at it for a moment and gives himself a stern pep talk. It’s a gift. Not a marriage proposal. If T.K. hates it, it’s whatever. 

“Hey Carlos.”

He’s waited too long. He looks up to find T.K. standing on the other side of the table, a smile on his face. Carlos can now see the front of his sweater. Some kind of lizard smiles at him, clearly the front end of the tail he spotted before. Above it are the words “Merry Crickets.” It is truly the most hideous thing he’s ever laid eyes on, but somehow T.K. makes it look adorable.

“Hey,” he replies..

Excellent. Great. He’s crushing this.

“Nice sweater,” T.K. says, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. 

“Thanks. This is some party. Your dad is quite the host.”

T.K. rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness to it. “Just be grateful I talked him out of chartering a party bus. And roller skating.”

“Your dad thought our holiday party should be at a roller rink?”

“He was going with an 80’s holiday theme at first,” T.K. says. “It took a lot of bargaining to get him down to ugly sweater instead. I think he was an event planner in a former life.”

“He definitely has a flair for it,” Carlos agrees. He looks down at the present in front of him. He should have gotten a drink before doing this. “So um, actually, I’m your Festive Friend. Surprise. This is for you.”

He slides it across the table and T.K.’s eyes immediately light up. “Can I open it now?” he asks eagerly.

He looks like a kid on Christmas morning and it’s so endearing that Carlos can barely breathe. “Yeah, yes, it’s all yours.”

T.K. pulls off the bow and rips open the paper, lifting out the soft yellow sweatshirt inside. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and Carlos feels a flutter of nerves. “It’s—“

“The sweatshirt Harry Styles wore in New York last summer,” T.K. says. His tone is almost reverent, his thumbs moving back and forth to stroke the material. “Oh my god. I have Harry Styles’ sweatshirt.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not the exact one he wore,” Carlos says, feeling sheepish. “But I know you like him and hoodies so it seemed right.”

“It must have taken forever for you to find this,” T.K. says.

“Oh, no, it was…it was no big deal,” Carlos says, omitting the entire night he spent on instagram combing through Harry’s outfits of the last few years and trying to find them for sale. 

“Thank you Carlos,” T.K. says, sincere gratitude in his voice. “This is amazing. All your gifts were amazing.”

“I mean, that hat was kind of lame,” Carlos says, still embarrassed that he bought something so generic.

“No it’s great! I’m going to wear it the next time I go to an Astros game,” T.K. says, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

Carlos chuckles. “Yeah good luck with that.”

“Did you get your last gift yet?” T.K. asks casually.

Carlos shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Any guesses who it might be?”

He has no idea. There’s no one in the office that knows him well enough to send him cronuts besides Lexi and he knows she had Paul. “No,” he says. “Usually I’m pretty good at figuring this kind of thing out, but everyone in the office is so new I haven’t really been able to get a read on anyone.”

“Marjan?”

“She had Lexi.”

“Paul?” 

Carlos looks around until he finds him standing in a corner next to a Christmas tree, laughing at something Lexi just said. “I don’t think so. He’s from Chicago, I doubt he would know about Twiggy’s.”

“Judd?”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t know about cronuts either,” Carlos says with a laugh. “I feel like it has to be someone who knows me pretty well, but Lexi is the only one—“

His eyes land on T.K.’s face and he knows. He can see it in his eyes and he feels stupid he didn’t realize it before when T.K. used that false casual tone. “You?” he asks in surprise. “You’re my Festive Friend?”

T.K. reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. “Merry Christmas,” he says as he hands it to Carlos. 

Still in a little bit of shock Carlos carefully lifts the flap on the envelope to reveal a printed out email inside. “A cooking class?” he asks, looking up to search T.K.’s eyes. 

T.K. nods, a flicker of nerves flashing over his face. “It’s bruschetta, pasta, and a dessert. A husband and wife team run it out of their home. I thought, I mean you obviously know how to cook, but I thought it might be fun.”

“It sounds amazing,” Carlos says genuinely. He’s always wanted to try his hand at homemade pasta.

T.K. nods and takes a breath. “I um, I got you two tickets. You can take whoever you want, but I—“ He runs his hands nervously over his jeans. “I know I fucked things up between us, so I was hoping that maybe this could be kind of a do-over for us. If you want?���

“Yes,” Carlos says immediately. It’s embarrassingly fast and absolutely gives away how badly he wants them to try again, but he doesn’t care. “Yes I would love a do-over.”

