#triple bald make it happen

[queenzayy234]

She surly did 🙂‍↕️

[pucksandpower]

To Have a Heart

CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader

Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance … then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down

Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer

Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.

His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. “Sir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.”

Max doesn’t bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.

Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. “Send him in.”

A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.

Good.

He should be nervous.

“Mr. Henderson.” Max says, his tone clipped. “Do you know why I called you here?”

The man — Henderson — fidgets with his tie. “Y-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...”

“The $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.” Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. “A deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firm’s history.”

Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.

“Because of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.” Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. “Please explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?”

“I … I missed it in the final review.” Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. “The numbers, they all start to blur together after-”

“Do not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.” Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. “Because of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a ‘B’!”

Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It won’t happen again, I swear-”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Henderson’s ashen face. “Because you’re fired. Effective immediately.”

The words seem to take a moment to register in Henderson’s mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.

“No, no, please! You can’t fire me!” he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. “I-I’ll work double shifts, triple shifts! I’ll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just don’t fire me, I’m begging you!”

Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch … almost.

“This conversation is over.” Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. “You have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.”

“B-But I have three kids!” Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. “A mortgage. Alimony payments! You can’t just-”

In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.

“I am Max Verstappen!” He bellows, his face flushed crimson. “I do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.”

The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.

“One hour.” he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. “Get out of my sight.”

Henderson doesn’t need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor — pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.

Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of … not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.

Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Max’s cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.

The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.

“Clara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.” he says, his voice steady once more. “We need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.”

“Right away, sir.” comes the reply, his assistant’s voice tightly professional.

Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly won’t be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.

There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.

“Come in.” he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better — he respects discretion.

“I have Mr. Evans on line two for you.” she says crisply.

Max gives a succinct nod. “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”

As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.

Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.

***

You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR director’s office. “Come in.” a flat voice calls out.

Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, Y/N. What can I do for you today?” She asks in an overly saccharine tone.

You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. “I … I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.”

Janet’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. “I see. And how much time were you hoping to take?”

Your throat tightens as you force out the words. “At least a month. Maybe more, depending on … on how things progress.”

The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy — no extended leave during crunch periods unless it’s a valid health emergency.”

You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! “But it is an emergency! My daughter, she’s ...” Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. “She’s very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.”

Janet’s face remains stubbornly impassive. “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.”

The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave — it’s standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when you’ve been spending every waking moment by your little girl’s hospital bedside?

Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughter’s tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...

You’re vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if you’re underwater.

How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.

No. That’s not how companies like this operate.

They don’t care about you or your daughter’s life. All they care about is the bottom line, and you’re just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.

You’re jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. “Well? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?”

Is there anything else? Oh, there’s so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.

But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. There’s only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.

Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.

The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girl’s sake, you have to try.

So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. “Thank you for your time.” you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.

You don’t look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a mother’s desperation.

The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughter’s life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, you’re practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.

As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?

No, you can’t afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughter’s sake, you have to be brave.

The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like you’re going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor — the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.

You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Max’s assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’d like to schedule an appointment for next week ...”

“Please.” you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. “It’s an emergency. I … I need to see him. Just for five minutes.”

Clara’s manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. “I extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to-”

“It’s about my sick daughter!” The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.

For a split second, Clara’s expression flickers with something that might be pity. But it’s quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while he’s-”

“Please!” You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I’m begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, I’ll leave, I promise. But I have to try!”

Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.

Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. “This had better be good. Send them in.”

Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Max’s corner office. “Good luck.” she murmurs.

You don’t need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.

There’s no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle … or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.

***

Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Clara’s hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous “personal” disruptions.

“This had better be good.” he growls into the intercom. “Send them in.”

With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. He’s already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a “personal matter.”

Then you tentatively step into the room and Max’s words die in his throat.

Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.

An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Max’s chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.

“Well?” He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. “You’re hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.”

The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.

“I … I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.” you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.

But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. “It’s about my daughter, sir. My little girl … she’s in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I don’t have!”

Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. “Please, Mr. Verstappen! She’s only three years old and I’m a single mom. I’m all she has right now! I’m begging you … please just give me some time to be with her before … before ...”

You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.

Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. He’s seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But there’s something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.

Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.

But another part of Max … a part he barely recognizes … feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.

Perhaps it’s the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps it’s the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.

Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.

“I did not realize the full severity of the situation.” he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.

Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him … an ancient ghost of an emotion he can’t quite place.

“I’m sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.” Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. “Perhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughter’s condition, instead of being so oblique ...”

He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.

“Here.” he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. “Allow me to make things right.”

Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.

“Janet? Yes, it’s Max Verstappen.” he says crisply when the line picks up. “I’ve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.”

He pauses, glancing over at where you’re clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but you’ve gone utterly still — hanging on his every word.

“One of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.” Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. “A matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the … nuances of the circumstances.”

There’s a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesn’t give her the chance.

“The decision has been made to grant the employee’s leave request, effective immediately.” he cuts her off. “They will be excused for … two months, with full pay and benefits.”

His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you can’t quite process what you’re hearing.

Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janet’s flustered response filtering through the receiver. “B-But sir, we have very strict policies about-”

“Which is precisely why I’m instructing you to make an exception.” Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. “This leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?”

There’s a meek murmur of assent from Janet’s end. Max can’t resist a tight smile of satisfaction.

“Good. I’ll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.” He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.

As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.

Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.

“Thank you!” You’re whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. He’s not accustomed to such … warmth.

But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.

“You have no idea how much this means, sir. I … I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.”

He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen — merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.

But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.

So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.

But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.

For the first time in years — perhaps his entire adult life — Max feels almost … human.

It’s a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesn’t have to dwell on.

Because in the next breath, you’re sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.

He doesn’t have words — or perhaps doesn’t want to admit to any words to describe what he’s feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, you’ve well and truly upended Max Verstappen’s world.

***

Max remains rooted in place long after you’ve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that … emotional encounter.

Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.

The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...

Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Max’s skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.

He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years — grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same … response within him.

None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Max’s chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.

Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.

So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.

Perhaps that’s the core issue — that for once in his life, Max’s motivations weren’t born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.

The realization causes Max’s steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.

He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been … affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.

Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappen’s carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.

It’s both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.

Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.

“Come in.” he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.

Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. “You asked to see me right away, sir?”

“Yes.” Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. “I need you to do some … discreet digging for me into a personal matter.”

Clara’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesn’t comment on his evasive phrasing.

“And what exactly am I looking into?”

“The employee who was just in my office seeking leave.” he explains curtly. “The one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can — where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.”

Clara’s perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. “You’re aware I can’t exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...”

“I’m fully aware.” Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. “Which is why you’ll have to take a more … unconventional approach. I don’t particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.”

His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.

Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. “Consider it done, sir.”

With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.

Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.

What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths he’s going to, all for the sake of some random underling’s personal crisis ...

A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.

And yet, he can’t seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mind’s eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.

It’s almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he can’t fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to … to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?

The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?

He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.

He’s in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.

“Clara.” he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. “I trust you’ve made progress?”

“Indeed.” comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. “Though I should warn you, some of these details are … concerning.”

Something tightens in Max’s chest, but he quickly tamps it down. “Just lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.”

“Very well.” Clara acquiesces. “So the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-”

“Let me stop you right there.” Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. “What’s the official diagnosis then?”

“Grade IV glioblastoma.” Clara replies flatly. “One of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.”

A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV … practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.

“And her prospects?” He finally prompts gruffly. “What’s the … prognosis for her case?”

Clara doesn’t answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.

“From what my contact at Lennox Hill said … if we’re talking full disclosure?” Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. “They’ve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.”

The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Max’s neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.

Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their child’s death sentence with any measure of composure?

An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Max’s throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isn’t the time for such indulgences.

“Thank you, Clara.” he manages in a rough baritone. “That will be all for now.”

He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.

Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.

Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.

That’s unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.

No child should have to suffer like that … and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.

And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.

An idea begins to blossom in his mind — one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he can’t quite explain.

Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought he’d use outside of donor galas.

“Roland? Max Verstappen here.” he says gruffly when the line picks up. “I need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology department ...”

Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.

“Dr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.” Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. “To cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a … sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.”

Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter — the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.

“So in your expert opinion.” Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “What would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. “Based on what you’ve told me … I’m afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.”

Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a fool’s hope.

“However.” Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. “We do currently have an … experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.”

Something akin to hope flutters in Max’s chest. “I’m listening.”

“Well, to put it simply, we’ve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.” the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.

“By modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of … controlled payload, if you will.”

Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. “Some kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?”

“Precisely.” Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. “Only we’ve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, we’ve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.”

He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Max’s head. Not that it matters — his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulson’s voice.

“Of course, this is all still highly experimental. We’ve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.” the doctor cautions. “And we have no idea if the viral vector we’ve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.”

Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. “I appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But let’s cut right to the heart of the matter.”

He draws in a fortifying breath. “If you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these … gene therapy regimens of yours … would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?”

There’s a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, “If she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions … and we get a bit of luck on our side ...” Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. “Then I’d say we would have a fighting chance, yes.”

Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.

A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.

After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.

“Say no more, doctor. Whatever it costs — money, time, logistics — none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, I’ll take care of the bill.” He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.

Because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child — ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?

It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.

***

You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitor’s chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.

She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how you’d regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.

Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.

One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.

The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.

Because this morning, the doctors came to “discuss options.” As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.

“We’ve run every available scan and lab test.” Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. “I’m so very sorry, but the tumor isn’t responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...”

You hadn’t let him finish, couldn’t let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could “comfortably” slip away.

The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earth’s crust. You’d screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.

In the end, they’d sedated your daughter fully so you could “calm down” and “process things rationally.” You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.

So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if you’ll ever truly feel anything else ever again.

Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughter’s bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before … before ...

A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.

The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.

You aren’t sure how much time stretches in that manner — minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.

So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.

A stranger stands in the doorway — a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.

You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.

“Please, don’t be alarmed.” he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. “I know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting you’d want an uninvited visitor.”

Now that he’s closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. There’s no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.

“My name is Spencer Paulson.” the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. “I’m actually a doctor, Ms ...”

“Y/N.” you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. “Y/N L/N. And this is … this is my daughter, Olivia.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N.” the man — Dr. Paulson — says, tone measured. “I realize I’m intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughter’s limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.

“Then if you don’t mind my asking.” you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. “Why are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Olivia’s bedside unannounced?”

He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.

“I was recently contacted by … an interested third party about your daughter’s case.” Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis — glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?”

You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The man’s crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.

Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. “Right, well, I’m actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”

The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.

But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.

“I’ll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, holding up a forestalling hand. “My team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, we’ve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol — a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Olivia’s brain tumor.”

You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and “controlled payloads” being essentially the extent of modern medicine.

“... And while the trial is still in its early stages, we’ve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.” Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. “Which is why we’re reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.”

He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But you’re frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.

After all, you’ve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you can’t afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.

But another part of your wearied brain — the part that’s grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness — recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.

So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.

“How ...”

Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. “I’m sorry?”

You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. “How much would … would a treatment like this cost?”

For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulson’s aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.

“Unfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy … the baseline costs do run relatively high.” he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. “If approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, we’re looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.”

The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four … million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesn’t seem real.

You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.

But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.

“However, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some … special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughter’s case.” he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. “You see, there’s an anonymous benefactor who’s agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a … philanthropic basis, let’s call it.”

The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying through the roaring static in your ears.

“I … I don’t understand.” you manage to stammer out. “Someone wants to … pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-”

“Hey now, none of that.” Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. “The why doesn’t matter right now — only that it’s been arranged at no cost to you or your family.”

He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.

“I know this is … well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else you’re already dealing with.” Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think it’s enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?”

Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.

After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girl’s life slowly ebb away before your very eyes … there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything won’t end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.

And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs — only this time, they’re threaded with the catharsis of relief.

Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Olivia’s bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though you’re being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.

Through the storm of your breakdown, you’re dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.

“We’ll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?”

You can’t even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulson’s murmur.

“There’s a fighting chance now. That’s all any of us can really ask for ...”

***

Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.

456 … 458… ah, there — 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.

Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside — your voice, he recognizes with a start. “Come in!”

Max’s brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes that’s only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.

Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. You’re seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitor’s chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans — by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.

Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.

Olivia.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up — and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. “M-Mr. Verstappen?” You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. “I … I didn’t realize you were-”

Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. “I admit I hadn’t warned you about my visit in advance.”

He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isn’t entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.

And now that he’s here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely … unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didn’t even begin to equip him for handling.

But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. “Who’re you?” She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Max’s usually implacable defenses.

Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Olivia’s inquisitive gaze.

“You can just call me Max.” he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didn’t even realize he was capable of. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

It occurs to him then that he’s been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand — an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a month’s rent for most families. He had ordered them from the city’s most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.

This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Max’s stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Olivia’s large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.

Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.

“These are, ah, for your mother.” he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. “A small token of … of appreciation, one might say.”

He isn’t quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition — perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.

“Thank you, Mr. Versta-” You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. “Er, Max. They’re absolutely lovely.”

You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.

Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.

And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity he’s accustomed to projecting. Not when Olivia’s sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.

Your daughter still hasn’t looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. It’s … disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.

“I, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.” he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.

He’s not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still can’t understand.

But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.

“Ohmygosh, thank you!” The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.

On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Olivia’s waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Max’s very soul.

He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, he’s forced to admit.

Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughter’s cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize you’ve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.

“I trust the medical team has kept you informed of Olivia’s progress so far.” he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. “I don’t have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?”

You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. “Y-Yes, you could definitely say that.”

Something sparks behind your gaze then — some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. “In fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that they’re actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-”

You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.

Then, almost in a whisper, “Max … are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?”

The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max can’t find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.

For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Max’s jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.

But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bear’s paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Max’s formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.

So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, “Yes.”

He doesn’t have time to brace himself before you’re suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.

The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact — perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.

But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.

“Thank you.” you’re whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ...”

With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.

Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesn’t pull away, doesn’t extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.

Instead, in a move even he can’t fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.

“It’s … quite alright.” he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. “No thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughter’s full and complete recovery … at whatever cost required.”

He isn’t sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him — he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.

Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.

“I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.” you murmur throatily. “For giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.”

Tenderness isn’t something that often breaks through Max Verstappen’s shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’s allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.

But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he can’t quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.

“The only form of repayment I’ll require.” he says finally, “is your permission to take you to dinner.”

He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.

“Dinner? But … I haven’t left Olivia in weeks.”

At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if he’s regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. “Of course I don’t expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together … here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.”

Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like … excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.

“I … yes, of course.” you murmur, sounding almost bashful. “We would be honored.”

Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.

“Very good then,” is all he finds himself able to say in response. “I shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. You’re already back in your chair at Olivia’s bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughter’s hair.

And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.

A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.

Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.

Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.

Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...

Denial doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.

***

Two Years Later

The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Max’s gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.

“What are you up to over there, kleine muis?” He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.

Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. “I’m having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.” she explains, brandishing the dolls. “Would you like to join us, Maxie?”

Max chuckles softly. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.”

“Okay.” Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.

You had dropped Olivia off at Max’s office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.

After a while, Olivia looks up again. “Maxie, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, lieverd. What is it?”

Olivia fidgets with one of the doll’s dresses. “Today at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.”

Max’s heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. “Did you have fun with that activity?”

Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.”

The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.

Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, “But then Timmy said that you’re not really my daddy since we don’t have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?”

Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.

Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.

“Olivia.” he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. “Even though we don’t share the same name, and I didn’t ...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.”

Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. “So, I can call you Daddy?”

The simple question unlocks something deep within Max’s core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesn’t fight.

“Yes, kleine muis.” he whispers, his voice wavering. “I would be honored if you called me Daddy.”

Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Max’s neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Olivia’s tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.

They stay like that for long minutes, Max’s shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Olivia’s hair as he buries his face against her.

At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. “I love you, Daddy.” she says simply, the words reverberating through Max’s very soul.

He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “And I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.”

Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.

Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men … yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.

“Here it is!” Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. “For you, Daddy.”

With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures — stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.

“It’s beautiful.” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. “Thank you.”

Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.

Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Olivia’s artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.

Because Max is many things — a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.

But most importantly, he is a father.

And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Olivia’s daddy.

[tammulberry]

Polaris: Izuocha Reincarnation AU by T.A.M. Mulberry

I miss these two interacting so much so that's why I created a full blown AU where they interact more than once and perhaps more than a thousand times too...

SYNOPSIS: Ochako Uraraka had a dream. To see the smiles of her parents and let them live an easy life. If it meant going to a far off university to become an engineer, she would do it. But when she fell asleep, all she had were nightmares of a different reality that continued on after the summer it started. Soon, she met Izuku Midoriya, an awkward but ambitious boy that lived just across her apartment. While most would only look his way when he did something outrageous, there was a warmth to his eyes that drew her in. In time, she developed feelings for him. It terrified her. The idea that a boy might get in the way of her goals. However, as her friendship with him deepens, she realizes that there’s an underlying reason to her hesitance. 

Years of the Yapping™ started in 2023 finished in ?

RATING: PG-13 WORD COUNT: 5.6k+

Copyright © 2024 by T.A.M. Mulberry

CHAPTER 1. The Building Blocks

It was Ochako’s last year in high school and to say it was the most difficult one yet was an understatement. With cram school, academics and part time jobs that never stuck — she had to triple her efforts just to balance everything before college. 

Graduation was fast approaching. Luckily, she passed third year even if it meant skipping meals and burning the midnight oil to pass every project, every test. 

Every test. The thought resounded in her head. It’s been a few weeks since she took the entrance exam for Yuuei. Impatiently, she waited for the results. She was sure of most of the answers and she had dedicated sleepless nights to making sure she aced it but what if she didn’t? It was one of the best schools in the country and the acceptance rate was so low. 

“Announcement!” The speaker sounded. “I will be listing a few names and whoever is called must proceed to the principal’s office.” 

“Ooh, do you think this is about Yuuei, Ochako?” Her seatmate whispered to her. 

“I hope so…” Ochako smiled hopefully. 

As the names were called, Ochako couldn’t help but let out a wobbly smile in anticipation. 

“Ochako Uraraka.” 

She stood up a little too quickly and tripped on her bag but that didn’t matter. “That’s me!” 

"Good luck, Ocha!" Her friend whispered to her and gave an encouraging wave. 

As she speed walked to the principal’s office, she could feel her heart beating out of her chest. Ochako wasn’t usually nervous or antsy about anything but this is her future and if she failed, what would happen then? 

She took a deep breath and opened the sliding door to the principal’s office.

The rest of the students called from her year were already there. 

“Good afternoon, sir!” Ochako greeted him with a bow. “Why’d you call me in?” 

"Please line up with the others first, Ms. Uraraka," said her principal and she nodded, a little flustered by her own eagerness. 

