#they weren’t actually sick it was just to get them to shut their gob but still like. even if they weren’t sick

[530862]

SO fucking crazy to me that people will make fun of others for wearing masks out in public like haha why are you still wearing that you dont gotta anymore . but it’s like ?? I guess they see it as ‘this person is so fucking stupid and crazy and annoying and paranoid for thinking theyre gonna catch something 🙄🙄🙄’ it’s like ? ? bro it’s for your protection too. stupid.

[delwrites]

HI HI james is my pookie rn too and I'm craving fics so !!!!

consider. James with a really studious kinda reader (I'm thinking Ravenclaw but house doesn't have to be specified), academic rivals to lovers? like reader gets the best scores in most subjects but just can't manage to beat James in transfigurations? perhaps one day they find themselves struggling so much they just HAVE to ask him for help (as much as they hate to admit it) and they realize he's actually not as insufferable as they thought he'd be... then study sessions (cough dates cough) get more frequent and I think you can imagine where this is heading

hope you understand what I'm trying to say ^_^ you don't have to write this if you're struggling or don't feel like it but thanks in advance if you do 💋💋

an- i have to be honest, i didn’t write this alone… @koishua posted a list of prompts for academic rivals and i used a few, big shoutout to them thank you so much, they helped a bunch <3 this request was amazing, thanks babe!

James Potter loved to get on your nerves.

The smug bastard had seen how good you were in all your subjects, so he just loved to hold your greatest shame over your head; transfigurations. That bitch.

His annoying attitude paired with his holier-than-thou perspective vexed you to no end. But what irritated you the most was how genuinely gifted he was, when you could barely understand the simplest of spells. It was unlike you, and he knew it, and gosh he loved to rub your face in it. You dreaded every upcoming test, and no matter how hard you studied, it made no difference when it came to putting the theory into practice. You hated him and his smug fucking face.

His smug, handsome face. 

Before you had spoken to him, you almost could’ve sworn your heart jumped in your chest a little. Before he had opened his fat gob, you’d almost thought you actually found him sufferable. Oh how wrong you’d been. 

“Exam coming up, sweetheart. I can’t wait to rub my superiority in your face, again!” You rolled your eyes as James took his respective seat next to you. Regrettably, you’d allowed him to be your seatmate, the first day of lessons your eyes following him as he smoothly slid down on the shared desk next to you. You didn’t realise, at the time, just what you were getting yourself in for.

“Oh shut it, Potter, this time is the time I get you back, just you wait.” You spat his name out with as much venom as you could fathom, before he let out a surprisingly loud laugh at your words.

“Please, oh I’d love to see that!” The bastard. You’d show him, you just had to.

The next day was the first time where this pointless rivalry had faltered, it almost made you like him. Almost. You were sick, in bed all day with a flu that was going around. It was hardly anything serious, you weren’t exactly bedridden, but you didn’t want to pass it on to any of your respective classmates (although you wouldn’t mind poisoning a certain one). 

It was late afternoon, just after last period, when a certain displeasing bespectacled boy was at your dorm room door, rasping a melodious knock that tore a groan from your throat. 

“Come in!” He peeked his head around the door, a cheery expression faltering at your state, before coming back tenfold, a detail you missed having your arm thrown over your eyes. 

“You had no right to get sick!” He all but whined. You looked at him incredulously, baffled by his sudden outburst.

“Who am I supposed to annoy now?” 

“Well I didn’t mean to get sick!” You reply, exasperated by his antics, and the annoying tone his voice was piercing your brain with.

He smirked at you, happy you still had your argumentative nature with him, even in your state, before handing you a bundle of parchment.

“Uh, here.” He gives you a lopsided grin, best he could muster for you right now, before clasping his hands behind his back, rocking himself back and forth from the balls to the heels of his feet.

Upon reading the parchment, you instantly knew what he’d done. You furrowed your brows upon glancing over his notes (in aggravatingly nice handwriting, might you add).

“What, and the joke is they’re all wrong or something?” you say, clearly irritated, waiting for him to get to the point, hit you with the punchline. 

“No! No, I just, um, want my win to be a fair one, you know? Can’t have you falling behind, can we?” By this point, his feet had planted firmly beside your bed, hand going up to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I, uh, used my best handwriting and everything. I know you always complain about how ‘illegible’ it is so I, y’know, wanted to make sure you could read them…” he says, his hand then gesturing to the aforementioned papers in your grasp. All you could do was stare at them, trying to figure out his real intentions. James Potter wouldn’t just do something nice for you, would he?

Upon your silence, his brain scrambles to fill it, “You can read it, right?”. You feel a smile fighting onto your face, a genuine, stupid smile trying to unabashedly show itself. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah I can read it, idiot. Um seriously, I- thank you?”

“Wow, don’t have to sound so genuine.”

“No, James, seriously, it, um, it means a lot…” your eyes stick onto the post at the end of your bed, your duvet suddenly feeling suffocatingly warm. 

James can’t help but feel stunned at your use of his actual name. It felt silly, but he could feel your resolve crashing down before him, it made his own rear its head into the room, before he heard your door open, signalling his departure.

“Right, well I’ll, uh, see you later.” He gives you his best grin, teeth and all, before scooting past your friend to go back to his friends, a confusing blush covering his cheeks. Shit.

Your next lesson back, you couldn’t help but feel your anger tenfold. You had read over his notes and, for fucks sake, they were amazing. You already had a better understanding of the subject just after two, maybe three sides of parchment. I mean wow, what a dickhead. A super smart, super hot dickhead. You took your spot next to him, not daring to give him a glance.

“Woah, you’re awfully quiet. Finally realise I’m so much better than you at this?” He turns to you, smug smirk on his lips that you just wanna smack (kiss) off his stupid face. You turn to him as well, so suddenly that he almost flinches. 

“Teach me.” 

It certainly wasn’t what he was expecting you to say, but if it led to you here, now, like this, then boy was he glad. You were sitting practically thigh to thigh in the library after school, you requesting his help right up until dinner (or however much of it you could take until then). 

After around two hours of his help, you hated to say that you were already seeing improvement on your behalf. You’d never seen him so serious, not shy to crack jokes of course, but you could tell he was genuinely trying to help you. There were points where you couldn’t help but get distracted, watching his hands run over the pages, using them to further drive his points home, not shying away from the proximity like you desperately wanted him to. Every time you asked him to repeat himself, he’d poke your side, asking if he’s going too fast for you (not quite as teasingly as you’d expect him to, though), before repeating himself in a way that he deemed would make things more clear for you. It’s his fault, anyway. If he hadn’t been so close, so touchy, you wouldn’t get distracted in the first place. Hell, you could practically feel his breath on your neck. Despicable. You could only pray he couldn’t feel your heart rate speeding up, body temperature rising. If he knew the reason for your getting distracted, he sure as hell wasn’t showing it, at least having the decency of saving you the embarrassment. 

It all came to an end (sadly) when Remus came into the library, looking for a particular book and finding more than he bargained for. A smirk overcame his face, before walking over to you both, bending next to James’ ear to mutter a quick “Sirius has been looking for you,” and leaving you both to your devices as he continued scouring the library for his book, discreetly eyeing you both up. 

“Thanks again for, y’know, everything.” You say awkwardly, wringing your hands together in a manner which had his eyebrows creasing, lips in a straight line before sucking in a sharp breath, replying with a genuine, “Hey, I get it. Having a reputation to uphold and what-not, it can be a lot…” You just nod, eyeing up his face for any indication of him not meaning what he was saying, sniffing out any traces of a potential trap. 

“No really, you make a great teacher.” You beam up at him, the closeness of him making your breath catch in your throat, faces so close you could almost…

“I am brilliant, aren’t I?” Moment ruined. 

You let out a genuine (albeit, surprised) laugh in his face before gathering your ink and quill, putting all the parchment used into your bag and holding out a hand to him. 

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

[griffxnnage]

always || h.p || part one

pairing: harry potter x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of wounds (harry’s detention sc*rs), mentions of death

a/n: i had some fun with this one! it goes a bit off the whole storyline, but it isn’t too bad.

Being dropped off on the Weasley's doorstep was probably the best thing that happened to me. Well, the second best thing; Harry Potter was the first best thing. Watching him get sorted into Gryffindor, a smile on his face, and his eyes on mine, will always be a cherished memory of mine.

Another one would probably have to be when I accidentally confessed my love for him. Let me explain.

Ok, picture this: 5th year. Gryffindor common room. Sitting beside Harry, alone, and in front of the fireplace. His scarred hand in my two smaller ones. He'd just come back from detention with Umbridge, and I'd caught a glimpse of his fresh cuts, my face paling in colour at the sight of blood. "Harry, what the hell!" I exclaimed, dread flooding my chest. "How can she do this to you? Well, how about you stay outta detention? You have to stop worrying me like this! It's been hard enough with OWL's and shit, and now you're being tortured by that she-devil? Wow, sometimes it sucks to be in love with you," I stopped at once, realizing what I'd said, and slowly looked up from his scarred, red hand to his face, expecting a disgusted huff, and a dismissive look.

 What I found instead was two, gorgeous blue-green eyes, staring at me with a look of admiration and relief, and a huge, toothy, goofy grin. "Y/N, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say those words; I've been wanting to tell you how I've been for so long, and now that you feel the same way- Ugh, brilliant!" he exclaimed, his grin only growing wider when I pulled him in for a long, tight hug.

Ok, now onto the actual story.

Now, 7th year, in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts outside of the Room of Requirement, catching our breath, Harry crumpled to the floor, clutching his forehead. "Harry, you can't let him in!" Hermione cried, scared for his safety. He either didn't listen, or he couldn't hear her, because he just laid there on the floor, leaning against the wall, clutching his scar. 