“Yeah?” T.K. asks, his eyes full of hope.

“Yeah,” Carlos says. A smile plays on his lips and he’s about to thank T.K. for his other gifts when something occurs to him. “You little shit!” he says incredulously. “You bought me those cronuts and then sat there and ate one like you had no clue who’d given them to me!”

T.K. sends him a wicked smile. “I was counting on your holiday generosity,” he says.

“How did you even know about that bakery?” Carlos asks.

“You mentioned it,” T.K. says. “I don’t know, it was the second or third time we hooked up. I saw a flyer for them on your fridge and you told me how good they were.”

“You remember that?” Carlos asks in surprise. After their blowup he’d convinced himself that he was just a warm body for T.K. to be with, another notch in his bedpost who’d meant nothing to him.

T.K. looks at him, his face serious. “I remember all of it Carlos.”

The words make his heart swell and he hysterically wonders if this is how the Grinch felt when he heard the Who’s singing on Christmas. “I remember too,” he says. “It was incredible.”

“That first night, in the honky tonk. Best bathroom hookup of my life,” T.K. tells him.

“Only bathroom hookup of my life,” Carlos says.

“Yeah, I know,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes.

“How could you know that?”

“Because you kept looking around like it was the most unsanitary thing you’d ever seen in your life,” T.K. tells him. “So I made it my mission to make you forget all about it. Pretty sure I succeeded.”

Carlos flushes as he  thinks about T.K.’s mouth and his hands and the way they felt on his body. “You definitely did.” His gaze drops to T.K.’s lips. “God, I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

T.K. smirks, clearly please that he’s turned Carlos on in the middle of this bar. “What’s stopping you?”

“Um the fact that all of our co-workers are here. And also your dad,” Carlos says with a laugh.

As if on cue Owen’s voice rings out over the crowd. “All right everyone!” He claps his hands a couple times. “If I could have everyone’s attention please! Thank you all for coming to the 126 Designs holiday party. I have a little surprise up my sleeve. Tonight, we are going to be participating in some holiday karaoke!”

A bar employee rolls a karaoke machine in out of nowhere to cheers from the crowd. “Did you know?” Carlos asks.

“No,” T.K. says. “But I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Get on over here!” Owen encourages them. “Judd! Let’s hear a little Deck the Halls buddy!”

“Come on.”

T.K. reaches for Carlos’ hand and pulls him toward a side door. “Wait, what about karaoke?” Carlos asks.

“Do you really want to stay here and listen to my dad attempt a version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town?”

Carlos considers this. “Actually…”

T.K. laughs and tugs him again. “Come on Reyes.”

They step outside into the night, the door closing behind them. It’s quiet and the air has a slight chill. Nothing that would even hint at a white Christmas, but enough that it feels like the holiday season instead of the dead of summer. A few stars have managed to permeate the light pollution and the moon shines brightly above them.

The side of the restaurant is lit by a single streetlamp, giving them just enough light to see each other, but also the illusion of privacy from anyone else who might be walking by. T.K. leans against the brick of the wall and tugs Carlos toward him, dropping his hand so he can grab his waist, his thumb pressing into the crease between Carlos’ thigh and his hip through his pants. “Well,” T.K. says, the cocky ass smirk on his face that shoots something hot through Carlos’ veins. “Go ahead. Kiss away.”

Carlos looks around in fake concern. “Mmm, I don’t know. Someone could still see us out here.”

“Don’t worry,” T.K. pulls a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and dangles it over their heads. “I swiped this from inside. Now you have to kiss me. Christmas rules.”

“Oh is that right?” Carlos asks with smile, pressing in a little closer, and lifting a hand to run it through T.K.’s hair before sliding it down to cradle the back of his neck.

“Definitely,” T.K. says.

Carlos doesn’t waste another second before leaning in and fitting their lips together. The sparks inside him whirl and dance before bursting into full on flames. It feels like coming home. 

T.K. opens up and invites him in, their bodies coming flush together, searching for as much contact as possible. Carlos fists one hand into T.K.’s hair, the other landing solidly on his lower back and urging him closer, while T.K.’s roam everywhere, traveling Carlos’ biceps, his chest, his back, his ass, and everything in between. 