"Alright. So…" he flipped over a few documents. She didn't know how much longer she could wait. 

“Congratulations, everyone,” said the principal. “You are the students from our school with the privilege of passing Shizuoka University’s Yuuei.” The principal then continued to explain all the reminders and announcements to keep in mind before the next school year started. 

Ochako’s mind just blacked out for a second.

“What?!” She yelled in disbelief and scurried to the balding man like a crab desperate for confirmation, her voice dropped an octave. “Do you really mean it?!”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have called you in here if you didn’t get accepted,” he said simply, a little frightened by her eagerness.

The rest of the students were too busy congratulating themselves and each other to notice Ochako's determined face at first, but it wasn't hard to miss. 

"Hey, look at the Uraraka girl," a blond boy whispered to one of his friends. "You don't see her looking like that everyday. I thought she was kinda airheaded." 

"You should see her in math class," one of her classmates whispered back. “She’s way more focused than she looks.” 

Ochako couldn’t control her giddiness. She vigorously shook the principal’s hand and was about to make a beeline for the door before she was stopped in her tracks. 

"Wait, Ms. Uraraka. There’s one more thing." The principal called out from the end of the office. 

"Oh, sure thing, sir," she replied, a little flustered after her emotional high had died down. 

"I must say, it’s very impressive that you managed to land a scholarship for UA. That is no easy feat. You are the only one in our school that managed to.” 

“Thank you, sir,” she bowed and noticed that the other students around her were murmuring. 

“Told you,” said one of the girls. 

The principal stood up and clapped his hands for everyone to pay attention. “Graduation is fast approaching, everyone. I’m sure that everyone must be tired from all the rehearsals. You all have bright futures ahead with this new opportunity. You are all dismissed now.” 

As they headed out of the principal’s office, she heard the students talking among themselves again. 

“Hey, why don’t we go to karaoke after this?”

“Let’s get some yakiniku?”

“Uraraka, do you want to come with us?” 

Ochako was caught off guard by the invitation.  It has been awhile since she has gone out. She loved being around people. It’s not like she didn’t have friends. She realized just how much she neglected her social life in order to juggle her goals for passing the entrance exam. 

Nevertheless, she wanted to celebrate this achievement with her parents first. Everything she has been doing, every sacrifice she has made was for them after all. 

“I’m sorry guys, but I want to spend the night with my parents. I mean I passed UA and got a scholarship! I’ve gotta let them know about it,” she said with a small smile. 

“Okay, suit yourself. See ya around,” one of the girls waved at her. 

When it seemed like she was the only person in the hallway, she took a deep breath. Inhaled and exhaled, as she walked the path with no other people. 

***

Ochako opened the door to the tiny apartment flat she lived in with her parents to find that she was the first one there. As she waited for them to come home, she opened the door to her room to look at her dioramas. Her parents weren't able to afford the materials so she made do with whatever was lying around and learned how to create her own mini buildings. 

There was a small dome-like structure that was created from using a worn out metal bowl that she dinked and drew metallic markings on. It was an imitation of the planetarium that Ochako’s parents took her to just once when she was a little girl. Sure, it wasn’t perfect but soon, she’d be able to make models she’d be proud of. To see stars and planets moving like that for the first time wowed her. 

It was like a real life dreamscape. 

Dreaming was one of Ochako’s favorite things about life. When life was too hectic and heavy to bear, all she had to do was fall asleep and imagine a paradise. Some nights, she could blast off into space and land on the stars. Other nights, she was able to see the most beautiful parts of Japan. On some nights, she'd be in Mochi Land eating all the flavors she wanted but couldn't find.

Yet as cheesy as it sounded, her favorite dream was to see her parents without bags under their eyes or a fake smile to reassure her that they were okay. She could vividly imagine it when she closed her eyes. A stress free life in old age as they laid on a sandy beach somewhere in Hawaii. To see others live a happy life. To see others smiling. That’s all Ochako wanted. 

Ochako liked to think of herself as a lot more grounded than she let on though. Those were all fantasies at the end of the day. But now — now she has a new path. 

Embarrassingly enough, she still had second thoughts on whether she wanted to go or not even after she was accepted. It was far away too, a 4 hour train ride from her hometown to Shizuoka. 

Going meant that she'd be alone. It meant that she would have to spend extra money on an apartment and meals. It meant she had to leave her parents behind without anyone to help them out. If something happened, she’d be helpless. 

Click!

Snapped out of her reverie, she heard the keys twist on the doorknob and she quickly skipped out of her room to greet them. 

"Mom! Dad!" She exclaimed and went in for a hug for both of them. “I got into UA!” 

“Congratulations, Ochako!” said her dad but she noticed that his voice sounded tired.

“I knew you could do it, Ocha…” her mom sounded the same too, and she let go. 

"Um," she hesitated and thought, maybe something happened. "How has work been?" 

"It's nothing, really, Ochako. Really.” 

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong, dad?” Ochako paused as she made the realization. It wasn’t the first time it happened and it really did take a toll on the company.  “Did one of the clients cancel again?”

Her mom nodded at her and her heart sank. 

“It’s nothing that we can’t fix.” Both of them smiled at her silently but she noticed that it didn't seem to reach their eyes. It made her own voice falter. 

“Is there anything that I can do to help though? If there's anything that needs to be done, I can do it," she said earnestly as she enumerated with her fingers. "The laundry, the dishes, dinner, grocery. Anything.” 

"Ochako. You don’t have to do that," her mom replied with a small smile. It was then that Ochako noticed that her eye bags were darker than before. 

"I know you mean well, sweetheart," her dad sighed, as he ruffled her hair. "But like I said before, you're spreading yourself too thin. You don’t have to burden yourself with our problems on top of yours." 

Ochako pursed her lips and chose not to say anything. Was she spreading herself too thin? Was everything that she was doing too much? She sure didn’t see it that way but under the rare warning gaze of her dad, she didn’t want to protest anymore about it. 

“Okay, dad…” She said quietly. Her eyes lost their glimmer and he bent down to hold her by the shoulders. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, Ochako. After all, you’re not the only one who has a surprise.” 

“Huh?” Ochako lifted her head and looked at him curiously. 

“We get to go to the planetarium again after a street food fest!” Her dad held up three tickets and her face brightened. 

Did Ochako hear that right? Not only will she be able to eat street food again after so long but she’ll also be able to see the planetarium again. It felt like a dream come true and she rushed to hug the two of them once again. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You guys are the best…” All you care about is money. 

The gratitude in her was genuine but there was a feeling of uneasiness in her stomach. She shook it off. 

***

“Actually, Ochako—we already received a phone call from the principal to talk about how you got accepted to UA under a scholarship,” her dad explained, as they rode the bus to the city town square. “Even before he announced it to the students.” 

“He really did that?” Ochako exclaimed with amusement.

“Yeah, that’s why we were able to secure tickets for the planetarium event happening tonight.” 

“Can I at least use my own money from my part time job?” Ochako asked hopefully. 

“Don’t worry, Ochako. We have it covered.” her dad said as he patted her head. 

“If you say so…” She shrugged light-heartedly yet Ochako couldn’t shake off the guilt. Her parents had more important things to deal with yet they made more sacrifices for this trip to the town square. She was grateful, she always will be—but she didn’t understand why her parents didn’t allow her to help them. 

She snapped out of her thoughts when they made their stop. The family got off the crowded train. The smell of city air and the blinding lights were sensations that she felt so rarely but they brought back some of her fondest memories. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve been to the city,” said her dad. “Do you want to roam around on your own?”

“Let’s walk around together first,” Ochako replied. She remembered being invited to a yakiniku place just a few hours ago and thought … meat. Meat sounded really good to eat right now. If there was one thing she rarely got to eat, it was yakiniku. All-you-can-eat restaurants were all the rage these days but it was almost impossible to get a reservation for her family. 

She skipped around the town square, eyes bright. There was the hustle and bustle of cityfolk as she surveyed the area, looking for something that would fill her stomach. Ochako then spotted the next best thing. 

“Hey, it’s yakitori!” Ochako exclaimed. 

Ochako lined up with her mom at the yakitori stand for the savory delights. Her dad was elsewhere, looking for takoyaki and dango. As they made it to the front of the line, Ochako fished out her wallet before her mom lowered her hand. 

“Remember, Ochako. It’s on us! Use your money for something you really want,” said her mom. All Ochako could do was laugh sheepishly. She didn’t know how to tell them that she wanted extra but her mom saw through it almost immediately. 

“I see, so you want a little extra, huh?” Her mom teased and Ochako nodded shyly and the former slung her arm around her shoulder. 

“Just listen to your father, alright? I know you care about us and how we shouldn’t be spending it on you—but you’re our daughter. And you got into UA! So I say it’s appropriate that we celebrate, right?” 

 It was really difficult to protest against her parents. Deep down, she knew that they meant well. 

“Right...” Her mom ended up buying her extra skewers. Her dad just came back with a huge box of takoyaki and dango sticks. In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have asked her parents how their day was. Ignorance was bliss, right? 

For a while, everything seemed normal. Ochako was able to shake off the guilt and she managed to enjoy the good food she had always wanted. They also had huge chocolate crepes, and mochi ice cream for dessert. Yes, maybe she wished they didn’t spend so much but she could let go of that feeling for one night. 

“Hey, dad, what if I try finding a mochi maker?” she asked. “I’ll just go to one of the stores nearby and see if there’s one on sale.” 

“Well, you’re a big girl, Ochako. You can go off and find something you’d like. Just make sure to call me, alright?” Her dad reminded her as he held his phone.

Ochako clutched her flip phone to her chest and nodded earnestly. 

“Don’t worry, I will!” 

She walked around the place and saw a store that caught her eye. A big sign that implied they sold desserts and appliances.

“Mochi…” Ochako sprinted to the shop before it got crowded.

“Must … get … mochi … machine!” She declared, as determined as she’ll ever be only to come to an abrupt stop to open the door gently. The bell jingled and it looked exactly as it did from the outside. It looked quite old but its wooden frames were well-maintained. It was lined with vintage paintings and it looked very warm and cozy. 

Ochako looked around the place to find baking essentials and different appliances. 

“Hello, dear! What would you like to buy?” said an old lady from over the counter. She was short and stout but had a warm smile on her face. Ochako returned the smile. “We don’t normally get customers past this time.” 

“Hmm…” Ochako hesitated as her finger tapped her chin. “I’m looking for a mochi maker that’s affordable, and in pink if you have it.” 

She almost fainted from joy when she saw the perfect mochi maker in front of her. It was pink and had rabbit ears on the sides. However, Ochako hesitated when she saw the price. It was quite expensive. She looked at her phone pensively. Should she lie about the price and buy it with her own money? Will they find out? 

“What’s wrong?” The old lady suddenly showed up beside her. 

“Whoa! How did you get there?” Ochako exclaimed and the old lady simply chuckled. 

“I’m still quite light on my feet, eh!” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ochako laughed along. 

“I don’t mean to pry but … what is the matter, dear?” the old lady continued and Ochako hesitated again. “Are the desserts not to your liking?” 

“It’s uh, nothing, really,” she started. “This mochi maker looks perfect and it’s big enough for me to share . But I am … on a budget…” 

The lady looked at her and urged Ochako to continue as the latter hesitated to expound.  

“You see, I’m not from the city, so I don’t get to go to places like this often. My parents told me to call if I ever find something interesting but … I can’t help but feel a little guilty, is all. I don't want to waste their money.” 

“Hm, I know what you mean,” the old lady replied. “When I was about your age, I experienced the same thing too.” 

“Really?” Ochako asked curiously. She figured that it would be impolite to leave so soon. And without buying anything!  

“Yes,” said the old lady. “It was difficult to live in a society where I had to beg to stay alive.” 

Oh… 

“I was shunned just for existing and people would tell me it was my fault for being born.” 

“That must have been awful…” Ochako said sympathetically. 

“I don’t understand why people think it is so wrong to be free. The way I see it, they must be bitter about being chained. But I chose to open this shop—whether they liked it or not.” 

There was an awkward silence in the air. Ochako didn’t expect the old lady to spill specific details about her life. She started to feel uncomfortable about the idea that she believed Ochako was just like her in a way even though their lives couldn’t have been more different. 

“Surely, you must know what it’s like to feel so trapped?” the old lady asked her hopefully. 

Ochako genuinely pondered on that question. Did she feel trapped? In some ways, maybe. But did she love her parents? Without a doubt. 

“All I want is to give back to my parents with my own merit. With all due respect, ma’am, we’ve only just met. My life is completely different from yours and I … don't think it's a fair comparison.” 

“Well, is that so? Perhaps I could tell you more about my story over some coffee at the back of the store. I could really use a friend.” 

Ochako smiled awkwardly. Maybe she would have taken up the offer if the conversation didn't start to go off in a different direction. She glanced at her phone and looked at it skeptically. 

That’s weird, there’s no signal in this store, she thought to herself and backed away slightly when she noticed that the old lady stared at her. 

“That's very kind of you, ma'am, but I’ll have to decline. You see, I need to go somewhere. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be … going out now. My parents are probably wondering where I've gone.” 

“But what about your mochi maker? Don't you want to buy it?” The old lady asked her, the warm tone in her voice slowly disappearing. 

Actually, forget the mochi maker, Ochako, maybe you should run.

And run, she did. Ochako sprinted to the exit of the store as quickly as she could and once she opened the door, the bell jingled and everything went silent. 

Ochako slowly closed her eyes and opened them to see a location that she didn't recognize on the way in. The streets were darker. There were lesser people around. She checked her phone to find out that it read 9:30 pm. 

“Huh?!” 

It made no sense. It was 7:30 when she got there! She was only in the store for a few minutes at best. At least—it felt that way…

Ochako gasped with the realization that she missed the planetarium show and her parents might have been looking for her this entire time. She took a deep breath and tried to think of ways for the situation to make sense but she grasped at straws. The guilt ate her up and the tears slowly fell. 

She surveyed her surroundings to see if the old lady could have possibly followed her on the way out but she wasn't there anymore.

Feeling slightly relieved, Ochako tried to call her parents. All she wanted was to let them know she was safe. 

“Ochako?!” Her dad’s frantic voice yelled from the other end. “Ochako, can you hear me?!”

“Y-yes, dad I can hear you…” she said, her voice cracked and started to ramble. “I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry that I wasted your time and missed the planetarium show. I don't know where I am anymore, I—” 

“Ochako.” Her dad's voice said calmly. “Ochako. It doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is that you are safe. Where are you? What signs can you see?”

Ochako looked around, still disoriented, but luckily, thankfully she saw a sign that led to the street food area. 

She frantically rushed towards the sound of the familiar bustling city lights and she tried to suck in the tears the moment she saw her parents talking to the police. Ochako tackled and circled her arms around both of them. 

Perhaps it was the familiar warmth or the unfamiliarity of the situation.

Ochako broke down. 

“I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I’m so sorry I wandered off! I'm so sorry I wasn't able to text you guys or do anything to make sure I wasn’t hurt or worse—” 

“Shh…” Her mom calmed her down as she stroked her hair. “It’s okay, Ochako. It’s gonna be okay. 

That night, Ochako was taken to the police station to be interrogated over what she saw. She told them everything, no matter how crazy it sounded. 

“Hmm,” the interrogator hummed. “Surprisingly enough, Ms. Uraraka. This is not the first case of your kind. We have been getting reports of incidents similar to this for years.” 

“So you don’t think I’m crazy?” Ochako asked. 

“I don’t. But they’re very rare and yours is … the third case in the past 20 years. All I can tell you now is to keep your guard up. Perhaps it’s time to continue investigating this case once again…”

***

After they made it back, Ochako was so relieved. What happened a few hours back was unsettling. Unnerving. A strange store that made her lose track of time. An old lady that started to ask personal questions just to keep her in. If her parents weren't able to find her in time, she could have been kidnapped or worse… 

To think that she will be moving to Tokyo in a few months saddened her.  There were many things that she saw for the first time. Some after a long time. Some she thought she'd never see again. Even with the experience in the appliance store, she was grateful. She always will be grateful for her parents going the extra mile to make her happy. 

She entered her room after her nightly routine and plopped down on the futon. 

I wonder what I'll dream about, she thought to herself. Maybe her dreams will be kinder to her than reality this time. It was how she always coped with the weight of it after all. 

Ochako thought back to the old lady that compared herself to her. They couldn't have been more different. Ochako was blessed. Reminding herself of that was enough for her to drift off to sleep. 

While it was kind to her, Dreamland seemed to have a different plan tonight.

There was always a soft pink haze that surrounded her dreams but this time, things felt a little more vivid. She looked around and noticed that she was in a car in the backseat. Ochako couldn’t see the face of her vessel for the night but she could see the ankle length dress and ring on her … wrinkly fingers? Okay, that was a little weird.

“Gramma, we’re already here,” said someone from the passenger seat as she turned around. The woman was beautiful. In a way, she looked like her own mother but without the tired look. She had a warm smile but Ochako saw a shift in her face before she turned away. 

Not being able to control her actions, all Ochako could do was mutter out a weak thank you in return. The car came to a stop and she stepped out awkwardly. Why were her legs so wobbly? The driver seemed to notice and took her by the arm to help her sit on a wheelchair. 

As she rubbed her eyes from the mist, she could see where they were. 

It was a cemetery. The smell of rain and the thick fog as it cloaked the weathered gravestones was unmistakable. She looked up to the woman, who gripped the handles of the wheelchair tightly as Ochako was guided to the entrance. 

It was strange, really. Ochako could see things vividly, she could think about what she saw but she couldn't control her actions. Most of her dreams were happy so why was she walking alongside a woman to a misty cemetery on a gloomy day? 

Soon, the woman came to a stop and there they were as they looked down at a gravestone. Ochako couldn't make out the name but the cracks on its surface and the engravings have faded over time. 

“You told me you wanted to come here again. It’s been over 70 years now, but …” she looked down at Ochako sympathetically. “I know it still hurts.” 

"It feels like yesterday. We wanted to go on so many adventures together," she spoke without any control of herself. "My most beloved. I hope he's happy in heaven.” 

“It must be wonderful to love someone so deeply and so freely.” 

Ochako woke up with tears in her eyes that night. She was back in her room. It was completely dark out. 

“Oh, that was terrible,” she mumbled to herself as she rubbed her eyes to stop the crying. 

The dream felt so real. Like nothing she ever felt before. It was like she was living through the eyes of another person. Another distant reality. But that’s not how dreams worked, right? Dreams are the wishes of the heart and Ochako knew she didn’t want to be an old lady visiting a grave. 

Stop overthinking it, Ochako. She told herself. It was just a dream, it wasn’t real. You can dream about better things soon. 