After what seemed like forever, he cleared his throat, standing shakily with a look of fear in his eyes. "Harry, what's wrong? What did you see?" Worrying all the time kind of came along with being the Chosen One's significant other. "Y/N, love,” He looked at me with a sad smile. “I think there's something about me that just isn't right, and I think I’ve been denying it to myself for a while now. I have this strange feeling that a part of Voldemort is a part of me; what I'm trying to say that its a possibility that I might be a Horcrux." He'd been looking at his runners, but when he uttered that last word, he looked at me with a pained, sorry expression on his face, which made my heart shatter. "Harry, you can't be; it doesn't make sense! No, I can't- I won't believe this." Hermione came up behind me and put her arm around me, rubbing mine, and muttered, "Actually, Y/N, it does make sense," 

As she explained to me how it was a very high possibility Harry was correct, my ears started to ring and my vision began to fog, tears welling in the corners of my eyes. 'He can't be a Horcrux, it's not possible,' I kept thinking to myself, repeating it like a mantra; a sick, twisted mantra that would never help me, no matter how many times I uttered it. 

Harry came up to me and pulled me into a gentle hug, putting his face in my hair and whispered, "Y/N, it's going to be ok. I'll never leave your side. I'll always be here with you, and I'll always have your back, just as long as you have mine," His words didn't help my crumbling emotional state, but they set my heart at ease, and I echoed, "Harry, I'll be here, always." 

~~

"Goyle's set the bloody place on fire!" Ron screamed, running past us with a look of terror on his face. The 3 of us followed Ron, dodging all of the falling objects, and the stray curses and hexes Malfoy and Zabini were firing at us. As we rounded corner after corner, when I looked behind me, I thought I could make out certain creatures in the flames, which didn't make it any better. The fiendfyre chased after us, making us go in circles, and blocking any exits.  For one moment, I thought we were going to be burnt alive, until Harry cast 'Aguamenti' to create a shield around us, causing Ron to get startled and fall back. "Oi, we could use these!" I heard from behind me. Ron had fallen back into some brooms, and I couldn't have been more relieved. After he tossed everyone a broom, we all took flight and frantically searched for an exit. 

"Come on, this way!" Ron shouted over the roar of the fiendfyre. We all followed him, ready to leave. I turned my head to see Harry looking back. I followed his eyeline to find Malfoy and Zabini holding on for their lives on top of a pile of chairs. Harry met my eyes, and yelled, "We can't leave them!" I nodded in agreement, and turned around sharply, heading for them. It took a couple tries, but we were able to get them, and leave the Room of Requirement with the diadem without being killed. 

After destroying the diadem and watching the Slytherin's scamper away, we all collapsed on the floor, breathing heavy with smiles on our faces. "Well, now there's only so many left," I chuckled, clutching my side. "What was that you said to me, Ron? 'If we die for them, I'm going to kill you'?" Harry's puzzled expression and goofy smile made us all laugh. But the laughing was soon replaced with silence when I felt an arm around me from behind and a wand pressed into my neck.

"Hello, leverage," Lucius Malfoy whispered into my hair. My eyes widened, and my heart dropped to my toes. I tried to struggle, but his grip on me tightened and his wand pressed further into my neck, causing me to wince, a whimper escaping my lips. "Oh, now now, little Y/N, you'll see him again. Only to watch him die." All I remember was Harry lunging to grab me, then the feeling of being squeezed through a very tight tube. 

After apparating out of the castle, I found myself in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, surrounded by the meanest, most vile looking witches and wizards I'd ever seen. They weren't crowding me per say, but they surrounded me like vultures, and it made me nervous. I was about to make a snarky remark until I noticed they all had their wands drawn, and aimed in my general direction. I knew then it would be a good time to keep my gob shut.

Just when things couldn't get any worse, I felt a presence behind me that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My eyes opened slightly, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Mr. Harry Potter's little belle." The voice belonged to none other than the Dark Lord himself. Voldemort.

I kept my eyes down, and saw his bare, pale feet walk upon the forest floor, and a giant snake following him, closely. His dark robes brushed against my cheek and I flinched away. He came in front of me and knelt down, watching my movements intently. He took his wand, using it to make me look at him and I couldn't help but shiver at the motion. 

"You know why you're here, don't you, Ms. L/N?" His voice had been in my head before, but hearing it up close and personal made my skin crawl. I nodded feebly. "I'm," I cleared my throat. "I'm bait, aren't I?" Voldemort smiled a hideous smile and stood, turning to his followers. "We have ourselves a smart one here!" he declared to the delight of the Death Eaters, who cackled.

"You, my dear, are my advantage over your little lover boy. You are the one who is going to bring me Harry Potter."

[mybrothershands]

MBH/Dumpling Crossover

featuring @diddlesanddoodles lovely characters and edited by @thundering-sussurus

"No," Cairo said blatantly before Ka had a chance.

Farris eyed Cairo with a deadpan expression.

“Luckily, we ain’t so desperate a condition as to be needin’ yer services,” Farris replied, but there was a single vein along his temple that pulsed in repressed irritation. His eyes moved back up to Ka and he asked, “Ye always let that one talk fer ye?”

The man clamped his hand over Cairo's mouth. A lump had formed in Ka's throat, and he swallowed. "Ah... I, that is." He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Something about the man made him anxious, and he could not help but shuffle in place a bit. "No, I thank you very much for... for letting me work."

He glanced over at the men working the enormous pumpkins. It was so odd to see so many halfling giants in one place. They were a far cry from being human, and yet their weathered hands seemed small and delicate as they worked. Somehow they had cultivated larger foodstuffs, and Ka found himself a bit jealous. They did not look as lumbering or stupid as he must. There were so few foods that were to-scale for his kind, and yet these people seemed to have every luxury and more, even if some of the animals were a bit... unorthodox.

He quickly looked away, realizing he must have been staring. Ka's eyes moved to Nenani, still sitting comfortably in Farris's arm. It was then he realized this must be the man who watched her while she was sick. The giant cocked his head ever so slightly. Maybe there was more to this man.

Ka picked his head up, meeting the little giant's eyes for the first time. They were a piercing pale green, and he felt as if they might bore right through him. He cleared his throat, trying not to look away. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime? Anything at all. Decorations hung, moving tables..." he cringed before offering the next suggestion, thinking of what he might be asked to do to those poor birds, "...unloading the wagon?"

Farris did not miss the heavy reluctance in his voice.

“I know a tenderfoot when I see one. So stop lookin’ like a panicked scullery maid,” Farris admonished.

Scullery maid? Still, Ka nodded at the instructions, more than happy to listen in silence. "Yessir, thank you," he said when Farris was done, then eyed Avery. He was not sure how he felt about being called a beanpole, but, in any case, he seemed to have gotten over his shock well enough. Past that, he did not seem as hard as Farris. None of them did.

Cairo, however, was getting testy at constantly having his mouth shut by giant fingers. "You're gonna suffocate me," the human grumbled when he was finally free. His companion ignored him and listened for instructions.

“Avery and Bart will handle the birds. Yer with Saen on pumpkin duty. They need broken down, cut up, and fried so my bakers can get them into the pies and into the ovens for luncheon service.” He turned around to call out towards the black-haired cook sitting among the piles of pumpkins. “Avery. Come and start in on these birds. I want the first batches roastin’ within the hour.”

Avery stood, looking utterly relieved to be taken off pumpkin duty, and marched towards them. His step faltered, however, as he got his first real look at Ka. But he squared his shoulders and continued towards the cart, trying to play off his momentary hesitation.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, glancing him up and down as he fished two of the birds from the back of the cart. He held one under each of his burly arms. “Who’s the bean pole?”

“Ka’s helpin’ out today,” Farris replied dismissively. “Now shut yer gob and get to it. The spice mixture is in the green jar on the counter. Should be enough fer all of ‘em, so don’t be too heavy handed.” He turned towards Ka and jerked his head in a clear indication for him to follow. “We move fast down here, understand? Ye have a question? Ask it. And I ain’t no babysitter either. Only child down here is the lil’un.”

Farris led him over to the fire pit. A table had been placed nearby, and on it sat a few knives, a long handled wooden spoon, and two large crocks: one of butter and the other of honey. Farris eyed the knives and then said, “I’ll get a more size appropriate knife fer ye. In the meantime, sit down and Yale will be back with yer breakfast.”

"Thank you," Ka said as he approached the pit. He nodded politely to the one called Saen and noticed how the little giant's hair stuck up in the front. At first glance, he looked a bit puckish, though that was yet to be determined. Ka found and palmed the pumpkin Avery had left behind. There was a patch of the orange skin the skin already shaved off, he noted. Taking a moment to study it, Ka sat down near the table and took one of the small knives, despite Farris's offer.

After a few attempts to work with the little knife that felt like a kid's toy in his hand, he seemed to remember something. "Oh, I actually have... my own." He pulled on the strap of his satchel, then flipped the top open, producing a six-foot blade that was definitely not a kitchen knife. It was blunted and had several nicks in it, however, apparently unloved. He reached out, arm easily closing the distance, and held it into the flames for a moment to burn off any filth.

"I am Ka, by the way," he said, eyeing the man who looked about his age. "He told me your name, but... I'm afraid I've already forgotten."

Putting down his own knife, Saen extended a welcoming hand to Ka.

“I’m Saen,” replied the cook with a wide friendly smile. Ka at first reached out with his left hand to shake, but then realized his error and switched the pumpkin to his other hand and shook with his right. It did not feel too small, as he thought it might have. It was more like shaking a boy's hand, though calloused and firm.

"Saen," he repeated.

“And don’t mind Avery none," Sean continued. "He’s got all the tact of a mule and as much sense as a rusted penny.”

“I heard that!” Avery called as he came back up the steps from having delivered the first two birds to Bart.