Carlos slots a thigh between T.K.’s legs, pressing into him and T.K.’s head falls back against the wall, eyes closing as he lets out something between a groan and a sigh. Carlos smiles and uses the change in position to press kisses into the sensitive spot just below his ear. “I missed you,” he says in between breaths.

“I missed you too. Am I going to have to report this to HR?” T.K. asks.

Carlos pauses and pulls back, sending T.K. a withering look. “Haha,” he says dryly. “Thanks for reminding me that I’m going to have my hands full with this one in the new year.”

“My ass is quite a handful,” T.K. says with a smirk. “But you can handle it. It’s just a little bit of paperwork. And someone got you really nice pens for the holidays.”

“Yeah someone did,” Carlos says, poking him in the side until he squirms. “Speaking of paperwork, you owe me a thank you note for your gifts.”

T.K. bites his lip. “Why don’t you take me back to your place and I’ll do a little better than a thank you note?”

Fuck. Carlos swallows hard. “What about the party? Won’t your dad be upset?”

“I’m spending Christmas day with him. He’ll live.” He slides a finger along the waistband of Carlos’ jeans. “We can go back in if you really want to though. I do a mean rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. We can stand in there with all of our co-workers and you can try not to think about how good I’d make you feel if the two of us were in bed together.”

Carlos strokes a thumb across T.K.’s cheek. “As much as I would like to hear you sing Jingle Bell Rock, I think I’d rather take you home.”

T.K. gestures toward the street. “Then lead on Festive Friend.”

It’s the merriest Christmas Carlos has had in a long time. 

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Not your average summer romance

Chapter One - Here goes nothing

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word count: 2k ish

Warnings: 18+ themes, fluff, kissing.

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

Monday

It was the mother of Mondays as you hurried out of your apartment, your pot of coffee left forgotten on the kitchen counter simply because you were running super late. You were heading to a coffee shop for your meeting with the publisher anyway.

Your last meeting had been promising, so you had your hopes up about this one. The problem was, you were late. And your publisher, Sarah, was particular about time. Praying and hoping she would forgive you just this once, you dodged foot traffic that was perpetual on the streets of New York and stumbled into the equally busy cafe.

No sign of her.

Damn it.

Did she leave?

A part of you was hopeful that she was late too. That thought was shut up rather quickly when your phone buzzed with an email from Sarah.

Hi Y/N,

I hope you’re well. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet today, you know how I am with time.

I should have done this face to face but, unfortunately the team has decided against continuing the contract. I really did try my best but you know the decision isn’t all up to me. You can call me if you want to discuss anything.

I’m really very sorry. Stay in touch and keep writing.

Regards,

Sarah Waddington

A bunch of emotions went through you as you read and re-read the email. There had been rejections in your life in the past, but none of them stung or made you mad as this.

Who does this over an email?

You shoved your phone inside your purse angrily and looked around. You were in severe need of coffee, the only pick-me-up that could work.

Making a beeline for the counter, you pushed past people and stood behind a man wearing a black suit who was furiously whispering over his comms to someone.

Your phone buzzed again. This time it was your best friend calling you, the line was moving rather slow and you needed to vent.

The man in front must have changed his order at least three times adding to your frustration which you didn’t hide. You wondered who the person on the other line was who was unable to decide on a simple coffee order.

As your friend went on about her weekend, you moved ahead to order yourself a large Americano, this day called for nothing else but a strong cup of joe; the man in the suit grabbed his coffees and a bag of muffin and turned the opposite way, straight into you.

Iced coffee spilled down your blouse and some of it on his crisp white shirt, the paper bag turning soggy wet as both of you cursed out loud. Some of your piping hot americano managed to spill down your hand in the process too.

“Are you fucking kidding me??” You yelled, part in fury, part in pain as your hand stung.

Happy Hogan profusely apologized as he tried to grab as many tissues he could to help you. The commotion had gathered enough attention in the cafe already to add to your embarrassment.

“I am really sorry, I have a spare shirt in my car if you’d like. Please ma’am.”

He kept insisting, both of you staring at your blouse that was stained beyond saving point. Uttering a small ‘fine’ you followed him out to a rather sleek Tesla Roadster.

A man sitting at the back rolled the windows down as you two approached, a pair of brown eyes peeking through expensive looking sunglasses taking in your appearance with an amused smirk.