Ochako tried her best to fall asleep again. She twisted and turned on the old worn out futon that she had since she was a kid but it was no use. The moment she closed her eyes, she could only see the dream she woke up from. 

Unable to sleep, Ochako left her bed to go out and sit on the balcony of her room. 

She loved starry nights like this. They lived in a part of the prefecture full of lights so she could only see the stars twinkling when the rest of the town was asleep. She craned her head up to look for her favorite star. 

Polaris. It’s always there. In the same position as it was. She liked to think that even if the rest of the world kept moving and even though she’d have to keep moving too, the north star will be where it’s always been. 

She sighed and the tears from her dream slowly dried. Ochako's mind was at peace once again.  

Until she checked the time and the realization that she was sleep deprived hit her. 

***

“Ochako,” her mom called out as she was washing the dishes. “Did you sleep well?” 

Crap, she noticed! Ochako laughed nervously and dismissed the comment as smoothly as she could. “Oh, I — uh,  I just stayed up late watching movies!” 

Her mom looked at her, unconvinced and she gulped. She never even tried to hint about having a nightmare. 

“Hmm, you must be tired from what happened last night then.” 

“Yeah! Yeah that's true…” Ochako had her hands behind her back. To tell the truth, she was still shaken by the dreams. And that old lady. It felt like there were eyes that loomed over her wherever she went—the eyes of that old lady. 

Ochako reasoned with herself that her guard was up and that in time, the feeling would fade away. 

She couldn’t have been more wrong as she experienced the same dream when night fell. 

And the night after that. 

…And the night after that. 

It was always the same scenario. She was living through the eyes of an old lady that would visit someone’s grave. The name engraved on the tombstone was never shown but Ochako could feel a difference in each dream with what she could see from the waist down. The time of day and the silence of whoever led her there. 

Dreams were once one of Ochako’s favorite things about life but soon enough, she was scared of falling asleep. She wouldn't call it nightmarish, but it elicited emotions that Ochako didn’t want to feel. The thing is, Ochako didn’t like to feel things deeply to begin with. There wasn't a reason for her to feel negative emotions because she was already so blessed. 

So why did the tears keep falling? 

*** 

This was the worst one yet. The worst nightmare she has ever had. 

No other vivid dream could compare to the suffocating feeling this one came with. Except … this didn't feel like a dream at all. This pain felt oh so real. Ochako was in a dark room. She could hear the sound of a heart monitor with a beat that was slowing down. She frantically tried to look around but she could no longer move her head. All she could see was a ceiling fan. That was when she noticed that there was something that supported her breathing as several machines were strapped to her body.

What is this? She panicked. Where am I? Am I dying?

It’s like she was drowning with no way of coming up to the surface. Her body slowly stiffened and her eyes started to blur. 

Just then, someone held her hand. 

She looked up to see a silhouette of someone that she didn’t recognize. 

"Hey," he started and Ochako looked at them with beady eyes. "It's me." 

Ochako couldn't speak. She could only let out a weak nod of acknowledgement. 

“It’s going to be alright. Breathe out, Ochako. We’ll see each other again. Don’t you worry.” 

The impact from the train’s sudden stop woke Ochako up. They left in the morning but the sky was already dark. How long has it been since they’ve traveled and made stops? She sat up straighter and rubbed her eyes, only to feel an overwhelming amount of tears. Ochako gasped and wiped them away in a panic. She really hoped her parents wouldn’t notice. 

She turned around to see that her parents just woke up too. Her dad rubbed her eyes and greeted her good morning. 

“Ochako, it’s time to grab your bags,” said her mom. “Today is the day!”

The Uraraka family made their way off the cramped and crowded train.

Ochako rubbed her eyes to get rid of any excess tears and she feigned that it was because of how in awe she was of Tokyo. 

“There’s so many people!” She looked up and saw a huge building with two divisions. Blue windows covering every inch as far as she could see. 

So that must be UA.

“C’mon, Ochako, the apartment isn’t very far away from here. It’s only walking distance from UA University.”

And true enough, it really wasn’t. It was a humble place with at least four stories. They made her way up to the third floor of the building and stopped at A-401. 

"So this is the room you will be staying in, Ochako,” her dad said as she opened the door. 

The auburn haired girl glanced around at the place. It was quite small with a couch for three, a kitchenette, a tiny bathroom, all the things that a seventeen year old girl like herself would be terrified to use on her own. 

But hey, this was what she wanted after all.

It wasn’t as nice as the one at home but it sure felt that way. Her parents weren't able to afford stationery so something she would do is daydream of all the cute designs to customize her space with. She even brought some of the smaller dioramas she made at home to decorate the place with. 

“Hey, Ochako,” her mom started. “Were you able to check the balcony?”

“The balcony…?” Ochako walked into the room she will be sleeping in and was shocked to see a balcony just like the one she had at home. Better yet, it overlooked UA University and the rest of the city. 

"I know it's not much, Ochako but I hope that it will be good enough for you to live in while you go to school—" 

"Thank you..." she hugged her parents tightly. They may not be vocal about it but Ochako already knew that her parents didn’t want her to go. 

"I promise, Ochako. One day we will have enough money to buy you all the things that you deserve to have." 

"No, dad," she replied. "You've got it all wrong. I’ll make the most of my stay in UA so I can be the best engineer the company will have!" She punched the air enthusiastically. 

After that, the look in her eyes changed as she smiled at them sentimentally. 

"One day, you two will rest easy knowing that your daughter is there to give back to you. And I won't ever let anything get in the way of my dream."  

She gave the two of them one last tight hug as she squeezed her eyes shut, afraid of what would happen if she didn’t. “See you in July!”  

To Be Continued in CHAPTER 2....

[seph7]

By Frank Rich

March 30, 1983

A PLAYWRIGHT with a strong, fresh voice will always stand out sooner or later, but there's a sure way to expedite the process: put one of his one-act plays on the same bill with works by writers who speak in more familiar and measured tones.

Such is the good fortune that has befallen Harry Kondoleon, whose ''Slacks and Tops'' is third on a new one-act bill titled ''Triple Feature'' at the Manhattan Theater Club. Mr. Kondoleon's work has been done before Off Broadway, but he's seen to exceptional advantage in this outing. Coming after the evening's two conventional plays - one of which, Stephen Metcalfe's ''Half a Lifetime,'' is quite decent - ''Slacks and Tops'' snakes through the theater like an air-raid siren.

Mr. Kondoleon's sketch, which might be described as an absurdist nightmare, is imperfect and unevenly cast, but its caustic, surreal humor and bizarre vision are original and special. Set in a motel room near Kennedy International Airport, it tells of an insane all-American family determined to uproot to Africa. Mommy is so stoned that she's convinced herself that marijuana is legal; she's so in love with Vogue magazine that she's taking her entire collection of back issues along to her new home. Daddy is a college professor fond of having affairs with his students (after which he gets them kicked out of school). Both parents despise their grown daughter, who arrives in the clown's costume and makeup she'd worn to entertain at a church bazaar earlier in the day.

A lot happens, a murder included, as these three shout at and past one another, dredging up several decades' worth of grievances. Mr. Kondoleon has wholly eccentric things to say about families, organized religion, shopping, sex, marriage, and even ''the desiccation of European cities.'' Nearly every line contains bracing language and the charge of high-voltage anxiety, and that quality is captured in Douglas Hughes's fast-paced staging. While the actors can't always keep up with the writing and the direction, Amy Wright is delightfully mad as the literally and figuratively clownish daughter.

In Mr. Metcalfe's play, second on the bill, four Middle-American men get together for their weekly beer-and-poker revels, only to discover that their lives have never lived up to the high ambitions that they shared back in high school ''half a lifetime'' ago. Confronted with the realities of dull dead-end jobs, alienated wives, children's orthodonture bills and middle-aged flab, these pals are so desperate that they even briefly contemplate a suburban bank robbery as a solution to their ills.

If there is nothing new in what this play has to say, one nonetheless admires Mr. Metcalfe's ability to portray the vulgar rowdiness and ultimately the mutual affection that binds the men together. He doesn't sentimentalize his characters - they can be outrageously juvenile, bullying and even racist - but he does make the case that male camaraderie isn't always a bad thing. Friendship is the only solid possession these buddies have, and, by the end, we feel its full value.

Dann Florek, who acted in Mr. Metcalfe's ''Strange Snow'' at the Manhattan Theater Club last season, has done a very strong job of directing ''Half a Lifetime.'' Though he can't always cover up the clumsy transitions, italicized epiphanies and bald passages of exposition, he firmly establishes the raucous atmosphere of the recreation-room gathering and delivers the emotional punch that the play's conclusion demands. The cast is excellent: John Goodman, James Rebhorn, Peter Zapp and particularly J.T. Walsh as a cop whose immediate personal crises trigger the others' soul-searching.

The evening's curtain-raiser is ''The Groves of Academe'' by Mark Stein. It tells of the first-contentious, then-symbiotic relationship between an English professor (nicely done by Terrance O'Quinn) and a bright, iconoclastic student (Neal Jones) who challenges the hidebound notions of classical scholarship. The cute writing that informs this multiscene effort is typified by the fact that the professor is named Groves. Though Mr. Stein is erudite and makes a few good jokes at the expense of academia, his formulaic play amounts to little more than a wan secular retread of a previous Manhattan Theater Club hit, ''Mass Appeal.'' 3 x Diverse

SLACKS AND TOPS, by Harry Kondoleon; directed by Douglas Hughes; set design, Pat Woodbridge; costume design, Jess Goldstein; lighting design, Ann Wrightson; production stage manager, David K. Rodger. Presented by the Manhattan Theater Club, Lynne Meadow, artistic director; Barry Grove, managing director. At 321 East 73d Street.

Wanda …………………………Sasha von Scherler

Connie ……………………………….Amy Wright

Todd …………………………….Dan B. Sedgwick

Edwin ……………………………….Eddie Jones

Ginger ………………………Jessica Rene Carroll

HALF A LIFETIME, by Stephen Metcalfe; di- rected by Dann Florek.

Tobias …………………………….James Rebhorn

Spalding ……………………………..Peter Zapp

Winninger …………………………..John Goodman

Winter ……………………………….J.T. Walsh

THE GROVES OF ACADEME, by Mark Stein; directed by Steven Schachter.

Bill Groves ……………………..Terrance O'Quinn

Paul Morris …………………………..Neal Jones

A version of this article appears in print on March 30, 1983, Section C, Page 27 of the National edition with the headline: STAGE: 'SLACKS AND TOPS,' ONE OF A 'TRIPLE FEATURE'

[magustiel]

God. Priorities man.

All of this, my ass out here on some international countermagic multi-Anonymous counteroffensive against the goddamn Nazi-USSR resurrection.

That's what I've put my magic, work over decades, and spiritualized personality manifest to. Ripping the wickedness out at the root, since January and really years before, but January in particular, when She Refused To Fucking Control Herself And Stop Being A Rapey Cult Weirdo Against My Motherfucking Consent.

And that's it. That's what she's fighting for. Just like MAGA and QAnon. Any excuse, any argument to maintain her behavior. It doesn't matter if it makes sense. It doesn't matter if it's even cohesive with her last blame or excuse or page turn for a motivational meme telling her things are okay without context. She cannot bear the reality that her world is fake, she cannot address her lies and illusions, what she has groomed others into and permitted, and what she has ultimately done to herself, so she's just gonna hide and refuse to cease the toxic, controlling behavior, or even take the step of deleting or extracting things from her life that made this mess. Absolutely fucking refuse, against all fucking ongoing real world events. Just like fucking them. Because she cannot stand to "lose" or "be wrong".

Just like Them.

I told her, I knew her fucking empty evilness and fucking desperation to be a controlling piece of shit too well, and built a trap so ultimate it's turning into the garbage disposal for all of MAGA and, shortly, half of the USSR. Because they're literally the fucking same fucking picture. They will so desperately reach for control they will jump off a cliff for it.

It's easier to shave herself bald than ask herself why she started clawing herself bald after I left. It's easier to choke down her bottles of pills since I left, to numb, blind and deny herself, to flatten herself out until she doesn't even care how fucking vile she's being, as long as someone tells her to continue her behavior while refusing to address the monster behind the curtain with her therapist: Herself. She is the monster, but does not want to accept it. She needs some way to win, to have control, to have victory here, to prove she could never have fucked up this badly.

Just like Them.

Holy fuck woman you are Literally The Problem With This Planet. No wonder he decided to eat your waste of space ass unalive.

Do you understand how fucked up it was to realize the goddess arranged me to meet this toxic piece of useless, regressive, abusive Hitlerian genetic-ed piece of garbage disposal trash so we could use it to rip out an equally irredeemable nazi root with just as much intent to change (none.) Bitch you are literally a negative karmic. You are so irredeemable you were lined up to be a sacrifice before you were born because you refuse to stop tripling down on your shit and we all see it.

I fuckin told her. Like a motherfucking singularity of her own stupidity leading her here in Every Fucking Timeline somehow to get this dumped on me, BECAUSE THERE IS NO TIMELINE SHE WILL CONTROL HERSELF IN OR LOOK AT THE TRUTH. Go figure, this sacrificial singularity overlaps to pre-empt the Technological One. Wonder how that retroactive horse shit happened OH WAIT.

Bitch thought I was playing when I said "bitch you have NO EARTHLY COMPREHENSION OF THE LEVEL OF MAGIC THAT HAS BEEN DONE TO YOU"

One collapsing united states by Qanon and Anonymous invasion and AI bro twitter corruption to head off the USSR and WWIII threat and destroy late stage capitalism later, and all the parallels in the world she refuses, you guys running the numbers to attempt to Comprehend fucking yet?

NGL I'm half wondering if her continued enshrinement, or just the fact that she's still alive, is why Trump is even still alive.

The infested blue waffle would rather pretend I'd Pretend Or Do All This Work for A Fucking Year Just To Make Her Narcissistic Useless Go Nowhere Fat Ass Feel Bad.

THIS IS AN INTERNATIONAL, INTERNAL, EXTERNAL, GLOBAL, UNIVERSAL DIVORCE, BITCH, AND WE'RE NOT DOING THIS AGAIN.

So if remembering the greater good long term result isn't enough for you to make it through the next years, grab a hunting vest and find a cocaine bear, because I'm DONE. File complaints to one whale of a cocaine bear, c/o her cult that doesn't want to face they've been bobbing on my dick for years.

And the sacks that enable this take me drawing this ultimate boundary upon her and them all year will just cry about it, and tell me to shut up, because all they know how to do is try to enforce control they don't really have, which is why they, and now all of goddamn you, are in this fucking mess. No. It's fine if I'm the motherfucking villain in your fucking story. I send light and I send fucking darkness and bitch, you chose.

[pigletxpoohbear]

Hi can I request Headcanons for Genos from One punch man with a big crush with a gender neutral person, but keeping his feelings for himself because he wants to get his revenge before getting into a relationship (also ecause he's confused and never been in love before).

Also the person he's in love with is supper affectionate and motherly towards him. If you are ok with it. Thanks 😊

So this is going to have Genos’ POV, which will have triple spaces with an asterisk to mark the beginning and end of it. It was specifically asked for gender-neutral so that’s what it will be this time. This was also really fun to think about cause I always wondered what it would be like if Saitama had a neighbor instead of living in City Z by himself. Also, thank you guys for all the requests it’s been really fun to think about these and write these for you guys!

You were Saitama’s neighbor and you’d often bring him food for breakfast and dinner. You’d bring him lunch if he wasn’t out fighting monsters during the day. You started this routine after he saved you from a monster that was planning on eating you. You closed your eyes waiting for your end and it never came instead when you opened your eyes there was green slime all around you and a man in a yellow and red costume standing in front of you. You recognized his bald-headed man as your neighbor (who had hair a few days prior) and you wanted to thank him in any way possible and you realized he really liked your cooking. So, he keeps the building safe and in exchange you keep him fed. Simple. Or so you thought.

You saw (more heard) Saitama trying to kill a mosquito. A few hours later he came back. Naked, but back. The next morning you began making him breakfast when you heard someone outside. “Sensei!” No one comes to City Z because of how many monsters roam around out here. You found this interesting, but you knew that Saitama never hangs out with anyone except you occasionally. Later, you were about to knock on Saitama’s door to give him his food when you heard, “So I’m bald--what’s your problem?!” And you burst out laughing. Saitama opened the door knowing that you were outside now and probably with food. “Y/N stop laughing!” 

*

When Saitama opened the door he saw you and didn’t know what was happening. He’s heard music before, but for some reason, your laugh sounded like the most captivating song he’d ever heard. You looked like an angel the way the sun had shown on you. He felt like he was malfunctioning. “I’m sorry Saitama, but the way you yelled that was too funny. I only came over to give you breakfast, but I’m glad I made the trip when I did. Oh, I didn’t realize you had friends over.” “Well, I feel like he’s gonna be here a while so I might as well introduce you. Y/N this is… uh… Gene?” “Genos.” “Yeah, Genos” “You’ll have to forgive Saitama, he won’t properly remember your name for a few days.” “Okay.” 

*

Saitama doesn’t usually have people over other than you, but it’s nice seeing a new face especially here. Well, a new face that doesn’t want to eat you that is. But you have to admit Saitama’s friend is really handsome and seems like a pretty interesting person, but he’s probably as busy as Saitama as well. You probably won’t get to know him as well as you’d like to. “It was nice to meet you Genos! I’ll be on my way, Sai.” “Bye Y/N,” Saitama and Genos say in unison and you go home. “I wonder if I’ll see him more often? *sigh* I can only hope.”

It’s been about 3 months since you first met Genos and two of you have become quite close since meeting. You and Genos talk about plans you have for yourselves and talk about funny things that happened and how you met Saitama. You make him breakfast and dinner just like you do for Saitama only difference is that every once in a while he comes over to your place to eat and on a couple occasions stayed the night (because Saitama won’t let him in), but he’s more than welcome to come over whenever he likes to, which he does all the time because just like you, he loves spending time with you. He sometimes helps you cook breakfast and or dinner and is very helpful when portioning everything out, especially when it comes to making sure you get a fair amount of food instead of giving most if not all of it to him and Saitama.

“You need to eat to Y/N.” “Oh, I can just make myself something small. You don’t have to give me a bowl Genos. Besides you and Saitama need to stay strong to keep our homes safe.” “You mean to keep you safe. I couldn’t care less about a building, but I’d care a lot if you died. I don’t have my biological family anymore, but I have you, Saitama, and the Professor. Saitama can handle himself, which is why he’s my teacher and the Professor is far away from this. You’re the only person that I feel the need to protect and take care of and taking care of you means making sure you’re eating properly. So, here’s a bowl.” Saying that you were blushing was an understatement. You were redder than a red setting on an led light. “Uh… thank you, Genos.” “Of course, are you okay your face is red? Do you possibly have a fever?” “No! Could you just take these to Saitama? Thank you, Genos!” You slammed the door and he went over to give Saitama his food. “Ah, the food’s ready. Yum!” 