“Maybe ye were meant to!” Saen retorted with a cheeky grin. Avery threw up a rude gesture as he went to the cart to collect two more birds. Saen just laughed and said, “Ye should be grateful this one came to rescue from prep work. Yer right shit at peeling.”

Yale appeared then at the top of the steps with the two meat pies, bundled up in a clean tea towel. He stopped to talk to Farris for a moment before continuing on towards Ka and Saen.

Nenani pulled at the kitchen master’s shirt to ask a question. “Fine. Just keep outta the way now and don’t be a pest, eh?” Farris warned before crouching down and releasing Nenani onto the ground.

“I won’t,” she promised and scampered along after Yale. Farris eyed the courtyard and the workers within before turning and taking the steps down into the kitchen.

Careful not to touch the still-hot blade, Ka made quick work of the gourd, peeling the skin away in long, thin ribbons. Both Yale and Saen watched with no small amount of awe at how Ka made such fast work of the gourd. With a wide grin, Saen turned to Yale. “Can we keep him?”

The pumpkin fit like a large potato in his hand, so the task really was not that difficult for him. Still, he bit back a smile and pretended to be too focused on his work to notice. Then two sets of feet approached, one big and one small, and he picked up his head. "Hello again," he greeted Yale. Finding Nenani on the ground, he thought it might be safe to release Cairo and set the pumpkin on the table. He double-tapped his chest as a warning before fishing the man out of his pocket.

Cairo grumbled a bit, but stretched as soon as his feet were on the grass. "Stiff as a board," he groaned, then reached his hand in his britches and scratched his rear.

Meanwhile, Nenani walked up to Cairo but stopped a few feet short. She bounced on her heels, a little bashful and said, “Hello.”

The man frowned, eyeing her with a squint. He looked the girl up and down, then squinted further. He turned his head and spit on the ground. "Can I help you?" he growled.

There weren’t many humans in the castle, and Nenani had wanted to ask the man questions about his life with Ka. But any questions she had died on her tongue as she stared down at the floor where Cairo had spit. She made a face and, looking back up, met his gaze with a disapproving frown. “That’s gross.”

He raised a brow. "So it is," Cairo said, a bit bored. He jerked his thumb back towards the kitchen where Farris had disappeared. "That one there, little man, he take care of you?"

She nodded. “Yeah. Everyone in the kitchen kind of does, but Farris is my actual guardian. See?” She reached into the top of her dress to pull out her marker. It was nothing but a simple leather strap with a struck metal medallion, and she held it up to him, showing off the side with Farris’s seal.

Cairo furrowed his brow and gave a simple grunt. "Collared you, then," he said. Still, it was rare he met one who did not fear the giants. Even Ka she had been kind to. Crossing his arms, he studied the piece, but did not move to touch. "Why?"

“It’s not a collar,” Nenani insisted with a mild glare. “It’s supposed to let everyone know I’m allowed to be here and to leave me alone. Because if you don’t have a marker, you might be trespassing. And not everyone here likes humans and might try to hurt you.”

The man regarded her for a moment. That did not bode well for him; then again, he had not planned to leave Ka's side, either. He thought for a moment longer, then spoke slowly. "We don't have anything like that," Cairo began, "but Ka does have a pocket that lets the regular folk know he's safe."

He had detested the idea of the marker at first, but on second thought, it might be quite nice to silently say that one was protected by a giant. A bit of a trophy in his mind. He then looked back and realized something else. "With protection comes..." He paused, trying to think of the correct word, and then realized what a stupid thought he had had. "I don't think it would be proper for me to wear one. It's my job to keep him safe, not the other way around."

She regarded him with confusion at first, looking back towards Ka and all his towering height and substantial bulk and then back at the much smaller Cairo. She smiled knowingly. “That’s what Jae says about Barnaby and Maevis. That Barnaby is more Maevis’s guardian than he is his.” She tucked her marker back inside her dress. “But don’t be worried about not having a marker of your own. Farris’s permission is good enough. No one will bother you while you’re here in the kitchens. I’ve only had one giant try and hurt me since I came here. I threw a pepperseed in his eye.”

Cairo raised his brow. "Good girl," he lauded. "And what did little man do when he found out?"

“Bart told Keral first,” she replied.

“What’s this about Keral?” Yale asked, having heard only the tail end of their conversation. He had moved to the fire pit and the large flat pan that had been placed atop a thin metal rack of sorts to hold it above the fire.

“I was telling him about Thrist trying to eat me that one time,” Nenani answered matter of factly.

Yale growled darkly at that. “Yeah, that swine-faced fucker ain’t gonna be tryin’ that again. He’s lucky Farris wasn’t around or he’d have had his arse fer curtains, and Keral would be down a scout.”

Cairo made an awkward snort before wiping his nose on his shirt. Eat her? What kind of hellish nightmare was this place?

"Do I put the pieces in there?" Ka asked, indicating the pan. He had finished skinning the pumpkin and rolled up his sleeves before uncorking the gourd. In truth, he had heard the conversation as well, but he was already squeamish at the idea and did not think he wanted to hear the rest of the tale.

"Down a scout?" Cairo asked, oblivious to Ka's discomfort. "You mean he ain't dead?"

“Aye, but first slice ‘em thin-like. They’ll cook faster that way,” Saen told Ka. He looked to Yale. “Lil’ man has a point though. Never did figure out how Keral managed to keep Thrist’s neck out of a noose.”

Yale shrugged, lips pinched into a frown. “I suppose bein’ the king’s favorite has it’s perks. So long he keeps him far away from the lass, I’m content with whatever hell trek Keral sent him on.”

Saen turned to Cairo. “Ye see, Thrist is a blue coat ranger. Ye might ‘a spotted one or two of ‘em here and abouts, but mostly they’re out in the provinces and the wilds, keepin’ an eye on things and reportin’ back to Keral who then reports to the King. He’s the captain of the Blue Rangers. Back when the Blood King was still alive, they were a bunch of murdering thugs. But since Keral took over, he’s been tryin’ to bring the order back to its original purpose.”

“He’s also Farris’s brother,” Nenani added.

"Brother," Ka muttered under his breath. There was a wafer-thin sneer on his face that faded as he shook his head. He hollowed out the pumpkin with a finger, holding the orange guts in his palm for a moment before holding them out. "You keep the seeds?" he spoke up in a kinder tone.

"And Farris would have wrent him limb from limb," Cairo said slowly, watching Yale's face as he said it.

“I’m sure he has his reasons, but I can’t say I wouldn’t have paid good coin to see that,” Yale replied. He sighed in resignation. “But Keral isn’t a bad sort, even if his men are pieces of walking rubbish. Probably the most cheerful man in the whole castle. Until ye make him mad and then he looks a lot more like Farris.”

“And his whiskey is top shelf. Got a bottle of it fer my nameday a few years back. But careful," Saen added. He gave Cairo a wink. "It’s got one hell of a kick.”

Ka adjusted his seat, still unsure what to do with the pumpkin guts in his hand. Finding no better place to put them, he tossed the glob into the fire and went to slicing up the pumpkin on the table.

Meanwhile, Cairo put a hand to his heart. "What! You take me for a drunkard? No, no, no no no," he waved both hands before himself. "Lost my uncle to the devil juice," he declared.

“Apologies,” Saen replied, shamefaced, and he raised his hands to placate the human. “Meant no offense. Sorry fer yer loss there, lad.”

Ka promptly knocked the man over with a knuckle. "Dirty liar."

"Hey!" he spat, brushing the dirt from his person as he got up.

The giant turned to meet Sean's eyes. "He likes mead. Had to carry him home half the time-- hey! Don't kick me! Old fart."

"You didn't let me finish," the human growled, glaring up at him. "I had him right where I wanted, too."

"Saen is nice, you shouldn't do that to him," Ka said plainly. This earned him another kick in the shin.

Saen recovered from his surprise quickly, looking to Yale with a haughty grin. “Ye hear that, Yale? I’m nice.”

Yale had grabbed up some of the sliced pumpkins and tossed them onto the pan with a knob of butter, and they began to sizzle. He waved the wooden spoon at his fellow and retorted, “Only ‘cause he’s never seen ye lose at the pebble toss. Or yer tantrum afterwards.”

“Ah, I don’t lose that often,” Saen replied, suddenly defensive.

“Well, the three shillings I won off ye last month say otherwise,” Yale replied as he turned his attention back to the frying pumpkin. He abruptly turned back to Saen as a memory suddenly resurfaced. “And then there was the time ye bit Kol.

“Oi. He stole my sausage,” Saen replied with a frown. “Fair punishment fer the crime.”

“Well, I think you’re nice,” Nenani said and Saen turned to smile at her.

“Why thank you,” he said.

“Even if you bite people,” she added with a grin.

Saen’s smile drooped and he held his arms out in exasperation. “It was one time, and I was drunk off my arse!”

Had Ka been wrong? Maybe his first impression had been right. They were not being rude, at least not to him, but it reminded him how little he knew. He was just an outsider, after all, so decided to keep his mouth shut for a little while. Since Yale had deemed his sliced pumpkin worthy of the frying pan, he regarded the small pile of gourds and wondered just how many pies they planned on making. He shrugged, taking another pumpkin and tossed end over end a up a couple times before setting to peeling again.

Cairo, however, had no such convictions. "You," he said, hammering a finger at Saen, "I like you." He crossed the lawn towards him, much to Ka's dismay. "So what's this about the king's whiskey," he paused, recollecting, "and what the ripe devil is a nameday, for that matter?"

Saen began slicing up more pumpkins but paused at Cairo’s question, regarding the human with a look of horror.

“Ye mean ye don’t have namedays where yer from?” Saen asked. “To celebrate ye bein’ a year older?”

The human squinted up at him. "It's a birth-day, you fool. Because it was the day you were...?" He shrugged. "Unless you hatched from an egg. I suppose you do look a bit like a lizard, then."