“Boss, would you mind passing me that shirt at the back please?”

The man continued to gaze at you for a few more seconds before paying heed to his, you assumed drivers’ request. You stared back, taking in the man’s sharp suit, a rather well maintained anchor beard and eyes that checked you out shamelessly.

“Tony?”

The other guy said more forcefully this time, breaking up your little staring match. ‘Tony’ fumbled around a bit before throwing a large white t-shirt that said ‘I survived my trip to NYC’ towards the guy you found who was named Happy Hogan as they exchanged a conversation.

“Honestly Happy, I don’t feel so secure around you and by the looks of it, neither does this lady or coffee for that matter. Why did I promote you to head of security again?”

“Because I’m the only one you trust and the only one who unfortunately can put up with your tantrums.”

“What tantrums? And will I get my coffee today?”

Tony huffed, making you hide your grin behind your hand as you accepted the t-shirt from Happy.

“Here. I’ve got all the caffeine I need for the day. Stains and burns included.” You held out your cup for him, frowning when he looked at Happy instead.

“Yeah, I’ll take that. Boss doesn’t like being handed things.” Happy gratefully took the coffee you offered and gave it to Tony.

What an entitled prick! You thought.

“What address should I send this back to?” You held the t-shirt up, Tony waving his hand in dismissal.

“Oh keep it. Mr. Hogan has a closet full of cheesy, oversized graphic tees. You can send the dry cleaning bill over to Stark Industries.”

He added with a small smirk, giving your blouse one more thorough glance.

“Oh no. I have plenty of pristine white blouses that haven’t had coffee spilled over. But thank you for your generosity, Mr. Stark I presume?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“The one and only.”

Happy watched the two of you interact like a tennis match, clearing his throat audibly to break off your staring contest yet again.

“See you around, Miss..?”

“Y/N.” I really hope not, you thought to yourself, giving them a polite smile.

Taking your leave, the two men sped off, leaving you with an amused grin and Tony Stark’s unforgettable gaze that seemed to still linger.

…

That evening the doorbell rang, it was nobody but a large package with a little note.

Another pristine white blouse to add to your collection. Though this is more dinner worthy, I feel. What do you say, Ms. Wordsmith?

Tony Stark

Inside the box sat a satin white top, your size, surprisingly, and a lovely bouquet of beautiful white hydrangeas.

It was an awfully bold yet sweet gesture from someone you encountered for less than ten minutes. By the handwritten note, Tony had researched you in advance, now, it was your turn.

…

Tony’s POV

“I’ll be honest with you Ms. Wordsmith, the thing is, ever since I saw you at the coffee shop, drenched in coffee, I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

Okay, what? Did those words actually leave my mouth? That wasn’t supposed to be uttered in front of her. Sure, the statements were true, but, whatever happened to the smooth-talker, unapologetic womanizer Tony! He was back at the lab probably judging the shit outta this guy.

The air conditioning was faulty in this place, I think, feeling sweat beads trickle down my back. The fanciest restaurants in New York with the most beguiling lady sitting across and all my mind focuses on is the goddamn AC?

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about you too, Mr. Stark. I think you’re possibly the most spoiled bratty billionaire I’ve met.”

Her words stirred something in me, my cock twitched curiously at them as I smirked, cleverly hiding my shock at the honesty. No woman was ever this frank before, this was new, intriguing.

I could tell she was interested, just by the way all of her focus was on me, her body angled towards mine, her gorgeous eyes taking in every movement, as if memorizing it.

I hadn’t been subtle either, her personality, her curves, her aura were all too inviting for me to back down. Ever since I laid eyes on her, I knew I had to meet her again, keep meeting her for reasons unknown.

Other girls I’d met were pretty much cut from the same cloth, pretty things wearing tight dresses that accentuated their boobs enough to skip dessert and take them home. That usually ended in Pepper kicking them out in the morning before any of them had a chance to say ‘we should do this again sometime’.

Not Y/N though.

I wanted to listen to her, speak to about absolutely nothing, bring her home, explore every bit of that smart mouth, run my hands all over her soft skin, and claim her as mine…

Whoa there! Some boundaries, Stark. It’s only the first date.

“Earth to Tony?”

I snapped back to reality with her hand waving in front of my face, dear God, I wasn’t on my best game tonight.