*

Genos and Saitama ate in silence for a while before Genos started thinking about you. “Sensei, I think Y/N might be sick.” “Huh, why do you say that?” “We were talking and they suddenly got really red. The moment I said anything about it they pushed me out and shut the door.” “Genos. What did you say to Y/N exactly, but in fewer words.” Saitama knew that you had a crush on the robotic young man, but usually you were very subtle or didn’t let it show at all. So to hear that you looked like a beet (you looked worse, but he doesn’t need to know that) was surprising. “I told them that I care about them and that I need to protect them and I’m not here to keep the building safe, but to keep them safe.” Saitama was trying so hard not to laugh at Genos, but he couldn’t help it there were times he was oblivious, but this was just embarrassing. “I’ll go talk to them before I say anything to you about what I think. With that Saitama left to your place.

*

Unbeknownst to the other, you both were saying the same thing... 

“I wonder if they like me?”

[creepypasta-archive]

Jeff The Killer: Rewritten

by Claudia

Just some rewrite i found on jtk.fandom.com, The heavily vandalized Jeff the killer dead wikia site.

CW// stabbing, bullying, blood, murder

Click below to read the original unedited story

THE CHILD OF THE MURDERED FAMILY MISSING

After a day of the murders happening, the police announce, the child of the murdered family being a 13 year-old boy, hasn't been seen after the incident. The police suspect the murderer kidnapped him. If you've seen the child the picture shows, please contact your local police department. ---- UNKNOWN MASS MURDERER STILL ON LOOSE

After three days of the triple murder of the family and two separate murders shocking the citizens, the killer has struck again. Police say the murderer attacked his victim at 1:30 AM, apparently near the victims' home, leaving his victim unharmed. However, the victim got a severe trauma from the incident, says the police, not willing to give any further information at this point. Details haven't been revealed yet, but the police tells the citizens to be careful and to not to go out alone at night. ---- TAPES OF THE VICTIM'S INTERROGATION LEAKED

After police announcing the murderer had failed at his newest attempt to kill, the interrogation tape has leaked to the public. However, the victim's speech was hard to understand, but our reporters made their best to type it all out. I - was sleeping. When I woke up -. It was dark -, and I took my phone to see what time it was -- The light - of my phone is bright. Then I saw - it. A dark figure stood in the shadows - I couldn't see any details, but I saw a reflection of light - *victim gasps* - Took me a moment to see - it was a knife --- *victim stays quiet* 'Ms Claudia? Please, continue. ' Yes - I'm sorry. When I saw it - I reached to turn the light on - *victim gasps, remains quiet* 'miss? I have to ask you to continue.' *victim remains quiet, breathes heavily* 'miss, this is important. What did you see?' *victim mutters, then sobs* I'm - I'm sorry. I - his face. - His skin looked odd and there was -a huge grin on his face. - Piercing eyes were huge, they looked at me but he - didn't see me. He was bald, wore - black and white. *victim gasps, continues sobbing* he reeked of death. *victim's voice gets muffled up* 'Excuse me, miss, could you speak up?' *victim remains quiet, breathes heavily* ---sorry - I'm sorry. *a soft sob, and victim continues* then, I could hear him speak. - Weird voice, that said - Go to sleep ' 'Go to sleep?' '...yes - I shrieked, - and he darted towards me - raised his knife. - I reached - with the desk lamp on my hand, I hit him. - Could hear him make a noise - as he fell - still trying to cut me with the knife. I - could see his face clearly for a moment - though the light was dim. 'Do you remember any details?' - He had... Cut his cheeks - I don't think he had eyelids. - Cuts on his face seemed - infected. He seemed like - some disease personified - the smell - parts of his face were - swollen - I think his cuts were making - his flesh abscessing - rotting. I - run off, quickly, to the - neighbor's house.

Police doesn't tell whether the taped interrogation is trustworthy, but recommends anyone, who's seen a person even slightly fitting the description, to contact the local police. ---- The days in the new neighborhood hadn't gone too well. Jeff himself had been feeling slightly sick, and he and his brother Liu had both been picked on by the local kids. Actually, they were both in the front of their foes right now.

"Listen here you little punk, give back my bro's wallet or else," Jeff growled, staring at the kid who had introduced himself as Randy.

"Oh? And what will you do?" Randy asked, smirking snarky.

The smirk disappeared quickly under Jeff's fist, and turned into a grimace as Jeff grabbed his wrist, twisted, and heard a crack. Jeff felt Randy's wrist bones breaking, but his expression didn't change. He just threw the kid off, ready to take out Randy's friends. One quick, smooth move, and Keith had a knife stabbed down to the bone of his arm, another smooth move forced Troy on his knees, trying to gasp for breath as his breakfast came out through his mouth and nose.

"Jeff, how'd you?" Liu whimpered, staring at his brother. Jeff just frowned, tilting his head to a direction. Their bus was coming, and without a word, the boys knew that they'd need to run, as they thought that'd be a way for them to avoid the consequences. They arrived soon to the school, both leaving to their own classes. Liu was scared, thinking of what his brother had done. He could still hear the crack Randy's wrist had made, and the cry that the boy let out. On the lunch break, Liu went out, took his shoes off and rubbed them on the ground. The image of Troy's puke splashing on his shoes had come into his mind to stay there, sharp and clear. Jeff, then again... he seemed calm. Happy, even. The sick feeling that he had had on the morning had disappeared.

He smiled by himself, feeling a weird mix of disgust and pleasure under his chest. Jeff was excited; hurting others like that... it was nasty, ill-spirited... but he liked it anyway. Maybe it was the disgust that made him enjoy it so. Every single detail his senses and mind had gathered during the fight... they made him feel good. The idea of that he felt good because he had defended his brother never crossed his mind. Jeff let out a soft giggle, and as if he had heard it, Liu shivered. Even at home, he told his parents It was a wonderful day, when they asked how his day was. Jeff was feeling calmer than for the whole time they'd been living in the house. The next day ruined it. Two policemen came to their house, telling Jeff's mother what had happened. Liu took the blame on his shoulders, and even though Jeff tried to tell the truth, the policemen took Liu away. Jeff cried, yelling at his brother to tell the cops the truth... for nothing. Now, Jeff was all alone his room, not willing to leave his loneliness. He felt how sorrow and guilt ate him from inside. He couldn't look at his parents. Knowing the truth, that he was the one in response of what happened, he suffered.

"Jeff, it's the day," his mother chirped, opening the curtains of Jeff's room.

"What, what's today?" Jeff mumbled the question, his throat still sore from crying and not talking.

"Why, it's Billy's party," his mother replied, leaving Jeff speechless for a second.

"Mom, you're joking, right? You don't expect me to go to some kid's party after..." Jeff growled under his speech. The policemen had taken Liu away just two days before, and his mother was expecting him to go to neighbor's kid's party.

"Jeff, we both know what happened. I think this party could be the thing that brightens up the past days. Now, get dressed", she said with a chirping voice and left Jeff alone. After a trouble with choosing suitable clothes, and having his parents to have few words with him, Jeff ended up wearing dress pants and a white hoodie. The three of them then went to Billy's house, and the mistress of the house shooed Jeff to go to the yard, to play with the other children. The kids were younger than him, but Jeff agreed to play with them; which he found to be a good thing. For a moment, he could forget his brother. Even if it was childish, Jeff enjoyed playing with the kids, and probably would've liked to play for a little longer than he could. It was a weird rolling noise that caught his attention, and before he had figured out what caused the noise, Jeff saw Randy and his friend with their skateboards.

"Hello, Jeff, is it? We have some unfinished business," Randy spat, staring at Jeff, his eyes flaming with anger.

"I think we're even. I beat the crap out of you, and you get my brother sent to JDC," Jeff replied, observing the boy and making a note of the kid's bruised nose in his mind.

"Oh no, I don't go for even, I go for winning. You may have kicked our asses that one day, but not today," Randy growled, darting at Jeff, pushing him to the ground powerfully, even with one broken wrist. The screams of the kids alerted the adults, who now rushed to the yard, as Jeff and Randy tried to beat each other up, and stood quickly.

"No one interrupts or guts will fly!" one of Randy's friends shouted at adults, pulling out a gun, as the other one did the same. A piercing pain slashed into Jeff's shoulder at the same moment; Randy has stabbed him with a knife. Jeff screamed, fell down on his knees, and Randy let his shoes meet Jeff's face. Three strong kicks, fourth one coming. Jeff grabbed Randy's foot, twisted, and as Randy fell on ground Jeff stood up, just to be grabbed by Troy. The fight with one against three led the boys inside the house, Jeff fighting back at moments, trying to escape from the other boy's sharp kicks then. Now, coughing blood on the floor, Randy and his friend backed up for a moment. Jeff tried to stand up, his legs trembling. Randy snarled at him, grabbed a bottle of vodka, and smashed it over Jeff's head, and yelled at Jeff. Jeff grunted, gave it a new try; this time, he stood up properly. Randy let out an angry yell mixed with weird happiness, as he dashed towards Jeff. Just a second later, Randy was on the floor, Jeff on top of him.

A blink of an eye and Jeff was punching Randy's chest, adrenaline rushing in his veins. A punch after punch, cracking sounds, Randy making a weird noise and gasping for air. Randy's ribs breaking under the powerful punches, piercing his insides with their sharp edges and letting the blood in. Gasps, as Randy tries to breathe and scream. Jeff's mindless rage. Blood and alcohol dripping on Randy's dying body. Silence. Everyone staring at Jeff, shocked. Troy and Keith as the first ones to move pointed their guns at Jeff, him already running for his life. The boys chase after Jeff, to the upstairs, trying to drop him dead, missing on each shot. Sounds of fighting. The next thing the adults and the kids could see... Jeff, now the boy on fire, falling down the stairs. An image of... Keith with an odd smile on his face, saying something about alcohol, then throwing the lighter at Jeff. The flames, the pain...Jeff screamed. It hurt, it hurt so badly. Jeff tried to move, to open his eyes. He couldn't see anything, felt something tightly wrapped around him. A scared whimper and noises bear him. An unknown female voice said something, male voice agreed to what she said. Jeff let out a murmur, feeling then a soft touch, the male voice coming closer and speaking slowly. And Jeff could only listen, as the man told him what had happened.

"Honey, are you okay?" his mothers' voice.

Jeff felt relieved, after hours of hearing only the sounds of strangers. The doctor had told him that he had been kept in sleep for some time, so his burns would heal and Jeff wouldn't need to stay awake in huge pain. Jeff couldn't speak yet, though, so his mother continued her monologue:

"Oh honey, I have great news. After all the witnesses told the police that Randy confessed of trying to attack you, they decided to let Liu go. He'll be out by tomorrow, and then you two will be able to be together again."

Jeff shivered, trying to speak, unable to. His mother, however, could give a reply to his unasked question.

"The doctors saved the other boys' lives," she chirped. "There will be some consequences, though, but they won't take you from us just yet."

Jeff didn't quite know how to react to the news. Killing them would've been enough to make Jeff deserve to go to the jail, but just hurting them... No, that's not enough.

He started planning on an idea of how to kill the three before Jeff would be taken to the jail. During the next few weeks, different doctors, therapists, psychologists, and other folk like that visited Jeff daily. Also Jeff's parents' came to see Jeff frequently. Jeff could hide his other side from all of them. The side, that plotted on a revenge, which wanted to mutilate and murder the three kids. As he spoke with his doctors, Jeff could easily lie to them, pretending to be okay, when he was really thinking of ways to kill them too. When Jeff was alone, he smiled under the bandages that covered his face, counting all the possibilities in his mind. Soon came the day when Jeff was to be to let go home to wait for the trials.The doctor started removing the rest of the bandages and cloths that had been covering the injuries of his body, leaving the bandages to cover the most severe ones.

"Let's hope for the best," Jeff could hear the doctor saying, as he removed the cloth off Jeff's face. Jeff flinched as his mother let out a loud gasp when she saw his face; his dad and Liu remained quiet.

"What? What happened to my face?" Jeff groaned, stood up and limped to the small bathroom. What he saw in the mirror, was horrifying to him. His face has badly burned, and he was bald now. Jeff touched his face, looking then down at his hands and arms. The kid let out a whimper, glanced then at his family.

"Jeff, it's not that bad..." Liu mumbled, and Jeff rushed to reply "Not that bad? It's perfect!"

The voice that Jeff made was either shrieking or laughing, and his family stared at him, stunned for a moment.

"Uh... Jeff, are you okay?" Jeff heard the question, and burst out laughing. "Okay? I've never felt happier! Ha ha ha ha ha hahahahahaha, look at me! This face goes perfectly with me!" Jeff laughed, thinking about all his plans he had made while lying on the hospital bed. He wasn't normal. He shouldn't look normal. Jeff grinned, staring at the mirror and stroking his face, the word 'perfect' dancing in his mind. While Jeff was at it, looking at himself, his mother looked at the doctor, worrying deeply about his son's health.

"Doctor, is my son... alright, you know. In the head?" she asked quietly. She got an unsure reply from the doctor; he told her that Jeff had passed the tests, but suffered from traumas that caused him to act the way he did. He also mentioned the appointments Jeff was going to have with the doctors in the near future, adding that they'd soon send a letter about them to her.

"Oh thank you doctor", she smiled, stood up and walked to Jeff." Jeff, sweetie. It's time to go", she chirped to her son."Kay mommy. Hahahahahahahahahaaaaaa!" Jeff replied, with a huge grin on his face. His mother shivered, and walked her son to get his clothes. The same clothes he had worn back then, when the fight had happened. His clothes were cleaned and stitched together. Jeff's mother helped him to wear the clothes, and an odd feeling crawled up Jeff's spine.It had felt so good... beating Randy, crushing his bones, hearing him gasp and blow air from his lungs as he tried to scream. When Jeff thought Randy was actually going to die. Jeff frowned, growling at the thought of Randy and others still living. Late that night, Jeff had spent a long time in the bathroom after taking his painkillers, just staring at his own face and body, thinking about the death of the three. Drowning all the other thoughts of his under this murderous bloodlust, mindless need to crush his enemies’ bones and insides...

Oh no. Jeff stared at the mirror and stopped thinking for a moment. His thoughts, the plans should be kept secret, but how would he be able to do that with his new looks. He tried to smile. His face hurt, so he just whimpered softly, and frowned at his reflection. His looks revealed all his thoughts, he wondered by himself in his mind. Maybe even his family knew. His eyes widened, and he left the bath room, walked quickly into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. Then he went back to the bathroom and placed the knife's edge on the side of his mouth.

Jeff's mother woke up at weird noises, left the bedroom, and quietly sneaked to the bathroom's door. She heard sobbing, and placed her hand on the handle. She listened for a moment before she opened the door, seeing Jeff and freezing to where she was. She tackled with her words as she stared at Jeff, who looked back at her, fresh cuts and burns on his face.

"Jeff, what are you doing?" his mother whimpered, falling on her knees. Jeff rubbed his face with his other hand, and his mother noticed the bloody knife on another of keep smiling mommy. It hurt after a while. Now, I can smile forever," Jeff replied with honesty. His mother was shaking, she stared in his eyes.

Jeff, your eyes!" she shrieked quietly.

"'I couldn't see my face. I got tired and my eyes started to close. I burned out the eyelids so I could forever see myself; my new face", Jeff replied, with his eternal smile, and eternally open eyes. His mind was wandering. He was sure his mother knew what he was thinking, but it wouldn't be ok to kill her without any proof of her being really against him. Then, he got it.

"What's wrong mommy? Aren't I beautiful? he asked.

"Yes son, yes you are. L-let me go get daddy, so he can see your face-" a shock made her voiceless. Jeff had thrust the knife through her stomach.

"Mommy, you lied", he murmured. Lying was bad. If she lied to him... she wasn't on his side. Jeff placed a gentle kiss on his mother's forehead. She cackled, and Jeff slashed her stomach open with the knife. Next, Jeff walked into his parents' bedroom. His dad was still asleep, and he didn't wake up even when Jeff crawled next to him. Now, what would be his reason for killing his father? Jeff tried to think for a while, and chuckled then. Why would he need a reason, actually? No-one would never know. So, he just thrust the knife in his dad's stomach, causing him to wake up and yell in pain, and gutted him. Then Jeff stabbed his neck and left the room, listening to his father making weird noises as he moaned in pain and drowned in blood.

Liu had woken at his dad's scream. Jeff rushed into the dark room, and to his brother, who didn't quite understand what was happening. When he smelt the blood on his brother, Liu's eyes widened, just as Jeff's hand grabbed his neck. Liu whimpered, kicked and squirmed, as Jeff leaned closer and raised the knife. Blood from the knife and Jeff's face dripped on Liu's face and in his mouth as he screamed for help. Jeff just stared at his dear brother for a moment, with his piercing, huge eyes, and with the smile on his face.

"Shhhhhhh", he said, "Just go to sleep."

Jeff was all alone. He had become so weak, and it hurt everywhere. Opening his mouth made his whole face feel like it was burning. He couldn't see anything. He was so hungry. Starving. The infected cuts and scars leaked with dirty fluids. His body, his clothes were dirty, smelt awful. Jeff disgusted himself. Leaning against a cold stone wall, he sobbed softly, trying to take a better grip of his knife. He whimpered as the knife fell to the ground, and he himself fell down on his knees. He couldn't do anything anymore. He hadn't found Randy, Troy or Keith, and now it was too late. On the next morning, his body would be found from the spot where he was resting now. ---- ANOTHER MURDERER RAMPAGING IN THE CITY The Police informed locals earlier about the discovered corpse that was said to belong to the murderer. Even though the murderer was announced to be dead, a similar murder happened last night approximately at 2:00 AM. More information about the corpse or the incident hasn’t been revealed yet. The police are left clueless, and once again they ask the locals to be extremely careful when they're at late hours spending shit.

Written by:Claudia

Thx for reading

[rottenwoodandwiltedsunflowers]

2/2-2/5 Recaps (Kae)

A recap post?! From moi?! 

I stopped writing recaps somewhere before I hit triple digits, pre-global pandemic. At our very last pre-pandemic show, in October 2019, I was at that place where I was not quite as into the show. Or rather, wasn’t appreciating it in the same way. It was like a nice trip home, but I was increasingly interested in exploring other shiny, new immersive shows and didn’t find myself as connected with the actors or characters as I once had been. Coupled with parenthood and a job change that meant fewer trips to NYC generally, my relationship with SNM became very casual.