Saen slid his knife through the flesh of the pumpkin and paused, staring off into space as he realized the silly mistake he had made. “Oh. Birthdays...huh. Yeah, those.”

Off to the side, Nenani laughed. Saen sent a brief glare her way, but it left soon as it came and he moved on. “As fer the whiskey, it’s ain’t the king’s. Keral’s a bit famous fer his whiskey round here. He doles it out to those he deems worthy of it every once in a while. Farris may still have a bottle. Ask ‘im nice like and he may give ye a nip.”

“Best wait till end of day though,” Yale advised in good humor. “We ain’t bluffin’ about it havin’ a right kick. And we don’t need ya wanderin’ ‘round only fer ye to lose yer footin’ and fall arse end into the fire.”

Saen snickered. “Yeah, just ask Jae."

"Mmh," Cairo grumbled, waving his hand. "Never been one to ask nicely myself." He knocked twice on Saen's shin.

At the motion, Ka watched the man with round eyes and slowly shook his head back and forth. Still, Cairo did not seem to care, and repeated the motion.

Saen looked down curiously and titled his head. “May I be of assistance?”

By now, Ka was visibly shaking his head, openly nervous. The human either did not notice or simply ignored him. "Up, I said," Cairo laughed. He eyed the orange stains on his hand. "Wipe your grubby hands off first, mind you. I don't want to smell like rotten fruit in an hour."

“Oh. Alright then,” said the cook, pleasantly surprised. He sat his knife down and roughly wiped his hands onto his apron before bending down. There was a moment’s hesitation as Saen tried to think of the best way of picking the man up. Unlike Nenani, Cairo was an adult and therefore taller and with considerably more heft to him. In the end, he used the same technique he employed with the little girl, which was to shove his hands under the human’s arms and lift him up. Perhaps it was simply that he was more accustomed to the weight of a small human child, but Saen was a little taken aback by just how much heavier Cairo was. Though really he shouldn’t have been. He did his best to not let it show on his face as he lifted the man onto a clean spot on the table.

Cairo winced a bit as the giant pinched the old wound in his ribs. Once set down, he let out a puff of air and brushed himself off. "Boy you got little girly hands, don't you?"

"Cairo..." Ka warned, though this time did not bother to look up. His stomach rumbled again, and it was then he remembered the pies Yale had brought. He hurried to finish skinning the pumpkin.

Saen tucked his hands under his armpits and pouted. “...don’t have girly hands...”

From the fire pit, Yale started to laugh.

The human took a bow. "My apologies, Princess. Would you like me to kiss your ring?"

With a sudden devilish smirk, Saen grabbed a piece of sliced pumpkin and pushed his ring finger through it and then shoved it in Cairo’s face. “Go on then.”

Yale turned to Ka. “Sorry about that one. I’d say he’s normally not like this...but I’d be lying.”

The big man shrugged. "Don't apologise to me yet. Mine may do worse," he said as he chopped up the pumpkin on the table. Just as he said it, Cairo pricked up as though offended.

"What!" he growled, scrunching up his face at the slimy vegetable.

The human's mood seemed to change then, and he put on a mask of haughtiness. "Your grace, I was only jesting! I wouldn't dare touch thine ring. Tis too great an honor for a lowlife such as myself... but if you insist--" He then took not the ring finger, but Saen's middle finger, and bowed before it. Cairo then proceeded to stick his tongue out and lick the knuckle.

“Oi now!” Saen snapped loudly, pulling back his hand in disgust, but the force of the movement caused his pumpkin ring to fly off of his hand and up into the air. And when it came back down again, it landed on top of Ka’s head.

The little man roared with laughter, while his giant friend was left with a sticky bit of pumpkin in his hair. Ka sat there a moment, eyes distant and unmoving. At last he drew a deep breath, let it out slow, and deadpanned, "Your highness, I think you have lost your ring."

Nenani covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a giggle, looking back and forth between them. Saen drew a breath to make a retort when a bellow sounded from the archway.

“I’M HEARIN’ A LOT ‘A TALKIN’ AND NOT A LOT ‘A WORKIN!”

Both Saen and Yale, more than accustomed to Farris’s hollering, turned their focus to their work. Nenani, still growing use to the sheer volume her guardian voice could achieve, was startled badly and jumped.

Ka gasped and hunched his shoulders at the sound. "Sorry!" he squeaked, though he knew the man could not hear him. He took the pumpkin from his head and pitched it into the fire. It had been a fairly solid piece, but his hair was still sticky in places from the stuff. Cairo, he noticed, had not budged other than to turn in the direction of the voice and square his shoulders as if to fight.

The giant then caught sight of Nenani still pulling herself together. "Are you okay, little one?" Ka murmured.

She blinked up at him and then nodded with a small sheepish smile. “Yeah. I’m still getting used to how loud Farris gets sometimes.”

“Bit of a wonder we ain’t all deaf,” Yale murmured to Ka with a suppressed grin.

“Do you ever yell like that?” Nenani asked Ka. The question came more from a curiosity about Ka’s height. Farris was one of the taller giants she had met and Ka towered over him. If Ka were to get as angry, she wondered if he was that loud.

Ka glanced from Nenani to Yale and then back again. He shook his head as he reached for one of the pies. He hesitated, remembering Farris's call, and chose to grab another pumpkin instead. "I haven't raised my voice since I was a boy," he admitted. "People get nervous when I use my normal voice, so I try to be quiet."

"Y'ain't that bad," Cairo growled.

Yale gave Ka a strange look. “Nervous? Why would they be nervous? I agree with yer brother. That’s plain stupid. What’s other people’s business if yer voice is a tad loud?” Yale gave Ka an appraising look. “Fer as tall as ye are, ye don’t seem to care fer the attention.”

“I always thought it would be really inconvenient to be really tall,” Nenani mused. She had found a small rock on the ground and had picked it up and was idly passing it between her hands.

Saen laughed and replied, “We could say the same fer ya small folk being so short. Ye get winded just climbin’ the damn stairs.”

Ka shrugged at Yale's question, but found the words strengthened him a bit. Even if the man was a giant in his own respect, it felt good to hear some encouragement on the subject. "You are... much more confident than I," he decided.

The giant shook his head as he peeled. His voice got quiet and apprehensive. "I've scared people before. Humans, mostly. I don't like it." He forced a laugh. "Maybe I worry too much."

Cairo picked his teeth. Upon finding something, he pulled it out on his fingernail, then stuck it back in his mouth. "Sure do," he grumbled. He turned to Sean and curled his lip. "I don't have to climb your stairs, midgey boy."

Saen grinned and poked the human’s middle. “Maybe ye should start,” he quipped.

Near the pit, Yale was considering Ka with a little more of a critical eye. He took the sight of him in and his words and pieced more of the puzzle together. He understood easily the apprehension that came with interacting with humans, though he and the rest of the staff and Farris all made jokes and snarky remarks about popping them into stews and pies. It was all a balm against the festering wounds left behind by the war. It was easy to joke to and make light of it all. It was their morbid way to reconcile with the very real evils they had done. That Farris had done for them. To save them. But Yale held himself just as responsible as Farris. No matter what the kitchen master told him. He too remembered those faces...

He looked to Nenani then, who was watching them with an open curiosity. Innocent. She knew only bits and pieces, and even then, he wasn’t sure she knew anything of the whole truth. If she did, she never let on.

He took the slices of cooked pumpkin and dropped them into a shallow earthenware dish. Staring at the other slices still sizzling along the hot metal pan, he spoke to Ka.

“Didn’t use to be. Confident I mean,” Yale admitted to him. “When I was younger. Durin’ the war and all. Scared a lot of humans in my life. And I'm talkin' real terror. Wasn’t my choice to do it, but I did.”

Ka was silent for a moment, trying to think over Cairo's angry exchange with Saen. The humans here had been foolish enough to wage war with the giants? Behind that, what had they done to deserve their wrath? He shook his head and decided to ignore it. "I... haven't had to kill anyone, fortunately. There was that one, erm, accident with a dragon rider, but..." Ka shrugged as he rolled the pumpkin over in his palm, unsure how to finish his sentence.

He then glanced over to where Nenani stood and recalled how protective Yale had been of her. If so much had happened to him, how had he recovered so well? He himself had been a mess the time he had hurt Cairo. Then again... "I suppose there are bad humans just as there are bad giants," he finished.

Yale nodded with grim understanding at Ka’s words. There was no need for him to say anything else as his meaning was plain as well as his regret. It only served to confirm in Yale’s mind the kind of man he was and it brought forth a feeling of smug contentment. He wasn’t always as good a judge of character as Farris, but he wasn’t bad either. He felt pride in knowing his initial assessment of Ka had been right.

[strcwberryfields]

❤ - sam and isla

once again i have popped off

1. Swirling clouds of smoke twisted around their heads as they shared a joint on the beach, the water touching their toes as it lapped onto the shore where they sat. Sam wanted to lie down and close his eyes, maybe fall asleep, maybe just rest. Either way, he wanted to do it wrapped up in Isla. With the joint hanging from his lips he reached for her arm and tugged her closer, and she giggled, following him in suit to lie down in the sand with her head on his chest. Once they were lying, Sam took another long hit before putting the joint in front of Isla's lips for her to take it. He closed his eyes, and thought he might really fall asleep when—

"Hey!" he yelped, laughing as he felt Isla's fingers tickling his sides. "What d'you think you're doing?" he said as he swiftly moved so he was on top of her, pinning her hands lightly against the sand. "I was totally havin' a moment there," Sam chuckled, a smirk coming to his face. 

"When I see the opportunity for a sneak attack, I take it," she teased, and Sam reveled in the way she looked at him. 