“Did you say something I missed?”

Damn it. Obviously she had. What a question even?!

“I just wanted to know if you’d like to split a chocolate cake with me?” Her eyebrows raised in wonder as the waitress patiently stood next to the table, waiting for me to give some sort of reply.

Geez. Was this woman for real? I could’ve kissed her senseless right there. I don’t think any of my previous dates had even uttered the word cake before, let alone chocolate.

“Right uh, sure. Yes.” I cleared my throat and croaked, downing the rest of my drink, giving myself a mental shake.

“Are you alright?” She asked, leaning forward, concern filled in her eyes.

“Perfect. I was just preoccupied with something, I’m sorry. Tell me about where you grew up.”

The whiskey provided some liquid courage for me to get up from my seat and join her on her side of the booth. There was plenty of space but I had to make sure our knees touched, I couldn’t sit too far away, not now.

Angling my body toward her, I laid my arm against the backrest as she spoke, willing my eyes not to slip down to her tempting lips or the way her gesturing moved her blouse slightly to reveal her cleavage.

As her lips moved, a part of my brain registered the words while the other hornier part focused on the way her lips formed the perfect O, the way her tongue danced along making me wonder how it would feel wrapped around my length. The sounds that would leave her as I fucked that pretty little mouth, then her, and make her mine.

“Honestly, the whole thing was such a shitshow, I would not mind a sugar daddy at this point!” She laughed, making something flutter inside my chest cavity.

“A sugar daddy huh? How about an eccentric, genius billionaire?”

I smirked, letting my fingers skim the soft skin of her shoulders, pleased at the effect I had on her as she blushed.

Something changed in her eyes as she shifted closer to me, curiosity replaced by something darker, more carnal.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I murmured, looking down at her lips that screamed to be kissed.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re begging me to devour you until you scream my name.”

That very moment, both of us shifted closer until our lips finally met. That very moment, I knew I was in trouble.

The kiss was everything I had imagined and everything I hadn’t. She tasted like a dream, a mix of chocolate and berries mixed with a bit of wine she’d been drinking. I couldn’t get enough.

My lips glided over hers smoothly, tongue peeking out testing the waters at first but as her hands found their way up my chest, I knew she wanted more.

I could’ve been more drunk on her than the whiskey as we kissed, the restaurant had faded away into oblivion long ago.

Her tongue skimmed along my lower lip shyly, making me smirk against her mouth and card my fingers through her hair, pulling her closer.

“Mind if we get out of here?” I breathed, momentarily halting the kissing to look into her eyes.

She nodded, unable to form words as she bit her bottom lip to stifle a grin, her eyes swimming with the same want and desire that was probably reflecting in mine.

“Do your worst, Stark.”

A/N: Here we go! Chapter 1. Feedback is love, as always.

[worstjourney]

Today is Free Comic Book Day, and tradition dictates that I unlock a bunch of Patreon posts and throw open the doors for the Internet to come sniff in the cupboards and kick the wheels and such.

Alas, my 2024 has been FAR too busy to do this again, but luckily Patreon has made it much easier for folks to get to the free stuff, any day of the year. You can sign up as a free member (above) and get new public posts, and posts that become public, delivered to your email. You can sign up for a one-week free trial at any of the open tiers, and get seven days' unrestricted access to seven years of archived posts at that tier.

That's a lot of posts!

You can also click on THIS LINK and see every single free post, forever, for free. That'll keep you busy for at least a day.

I have taken April 'off' both book work and Patreon in order to clear an enormous mountain of admin which was preventing any real work getting done. That has, thankfully, mostly been taken care of, and I've found some time to stack up the Patreon queue for May and beyond. So if you like drawings and polar history (why else are you here?) there'll be plenty to fill your boots in the months ahead.

[maymayandthehog]

OKAY. I GUESS THAT'S FAIR ENOUGH. LOOK, LET ME MAKE ONE THING CLEAR UP FRONT, OK? I'M NOT TRYING TO DO SOME KIND OF BACK DOOR STUNT HERE, LOOKING TO WEASEL INTO A PLACE WHERE I ALREADY KNOW I'M NOT WANTED SO I CAN GET "ACCESS" OR WHATEVER. I'M SO OVER THE WHOLE MESS. I DON'T HAVE "REVENGE ON MY MIND" OR A "COMEBACK TOUR" OR WHATEVER. HAD TIME, BEEN FORCED THROUGH INVOLUNTARY PSYCHIATRIC CONFINEMENT, HAD MY WHOLE HISTORY DOXXED ALL OVER THE INTERNET, ALL THAT JAZZ.

YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY AND YOU DON'T HAVE TO CIRCLE THE WAGONS. I WANTED TO MOVE ON BUT ONE OF THE BIZILLION UNIVERSAL VARIANTS OF YOUR GRUNKLE JUST CRASHED INTO MY LIVING ROOM, AND HE WANTS TO MAKE A DEAL WITH ME, AND I'M... NEVER MIND. THIS ISN'T YOUR PROBLEM.

(@annoyangle)

Candy, cut the stream.

"What? But we haven't even gotten to the Caps for Capybaras segment yet—"

I said cut the stream!

---

She pushed back in her seat, wheels scraping against the floor as they fought desperately against a decade's worth of grime, rust, and sugar that had built up their axles.

Candy and Grenda exchanged a look. The emails were blind printed in advance in order to provide a truly authentic host reaction. There had always been some level of risk involved in this, and over the years they had received a few oddball questions (typically signed with a cursive double G), but this was the first time they had to kill a stream mid-response.

One of the capybaras chittered to itself. Grenda set a large box of hats down on the table next to it, and gave it a stern shhhh.

"NOT NOW. THE HOST IS THINKING."

Mabel stood, the abrupt movement nearly sending her chair toppling backwards. Clapping her hands together, she turned to face the two, and gave both a slightly strained smile.

"Girls! It's been a long day, right? We've all worked hard. Grenda, you carried all SIX of those capybaras up here on your shoulders! I know my back would be screaming!"

"MY MUSCLES ARE LIKE IRON, BUT EVEN IRON CAN BREAK," Grenda wearily agreed.

"It's important to remember to bend with your knees," said Candy. She looked a bit uncertain. "Perhaps we could take a short rest..."

"Great!" Mabel began folding the print out, and slid the paper into her back pocket. "We have the capybaras until tomorrow morning. Let's meet early and we can hammer out the rest of today's shoot. It wont be a live audience, but, I mean, given our track record, I think our fans will find it in their hearts to forgive us—"

"Ah, yes, of course, but, Mabel—"

"I mean, twelve years and not a single missed episode. I'd say that's pretty good!"

"Yes, it's excellent, but Mabel—"

"And it's not like we didn't save the world or anything! If nothing else, they gotta cut us some slack for that, right?!"

"Mabel!"

"Errr.... yes, Candy?"

"It's okay. We don't have to finish the episode. We are just... worried! The question—it seemed to upset you."

"Oh," Mabel faltered a bit. Her hand hovered briefly over the small, paper rectangle, then dropped at her side. "No, I'm okay. Just... a lot to think about, you know? School's starting Tuesday and I still have so much to do... Just your typical pre-class jitters. Every teacher gets 'em!”

“You never get the jitters.”

Mabel circled out from behind the table, so that she could throw an arm around Candy's shoulders and begin steering her towards the door. “Haha, what can I say? You’re looking at a more mature Mabel this year! With age comes anxiety! I guess it’s bad enough that one weird email was enough to throw me off my game. But I'll be better tomorrow, promise."

"Hmm,” hmmed Candy.

"I'll let you take the capybaras home,” Mabel offered, weakly.

"YEAHHH! CAPYBARAS!" Grenda flung her fists into the air. "THEY'RE LIKE BUNNIES THAT YOU CAN RIDE!" She reached down and grabbed one of the rodents by its mid-section, then hauled it up over her shoulders. It squeaked.

Candy turned towards her, alarmed. "Your knees, Grenda! Use your knees!"

As Grenda barreled out of the room and down the creaking stairwell, Candy gave Mabel a final look. "Well, so long as you're sure... I suppose we can finish Sunday." She looked down at the five remaining animals. "And they are very cute."

"They're soooooo cute.”

"Okay. Sunday. What time?"

"Uhhh... I'll text you?"

"Right." For a moment, the ghost of a frown weighed down Candy's features, but dissipated as she seemed to reach a decision. Carefully, she began to usher the rest of the capybaras into the hall. "Okay, capybaras. This way."