As the pandemic stretched time into a red thread of meaningless nothingness, I was so frustrated with myself that I didn’t take stock of my last show in Oct 2019. I can’t remember who I saw or what I did. As months became years, corners of the building faded from my mind’s eye. I wasn’t sure if the doors would ever reopen or if this world would be disassembled and disposed of before I could experience it again. I wished I had taken the time to pay attention to that last show. Or at least to jot down some notes. So here I am, jotting down some notes. I’ll keep it quick, but these little lockets of memories are for me as much as for anyone who wants to read along. (If you’re wondering about show logistics, Waffle covered that really well in his 2/2 recap.)

Putting my mini-recaps below in case you don’t want any so-called “spoilers.” Everything happens in full view so it’s not really a spoiler, IMO, but I know there are a lot of people planning to go back over the next few weeks who may want to explore on their own.

2/2

It was a goddamn family reunion in line. Including many corners of the SNM fandom from original tumblr bloggers to Discord and Reddit folks, our Tumblr crew, and several fellow out of towners who made a trip just for this night. Ironically, I became closer to many of these SNM super fans during the pandemic either because of Lost Immersive or Eschaton or both. All in all, I couldn’t and still can’t believe this place is back.

To be greeted by Dewey Danger Flynn (JWW) with a microphone in hand. My heart. Just. Fuck. Then, when Waffle and most of my pals disappeared with Stella Sinclair (Karen Marie) for the first entry, I was a little disappointed because of course I had dreams of getting to that first ballroom. June (Robi’s WIB) popped through the curtains and took a small group of about six of us to, lo and behold, the ELEVATOR. THE ELEVATOR. Any FOMO I had disappeared. To be back with James (Jamal) on that first elevator again…whew.

First loop with Layne’s bald witch, who immediately pullled me in with her ballroom solo (and surprisingly did all the typical bald witch interactions). Second loop was all about SJL’s Hecate, which was full of surprise content and trips around various spots on 4. There’s a lot of new Hecate out-of-boudoir out-in-the-open scenes to make up for the time she usually spent in 1-1’s, as well as a way to get the porter note circulating without the 1-1. The modified interaction version of the post-dinner cabaret works brilliantly, IMO, and SJL is a treasure and has there always been a mandrake root there?! Has it been there this whole time or is it new?! The not-knowing is part of the fun.

Stood back for the final banquet to take it in with fresh eyes. How many times did I intentionally skip the banquet? 100+? And yet it was one of the things that deeply moved me at my first show. Was surprised that an audience that was 90% super fans had very few people “waiting in the wings” off of the sides of the banquet table. (Yes, walkouts are happening.) The overall vibe all night was that we were all just happy to be home and appreciate the people and the place.

2/3

Stair entry with Stella and she’s a HOOT. Rumors flying from last night that the elevator entry isn’t happening post-covid. It is, obviously, but the staggered entry is sneaky. Love that we already have disputed facts and FOMO feelings less than 24 hour into the doors opening. Welcome back, super fans, with all my love. :)

Joy Marie Thompson is already iconic. I… Her bald… I don’t really have a good comparison point. She fully owns the role and it’s so, so good. I love that she flirtatiously mocks Banquo when he does his little show off move in the ballroom. She smirks and does a hand motion like, “Ehhh…it’s so-so,” that made me laugh out loud.

I planned to intentionally loop other characters so I forced myself to peel off from Joy immediately after the first rave. Something about being back made me want to loop again, especially loop the residents I hadn’t watched in a long time pre-pandemic.

Cut to a full loop with Michael Bryan Wang’s Fulton. The graveyard set is updated and refreshed and it’s gorgeous as well as more covid safe for the performers. I enjoyed this loop and saw some small stuff that I either forgot about or is new…unclear. Has that thing behind the door behind the curtain always been there? My Fulton loving friends would know, but I truly have no idea. MBW and Elias Rosa’s taxi danced beautifully together.

Wandered 5 because Waffle was freaking out about the new content on 5 the night before. Didn’t see it, but caught some of the new Orderly/Nurse (Brandon Coleman) and Matron (Aliza Russell) stuff that happens in the room with beds. Really fun if you have had the 1-1 and get the references and also works great as is with the other new content on 5, especially (which I saw on a later night). No regrets. Also, the whole floor is replenished and freshened up. It even feels like the maze is more thick with pokey branches to get stuck by and on.

2/4

Waffle was about to burst from not telling me about 5, so he cajoled me into agreeing to start the show on 5 instead of going down to the first ballroom. We did. And I did a really lovely whole loop+ with Joy’s nurse as a result, who now has “filling the bathtub in the Macbeth’s room” as part of her job description. #1: I didn’t realize that was a working bathtub with plumbing. #2: I was very concerned about timing. Like, did we really have time to fill the whole tub?! We did. #3: Macbeth had a nice fresh warm bath, unlike Lady M’s room temperature prefilled bath, which is blatant sexism if you ask me.

The thing on 5 is FUCKING PHENOMENAL. Best “new thing” I’ve seen in a long time. Maybe since Caroline/Rev content was added? I hope they keep it in even if 1-1’s come back. Choreography: A+ Dramatic tension: A+ Slightly terrifying: A+ Build on the narrative on 5: A+ It was worth spending half of my show and more than a full loop on 5, for sure. I highly recommend. It’s one of those things that is either complete luck to stumble upon or a wonderful reward for following for a whole loop, which is exactly what I want in 1-1 replacement content and just like...new SNM content in general.

Hadn’t spent any time with my old pal, the Porter, so I spent the rest of the night with Andrew Pastide’s Porter. He’s a lovely, tender Porter that hits the emotional high and low notes in a way that works and he leaves salty tears on the boat note, which is the type of Porter vibe I like most. “Moonlight” still gets me every time. Andrew literally hangs from the rafters during the reset dance. Fantastic. The 1-1 alternative content is somewhat unexpected and works well at relating to the 1-1 if you’ve had it while being interesting if you haven’t.

By this point, I’d figured out that many characters who had 1-1’s now have new content, so I doubled down on my commitment to full looping. Both to possibly catch new scenes and revisit ones I hadn’t watched in a long time. There are also many little covid-related changes that are fun and reassuring to see (like Danvers keeping her drink supplies under lock and key and Speakeasy knocking on Hecate’s door to get the food for her dinner scene).

Met the great and powerful Oz (Miguel Anaya) in the hotel lobby bar. (They’re calling it “Porter’s Corner” which I think is hilarious.) I’ll always miss Max, and I’m so happy for Miguel in this role! The band has been renamed the Oswald McKittrick Trio!

2/5 Early

Holy empty show. It seemed like there were less than 100 people. It was like Sunday matinees of old on a very light day. Mostly people who looked confused about where to go and everyone gave the performers lots of space. Covid anxiety has its silver linings, I suppose.

Robi’s Lady MacDuff first loop and Kelly’s Danvers second loop, followed by the final partial loop with Jeffrey Docimo’s Porter (OMG).

Had no idea who Porter was as I apparently don’t recognize Jeff without bushy facial hair. When I found out who it was, his literal backstroke and breaststroke across the hotel lobby desk during his INSPIRED reset dance, during which he also held himself up horizontally parkour-style off of the pipe by the pillar near the phone booths, made sense.

Kelly’s Danvers has a vindictive moment while she’s making the milk at the top of the loop. She added all the spells and potions to the milk, including a drop from her vial of pocket poison. Then, the Duncan bell tolls and she looks up, pained and steeling herself. Her mood visibly shifts and she takes out the vial and adds two more drops of poison, emphatically. If she loses Duncan, she sure as hell is going to make sure the MacDuffs suffer, too.

Robi and Ernesto Breton make the most earnest MacDuff couple and I forgot how wonderful the pre-ballroom duets in their apartment are, in general. What a joy to see these dances performed by these people. These two had great chemistry and really nailed the, “We’ve been married a long time and we know each other too well” couple energy. Seeing performers who have been in the show for a long time or were in the show a long time ago, together in this amalgamated 2022 cast of older and newer residents, is DELIGHTFUL.

It was at this show that I declared that golden age of SNM and second golden age of SNM be damned. The show is good right now, objectively fantastic. This is, officially, the third and current so-called Golden Age and I’m confident that’s not just deprivation bias.

2/5 Late

Final show in our run and the last for some time—we won’t be back for the Feb 14th Grand Reopening. I’m glad we did a whole run of shows. There’s more I wanted to see and do and even some new content I didn’t catch yet, but I feel content. My cup is full. And I’m so excited to hear what else changes over the next few weeks and months. I’m so happy we can finally go back.

The full first elevator spiel was back for this show! With more people inside the elevator and letting the first person off, distributing guests across floors, the whole usual elevator script. De-fucking-lightful! Evan Fisk as James also cracked a joke and asked me a question about my t-shirt and I responded with verbal words without thinking, which felt like a possible trap as soon as I spoke, but he just laughed. I don’t know if they kept using the elevator or broke the crowd into two entry groups again, but wow it was good to experience the first elevator just like I remember it!

Ernesto’s Speaks is just as good as I remember, with a couple small surprises. The new card game has major WOW factor. I have no idea how it was done and Ernesto showboated the hell out of it. I heard from someone else who played the card game and had a totally different ending, which makes me wonder even more how it all works. Are there multiple possible outcomes?! Must investigate in the future.

Evan Fisk’s Taxi was having the best time being a weirdo with little taxidermy friends and dreams of hammer murder. He played a little game with an audience member and just slightly threatened them with the hammer. (Don’t worry. They were rewarded in the end.) The 5th floor stag dance is one I haven’t seen in...I don’t know, a long time, and it was wonderful to see Evan performing the hell out of it. Especially having watched Camara’s Matron watch Taxi perform this piece just a day before. I was reminded how fun it is to unlock deeper understanding as you unwrap and piece together the show over your first visits.

This is one of only two shows during which I went out to the bar. That said, there are 3-5 bar characters milling about every night, for this week at least, so having a “dance or a drink” is very possible if you’re game. One night, I had an extended convo with Alec Funiciello’s Jimmy about his backstory, during which Robi’s June sidled up and asked me to pass a note written on a bar napkin to Jimmy for her. (Apparently, she stole his fortune and is willing to give no more than half of it back. I feel like I missed some Folies backstory or something here, so if someone knows the extended context for this interaction, do let me know!)

All in all, I am so glad to have spent this time during the first week of previews getting reaquainted with the old building and old friends. It’s clear the cast and crew are glad to be back, too, and there is more care between fans and staff/cast than I’ve felt in a long time. I think it feels a bit more reciprocal, not just transactional, or at least it feels that way to me. Here’s to many happy returns, yours and mine. - KaeLyn

[volleyball-dontknowher]

Sick - Tanaka x reader

Warnings: none

Words: 2282 

Summary: You and your neighbor walk your dogs at the same everyday, but what happens when he stops showing up 

A/n :! I am so so so so sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth, college is hard man and then it’s partially online and COVID and things and the depression really hit and I have started a new self care book and it is adding one thing back in my life at a time that I am passionate about and last week was French and this week it is writing because I really do miss it! I threw this together last night based off of a request I got forever ago and I hope it is liked <3 

You’ve lived in the same apartment for years and people always come and go, in and out, it feels like you see a new face everyday. In your three years there, you’ve only had one consistent fact, and that’s your bald neighbor who goes on walks with his dogs at the same time as you twice a day. At first you only saw him occasionally and now the two of you go out at 7:30 am and 6:30 pm on the dot. You have no idea how it started but now you get kinda excited to run into your neighbor on the stairs everyday and hopefully make a comment about how good his two big dogs are looking or even jsut the smallest acknowledgement with him.

   Speaking of your neighbor, he wasn’t out this morning before work, and you didn’t think too much of it because he works kinda funny hours and some random days misses the times. (Though he always tells you about it in the afternoon or the next time you see him) and because you’ve learned he’s a personal trainer he has finicky clients and sometimes is up wayy too early or way too late. It bugged you all day that you hadn’t seen him and no matter how hard you tried to focus at work you couldn’t imagine why he wasn’t out on a Wednesday. All of your explainations could make sense but you really don’t feel right about any of it. And when you got home and took your two babies out and he wasn’t there you were sure something was up. Tanaka loved his dogs more than anything and says that their routine keeps them together and that it keeps them well behaved. Something had to be wrong. Maybe he got a new girlfriend? Or he forgot? But he didn't forget and he hasn’t been with anyone ever, and if he was his dogs would still come first. You had no idea what you were thinking but when you came back up the stairs you kept walking and knocked on the door of the man you knew so completely and not at all. You quickly realized what you’d done and your heart was racing as you silent prayed that no one was home and that you could creep back to your door before anyone heard you.

   This was a great thought, except you forgot what happens when you knock with dogs. They bark. And unfortunately for you Tanaka doesn’t get a lot of guests so his dogs barked a lot. Like they could wake the entire neighborhood a lot. You had to grin and bear it and face the consequences of your irrational actions.

   After thirty or so seconds the door creeps open and there he is, Takana Ryuunosuke, in his pajamas and a beanie opening the door. He looked like a walking corpse and by the way he sniffed out a weak “hello” as he opened the door told you everything you needed to know. He was sick. Very sick, and you had just knocked at the door and now have to figure out what to say to him.

   “Oh, hey,” you stutter, “I was just checking on you to see if everything was alright, you weren’t out with your dogs and I was wondering if anything was up, or if you needed me to take them out for you because of their routine and everything,” you ramble on, hoping that somewhere your logic connected and this made sense.

   Takana stared at you blankly and you couldn’t help but mentally smack yourself because that was exactly what a stalker would say and you now seemed like his stalker.

   After a few more seconds of blank stares his expression caught up to your words and he broke out the goofy smile you love so much.

   “My dogs? Walk them?” He asked. Maybe they hadn’t caught up after all.

   “Well yeah, they weren’t out at their regular time and i wanted to make sure they were still going out and I have my two out and they are so well behaved and you clearly don’t feel well so it would really be no problem,” you rambled on again.

This time he was closely listening and nodded along with you before smiling once again. “No no no,” he chuckled, “ I can take them out” though he was laughing you could hear that he wasn’t feeling well and his energy was lower than you had ever heard.

   “Let me do this one favor for you, I can take them out, no big deal, okay?” You smiled.

   After you smiled it was a done deal for Tanaka, he grabbed the leash and thanked you about a hundred times. His dogs are fantastic and took you less than five minutes to walk before they’d used the restroom and were ready to go back inside. You took them back and he thanked you once again and you headed back to your apartment to make some dinner.

   You settled on a sun dried tomato soup with grilled cheese and happened *wink* accidentally *wink* make more than you could eat on your own and you’d hate for it to go to waste and you do have a neighbor who is sick and could probably use a hot meal right about now. So, you packed up a container for him and wrapped the sandwich in aluminum foil so that it would be hot for him and put some tea in a thermos and headed out your door once more. This time though, you were a little less bold and just rang the doorbell and ran back to your room. You did however, leave a little note saying “hope you feel better soon - room 420” on it and you hoped that it would at least help his night a little bit.

   Little do you know, Tanaka was so shocked to see this from you that he almost dropped the hot soup onto himself in a panic because this not only meant you paid attention to him but you cared for him. This was the best thing to ever happen to him. He finished every last bite and washed the container and thermos and placed them back by your door with a note of his own.

   When you got up the next morning and went to take your dog out you couldn’t help but beam when you saw your tupperware back in front of your door. You picked up the two items before seeing the little note on top of the container.

‘Best Soup Ever! -Room 419’

You beamed and did a little happy dance before deciding to go knock and see if he needed your help with his dogs again today, and boy are you lucky that you went. WHen he opened the door he somehow looked worse than yesterday, you could have swore that he had snot dried to his face and he was a total mouth breather and the bags under his eyes as well as tripled overnight. There were no arguments when you asked if he needed help with his dogs, because truthfully he really did.

   The walk was quick and the morning was over before you knew it. Another distracted day at work, you found yourself wondering how you could help him feel better, especially because he lived all alone and his closest family was something like an hour away last he told you.

You had a brilliant idea and decided to go to the store after work and make him a ‘get well’ basket. You filled the basket with cough drops, tissues, teas, chocolates and other little goodies that help him feel better and put him in a better mood. You got the groceries and were right on your way, practically skipping with excitement.

   Once again, you accidentally made an extra soup after you’d taken care of the dogs and happened to leave it with the basket later that evening.

   In the morning however, none of your dishes were by your door, which was no big deal, especially because he was feeling so under the weather, but what was even more strange is that he didn’t answer the door and the last thing you wanted to do was wake him up. So, you headed to work wondering if he liked what you did for him or if you’d crossed a line or if he was allergic to chicken noodle, or if he was too much of a health nut and you’d offended him, or if he’d… you had no idea, maybe died. This was not good for you and you could feel the stress starting to get to you when you got off work the sprint back home was exhausting and anxious. You rounded the corner of the stairs when you saw

Nothing.

You saw nothing.

That was fine, everything is fine. You are fine. Life is fine. If he doesn’t feel good you can’t expect him to do dishes or even leave his room. That’s best for everyone, no one wants a walking germ contaminating everything around, there were probably old ladies on this floor, you hadn’t seen any, but they were there, probably, so he was just doing the world a favor.

Again, he didnt answer the door for his dogs and you couldn’t force your kindness onto him so you had a night to yourself and went to bed way earlier than usual. You couldn’t help but wake up earlier than usual and instead of looking for things that weren’t there you got out and went to work early and got busy right away. You had a full day and worked until almost 8pm, hurrying back to hopefully get home before your local take away had closed. You made it, but just barely, and got your favorite meal to bring home with you to watch something horrible with.

   You got home and plopped on the couch completely exhausted. Immediatley you started eating and got about halfway through when you heard a knock at the door. Oh shit. You had no one in your life that would ever knock, well almost no one. THere was one person you were really hoping wasn’t on the other side of the door. You were in a t-shirt you got 10 years ago and a pair of crappy shorts from the general store, there was nothing remotely nice, or even tame about your appearance, you looked to be frank, crazy.

You creeped the door open and saw exactly who you were hoping not to see, Tanaka Ryuunosuke standing in front of your door beaming.

   “Hey?” You question nervously.

   “Hey, I noticed that you didn’t take your dogs out earlier and was wondering if you needed me to take them out for you?” He questioned genuinely, smiling from head to toe, clearly feeling better.

   You had no idea what to say or do but he just smiled as your dogs trotted out the door with him, without you saying a word. You awkwardly closed the door and stood there in shock. That was horrible. An embarrassment to you, an embarrassment to your family name and even worse an embarrassment to society. The shock still hadn’t worn off when you heard a second knock at your door, and well that was the man with your dogs and you couldn’t just leave them outside.

   This time when you opened the door you couldn’t help but gasp. Tanaka has a giant bouquet of red roses and a giant blush on his face.