"Pain in my ass, you are," Sam tutted, taking the joint and relighting it. Inhaling the smoke he leaned down to her face, bringing one of his hands to part her lips with his thumb to blow the smoke into her mouth. 

"Oh please, you love me," she countered. And instead of answering he kissed her, and wondered why he ever wanted to sleep in the first place. 

—

2. "Dunno why she's putting on a whole get up for little old me," Sam chuckled, sipping a tea at Eleanor and Isla's kitchen table. 

"You're going out to dinner, she wants to look nice!" Eleanor defended, then turned around from the stove with a smirk. "You're looking pretty sharp yourself." 

"Don't I always?" 

"God you've got the fattest head in the world," she snorted, turning back to what she was cooking and Sam laughed quietly. "You two have any other romantic plans for the evening after dinner?" she asked, and Sam wanted to laugh again over the fact that Eleanor didn't turn around to face him. 

"Aye, so romantic, I was plannin' on proposing after we eat," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. Between her and Scott the teasing seemed endless despite his and Isla's insistence that they weren't anything more than friends. Sam spent a lot of time these days reminding himself of that, too. Not that he'd ever say as much out loud.

"All I'm saying is I don't know how many more dates you two can go on before—“ 

"Eleanor please stop harassing Sam!" Isla called from her bedroom, rushing out into the kitchen. Sam's breath caught in his throat and he nearly choked on his tea over how stunning she looked. "Five more minutes, I promise. I'm sorry, this bride I'm working with has been a little nightmarish and--oh, I'll tell you all about her at dinner," she rushed, scurrying back into her room. 

"For the record, I will never stop harassing Sam," Eleanor called back with a chuckle as Isla disappeared again. She turned to Sam and noticed his expression, and she tried to bite back the smug grin on her face that Sam clocked immediately. "She looks fantastic doesn't she?" Eleanor muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Aye, she always does," Sam said with a laugh that he hoped came across more relaxed than he felt. 

"You're so in love with her," Eleanor said casually, studying his face for a moment before turning back around again to the stove to giggle. 

"What time is me brother supposed to come around again?" Sam chuckled, though his heart rate quickened and he wanted to throw up over the thought of being discovered.

—

3. Why did I ever stop drinking? Sam thought to himself as he and Isla clumsily entered his house. She hung off of his shoulder, drunken and needy, her hands wandering over his body—one she knew well by now. He smacked his hand around the wall to find light switch, though the feeling of Isla's lips on his neck was distracting, and he could hardly see straight anyway. He pulled her to the best of his abilities over to the couch and they flopped over the back of it and onto the cushions where he slid over her, his hands pushing her dress lazily up her torso. Sam's head spun with its usual tornado of thoughts, now clouded in an old and familiar way. Euphoria and despair played their ever-present game of tug of war as Isla kissed him. Only it was easier to ignore when whiskey replaced the blood in his veins. It always made everything easier, he decided. A decision he usually made after he was halfway to the bottom of a bottle. He never meant for her to see him like this. He’d been trying to stay away from her until he sorted himself out. But he couldn’t stay away, he was selfish and the only time he felt half okay was when he was with her. Sam never meant for any of this to happen with her. Blaring like a siren in his mind above the guilt and the sadness, and the pain there was always herherher.

Once they finished Sam all but crawled to his room to take another swig from the bottle of whiskey he'd bought that morning, and came back out in his drunken stupor to scoop Isla up into his arms and bring her to his bed. If he weren't so careful about the way he drank, he would've said something he shouldn't after hearing the beautiful sound of her laugh when he picked her up. "God I'm so fucking drunk," she giggled, settling into his bed and reaching out for him. "Why're you looking at me like that, loverboy?"

"Like what?" Sam slurred, his head lolling to look at the ceiling instead. 

"Like you're totally in love with me," she mumbled, still giggling and turning her face into his chest. 

"Very funny, bug," he replied quietly, and at once felt like he'd sobered up. 

—

4. Surely the only way to rid himself of whatever was going on with his feelings towards Isla was to bring someone else home, right? It was only fair considering Isla was busy, doing whatever or whoever, he guessed. And he didn’t really care, because they were friends. Any motivation to ask out the new dancer who’d started at the resort a weeks ago was purely because he wanted to. She was pretty and he’d spoken with her a few times and she’d be a perfect person to lose himself with for at least a night. He didn’t think at all about the idea that he would go over to Scott’s tomorrow and talk loudly about the affair in front of Eleanor because he knew she would tell Isla about it. While he had this woman in his bed, feeling her hands all over him, he tried so hard to stop thinking. But all he could see when he closed his eyes was Isla’s face, and he wished that it was her who was beneath him instead. Sam stopped suddenly and let out a frustrated sigh. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked. Sam missed when he was drunk and didn’t care about the disappointment in a woman’s voice when he inevitably let her down. “You have a girlfriend, I knew it, I’ve seen you with her before—“

“Oi! No, no. I don’t have a girlfriend, she’s not my girlfriend,” Sam rushed. He knew who she was talking about without her having to say it. 

“Oh…I just thought, well I’d heard some things about you and her,” she said, and Sam visibly cringed a little. It was bad enough that he wanted to wipe away his feelings for Isla, and the thought of them being obvious even to relative strangers made him feel sick. And he wished that gossip didn’t travel like wildfire as it tended to do at work. “So you’re not together?” 

“No.” Sam didn’t want to elaborate, didn’t want to talk about Isla anymore. He moved to kiss her, and after a few minutes she gently pushed him away again. 

“I can tell when I’m hooking up with a guy who loves someone else,” she said, and the words felt like a buckle to his back. 

—

5. “Ha! You’re jealous,” Scott said, and Sam’s gloved right hand collided with the pad Scott was wearing on his left hand. 

“How does that make me jealous? I know the guy, he’s a dickhead,” Sam countered and whacked the pads in a combination. 

“Been sayin’ a lot of her dates are dickheads lately.” Sam was very close to purposefully missing a pad in favor of his hand knocking the smug grin right off of his brother’s face. 

“Because they are fuckin’ dickheads,” he grumbled, and Scott chuckled as Sam threw a few more frustrated punches. He felt like an idiot, and he knew Scott was right. But he couldn’t give him the satisfaction of confirming that to him. Scott had hardly given any to him when he was on the receiving end of the teasing. On top of the fact that Sam was doing his very best to get rid of any feelings of jealousy or affection or whatever it was for Isla. 

“Facts are you’re in love with her laddie,” Scott teased, and Sam rolled his eyes, removed his gloves and tossed one right at his brother’s head. 

“Facts are I’m gonna kick your ass laddie,” he retorted, cracking a smile as Scott dissolved into laughter. 

—

+1. “—aye that sunrise is still feckin' crazy," Maeve interrupted herself, speaking through Sam's computer screen. He'd faced the webcam to position the rising sun over the ocean, since he knew how much his mother loved it. Sam let out an affectionate laugh at her outburst and waited for her to continue her thought. "I'm really losing me 'ead in me old age aren't I?"

"Ya don't look a day over twenty-nine, Ma," Sam said with a wry grin. 

"Aye, shut yar gob. Anyway, when are you getting Isla on the video to meet me?" 

"I've actually got a better idea," he began, "I was thinkin' we take a trip to Donegal sometime soon. I think she'd like that."

Maeve let out a small yelp in surprise and Sam heard his Aunt Colleen call what's the matter?! from another room in the house. "Sammy's going to visit soon!" she called, leaning just slightly off camera before turning her attention back to Sam. The expression on her face made him want to start crying. "You know how much I miss ya, how much everyone 'ere misses ya. And how much I'm reelin' to finally meet this girl," she said, cocking an eyebrow, and Sam ducked his head bashfully. There were plenty of things he hadn't yet disclosed to his mother for a multitude of reasons--like his relapse and the complicated details of his and Isla's relationship—but he'd mentioned Isla's name to Maeve months ago when he foolishly thought she would only ever be a good friend. And every so often during their calls Maeve would ask about her with a smug lilt to her voice that Sam recognized well. And like everyone else, she of course knew long before he did that he cared for Isla much more than he wanted to let on. Which of course, was all absurd now in the present day. 

"I want you and the lot to meet her too," Sam agreed. "And in person. Not over this shitey webcam." 

"You really love her, aye?" Maeve's smile was as fond as Sam had ever seen it. 

"I do," he replied, laughing again at the excited smile on his mother's face. 

[365daysoftododeku]

19th February 2019

Author: Kenyoda

Admin’s Note: The following work was written by @ebonyphd, inspired by one of @crzangel’s headcanons. You can find the headcanon here if you want to know more!

________________________________________________________________

Candid Shoutos

Izuku bit his lip as he tried not to laugh. How anyone had found a copy of Vib Ribbon and an emulator for it, Izuku would never know. But Todoroki’s absolutely perplexed expression was one for the books. He discreetly took a picture with his phone. The teen eventually gave into his urge when Shouto’s face morphed into horror when the stick figure rabbit squealed while demonstrating what happened when you missed a combination. As the others chattered around Kaminari’s emulator running laptop, Izuku pulled up the PlusInsta page on his phone and logged into the page that he ran for Todoroki. He quickly uploaded the photo with the caption:

#his face #he looks so lost #lol

Almost instantly, the like counter started climbing and comments starting flowing about 5 minutes after. They ranged from: ‘he’s so adorkable’ to ‘what is he even looking at?’ Izuku fielded a few of the questions as he chuckled at other comments. Eventually, Shouto gave up the computer after playing a few levels. The game was passed around to several of their classmates until someone suggested a new fighting game and the TV became the main source of entertainment. They both watched the tournament and both cheered when Yaomomo won. After a fuming Bakugou stormed off muttering halfhearted threats under his breath, the class dispersed.

Izuku remained parked on the couch with Todoroki right next to him. He continued to watch all the reactions to his newest post. He had been running candid_shoutos for about six months. Actually, the silly little side project had actually gotten Izuku a boyfriend. He looked over to his right to see said boyfriend had conked out on his shoulder.