"Bye, Candyyyy!"

"Goodbye, Mabel. Let us know if you need to talk. Our ears are always open."

"Yeah..." Mabel waved, still smiling as the lock clicked into place. "I know."

Standing in the now empty attic, Mabel sighed and glanced towards the streaming set up. The light were still on, the boom mic still stood by her seat. She navigated back to the table, bent, and unplugged the powerstrip. The lights shut off.

"Okay, Bill," she said, straightening. "I know you're here. Let's talk."

[reginaldqueribundus]

the year is 2048. a smiling young farmer in a power wheelchair sells me the biggest bag of muesli I've ever seen out of a market stall built from repurposed drone parts. he sees the toys in my reusable bag and insists on throwing in some homemade cat treats “on the house”. I get an email from the wind farm: they've deposited another $20 in my account for using up excess electricity outside peak hours, so I decide to splurge on some flavoured honey and boba tea. I tell the barista I feel like a billionaire today and she smiles politely and asks me what a “billionaire” is. I run into an old friend handing out free insulin packets and we spend some time catching up. I've got a new gig at the organ printing depot and she's on rotating job assignments with the Workers' Cooperative: this month is insulin distribution, last month was reprogramming robot dogs as automated planters for the pollinator farm, next month she'll be on a work crew converting the old football stadium into a greenhouse. She's been sleeping in the park (by choice, of course, the local housing co-op has tons of suites open) but the climate bureau is cloud seeding this weekend and we're expecting a lot of rain. I invite her to crash at my place. She smiles and says she would like that. Our trolley ride home is briefly halted by an impromptu pride parade and the sun is setting as we pass the ivy-covered sign advertising the golf course that once existed where my neighbourhood now stands. A friendly technician explains she's just finished replacing the faulty router on our block so we can use the public WiFi again. I start a fire in the fireplace and sort through some mail: a postcard from one of my exes in Hawaii installing carbon dioxide scrubbers that double as frog habitats, a flyer for a music recital at the rehab clinic, and a letter from International Blood Services declining my donation because they are fully stocked. I ask my Global Music Archive uplink to select a random decade, country and genre and it starts a playlist while the two of us snuggle together on the couch under a hand-knitted blanket and my cat makes biscuits on top. On TV, a newscaster says global temperatures are at their lowest point in the last 40 years. I flip channels to some standup comedian saying kids these days don't know how to conceal when they're high because there's no cops anymore. We laugh until the rain softly falling on the roof lulls us to sleep.

[negativepeanuthoarder]

PLEASE MORE PREGGOS SAP N DNN PLEASEEE either angst or fluff

Alright I'm going to set a timer for 20 minutes and write as much as I can :)

944 words, not proofread, Mpreg, no smut, one mention of weight gain/loss

"I feel awful," Sapnap grumbles, lying down on the couch and staring at the ceiling. He really has - waking up every morning with horrible vomiting and fatigue, unable to do much of anything except lie down and sleep, and he can't even do that half the time.

"I know," Dream walks past and touches Sapnap's head before putting a cup of tea on the little table beside him. It's ginger tea, supposed to soothe his upset stomach.

Sapnap sips at it weakly, exhausted. "What even causes this stuff anyways?"

"It's probably just a virus," Dream assures as George walks into the room, spotting Sapnap and Dream on the couch and making a beeline for them both.

"It can't be a virus," George comments casually, leaning onto Sapnap like a nosy cat. "You've been sick for like a week now and none of us have caught it."

Sapnap sighs. "Do you think it's going to go away?"

"Probably," Dream assures. "If you throw up tomorrow we'll go to the doctor's."

"Mm," Sapnap mumbles, rolling over a little and burying himself in throw pillows and blankets, wanting nothing more then to nap for a while and hopefully sleep this off.

George inches closer until they're cuddled up against one another and Dream smiles at them both, gently leaning to kiss Sapnap's forehead and George's cheek, before standing. "I've got some work to do in my office, okay? But I promise I'll be right back when I'm done, we can watch a movie or play a game."

"Okay," Sapnap mumbles. "Can you email someone for me and tell them I can't stream?"

"Of course," Dream assures. "Love you."

"Love you too," Sapnap mumbles, sighing as he finally sinks into the mattress and into a dreamless sleep.

-

George is deeply suspicious of this.