   “Y/n, I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but I have had a crush on you since I first met you, and I never knew how to tell you, every time I got close to you I just freeze and I started taking my dogs out when you do to try and get to know you and I could never make myself do it but you have been unbelievably kind to me and I can’t wait any longer. I want nothing more than to have a chance with someone as stunning as you are. Y/n, will you go on a date with me?”

   This time it was you standing there dumbstruck for longer than you should have. You heard every single one of his words and your heart was fluttering out of your chest. You’d had feelings for him for as long as you can remember and here he was with a bouquet of flowers standing in your doorway asking you to go on a date with him. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything so you just grinned and nodded at him enthusiastically, hoping he understood just how much this means to you.

   He beamed right back and handed you the bouquet of flowers, “perfect, then I’ll see you Friday at 7, I’ll pick you up.” He winked.

You were still dumbstruck and nodded again, and right as you were about to close the door for the night he stuck his foot in the doorway.

“One more thing y/n,” he pushed the door back open and had a basket of little goodies for you, as well as a homemade meal in the containers you’d given him with a little note that says ‘your soup warmed my soul, and my heart’. You couldn’t help but absolutely beam with happiness. You set the basket down and threw your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a big hug, repeatedly thanking him for his kindness. You two parted ways happier than you could have imagined and both in great anticipation for Friday.

   The next morning, you were both out at 7:30 on the dot, excited to see one another.

[house-of-crows]

So actually fuck the internalized bullshit Im going to talk about this- 

Before I went on T, and after I had the thyroid diagnosis... I was nearly passing. I was a fucking 135lb hardbody twink with generous tits but they obeyed the law of Binder when necessary. 24-27 I was JUST FUCKING FINE THANK YOU. 

.

.

And then I managed to get up North and get on T and change my name and gender and y’know what happened? My weight BALLOONED. IMMEDIATELY. I’m still struggling to get under 200 lbs and I now have TRIPLE D TITS and an ass that won’t fit into a single pair of the shorts I used to wear to the leather club. My Harnesses that I worked my ASS OFF FOR do not fit. My collar, that I bought from the INCOMPARABLY SKILLED Vad Farkas that arrived on a friday 13th in the middle of a glorious summer DOES NOT FUCKING FIT ANYMORE. 

And y’know what friends? I’m allowed to be pissed about that. I’m allowed to be SO FUCKING ANGRY that I wasted some three damn years on a medication that no one figured out I was allergic to until I changed my injection site. The actual real dose in the real medication is doing JACK ALL and this whole debacle has taught me something. 

.

I kinda like my tits actually. I wish they weren’t the first thing people noticed when they looked at me, but hey they’re there and they’re fun to play with. I DO NOT FUCKING WANT chest hair. I do not want the insane amount of body hair that has cropped up so now I’m going to have to do something about it. I am shaving my damn face every day because I can’t stand the feeling of the peach-fuzz-turning-beardy under my jaw. 

.

I don’t necessarily think I am UGLY, but I am now and probably always will be stuck in a half-way point because there’s really nothing that can fix this outside of more prominent and expensive interventions. Like the fact that I now have a double-palm size balding patch on my head that will not grow back in for the life of me, and I have tried EVERYTHING. I’m allowed to be pissed about that too. My hair wasn’t exactly a PRIDEFUL thing, but I sure did enjoy dying it weird colors. I like having it tugged sometimes... but that’ll never happen again. 

.

It’s not a damn sin to tell kids to be sure they want to transition before they start. It’s not a sin to tell them IN DETAIL the changes that will happen to their bodies. It is not a sin to tell them that they should get a fucking therapist before making permanent changes to their bodies that can fuck you up in unexpected ways. It’s definitely not a sin to tell them that they should make real damn sure what they want before they jump in, because starting and getting changes you’re not prepared for can CAUSE MORE DYSPHORIA THAN IT HELPS. 

.

Now I’m glad for the opportunity I had. I’m glad that I had a social worker and therapist who tried to prepare me. I still think adults should be able to do whatever the fuck they want to their bodies, as long as they’re prepared to live with the consequences. But it’s no lie to say that I feel Some Kinda Way about people under 18 doing more than hormone blockers to gain some time to think. That’s why the damn hormone blockers fucking exist in the first place, to give them TIME. 

Keeping minors off hormone blockers who think they might be some flavor of trans is bigoted and wrong. It prevents the exact kinda situation I’m in now, in doesn’t fucking cause it. Listen to people when they tell you who they are... and make sure they have the option of informed consent before they start something majorly life changing. That’s all.

[baekhvuns]

Yeah I woke up, sent you a message and a few hours later I saw your reply, but didn't have time to answer and then I thought I've already responded ☠

Right I was wondering when is Kai getting his bald era... not that I'm anticipating it, but the clock is ticking 😭 ooooh are the kstans nasty? Damn hope nothing shitty happens, but like I said: PSYCHOLOGICAL EXAMINATION BEFORE YOU SPEAK TO IDOLS

Key would 100% sacrifice Minho then get angry Minho got himself killed, victim blaming 💔 I know jfc I'm glad I saw the news about Taemin's enlistment being longer a few months ago. Still in denial, but at least this isn't shocking to me

Omfg Triple H my loves, so sad we lost them. We lost Taemin x Kai x Krystal too... when will it be our time to receive 🤲🏻

I know I can't believe JYPE is giving XH better shoots and styling than SKZ... hey Ateez could be demonic pirates, let's not hold them back! Demons can be pirates, vampires can be pirates, princes can be vampires and demons etc etc

There are a few Asian markets even online ones which sell fake everything, fake shrimp as well and in fucking bulk 😮 I buy a lot of meat replacement online, like vegan spam (never had the original). Not saying everything is super tasty but still. I think nowadays HK, Singapore and Philippines are the best in this regard. I love dumplings so much you don't understand, send them over!

I think at this point most fast food chains offer something vegan or at least vegetarian. DO NOT SAY THE NUGGS WEREN'T VEGAN PLS 😭 no they were, one of my friends got the regular ones and they looked a bit different, but my brain was tripping. It's like Impossible burger, have you tried it? It tastes so beefy I usually can't take it 🙈

Exactly, write whatever you want (except tragic endings or else 🤺) and whenever you want

Hsusuagdgagagtatafs if you had Seonghwa as your lockscreen and that guy asked "is that your boyfriend?" it would be so funny. Alain Delon lmao that's so random, my mother likes him, is that guy a Frenchie too?

Agree about feet, keep them covered and locked away.

How about "choose your own ending" type of thing 😆

Hwa gets embarrassed but you know he's one of those brave shy guys, he'll do/say cringe shit with his whole chest then act flustered lmao. Sometimes I look at him and think "how is he real" and remember all the interactions we had and???? Do you think it doesn't ruin my day as well, because it does bestie it does 😭😭😭

Yep it's the heart monster 💖

🙈🙈🙈🙈 so I'm Tae you're Jimin #vmin

My quiz result is "you want to feel more powerful" damn right in my villain era lmao

Nvm, been informed I heard Kep1er's song and quite liked it, nothing special but the guitar is noiceeee. I listened to Antifragile and it's okay, but it doesn't hit tbh. Fearless is much cuntier imo, but I know I'm in the minority because most people seem to prefer Antifragile. Btw I liked Billie's Ring Ma Bell song idk if you heard it, finally a Billie title track I enjoyed. But I hope Ive wins ROTY cause I liked all their 3 titles so far!

Kim Taehyung delete your feet off the internet please!!! - DV 💖

hi hello!!

Yeah I woke up, sent you a message and a few hours later I saw your reply, but didn't have time to answer and then I thought I've already responded ☠

LMFAOOOO NO BC I ALSO TRIP SOMETIMES THINKING I RESPONDED 😭😭

Right I was wondering when is Kai getting his bald era... not that I'm anticipating it, but the clock is ticking 😭 ooooh are the kstans nasty? Damn hope nothing shitty happens, but like I said: PSYCHOLOGICAL EXAMINATION BEFORE YOU SPEAK TO IDOLS

PLS STOP FBWMBDWK THE CLOCK IS TICKING AND ITS NEAR GOING TO BE DEVASTATED 🔫🔫 no but a bald kai would be so hilarious <3 i just know sm’s gonna make sehun and kai do the shitty musicals and get videos of them every week dancing to growl or hype boy 😭😭😭 ever since he got married and had kids!! they’re all so pathetic, a few are nice A FEW but the rest are ready to boycott this man for breathing,,, NO SERIOUSLY THERE BETTER BE SOME TYPE OF EXAMINATION SM BETTER HAVE SECURITY AROUND THE CORNER

Key would 100% sacrifice Minho then get angry Minho got himself killed, victim blaming 💔 I know jfc I'm glad I saw the news about Taemin's enlistment being longer a few months ago. Still in denial, but at least this isn't shocking to me

HRMQHDKWJDKW LITERALLY SO ACCURATE they should go to that military show together with henry, peak comedy 😭😭 VICTIM BLAMING WHKDHWK STOP IM SCREAMING,,, no bc taemin suffering ever since he enlisted and they just be extending it ???? 🔫🔫🔫

Omfg Triple H my loves, so sad we lost them. We lost Taemin x Kai x Krystal too... when will it be our time to receive 🤲🏻

SERIOUSLY THEIR AESTHETIC WAS TOP NOTCH >>>> taemin kai and krystal are so iconic if they dropped a subunit no on would survive,,, also if fx was still active who do u think would be the dark lore best music soloist out of them? krystal and maybe victoria for me 🤚🏼

I know I can't believe JYPE is giving XH better shoots and styling than SKZ... hey Ateez could be demonic pirates, let's not hold them back! Demons can be pirates, vampires can be pirates, princes can be vampires and demons etc etc

no bc why can’t companies give every of their artists good photoshoots like isn’t it to ur benefit 😭😭 more ppl will buy them,,, VAMPIRE PIRATES YOU SAY 👁👁

There are a few Asian markets even online ones which sell fake everything, fake shrimp as well and in fucking bulk 😮 I buy a lot of meat replacement online, like vegan spam (never had the original). Not saying everything is super tasty but still. I think nowadays HK, Singapore and Philippines are the best in this regard. I love dumplings so much you don't understand, send them over!

FAKE SHRIMP???? h-how the hell???? omgg, omg how does the vegan spam taste like?? the restaurant is called tofu village in toronto! their vegetarian dumplings are to DIE FOR their kimchi is insane good + their green onion pancake as well! they offer replacements for meet with tofu and omg bestie it mELTS IN UR MOUTH

I think at this point most fast food chains offer something vegan or at least vegetarian. DO NOT SAY THE NUGGS WEREN'T VEGAN PLS 😭 no they were, one of my friends got the regular ones and they looked a bit different, but my brain was tripping. It's like Impossible burger, have you tried it? It tastes so beefy I usually can't take it 🙈

WHEN WILL MCDONALDS CANADA LEARN FBWMBDKW they had some insane good wraps with like some crispy stuff and feta in it but they discontinued them and i only be having fries from them 😭😭 BDKWBDKW BESTIE IF THEY WERE SUSPICIOUSLY MEAT TASTING THEY MIGHT HAVE BEEN 😭😭😭 omg have u had the accordant meat eating scenario’s,,, i rmr someone once gave me a pizza where the pepperoni was under the cheese <3 finished half of it until realizing <3

impossible burger? from what food chain? unless its got a diff name here it’s probably beyond meat! IT DO BE REALLY TRIPPY,,, suspiciously good 😮‍���😮‍💨 the only one i eat is from a&w their beyond meat is omg,,, mouth watering at the thought of it,,, burger king too! but theirs is always slightly burnt bcbjcbnck

Exactly, write whatever you want (except tragic endings or else 🤺) and whenever you want

LMFAOOOO 😭😭😭😭 ANON U WONT FORGIVE ME FOR THE SERIES BDBDBD

Hsusuagdgagagtatafs if you had Seonghwa as your lockscreen and that guy asked "is that your boyfriend?" it would be so funny. Alain Delon lmao that's so random, my mother likes him, is that guy a Frenchie too?

no bc id be like “yeah” why not,,, mf won’t ever meet me anyway might as well make the best of it fbsjfhkd YOUR MOTHER HAS IMPECCABLE TASTE no unfortunately i don’t think he’s a frenchie he’s got a slight london accent <3

Agree about feet, keep them covered and locked away.

no bc seriously ,,,,, if ur gonna show at least show it for money dbdb make bank <3

How about "choose your own ending" type of thing 😆

YOU GOT ME THERE

Hwa gets embarrassed but you know he's one of those brave shy guys, he'll do/say cringe shit with his whole chest then act flustered lmao. Sometimes I look at him and think "how is he real" and remember all the interactions we had and???? Do you think it doesn't ruin my day as well, because it does bestie it does 😭😭😭

BFMWHDWHDKWHDKW PLEASE THIS GUYS THE MALE LEAD IN EVERY SLICE OF LIFE ROMCOM DRAMA 😭😭😭 he be saying the most embarrassing things with his whole might 😭😭😭 he would be the embarrassing father 100% his one kid would say “ew” and he’d get so passive aggressive over it “eW?! EW???!??”

Yep it's the heart monster 💖 🙈🙈🙈🙈 so I'm Tae you're Jimin #vmin

WE ARE BEING SET UP FBWKDHSK BESTIE COME OVER THERES A K RESTAURANT JUST OUTSIDE MY PLACE FBWNBDEN

My quiz result is "you want to feel more powerful" damn right in my villain era lmao

LMFAOOOO 😭😭😭 sometimes u say stuff with such humour i really be cracking up

….

Nvm, been informed I heard Kep1er's song and quite liked it, nothing special but the guitar is noiceeee. I listened to Antifragile and it's okay, but it doesn't hit tbh. Fearless is much cuntier imo, but I know I'm in the minority because most people seem to prefer Antifragile. Btw I liked Billie's Ring Ma Bell song idk if you heard it, finally a Billie title track I enjoyed. But I hope Ive wins ROTY cause I liked all their 3 titles so far!

I AGREE FEARLESS IS VERY CUNTY !!!! their music choices are really good! i would agree with the majority, fearless is like the subtle cunty in your face but anti fragile’s choreo takes it for me 🤌🏼🤌🏼 I HAVE AND IT DOES SOUND REALLY NICE!!! omg ive’s releases are sooo good esp love dive but NEW JEANS 😮‍💨😮‍💨 the aesthetic the vocals 🤌🏼🤌🏼 this time the roty will be so difficult to choose fbfbfb

Kim Taehyung delete your feet off the internet please!!! - DV 💖

DHWJDEK THIS MAN HAS A FEET KINK FBWKDJSK

bestie smn hwa is back

us when

MODEL HWA MODEL HWA IS BEING MANIFESTED BFFFFF

here’s the iconic tweet of the day,, truly what a year

DO U REMEMBER THIS FJWKDJWK KEYS FACE

and an honourable quiz

BETAIE BESIE HESTIE PARK SEONGHWA

???

[wrestlezon]

liveblog containment post for aew dynamite 7/20/22

i am obviously excited for the best friends vs bcc fight :)c

theyre starting off with darby vs brody king? ok hes gettin thrown around like a ragdoll brody king won. makes sense hes a big guy

wait there was a chuck taylor sign in the bg. hold it up again i want to read it lmao the its my birthday sign upside down oh sting is here! hes been baited out whoa the lights are they going to make sting evil. evil grandpa they misted him OH ITS MIRO he got misted last time. and his promo was very suspect. is miro evil??? :)c SUNGLASSES SUSPICIOUS... lol he taped it over OHHH BEST FRIENDS ARE NEXT WOOOOOO

this is a backstage promo with the guy ricky starks is fighting for the ftw championship lmfao ricky starks and hobbes are so good. just putting the hat on tony schiavone

THE BEST FRIENDSSSSSSSS VS MOXLEY AND YUTA ORANGE CASSIDY GUEST COMMENTARY??? LMAO lmfao regal at it as per the usual

he doesn't know how to flirt with orange. hes asking to hold hands with him. TRENT TAGGED CHUCK IN VS YUTA OOOOUGHHHH i can hear that the the commentary is saying lore but im focusing 100% on chuck and yuta fighting I AM GOING TO KILL THE CAMERA CREW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEY LITERALLY CUT AWAY AT THE WORST POINT Trent mad chuck stopping him :O and then beating up yuta himself lol moxley chasing him lmaooo OHHH CHAIR lmfao the daniel garcia "get a load of this guy" cam AWFUL WAFFLE... sorry i was too busy watching the match with my undivided attention. you know how it is YUTA WITH THE PIN... orange just gets up and walks off

oh theres a claudio promo right now? there better not be stage events happening behind this

swerve and keith lee celebration lmfao the cake... swerve you are trying so hard oh mark sterling is here with tony nese. i forgot about his anti-strickland agenda oh no!!!! their cake!!!!!!!!!

alex reynolds and john silver backstage promo with butcher and the blade?? hell yes LMFAO BUTCH IMPACT FONT SHIRT i love the dark order and im glad theyre putting john silver on live tv beating them up!!! HANGMAN TO THE RESCUE!!!!! :O

varsity blondes vs cage and luchasaurus oops i looked away

lmfao cage on lucha's shoulders? thats not your-- OH JUNGLE BOY??? with a chair... whaddya gonna do jungle boy... LUCHA TAKES HIS SIDE!! CAGE RUNNING i wasnt sure if luchasaurus was gonna turn on him last second. i wouldve yelled (angry)

the gunn club backstage promo! WE'RE GETTING A RAP BATTLE???? HEEEELLLLL YESSSS

ricky starks vs cole karter i dont know this karter guy. but he is wrestling out there lol ricky being like dang hold on time out. i need a breather same tbh i still need to think about that best friends fight oh man that cole karter flip slam looked harsh but i also can't tell when a move is bad for real starks is cool and classy. ohhh and he got the mic! lemme hear it mr starks oh really? are they gonna back to back wrestle match? this would be a first. im excited to see if theyd actually do it DANHAUSEN???? NO I ACTUALLY WANT THIS TO HAPPEN RIGHT NOW WHICH MEANS THEYRE NOT GONNA DO IT RIGHT NOW LMAO THE CROWD MAD THEYRE NOT GETTING IT RIGHT NOW OH HIS IMPRESSION SO GOOD IM EXCITED FOR RICKY STARKS VS DANHAUSEN

backstage promo with willow, statlander, and athena threats to slap his bald head WILLOW IS SOOOOO CUTEEEEEEEEE AUGUGHHGHGHHHH 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

in-ring promo with ftr! theyre promoting their match vs the briscoes? dax's daughter story... 🥺

jay lethal backstage promo... oh! christopher daniels challenging him on friday??

jade cargill and kiera hogan vs athena and willow!!! there is a lot of rappers involved in this show but i am not cultured and i do not know them. :( i love how this is team cyan vs team purple whoops i missed the beginning of the fight. athena is putting in work now though stokely has appeared to distract-- ohhh no!! lmao can you imagine if willow won in the bg while the camera was on jade we gettin pins here nooo... back to back triple pins on willow noooooooo

thunder rosa toni storm backstage promo oh theyre doing the title match with yamashita so soon japanese :O britt baker appears

HANGMAN JOHN SILVER TAG TEAM VS BUTCHER AND BLADE ON FRIDAY??? ohhh!! dalton castle on the ROH ppv!!!!

lmfao why are they showing excalibur reading a promo-- camera guys whats goin on

its time for eddie vs jericho!!! BARBED WIRE **EVERYWHERE** lmfao the MICROPHONE daniel garcia slappin everyones asses on the way into the cage here comes out painmaker jericho! huh. a mask huh. ive never seen painmaker jericho in a match oh i think you missed a spot there mr jericho eddie!!!!!!!! YEAHHHHH ok jim ross has been kinda eh this match but i laughed at "once they lose their blood they wont be able to recover it" so that makes him being there worth it BARBED WIRE RING BELL the person who is in charge of camera cuts today is making me go apoplectic ouhghhhh barbed wire... brutal... noooo!! tay conti!!! aughhhh WHAT THE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ANNA JAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! uhghhHHHHHHHHHHHH >:(((((((((((((((((( imagine so many crossed arms emojis right here SAMMY TOO????? listen if eddie loses this i will be SO MAD oh hey guess what

i'm mad

oh well i guess at least eddie got to throw jericho into the Barbed Wire Square at the end there...