His hair had fallen over his face casting a red haze over his pale skin. Shouto’s glasses were precariously hanging onto the end of his nose. Izuku’s heart melted at the sight. He was so cute. The teen took another picture. He did not post it though. That was for him alone. Izuku finally chanced waking Shouto up and removed the glasses from his nose. Shouto wrinkled his nose and muttered some garbled protest at being disturbed. He sighed and snuggled deeper into Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku flushed. Adorkable, indeed. He remembered how it had all started quite fondly…

Izuku had started the whole silly page because Shouto was convinced he wasn’t attractive. Izuku and majority of his classmates had protested vehemently that it wasn’t true. Shouto would only scoff and claim they were biased.

So, Izuku bet Shouto a favor that he could prove Shouto wrong. Ashido, who was in charge of the Class 2-A social media pages, suggested that Izuku start a PlusInsta account and post pictures. It would be simple to post things and let other people decide. Shouto agreed to the page idea with the caveat that the pictures are only candid shots, with no explanations, and that only Izuku could take them. This way the bet stayed among the three of them and Izuku couldn’t doctor the photos. They decided that they would give it two weeks. Ashido also promised to reblog the page link on the Class Insta once Izuku had it up and running.

So the following Monday, Izuku started snapping photos of Shouto doing various activities during the day, save for bathroom activities. Once classes were over, he shifted through the shots and picked the very first picture for the blog. It had simply been a picture of Shouto working on some homework during study hall. He had been perfectly poised at his desk, almost statue-like. But Izuku had zoomed in on his face, you could see the shadow of his hair on his cheek and the determined set to his eyes and jaw as his hand flew elegantly across the page. He had posted the picture with the caption:

#hard at work #go Todoroki

The first picture had gained 100 likes in an hour after Ashido had reblogged it. The blog itself had 30 followers. Izuku had posted another picture before dinner time, this one of Shouto leaning over and holding his knees after he and Izuku had come back from a run. His hair had begun curling at the ends from the sweat and his face had been flushed pink. He ended up looking at Izuku in surprise right as he had taken the picture. The number of likes it got was tripled what the other one had. The blog had a hundred followers by the time Izuku had gone to bed. The blog had also received some of its first comments. Some of them had Izuku laughing out loud:

Dear Lord! That should have come with a health warning!!! *fans self*

*sees curly ends* Omg! Todoroki has curly hair! I wonder how long it takes him to get straight?

Those eyes… just… sigh

Dude… I am kinda questioning my sexuality…

I have been questioning mine since he set himself on fire in the Sports Festival during my first year! #TodorokiShoutocausedmygayawakening

Same.

Praise whoever captured such a blessed image!

He had gleefully shown Shouto the page during breakfast the next day. The gob smacked expression on his face had left Izuku in stitches and feeling light as a feather. As the two weeks wore on, the comments and likes kept coming and Izuku kept supplying pictures. Around day 8, however, Izuku hit a bit of a snag. He was beginning to notice that he was taking far, far more pictures of Shouto than was warranted for the 2-3 random posts he made in a day. And many of those pictures remained in his phone after he deleted all the ones he didn’t like or need.

Izuku was no fool. He was well aware of his feelings for Todoroki. He just wasn’t sure how and if he should act on them. But he was forced to make a decision when he posted a picture of Shouto smiling. It had not been a huge one. A small part of his lips and his eyes squeezed shut. He had been mid-chuckle at a bad pun Kaminari had told. The comment section lost their collective minds. To this day, that photo was one of the most liked pictures on the blog.

At the time however, the picture’s popularity had left Izuku feeling sick and cold. It had occurred to him that if people loved Shouto when he was scowling, sweaty, and flat faced; they would be besotted with him when he smiled. Just like Izuku. He had spent some time looking through some of the pages that were following the blog. There were so many beautiful people on the site. People that weren’t too afraid of taking the chance to ask that beautiful boy out. People that Todoroki might say yes to. Finally, in the midst of his jealous fit, Izuku decided that once the dare was over he would make that favor count.

So, he still posted candids of Shouto like always, however, there was only that one smile picture for a long while. But as soon as the two weeks were up, the two friends had met up in Izuku’s room to discuss the outcome.

“Well…” Todoroki had said, “you won. I never realized that people actually believed that I was attractive.” He had then hung his head between his hunched shoulders. Izuku felt bad. He hadn’t thought about how weird it may have been for Todoroki, who was an intensely private person despite his tendency to be forthright and brutally honest.

“I am sorry if any of this made you uncomfortable, Shouto. Eek! I mean, T-Todoroki!” he blurted out. Shouto’s head snapped back up. His mismatched gaze pierced Izuku and made his chest tighten.

“I wouldn’t call it uncomfortable, just surprising, I guess? And no need to apologize. I agreed to the terms too after all. So, don’t worry about it… Izuku.” Shouto said after a moment. Izuku’s eyes widened. He knew that Shouto expressed a lot of himself through his actions. Izuku could easily read the permission in the use of his own given name. Izuku’s heart began gallop giddily in his chest.

“Ok, Shouto.” Izuku said with a nod.

“So, I owe you a favor now. Do you need time to think about it?” Shouto asked. Izuku hummed thoughtfully. His eyes were drawn to his desk where there was a pair of tickets to a single day pop up hero convention. It was the following weekend. Izuku had been wanting to ask Shouto to go with him but he had been too timid to do so. But now that such a gifted opportunity had presented itself…

“Nope. You’re going with me to this!” answered Izuku. He picked up one of the tickets and handed it to Shouto with a flourish. The other teen pulled his glasses from his hair and shoved them on his face. Shouto took the ticket and looked it over,

“A hero convention?” he asked. Izuku nodded nervously.

“Yeah, it’s a small one day thing. I won a pair of tickets from a podcast.” Shouto blinked at him. He then nodded.

“Ok. But are you sure you want to waste your favor on this? Wouldn’t you have more fun with Kirishima or Uraraka? They seemed to love this kind of thing.” Shouto said uncertainly. Izuku’s heart clenched. Despite being shown that he was attractive, Shouto was still a horribly insecure teenager. Much like himself.

“Well, I kinda wanted to ask you from the get go… I just didn’t want you to be weirded out or anything,” Izuku admitted quietly as he scratched at his cheek. Shouto’s confused expression turned concerned.

“Why would I be weirded out that you wanted me to go places with you?” he asked.

“W-well. I mean, you are not really a fan of crowds and I know you have some—issues with the hero industry… and I really like you and wanted to- eep!” Izuku blurted before clamping his mouth shut. Dread spread through him like tar, thick and sticky. Why did he have to ramble so much?!

“You, you like me?” Shouto breathed after a moment. Izuku looked skyward for divine intervention. But when no lightning manifested and struck him where he stood, Izuku just nodded his head meekly. He knew his face was red. After several agonizing moments, Izuku heard a quiet, “I like you, too.” His heart went wild. He stared at Shouto, trying to decide if he were kidding or not. The only thing reflected in those gem colored eyes was affection and some bashfulness.

“Oh,” he breathed giddily. “Well… how about we hold off on the favor and you just be my date instead? I’ll even buy food!” Shouto’s face turned pink and small tongues of flame shyly came to life on the tips of his red hair. Izuku wanted to die. He was so cute! So very cute.

“Um… ok. I would, like that.” He replied softly, a half smile curling at his lips. Izuku beamed back. This only caused the flames to grow. Now his entire red half was engulfed in flickering flames. It was probably warm enough that Shouto could tell the temperature change. The fire user squeaked in embarrassment before he used his right side to extinguish the flames. He groaned softly as he buried his face in his hands. Izuku could only laugh in response. He was punch drunk on affection, relief and happiness. So much so that he had no fear over going over to Shouto and prying his fingers away from his face.

His friend’s face was still pink and his eyes were wide and sparkling. His lips were twitching as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to scowl or laugh. Izuku cupped Shouto’s face and pulled him closer. He pressed his forehead and nose against the other boy’s as his chuckles dissolved into soft giggles. He rubbed against Shouto’s nose affectionately, reveling in the ability to touch him. A soft swooshing sound brought Izuku out of his happy high. Izuku took a step back from Shouto and gasped in awe.

Shouto’s hair had turned into wreathing flames and dancing flurries. One side white and the other a deep red. The two spectacles danced around Shouto’s head like a living halo. Izuku could only gape wordlessly. Shouto’s eyes were glowing, too. He looked like a God or a spirit. Devastatingly beautiful.

“Izuku?” Shouto called worriedly. The God comparison wouldn’t leave especially when his named sounded heavenly coming from Shouto’s lips. Izuku tried to answer but words continued to fail him. Almost robotically, Izuku withdrew his phone and snapped a picture. When Shouto gave him a mildly irritated look, he just turned the screen around. Shouto’s jaw dropped…

Izuku chuckled quietly to himself as he finished revisiting that old memory. Shouto did eventually get the flames and snow to go away and thankfully his hair just returned to normal. That was how they had found out that Shouto could turn parts of his body into flames and snow. Izuku had a field day helping Shouto master this new part of his quirk. The two had actually ended up going on a small dinner date a few days before the convention. Shouto had claimed it was a thank you for helping him with his Quirk. They had been together ever since. Their relationship was a quiet one. It was not hidden amongst the class, but it was a secret to anyone outside of the dorm. Maybe one day it could be public. Izuku grinned to himself at the thought of the collective mayhem that would ensue on the candid_shoutos page when they did.

________________________________________________________________

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[mabotomo]

ALL OUR LIVES | Gob/Michael pre-slash, G. | 4,412 words Gob was worried. But then, being worried about your little brother after his wife died--that was normal, wasn’t it?