For one, Sapnap throwing up constantly without getting Dream and George sick is weird enough on it's own, but there's other things he's picking up on that neither Sapnap nor Dream seem to notice.

Sapnap frequently leaving their bed in the middle of the night, avoiding foods he used to like while gravitating towards stuff he normally hates, the slight weight gain even though they've been working out all the time.

All signs point to Sapnap being pregnant, which is completely ridiculous because Sapnap can't get pregnant.

Which is why George hasn't brought it up.

But today's as good a day as any to bring this up to Dream and ask what he thinks. George is getting a little sick of feeling like the only person around here with eyeballs.

He releases Sapnap gently, running his hand over his boyfriend's midsection just in case, wondering if he's actually right, if there is a little baby growing inside Sapnap. Sapnap whines in his sleep and rolls over, away from George, and George slips out of the living room and to Dream's office.

"Can we talk?" He asks, knocking at the open door.

Dream tugs off his headphones. "Yeah, what's up?"

George sighs. This is going to be a weird conversation so he might as well get it out of the way. "I think Sapnap's pregnant."

Dream stares at him for a long moment before snorting, amused. "Okay. That's pretty funny - just because he's caught something or had food poisioning doesn't mean he's-"

"I'm serious," George frowns at him. "He's getting up all the time, has all this weird food stuff, sleeps all day, he's sick, and on top of that he's gained a little weight. He's pregnant."

Dream looks at George for a long moment, trying to process that information. "But... George he's - he can't get pregnant, he doesn't even have a like... uterus. That's impossible."

"It's either that or he's got some weird illness that's masqerading as pregnancy," George sighs. "Look it couldn't hurt to take a pregnancy test, can it?"

Dream looks skeptical. "Yeah, that won't hurt, but good luck convincing Sapnap he's pregnant."

George slinks off, ordering a pregnancy test for same-day delivery online as he does so, and trots back to the living room.

-

Turns out Sapnap is extremely easy to convince he needs to take a pregnancy test. He thinks it's a joke and humors George by taking it.

And then it comes back positive. He's pregnant. He really is pregnant. Sapnap is pregnant.

"This doesn't- I'm not even- I shouldn't-" Sapnap mutters, sitting down at a barstool while Dream and George get food for the three of them. "This shouldn't even be possible."

"Well... we'll get a good look at the doctor's office tomorrow," Dream sighs, before walking over to kiss Sapnap's head. "But until then you probably need to rest for a little, okay?"

Sapnap agrees, purely because he's really tired and just wants to nap in their bed. He also wants them to snuggle with him, and he wants the cats to snuggle with him too, even though they're entirely disinterested in doing that.

Except Patches, who leans against him and purrs while he sleeps, warm and safe in their big bed. Dream joins him a little later with a laptop to work on, and George climbs in with his phone. He likes resting his hand on Sapnap's tummy.

George loves it, loves feeling like he's holding a baby inside Sapnap, a little jelly bean. Their baby, all three of them. Their little baby growing inside Sapnap. He loves it. He loves them already, because they're a part of Sapnap and George loves Sapnap and he loves Dream and he loves whatever this is.

Even if this is all a false alarm. But that's a worry for tomorrow. Today George is happy with his boyfriends and their baby.

[makoredeyes]

It’s been six months and the series is still going so I thought I’d throw this back out into the wild today! Earlier entries in the series are more stand-alone but the further on you get the more interconnected they are, so for folks just arriving and seeing my update posts, if you’re lost, this is where you start.

Conflagration, inspired by artwork by the incomparable @/Sylenth-l begins the journey of the On Like A Housefire series, now 22 fics and counting (#23 is in production) following the loves, lives, and losses of primarily Osiris, Felwinter, and Timur from the Dark Age right up to more or less current game canon.

Overarching thematics are widely romantic, with some healthy doses of drama, action, and angst. (And a sprinkling of kink smut, just to keep it that Warlock level of Weird)

*Don’t let the rarepairs/triad scare you off, I back my shit up.

4/25/24 EDIT: For those of you who do not have an AO3 Membership yet, I have a handful of invites on hand. Given the recent bot attacks, I encourage my readers to sign up. It is free and easy to join, but requires either an invite or a wait list vetting from the site (to avoid exactly this kind of problem). If you'd like an invite please DM me with an email address.