[secretshinigami]

Tangle

Author: @hazblogs For: @beyondplusultra Pairings/Characters: Near/Mello/Matt Rating/Warnings: G Prompt: “mello with even longer hair, braided in some cool style” + “mello x matt x near college AU shenanigans (can be ship or gen)” Author’s notes: ok so you have no idea how hard i hand flapped when i saw your prompt - and then your name. aka i wrote a thing for you last sse which was a very very perfect companion piece for the one i’m gifting you rn. lots of love <333333333

————————

“Matt. Are you trying to tell me something ?” Mello asks.

“Me ? Communicating ? I’ll have you know that hasn’t happened since the great fire of the library of Alexandria. I was devastated and vowed to never speak again, which I would have fully respected had you not decided to spawn a few centuries later to torment me.”

Mello is tempted to chuck the pair of scissors to his face, but that would probably be dangerous. They are adorned with a little bow and a note that says “Put them to good use !” in tidy, loopy letters.

A snicker rises from the then-two-now-triple bed, a small white head emerging from under the blanket. “I see you’ve found my present.”

“Near, I’ll ask this once and once only: why in hell would you ever think I’d cut my hair ?”

They’ve been growing it out very, very patiently ! It took months ! After the incident and the fact that the hospital had to shave most of it off, adding to the fact there’s now a bald scar patch on the side of their head, Mello tried really really hard to gain a sense of… self-love ? Looking at their face in the mirror was never a chore before.

Feeling the wind blow through their now quite long hair had been amazing.

“It goes into my mouth when we sleep,” Near answers. “I’m tired of waking up and having to spit it all out.”

Mello has half a mind to tell him that if he doesn’t like it that much, he just has to not cuddle up to them in his sleep, but that’s unfair - and also unwanted. Mello quite likes waking up to Matt and Near snuggled up so close to them that they feel loved in a way only kids can feel, with their utmost certainty in the good of this world. It’s a nice warmth, spreading from their chest to their toes.

“Ugh. Fine, I’ll tie them up.”

“What ?” Matt almost yells from his place on the floor, a true cave troll. “I’ve been trying to make you do that for months and you always said you hated it ! And Near doesn’t even have to ask ? I haven’t lived that long to be disrespected in this way. I am appalled, I am betrayed, in my own home-”

“You don’t even go to this uni,” Mello usefully provides.

“Fiend. Rascal. I’m looking up hair braiding tutorials right this instant.”

“Oh, let me join,” Near asks, and soon enough, the two friends are completely ignoring Mello’s fuming, too busy looking at EveryDayHairInspiration videos on Youtube, her chipper voice filling the room with detailed instructions.

Nothing more comes of it. Or at least, that’s what Mello thinks, because they haven’t been jumped on and tied to a chair, where Matt’s deft fingers - and Near’s less deft fingers but keen memory - will wreak havoc on their admittedly finicky strands. They have thin, blond hair, though they know not who in their family passed on those genes. The woes of being adopted. It is almost impossible to comb, in spite of their best efforts and the KeraCare Hydrating Detangling Shampoo that Matt surreptitiously bought and sneaked into the bathroom, but that does not deter them.

Nor does the ever growing “Mello’s hair collection” that Matt keeps, like a creep, “So I can sell it when you become a best-selling author of course !” Mello thinks it’s for doll-making purposes, should he take offence to something they did and want to stab them in a more discreet fashion.

In any case, it’s been a few weeks when Mello comes back to the dorm room to find it in a state of upheaval it hasn’t known since Near arrived. There’s at least three cans of hairspray, a million and a half elastic ties of various shapes and sizes, and an office chair. Mello has been complaining about not having a chair to be able to work at the table, but Matt had always whined that it was “unnecessary, and would take up too much space”.

“Mels ! You’re here !” says the obvious culprit. “I borrowed Mikami’s chair, I hope he doesn’t mind.”

Incredible. The chair isn’t even going to stay !

“Will you come in ?” Near smiles, absolutely delighted at Mello’s crumpled features. “We’ve set up the hair salon.”

“Wow, you two have ambition,” they mock. Mello does feel a little bit of terror at the twin gleams in their eyes.

Near simply ushers them towards the seat, detangling lotion ready, and he begins applying ungodly amounts of it while Matt combs through their hair with vigour. It does feel quite nice, Mello muses, to be pampered like they’re worth it. The amount of sappiness can be felt in the air, the love pouring from their friends right onto them making them feel giddy.

“You okay, Mello ?”

They don’t even know who said it. They startle awake, wondering when they even started to doze off, and Matt laughs heartily at their dazed-out face.

“Oh my god, Mels, you look like you’re in heaven.”

“Mrrgh,” they muster the courage to say. 

“Eloquent.”

“Shut up, Near…” 

The energy isn’t quite there, though.

A few moments pass by while Near and Matt keep twisting their hair in weird ways, the tingling sensation on their scalp never nearing pain with how careful they are. And then-

“Ta-da !” Matt says, happy as can be.

“We did good work,” Near concurs. “Wait, I have a mirror.”

Mello sure hopes so. Truth be told, they’re quite curious to see what the other two managed to do. Matt makes them close their eyes, spinning the chair for good measure, and Near laughs airily in the background, hands flapping a little.

“Open your eyes !”

They do. At first, they almost don’t see it - their hair is gathered on their right side, as usual. But then they notice the subtle ways in which their hair glows under the light, a small black hair tie at the bottom keeping it together.

Somehow, they manage not to let those annoying tears flow.

“They like it !” Matt whoops.

Near relaxes - he seemed unsure of their reaction, but Matt knows how to read them perfectly, and he knows, he just knows. The force of habit.

The braid stays on for about two days. Mello keeps forgetting it’s there and running their fingers through their hair only to have them tangled in the braid, or turning too fast and flinging it in someone’s face. Near eventually undoes it when they whine about washing their hair, though it returns soon after. He cuddles closer now - Mello feels their heart jump each time they wake up to their two loves, if they can say the word, and they remember that moment throughout the day when they play with the twists.

[unstoppableforcce]

trivia night

pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader

masterlist | next part

a/n: oh so very smutty so [18+] y’all. thank you to everyone who inspired and encouraged me to enter the triple frontier fic world, if y’all like this one be sure to let me know so I can keep more coming !! ( and a special thank you to @mandoplease for publishing such incredible work that I had to join the Santi fic world !! )

“No, Jango Fett is from the prequels--”

“Boba Fett is also in the prequels--”

“And the originals--”

The whisper fight was not unusual for a Thursday night trivia night with the boys around the table at the brewery but it was unusual for Frankie, Benny, and Will to get away with the discussion for so long. 

Santi was almost always the first to jump in and set the record straight, no matter the topic of the question asked by the bald and Irish host up by the bar, but not this Thursday. His stare passed over the few tables packed with housewives eying up Benny and ignoring their husbands, and over the twenty-somethings with purple and pink hair holding similar arguments. It was directed straight to the bar across the concrete floor and no where else. 

Because it wasn’t tall and lanky Bram the bartender behind the counter like it had been every Thursday night for the past six months since Frankie moved two blocks away from the brewery. It was you. 

And he couldn’t pull his attention from you, not even to correct the absurd whisper fight happening at the table around him that had spiraled into an even stupider battle between the brothers for the pen to scribble down the answer. 

You were too distracting.

“Pope— Pope— give me the goddamn pen, Benny— Pope, come on is it Boba or Jango?” Will fought, nudging him enough to snap him from his thoughts but also nudging him just enough to send the beer in his hand clattering to the side, spilling out all over the table. 

Frankie and Will were quick to grab their phones off the table, Benny scrambling exclusively for the tiny slips of paper for the trivia game, but Santi had no choice but to slide his chair back to try and avoid making a mess of his pants. Except it made a screaming noise that echoed around the large brewery warehouse, the metal chair against the concrete making people throw their hands to their ears and groan instead of focusing on the question at hand. 

“Dammit,” he cursed out, reaching for a handful of napkins as his jeans got wet but as he began dabbing, he glanced around and realized the whole brewery shifted their attention to their table, “sorry, we’re all good.”

“Convincing,” Frankie chided and Santi quickly hit his hat off his head, earning a chorus of laughter from the table, but doing little to hide the blush on either of their faces.

“It had to be my beer?” Santi scoffed, grabbing another handful of napkins to begin wiping at his chair and the table. 

“You weren’t helping with the question—”

“You two would have figured it out—“

“I told you it was Boba—”

“Turn in your answers to the front so we can move on to the next question!” The host called from the bar and Benny quickly stood with his answer on the slip of paper, taking it up to the front as everyone’s tables did the same. 

But as Pope tried to keep cleaning with his futile napkin pile, a dry towel appeared on the table next to him, between him and Frankie. 

“Here, let me...” 

It was you, not Bram the bartender, pushing the dry towel into the spilled beer on the table, and he froze. 

If he thought you were distracting from afar, it was worse up close.

Frankie didn’t freeze though, he quickly scooted out of the way, careful to lift his chair so it wouldn’t screech the way Pope’s did, but Pope still stood just a foot behind you, frozen in place. 

The hustle and bustle of the trivia night continued on around them and you worked quickly, drying off the table and wiping down the floor where most of it ended up, but he didn’t snap out of it until you bent down in front of him and he realized he was just staring. 

“Sorry, it was an accident...” He sighed, trying to get back to himself by bending down next to you, trying to help with his sloppy pile of napkins even as you waved him off. 

“It’s okay, trivia can get pretty intense.” You chuckled, using your towel to collect the mess of napkins he had in his hands. “I’ll take that.”

“Oh um, thank you.”

“No problem--”

“I don’t know any of the Spice Girls!” Benny whisper shouted from across the table, interrupting the two of you as both of you slowly stood back up. 

Santi took a glance around, realizing the trivia night had continued on around the two of you and that was what Benny was talking about, not any other random reason. 

But he could still care less, focused more on you as he dragged his seat back to the table. Except you didn’t flee the table immediately and retreat back to the bar like he expected, you hung around, leaning into the table.

“What’s the question?” You hummed, quickly earning all of the attention of boys around the table. 

“Umm who was the only Spice Girl not to sing a line during Wannabe...?” Frankie meekly offered from beside you.

“Posh.” You whispered before pulling back, flashing Santi a smirk and finally retreating to the bar while Benny scribbled the answer down quickly. 

“Thanks—” “Thank you—” they all cheered behind you and you offered the same smirk you gave to Santi to the rest of them. 

“That’s not Bram...” Will laughed out, sipping at his beer. 

“No, definitely not.” Frankie continued to muse, nudging Pope again and almost making him drop the pitcher in hand as he moved to pour himself a new drink. “Was that what was distracting you--”

With his glass only halfway filled, he brought it to his lips to give himself an escape while the boys began to laugh around him. 

“Yeah, definitely not Bram...” He joined them with a laugh but the next question came on quickly and they all moved on. 

Except for Santi. He didn’t. He couldn’t, not that quickly. 

He glanced back to the bar, looking past the bald man leading the questions to you at the bar. Though the second you felt his stare, you looked up from the counter and briefly caught it. But he only sent it back to the guys around him, missing the smirk that stayed on your lips as you stared. 

As halftime from the trivia game sounded off, most of the crowd escaped out to the food truck in the back alley, including Will who refused to take orders for the others. 

“If you want a taco, go out and get your own taco.” Will scoffed out, earning a round of groans in response. 

But as Benny got up with his glass of beer to intercept the stares he had been getting from the table on the other side of him and Frankie excused himself for the bathroom, Santi really had no choice but to get up himself. And if he was getting up, he was going to talk to you. 

At least, that was if he could catch your attention out of the crowd of men waiting for refills. 

Nabbing a small section of counter top next to Bill, the older office worker who came to play alone nearly every week and oggle the owner, Santi patiently waited as you passed pitchers and glasses across the counter to the hoard of waiting men. He contemplated heading back to the table, not wanting to make things more difficult for you, but as he caught your stare again while you worked, he figured you might prefer for him to tough it out. 

So he waited, and waited, past the ten minute warning from the bald host, then past the five minute warning, but eventually you cleared out the crowd and made your way over to him.

“Pitcher of the Amber or...?” You prompted, wiping some of the spillage from the last pitcher you past over the counter away as you maneuvered yourself across the counter from him. 

“Yeah, please...” he sighed out, clenching his eyes shut as you turned your back to him. 

No. No, was what he should have said, they still had almost half a pitcher left on the table but It came out before he could help himself. 

What was wrong with him? He never had any problem asking for a name, or a date, or a phone number, especially when you set him up so well. 

Hopefully the tacos made the boys thirsty because you quickly turned around with a full pitcher and he had to fish his wallet from his pocket, tossing a few bills out between the two of you. Enough to cover the pitcher and a healthy tip. 

But nothing to wow you. He had no charm, no confidence. What was wrong with him—

“Need me to carry it back to your table or you think you can handle it without spilling?” You mocked easily, the smirk building on your lips again and practically drawing him further into the counter.

You had your own gravity to you, it was simple, effortless, unlike anything he had felt in a while. He leaned his elbows forward onto the counter next to the pitcher and you leaned closer just the same almost on instinct. 

“I think I can manage that myself... thank you though...” 

That wasn’t smooth, that could’ve been so much smoother, what the hell was wrong with him—

“Need anything else?”

“Your name?” There was his recovery, better late than never. He quirked his head and slyly dropped his stare to the counter with a chuckle before dragging it slowly back up to your eyes. “Maybe a phone number?”

The smirk didn’t even drop when you laughed at him, amused by the display. 

“I don’t even have your name,” you mused, letting out a wistful sigh, reaching for your towel to wipe at the counter again. 

“Santiago.” He extended his hand over the counter and you took it easily, offering your name back as you did. 

“Maybe if y’all win trivia I can see myself offering up a phone number.” You shrugged, pursing your lips out slightly. 

He didn’t let any blush rise to his face, just a hum of his own amusement. The blush for the whole room was worn by Bill just one seat over, trying desperately to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping though both of you could clearly tell he was. 

“Maybe?”

You shook your head but the smirk on his lips only grew on his face, “Maybe,” you repeated. 

“I think I can work with maybe.” He liked this banter, and he more than liked the smile you sent it his way with. 

“Yeah? Then you better up your Spice Girl’s knowledge.”

“I know my Spice Girls—”

“Good for you man.” Frankie joked, having overheard just his line as he approached the counter behind Santi. “I thought I had the next round?”

Santi stuttered a bit at that, back off his game, searching for the words he needed but you had already chuckled out and shifted your attention away, grabbing the money and turning to the next customer. 

“Oh, did I interrupt—”

“No, why would you think that?” Santi kept his voice down but let the sarcasm flow freely, throwing his hands up in some minor annoyance and Frankie hid his laughter and the heat of his cheeks behind the brim of his hat. “Just take the pitcher, will you—”

He looked back to the counter to push the pitcher his way and you were back, holding a handful of napkins out to him, “just in case.”

“Thank you.” He said again, taking them from your hand as you just shook, turning your back to him as he walked away with Frankie, the host calling for the start of the final few rounds. 

He was no longer useless to the team. He magically shifted into the leader he normally was when they came out for Trivia night, answering questions before some of the guys could even process them, scribbling out faster than even Benny could manage. But in the end, it wasn’t enough. 

Team ‘the boys’ worked their way into second place just behind the two assholes at the bar, clearly having just gotten off work with their loosened ties and rolled up sleeves. Team ‘rich and delicious’. That meant they got the applause and they got the free beer growlers. 

It also meant Santi got nothing. 

Or at least, he assumed that was the case, letting his stare fall to the guys around him as they cheered for their first second place victory since they started coming. 

“Nice work man,” Frankie touted, patting him on the back as Will freshened up each of their glasses with more beer. 

It was a fun night and it felt good to do better than ever before, but he was competitive to say the least. He wanted to win. Not just for the principle of winning, though it would have certainly been reward enough to beat the two dicks at the bar. But more so for you. 

Though as he caught your stare across the brewery again, your smirk told him it wasn’t over yet. 

After about another hour of drinking, you shouted out “last call,” and by then, most of the brewery had began to pack up and head home anyways. 

Will had planned to drive Benny home, Frankie had planned to walk from the beginning but Pope steadfastly remained confident in his sobriety. Dolling out a few hugs or handshakes to say goodbye, he excused himself to the restroom and when he came out, his team was gone. 

Making his way to the bar, now one of the few remaining patrons, he caught your stare and attention much quicker than he had before. 

“No win for you tonight...” you joked and he rolled his eyes, taking claim of the seat across from you. 

“Second is better than we’ve ever done so I still have that to be proud of.” He fought back, watching you wave to the last group of people as they left, kind enough to bring their glasses back up to the counter for you. 

“Really?” You quirked your head over your shoulder as you continued to clean. 

He quirked his head right back, amused to say the least, “Yeah, we aren’t the smartest band of guys—”

“No, I mean, you’re proud of second?”

He laughed out at that, meeting laughter from you as well and smiling, “is second not something you reward? First only?”

“I may have a prize for second...” You laughed, “but you don’t really strike me as a guy satisfied with second.”

“Satisfied?”