The grass rustled with cool winter air when Michael's wife was lowered into her final resting place. George Michael clung to his father's hand as he said his goodbyes--he was only eleven, but already he had the eyes of an old soul.

The cancer came out of nowhere, as these things were prone to. Tracey didn't even have any family history of it, and she was relatively healthy as far as Michael knew, but it wasn't like the world was nice enough to warn you every time something bad was going to happen. Even if, in the grand scheme of things, you were supposed to be a good person (and Tracey was one of the best people Gob knew). In any case, good person or not, it didn't change the fact that Michael was now a single parent. A single parent to an eleven year old boy.

Gob remembered the phone call. How could he not? It happened less than a week ago, at three a.m. on a cold December morning. The details were burned into his brain: the fading scent of sex lingering in the air, the nameless woman snoring on his pillow, the calmness to Michael's voice, the early December chill creeping its way through Gob's bones, the fact that it was going to be Michael's birthday in less than twenty-four hours. It was one of the worst experiences of his life, hearing Michael crumble the way he did, but as he watched George Michael cling onto his father's hand, his cheeks pink in the cold, he told himself there had to be hope left in this world somewhere.

Click.

A few weeks later, Michael told him: "She wanted to divorce me."

"I'm sorry--" Gob was blindsided for a moment, certain Michael and Tracey were supposed to be the happy couple in all of this. "--what?"

Michael didn't enjoy Gob staying around George Michael too often, claiming him to be a "bad influence", but the sitter cancelled and George Michael was too sad to be alone, so he called Gob to take over while he handled a few late night things at the company. The past few times he babysat for George Michael, they'd watched Star Wars without fail, and Gob was getting so tired of it he caved and bought George Michael some Monopoly pieces. He thought he'd get him the rest of the board game another time, but that the pieces would at least be enough for some make believe.

It wasn't so bad, though, babysitting. George Michael was a good kid, if not like an awkward photocopy of Gob's baby brother as they grew up, but he liked the same ice cream flavours Gob did and didn't mind when Gob took him out to impress the ladies as a "good single dad". They did, of course, have a tacit understanding that Michael wasn't supposed to know about the ice cream and pick-up game, and it was working pretty well so far.

Anyways, Michael shrugged and tossed one last piece of dirty laundry into the hamper. Gob was asked to do the washing, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't. "She hated that I had to wait for her to get better." He paused. "That, you know, being married to... to, to a sick person was weighing me down.

"She said--we haven't even lived together in months. That this was how she could make it right for me."

Gob's mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't find the energy to snap it shut. Who would divorce Michael?

Glancing up at him, Michael smiled sadly (as he so often did, Gob noticed) and chuckled. "I know," he said, then let out a sigh heavier than Gob thought he could carry. "Believe me. I know."

Then he left for work and Gob was left with George Michael. It turned out that Monopoly was useless without the board, but Gob decided to pull out all the stops as they played Return of the Jedi on the television: he held the lightsabre and all, made the schwoom schwoom noises as he fought his nephew. George Michael used to be really good at this, Gob supposed, as he wasn't sure what 'good' constituted in nerd world, but he was sure that having George Michael all distracted and a little sniffly was not what a good fight constituted. By the end of it George Michael decided to curl against Gob's side and pass out a full half hour before bedtime, and he wasn't even all that tuckered out.

Instead of waking George Michael up for their promised ice cream and pick-up game, Gob deposited him into his bed, awkwardly stood by the side of it, and then flipped the light off. He took a moment, however, to stand in the doorway and watch him sleep peacefully; Gob never had any particular want to make babies, but if he did, he thought a kid like George Michael wouldn't be the end of the world.

Click.

Rollo wouldn't stop bitching at him about the lack of magic practise, and if he weren't so fucking scary, Gob would definitely punch him in the kidney. The thing is, Rollo could probably take him (or at least match him punch for punch) and they had some Chinese New Year show coming up, so really, maybe they should try to smush in at least one more final practise before the actual gig.

If there was one thing Gob wanted as a kid, it wasn't to be a magician, but little Michael used to watch him with sparkling eyes every time he did it, and in the end it turned out that doing magic would help get him out of P.E., so it became a dream. What little Gob really wanted was a train set big enough to ride, but since that was more difficult, he was working on the whole being a magician thing, even though Michael didn't admire him any more and Gob had to demand to be taken seriously.

For the moment, he was the second half of a magic duo called The Magicians Named Gob and Rollo, and they were good at explosions and dancing and handkerchief shit and sometimes doves. It wasn't glamorous (yet, but Gob couldn't find a right set of legs for that level up) and they didn't make much money (yet, but Gob had dreams of starting a Magician's Alliance, and he felt if he kissed his dad's ass enough he could get some cash from him), but either way, Gob loved getting up on stage and blowing people's minds, even if it meant his family thought he was an idiot. At least he got free drinks at the Gothic Castle. (Gob was a man with his priorities in order.)

They finalised their third song's choreography for the show (to It's My Life by Bon Jovi, which was too slow for Gob's tastes, but Rollo was sick of The Final Countdown) when they took a break.

"So, your brother’s wife wanted to divorce him?" Rollo asked, dice flicking between his long fingers.

Gob sipped his water, nodding. "Yeah. Something about how dying made her a shitty wife."

"That's like some E.R. level shit," Rollo replied, flicking the dice out onto the stage.

"Worse is that my brother's pretending it didn't matter to him." Gob pressed the bottle of water against his lower lip and pondered, leaning against the speaker on the floor. "I mean, come on, his wife was dying and now she was talking about leaving him? Christ..." He trailed off for a moment, looking elsewhere with a sigh. "He gets this sad little smile sometimes, and it's like. Just cry already, for Pete's sake. Fucking robot."

Rollo snorted, then moved to gather their dummy doves up, if only because they didn't want to kill any more doves practising before the actual show. It took a few moments before Gob returned to planet earth and watched Rollo do what he did best for a minute, and then he smiled and picked the last dove up to go back to him.

Click.

"What is that? What are you doing with your hands?"

Gob jumped, startled out of his skin and nearly dropping his champagne flute. He was never that fond of champagne--it was too girly, really--but hey, it was free, and he was never the type to turn down a free drink, even if it came from his mother.

"God, mother, you scared me." Gob scowled and looked away from her.

Lucille straightened, reaffirming her spot next to Gob and brushing imaginary dust from the shoulders of his suit. It was the fourth year in a row that she was hosting this annual Valentine's party, and Gob was having a hard time remembering why he always went along with her. Didn't he move out of Balboa Towers, like, six years ago? And yet Gob still found himself returning to her stupid parties whenever she invited him. He could admit that sometimes his mother was amusing, but that was only when she wasn't being a total bitch to him.

"That horrible thing with your hands, what was that about?" she asked again, holding her own hands up in mockery.

Gob frowned deeper. "A picture."

"I'm sorry," Lucille began, crinkling her nose at him. "What was that?"

"I was taking... a picture, mum," Gob replied, irritated. He lifted his hands again as if holding a camera, framing a shot of George Michael in a sweater that matched Michael's while his father poured juice for him. The two of them were talking, Michael looking like he was scolding him a little, and George Michael looking panicked because his father was pouring him juice and he didn't know how to hold the plate of cake he had with just one hand.

Lucille looked at him blankly for a moment, then rolled her eyes before leaving, muttering, "Don't even have a camera with you--who dropped you on the head as a baby?"

Gob drank the last of his champagne, dropping it on a waiter's tray, then scowled as he crossed his arms in annoyance. He just wanted to make a memory, was that so bad?

"If mother was in a sweater like that, I'd want to make a memory of it, too," Buster piped up behind him, hands landing on Gob's shoulders and massaging him until Gob smacked him away in protest. "But only because it'd really go with her hair, I think, just like how it goes with George Michael's, while on Michael it's more..."

"Oh my God, why are you people trying to talk to me?" Gob groaned, exasperated. "Would you leave me alone, please?" He really needed another drink, and now that he thought about it he wanted some of that cake that George Michael was having, and he didn't want it to run out before he got to it.

An hour later, George Michael was passed out, his arms folded atop a table and his cheek resting on them. Michael rubbed a hand lightly up and down his back.

Gob, unsure why he was still at this party, stood across the room, and managed a small smile as he brought his hands up once more. This time, he made sure he was out of his mother’s eye-shot.

Click.

"I was in a gay movement once," Tobias told him, apropos of nothing during a rare visit to Newport Beach. Maeby and Lindsay were at the banana stand with George Michael and his father, leaving Gob here to test out his brand new Segway while Tobias was... Tobias.

Gob coughed, turning slowly with wide eyes that likely betrayed him. Tobias was smiling, rocking on the balls of his feet as if announcing he was some gay protester to his brother-in-law was no big deal. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Oh, it was wonderful," Tobias continued, smiling off into space. "They had all the best parties! I met a lot of beautiful women there, but, well, it turned out they were more into other women--except Lindsay, who, I think, liked this man named Robert who had the strongest arms..."

"Uh. Okay?" Gob turned away from him again, shaking his head. He'd always suspected Tobias of it, had done so for years now, but an actual gay experience was news to him.

Wait. Lindsay was with lesbians?

"Well, I'm just saying," Tobias commented just over Gob's shoulder, making him jump and squeak a little and nearly fall off his Segway. Tobias placed a hand on his back to steady him, chuckling. "Maybe you should take Michael to one, what with how worried you've been. They're really quite fun, and someone of his dry humour would be well appreciated. Maybe you can even do that today! I'll take George Michael off your hands, and--"

Gob stared at him for a long moment, confused as all fuck about why George Michael would be his responsibility. Then he remembered that Michael had been calling the sitter less and Gob more and. Huh. When was the last time Gob actually played ice cream and pick up?

"--it would be fabulous, just fabulous." Tobias clapped his hands together, smiling.

Click.

George Michael's friends took him out for the weekend, so Michael was taking a break and trying to be happy that his son's friends were making him feel better as much as they could. Gob knew that Michael appreciated these efforts, even if he worried about his son all the time and not enough about himself. The world might be shitty, what with Tracey passing on, but at least Michael still had George Michael, and from the way Michael treated him and looked at him and talked about him, George Michael was probably the greatest thing he could ever have in his life.

Gob arrived at Michael's door at 7 p.m. with a case of beer and an action/thriller/semi-romance film, even though the romance was really just gratuitous D-cups with a muscled man. It was weird not having George Michael around, which he noticed every time Michael turned to where George Michael would often sit on the sofa as if he had to tell him to cover his eyes at the sex scenes, and then turned back at the television looking humbled.

George Michael's birthday was in a few weeks. Gob was continuing watching movies with him for reasons he couldn't quite figure out, but since Michael's decision to overwork meant he'd finished months' worth of it in a few weeks and also got himself some free time, sometimes Michael was initiated into the league of rebels as well (awful Darth Vader voice and lightsabre sound effects and all). In the back of his mind Gob thought that it was almost like they were a normal family, except for the fact that Gob was Michael's brother, and they both had dicks, and also Gob was pretty sure he was only thinking about Michael all the time because he was worried about Michael's well-being and nobody ever seemed to worry about the most functional Bluth in the family.

Whatever--he shrugged when the thought came to mind and grinned through it. Families were what you made of them, not what you were born with, so even though Michael was born his brother, they could be co-parents if Michael wanted them to be. Not that that would be a thing, Gob supposed, since even though he'd been concerned about Michael raising George Michael alone, a few months in showed his baby brother doing just fine.

At least, until they started drinking.

It was four beers and thirty minutes into the film when Michael lost it. Gob had never seen him cry and he wasn't sure what to do with himself--hug him? Pat him on the back? Awkwardly sit at the other end of the couch and wait it out? Yeah, he figured, he'd go with that one. Unfortunately, he survived only thirty seconds of silent weeping and watching Michael's back shake with the effort, curled up into himself, before he broke and slid back to pull Michael close to him.

"It'll be okay," Gob said, patting Michael awkwardly on the back. Of course, now wasn't the time to be thinking about how nice Michael smelled or, Jesus, how Michael used to hold Gob like this when he cried because of their parents, and how Michael had always been there for him, and how Gob was being there for him now, and how much he loved his brother and how being there for him the past few months had given him a weird sense of purpose. Now was the time to be comforting Michael, he told himself, even though Michael lifted his head to look at him with puffy eyes and tears streaming down his face...

And Gob thought, Oh, shit. I'm going to swoop on him.

So their lips met somewhere in the middle of all that, like some rift opened up in time and space and Gob was falling through it slowly. Part of him felt bad about taking advantage of his innocent brother in need, but Michael's lips were softer than he thought they would be (not that he imagined such things any more, no, of course not) and he wasn't exactly forcing himself onto said innocent brother. If anything, Michael was... kind of enthusiastically returning Gob's every kiss, every breath, every sigh. And then they pulled apart in tandem and Gob was frozen in the moment, torn between laughing with joy and screaming with terror.

What the hell did he just do?

Oh, right, he just made out with his baby brother. That was it.

Michael smiled a bit hazily for a moment, sending Gob's heart into a leap... before it plunged into darkness at the same time Michael's expression fell.

"Shit," Michael breathed, bringing one hand up to rub at his face.

"Yeah," Gob agreed. He wasn't sure what he was agreeing to, but he really wanted to get back to that part where they were kissing.

Michael stood, moving away, clicking the television off. He refused to look at Gob's face, and for one fleeting moment, Gob thought: holy crap, shit just got real. But then Michael turned and it was like all the joy had been sucked out of the room--Gob had a fleeting moment of wondering where the fucking Dementor was when he realised, no, it was just Michael staring him like that with a look Gob was all too familiar with.

"We can't do this," Michael said, and Gob could practically do the speech along with him.

"You're my brother," Gob said flatly, looking down at his hands. "You can't make a living as a magician. You're my brother. How do I explain it to George Michael? You're my brother, Gob, and I appreciate you being here for me, but we're brothers and we stopped doing this in high school for a reason, and..."

Looking back up, Gob saw the battle raging behind Michael's eyes for the first time in his entire life. There was want there, and need, and desire, and confusion, and sadness, and rage, and Gob always figured he'd only ever see that Molotov cocktail of emotion whenever he looked into the mirror, so it threw him off more than he wanted to admit.

But he grinned. "Hey, Mikey. It's okay. I get it."

He was at the door when Michael caught his arm.

"Listen, Gob," Michael said quietly. "I can't. I want to, but I can't. I have to think of George Michael. I have to be a mother and a father, and this is wrong, and I just... I can't."

Gob laughed, pulling his arm away. "I know," he replied. "George Michael comes first--needs good role models or something, right? Look, let me know if you want me to have him next week for Star Wars. Or not, 'cause I get it either way."

Holding up his hands, Gob fought back the tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

Click.

It's almost Christmas! Gob wrote in scribbly, awkward lettering. Hope you've been a cool kid. You write to Santa yet? Do you still do that? I'll be home in time for Gangy's Christmas party, so you better be there, kiddo. It's been way too long.

Gob finished the letter off and stuffed it in an envelope. It was the latest in a long string of pen pal letters to his favourite guy. Sometimes he asked about Michael, but he kept it as light and fun as possible. George Michael was going to be in middle school soon, too smart for his own good and not confident enough to make friends. Gob missed him everyday.

He sighed, leaning back in his especially comfy seat. They were cruising at about ten thousand or so metres above the ocean, coming back from a show in Denver. Following "the incident" (as Rollo named it), The Magicians Named Gob and Rollo had a good show, received sponsors, and earned enough for Gob to start the Magicians' Alliance. Gob threw himself into magic, making new tricks with even better music, but creative differences with Rollo had them splitting as a duo a few months in. He said something about how Gob shouldn't reference Star Wars so much in his tricks on his way out, and Gob had only countered with the Force being the most magical thing the world probably had to fucking offer.

Either way, his new manager, a pretty girl named Marta trying to make her big break in acting, curiously looked on as Gob sealed his latest letter to George Michael. The return letters had all been wonderful, pictures of George Michael and his father as they went through their year littered throughout. It'd been months since Gob last saw him... since he last saw his dad.

"You're becoming famous now, Gob," Marta said, head cocking slightly. Gob wasn't sure how to deal with her, because his instinct told him to flirt with her and fuck her, but Marta had two kids, and experience told him that wanting to fuck anyone with a kid would probably end in disaster. "You might have to be more careful about what you put in your letters."

Gob snorted, reclining in his chair. "I doubt the press'll be real interested in my twelve year old penpal," he replied. He could hear Marta breathe a quiet sigh of relief, then wondered what it was she thought of him if she thought Gob was writing dirty or inappropriate letters. Granted, Gob didn't have the best image, but still--he was an all right guy. Gob Bluth, upstanding citizen! (Never mind the fact that she'd seen him bring girls back to his hotel room, and...)

By the time they were back in Newport Beach, Gob had one more show, another woman in another hotel room, bad food, and a midnight run to get himself some booze. More than once he'd found himself missing Star Wars night--even the lightsabres. He told George Michael this in one of his letters and even went out to buy a Stormtrooper sticker for the seal.

It was Christmas Eve when he actually found himself a spot of free time. Gob couldn't believe it'd been over a year since Tracey passed, and that it'd been nearly a year since he last spoke to Michael. Nine months and fourteen days, to be exact, but who was counting?

His mother's party was already in full swing when Gob got there, fancy wine in hand. Marta tagged along this year, both her sons excited about free food and unlimited juice and the chance to relax with their mother for a few days. They weren't even totally through the door when Buster found himself startled by Marta, and then enchanted by her, and Gob had to reach out to grab his shoulder and say: "Yeah, I'll forgive you for not saying hi to your brother first, but try not to scare my manager off with your weird, huh?"

Marta tilted her head, looking back. "What was that?"

"Oh!" Buster jumped, half hiding behind his hands as he glanced away. Gob released him, watching as Buster stumbled away, and Marta was left doing the same for a moment before her sons tugged her along. Shaking his head, he scanned the room for his own special people, and--

There they were, like no time had passed at all. Except George Michael was taller, his hair was cut shorter, and those god-awful dental equipment was finally out of his mouth. He was wearing a suit, as he tended to for Christmas things, but Gob could tell this one was new--he was growing up now, the nerd, and he needed new suits and. Gob's heart was in his throat, weird enough, and when he heard George Michael call "Uncle Gob!" before heading over to him and giving him a hug, he swore to God he was going to start crying somehow.

Gob laughed, though, and returned it. "It's good to see you too, kiddo." And he meant it, because as they pulled back he could see George Michael was doing much better than he was when Gob had last seen him. The chubby was back in his cheeks, in the same way that Michael's cheeks were when he was a kid, and...

A voice he'd been waiting for said, "Click."

So Gob turned, looking at Michael, who was smiling at him with hands raised in camera formation. Gob's stomach went tight as feelings came rushing back anew: the want, and the need, and the fear of the unknown. But all these were pushed away as Michael wrapped an arm around George Michael and used the other to pull Gob's head down into his shoulder, his lips brushing over his temple.

"Welcome home," he said, bringing his hand down to grasp Gob's free one. "It's good to see you again."

George Michael looked between them, confused for a moment, but then settled for taking Gob's other hand in the same way Michael's did. "Yeah, like dad said."

"Like dad said," Gob echoed, his fingers squeezing over the two hands he wanted to hold most. He'd never thought himself to be the clinging type, but found that it was more comforting than its vulnerability would ever lead anyone to believe.