“Satiated, content, accepting of—”

He shook his head, another spell of laughter falling from his lips, “No, you’re right, I’m a competitive guy.”

Grabbing a tub out from under the bar, you settled it on your hip and maneuvered out of the bar, going table by table and grabbing the rest of the glasses laying around. “I know, you put up quite the fight for second, the ‘nearly grandma’s’ team was only two points behind.”

“I guess Posh Spice really helped us.” He laughed. 

You settled the tub back out on the counter and reached over for a wet rag to begin wiping down each of the tables. “So what do you think you should get for second place? Especially if I’m the one who boosted you to second...”

“What should I get?” He couldn’t remember the last time he was around someone and kept his smirk up for this long, he’s never been so amused by someone, so playful with someone...

He felt light. Honestly, light. When was the last time he could say that?

“Well the phone number was for first, what’s for second?” You tempt your smirk back his way as you bend over the first table, wiping it down. 

“I mean, a first date, a first kiss, I’m very interested in everything... what are my options here?”

“I’m starting to think maybe I should have reworked my tiering here, you know, put phone number on the bottom, third place or something.” You mused, moving to the next table as he turned on his seat at the bar to follow you with his stare. 

“So I’ve already won the phone number?”

“Insatiable...” You mocked, finishing up with the last few tables and pushing the chairs in. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you quickly unlocked it, passing it his way, “How about you give me yours?”

“And then?”

“Well,” you spun around some as he began typing, looking up at you between his name and number, “it’s nearly midnight and I’m not off work yet, and I normally work everyday but Thursdays and Sundays so, I’m not much for dinner dates but I’m a big fan of breakfast.”

“That’s convenient, I make a mean breakfast.” He smiled, quirking his chin up as he handed your phone back to you. “How about tomorrow?”

“Now we might be a little ahead of ourselves, I just got your phone number.”

“I haven’t gotten anything.” He shook his head with another laugh. 

He liked laughing this much. Sure, he laughed with the guys but he didn’t have plans to sleep with any of them. And the people he did sleep with weren’t like you. Maybe that’s what he’s been doing wrong recently. 

“Second place...” you mutter, shaking your head as you take a few steps closer, effectively eliminating any space between the two of you, no bar to lean over, no nothing. “Second place would really be lowering my standards you know...”

“Should have told the ‘rich and delicious’ team to stick around.” He mocked as you leaned closer, his voice getting quieter and quieter as you did.

“Nah, second isn’t too bad when it looks like you.”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

In all honesty, he’d been staring at your lips since the two of you ended up alone at the bar and watching you bend over to clean... he had shown incredible restraint so far.

And judging by the way your stare fell to his lips, he wasn’t the only one. He felt more confident than he had felt all night.

More confident than he had felt in a while, if he was being completely honest.

He surged forward off the bar stool and grabbed your face with both hands, dragging your lips to his. The kiss was heated and full of fire, but far too short. He couldn’t let it linger for too long, almost all of his confidence coming out in the single surge. But as he pulled his lips back from yours, keeping his nose up against yours, he felt a spark of electricity flow through him from head to toe.

The way his lips hovered over yours, dancing against yours ever so slightly as he tried to catch his breath, it was like two live wires sparking against each other.

Electrifying.

Clearly you felt it too, because he couldn’t even catch his breath much less get out a word or two before your lips were back on his and your hands were gripping tight to his chest.

Stepping you back, his hands fell to your hips, guiding you onto the next bar stool so he had a better angle, his hips in line with yours in between your legs, his lips moving to attack your neck.

“Santiago...” you moaned out, his name floating through the stale air of the brewery like the sweet honey the amber ale tasted like and he swore he could taste it on his lips as he licked down to your shoulders.

“Let me take you home...” he rolled his hips up into yours and the breath that escaped you was even more rugged than the last.

“Oh well, first place...” you threw your head back, “first place would get to take me home.”

“What does second place get?” His kisses trailed along the gold necklace that hung around your neck, dipping lower into the cleavage of your black top.

“Well, we have the place to ourselves, might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

He laughed at that, pulling his lips off of you and glancing around the empty warehouse bar. “Yeah?”

“Could’ve come in first.”

“Oh honey, I’ve got no problem taking you on the table...” he smirked, dragging you off the stool and bringing your face back to his for a chaste kiss. “And I never come first.”

“Oh I set you up for that one...”

“Damn straight sweetheart.”

Grabbing your hips as you slung your arms around his neck, he moved you back to the nearest table and sat you back on it. And while you pulled at his short curls, deepening the kiss, he found the bottoms hem of your shirt and began dragging it tantalizingly slow up your chest.

Seems you were the one showing little restraint now, meeting his hands and rapidly lifting it the rest of the way off and tossing it aside easily.

“You’re good at that.” He mused, reaching for the bottom hem of his own shirt to do the same

“Yeah, I take it off at least once a day you know...”

“Smart ass.”

He grabbed for your hips again but instead of drawing you closer, he flipped you around, pressing the front of your hips into the table and pushing hims elf firmly against your ass. With one strong forearm taut around your torso, he kept your back against his bare chest, dragging you as close as possible until your breaths aligned with his and his lips could move to your ear. 

“Is this okay?” He huffed, still trying to catch his breath and staggering even more so as one of your hands reached up to intertwine your fingers with his holding against your chest. 

With a roll of your hips back into his, eliciting another groan from his lips, you responded with a throaty, “Yes...”

Your head fell back onto his shoulder as his restrained and hardened length continued to grind into your ass, the fingers of his hand not holding you upright dipping to the button of your jeans and undoing it quickly. The hot breath panting out of your chest held in your throat as his hand dipped even lower, dragging taunting lines along your soaked underwear. 

His hips rocked in a deft rut against you still but now rocking your tight bundle of nerves into the palm of his hands, prying a restrained whimper from your lips. 

“Baby, I want to hear you.” He cooed into your ear, his mind desperate for the honey of your voice and the way his mind seemed to drown in it. The hot pleasure of each movement bubbling in his stomach, he was hardening against your ass, you were soaking over his fingers...

“Santiago...”

A growl released from his lips, as his hips stuttered against yours. He wanted more of you, more of your delicious voice whining out into the echoing warehouse, more of the decadent juices dampening his fingers as he pushed aside your underwear and dipped into you one finger at a time, more of the hot taste of your skin as he sucked onto the bend of your neck to your shoulders, more of you... so much more of you. 

Bending you over the table, your hands splayed out over the freshly cleaned surface, trying to keep yourself upright with nearly quivering arms. His pants hit the floor, belt buckle clattering to the concrete, and yours quickly followed suit, worked down your legs to bunch up around your boots and ankles. But keeping yourself partially upright was futile, turning your head over your shoulder you caught sight of him stroking over his fully hardened and lengthy girth and all but resigned yourself to your impending fate, laying down the rest of the way with another moan released your lips. 

The sight of him alone had you clenching around the stale air of the warehouse and nothing else, desperate for more of him.

“You want this?” He played, drawing a languid stroke over himself as he brought his tip to play against your exposed and aching cunt. “Tell me you want me, baby.”

“I want you...”

“Yeah?” He pressed in gently, toying with you as your grip around the table tightened. “Tell me baby.”

“Smart ass,” you groaned, earning a gentle yet playful smack on your ass that you relished in, trying to back into him for relief. Finally, the taunting tease was too much and you pleaded for him with your dripping honey tone, “I want you, I want you, please.”

Pushing the rest of the way in, all of your noises held tight in your throat while he kept still within you, relishing in the feel of you stretching around him as your hands clenched tight around the table. One of his hands worked up your back, unclasping your bra with a practiced move and continuing up to the back of your neck, pushing your face into the cool table top before he began to work in and out of you. 

His other hand held at the dip of your lower back, holding you in place as his thrusts accelerated in pace. The holding grip felt like a crushing weight but nothing like the force of his pounding hips as he nailed you deeper and deeper into the table. The repeated hits of your hips against the table threatened to leave bruises but you could care less, the pain was pulling an addicting sense of euphoria from your core and you’d cover your body in a thousand bruises if it meant you’d feel this good. 

Weaving his hand from the back of your neck into your hair, he lifted your face up just enough to meet his lips as he bent over you, finding a newer, deeper angle with his lips ghosting over yours. 

“How does it feel, baby...” he taunted as you tried to bring your lips to his but he held you just far enough back to feel his breath but not his lips. 

Close, tauntingly close, but not enough. 

“Kiss me, Santi...”

“How does it feel?”

Sending a particularly pounding thrust into you, your head fell back against his shoulder, your moan descending into a sob as his lips met your neck for a lengthy lick and bite. 

God, you didn’t just feel good, you felt right. You felt right like nothing had before, not since he and the guys got back from South America. 

He bought the house because it felt like the right thing to do, he stopped doing work that would hurt himself because it felt like the right thing to do... but this was the only thing that felt right. He had been looking for something like this for longer than he could even remember and he wanted more. 

“Santi—” 

He cut you off with his lips on yours, contorting at a weird angle but giving him new access to your still half clothes chest. He wanted your bra off, he wanted to feel every inch of you, every single goddamn inch of you. 

Every sound you made, no matter how faint, echoed in the big room now, even in competition with the obscene sound of his hips smacking into yours. You could hear each grunt and breath that fell from his lips and he could hear the same from you, every whine and moan, every whimper and—

“Please...”

Your words vibrated against his lips and released a new level of desperate need from within him. 

The hand he had fighting with the fabric of your bra relinquished the fight to get it off, moving underneath to take hold of your breast, his other hand reaching back around your torso to hoist you back up into his chest. His teeth gritted together as he found a whole new rhythm, faster, faster, faster...

“Oh my g—”

“Oh fuck honey.” Everything was getting tighter, the tense coil in your stomach, his grip around your chest, every muscle in his legs and abdomen, the pull of you against him... you were clenching tighter and tighter around him, tighter and tighter. 

His hips snapped even harder into you as his rhythm began to falter but his hand reached down from your stomach with a purpose. His hand was back on your pulsing bundle of nerves, but not his palm, two fingers, rubbing meticulously at first but quickly loosing all sense of control as you began to shake against him. 

Biting down on your shoulder, he moved to a pace he couldn’t hope to maintain, trying to push you over the edge with his fingers, rubbing faster and faster and faster and—

“Fuck, Santi— fuck.” you shook, coming apart around him as your scream of his name cursed out into an echo, bouncing around the warehouse walls and playing into his ears on each bounce. Then your breathless whisper released just loud enough for him to hear in your smoothest voice, drenched in honey, drowning his ears in it, “Santiago...”

And that was all it took.

He was falling apart, barely managing the control to ask “can I— fuck, can I— inside?” and get an exhausted nod from you before he came apart. 

His hips stuttered, knocking you into the table once, then twice in quick succession, all accompanied by whines of his own falling from his lips against the skin of your neck. 

“Not bad for second place...” you mocked, still out of breath as he kept you held up against his chest.

And his laughter shook the both of you, his forehead, now damp with sweat, pressed into the side of your face. As he slipped out of you, sending you both whimpering out from the loss of contact, he kissed down your spine until he picked his own pants up. 

“Let me take you home,” he kissed back up your spine until you turned around and met his lips with yours. “I promised breakfast...”

“I like breakfast.” You hummed, holding him close by his curls, forehead holding against yours. 

“I like you.” 

To think, you had the audacity to be mad when Bram the bartender asked you to pick up his Thursday shift.

—

tags: @mandoplease @spider-starry @pizzahutmonkeybutt @mouse230 @kindablackenedsuperhero @shakespeareanwannabe @mylifeliterally @this-cat-is-dea @woakiees

[atths--twice]

How It Should Have Been

An AU in which Mulder never left after William was born. Life has gone the way it should have gone, the three becoming the family they deserved to be. But now, Mulder and Scully are headed back to work and they need to find someone to take care of their baby boy. Will they find someone they can trust?

This was an idea I saw in August of last year. It wasn't exactly an ask, but a tweet for which I felt a spark of an idea. It has taken a few months, but I have finally gotten there. It's sweet and how it should have been for them. No darkness, no alien baby, just a normal life with their miracle child.

As much as I loved the revival, Existence was the most perfect ending for the show; all of them together and knowing they would be okay. We could have been left with the knowledge that they were not being hunted and were now together as they always should have been.

Well, this is a little, "what if that happened."

Hope you enjoy it!

“Mulder…” Scully said, in a tone he knew very well. He smiled as he continued tying his tie and waited for her to come into their bedroom.

He smiled again as she walked in wth William in her arms, his chubby cheeks flushed and his bit of fair hair messy from sleep. He grinned at Mulder, reaching out for him, kicking his legs excitedly.

“Hello, my boy. How are you this morning?” he asked as he took him and kissed his soft head, breathing in his wonderful baby scent.

William laid his head on his chest, his little hands grasping at the knot on Mulder’s tie. Lifting his head, he tried to put his mouth on it, but Mulder stopped him with a chuckle.

“Hey now, none of that,” he said, his hand covering the knot, kissing William’s cheek and then lifting him over his head. He squealed with excitement, his body wriggling happily.

Bringing him down, he smiled into his eyes as he heard Scully sigh beside him. Looking at her, she shook her head and sighed again. He smiled, reaching out his right arm to pull her close and moving William to his left arm, gently rocking them both.  

“I know you’re worried,” he said softly as he kissed the top of her head. “But… everything is planned, it’s all ready and-”

“I know that, Mulder. I do. I just…”  She pulled back and stared up at him as she rubbed William’s back. “I’m worried about him. About how he’ll react and what he’ll do when we leave. Will he cry? Will he be inconsolable? I don’t…”

“Scully…” He set William in the portable crib in their room, a few books and toys inside to hold his attention. Walking back to her, he put his hands on her shoulders and moved them down to squeeze her upper arms. “William has met the sitter and he liked her. She was great with him. We both vetted her. In fact, she was triple background checked-  you, me, and Skinner surprisingly.”

“Not so much so, considering how concerned he was when I was pregnant. Nor how much time he’s spent here recently.” She smiled and he nodded with a chuckle, thinking of the dinners and even some weekend afternoons Skinner had spent at their place.

William babbled in the crib, saying dada over and over as Mulder stared at Scully. She sighed and nodded, placing her hands on his chest.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered and she nodded again. She grabbed his tie and brought his lips to hers for a quick kiss.

“I need to feed him and then I’ll get ready.” She kissed him again, walked over to the crib and lifted William out of it. She kissed his head and left the room.

Mulder listened to her singing “Joy To The World” softly as she nursed William and he smiled, happier than he ever had been. Walking out of the bedroom, he went into the kitchen to double check that the bottles of breast milk were ready, the baby food they had started him on was labeled and measured out, and the numerous notes Scully had written were in order.

He made coffee, put bread in the toaster waiting to be cooked, and took out the jelly he knew Scully liked best. He checked to see if both of their bags were by the door, along with her breast pump, as she would need to pump at some point during the day. When everything was done, he went to the nursery, smiling at them from the doorway.

“I’ll take him, if he’s finished eating.”

“He is, but make sure you have-”

“The burp cloth, I know.” He smiled as he picked one up from the changing table and took William from her, making a silly face as he did. “How long have we been doing this, huh?” She looked at him and nodded with a sigh.

“I know. I’m sorry that I’m-”

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize. I completely understand, hon.” She stood up and walked close to him, smiling as he patted William’s back and she adjusted the burp cloth.

“I like when you call me that,” she said softly.

“I know you do,” he whispered back, remembering the first time he had said it and the way her eyes had lit up. And then the way she had loved him after William had been put to bed, asking him to only call her honey, her body still slightly thicker from the pregnancy, arousing him as he had fulfilled her desire.

“Hmm,” she hummed, licking her lips and he shook his head.

“Stop. Go get ready.” She pouted and walked away, humming under her breath.

“And make sweet love to you,” she sang and he shook his head again.

“Scully,” he warned and she laughed. “Your mama is a naughty woman sometimes.” He told William as he looked at him, rubbing his back. William stared at him with his blue eyes and smiled, putting his head back on his shoulder.

Mulder hummed as he burped him, relishing this private moment. Despite his calm demeanor with Scully, he had his own misgivings about leaving him with a relative stranger.

Mrs. Scully had watched him when they had gone out to dinner, but it had not been often. In the past six months, they had been happy to just be with him, staying home and learning their way in this new life.

Deciding that a fresh start had been needed after the stress of William’s arrival into the world, they had worked with a real estate agent. They had found a small three bedroom house in Annandale, roughly equal distance between Quantico and Mrs. Scully’s house.

It needed some updating, and so for a few weeks they had been crammed into Scully’s apartment, Mulder moving out of his own place, having no desire to be there anymore. He did not want to be away from his family for even one night.

Moving into the small home, Mrs. Scully, the Gunmen, Skinner, Monica and Doggett helping to carry boxes and furniture, it had all felt surreal. When they had gone and it had been only the three of them, William asleep in Scully’s arms, it had finally felt like a reality.

“We’re home,” he had whispered to her, pulling her close. She had hummed and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“We are,” she had replied and he smiled.

“Would you ever have thought this would be where we ended up?” he had asked and she chuckled, pulling back to look at him.

“Not in a million years.”

“But you’re happy?” He had frowned, suddenly worried, even though he knew he should not be.

“Mulder…” she had sighed as she shook her head. “How can you even ask me that?”

“I just…”

“I am happier than I ever thought possible. Is it what I had imagined for myself? No… But is it what I want? One hundred percent.” She had smiled, looking down at William, watching him sucking in his sleep. She had trailed a finger softly down his face and looked back at Mulder. “I love you so much. I couldn’t imagine a life with anyone but you- my constant, my touchstone.”

“Oh, Scully,” he had breathed, pulling her close again, mindful of William between them, rocking them slowly, tears in his eyes as he had hummed an unknown tune.

They had spent a month arranging the house, getting to know the area, and simply being. But they both knew they would eventually have to go back to work.

And that presented a problem.

“I can watch him anytime you need,” Mrs. Scully had said, holding him at dinner one night, smiling as he reached for her necklace. She had stopped him, kissing his chubby hand as she held it.

“And we appreciate that, but we can’t ask that of you every day, Mom,” Scully had said, smiling as she watched them. “Mulder is right, as much as I do hate admitting it.” He had snorted with laughter and they all laughed, William screaming happily.

“Maybe a part time sitter?” Scully asked, looking at him and he had nodded with a smile.

And so it had been decided. Mrs. Scully would watch him twice a week and a nanny would come the other three days. Finding the right person had been difficult. Many interviews with different candidates had left Scully discouraged, until they had met Hannah.

She was older than most of the women they had met, nearly forty, and she had been perfect. Funny, kind, attentive to both their needs and to William as he lay on the floor playing with his toys. She had moved from the couch to the floor beside him, continuing the interview as she had played with and spoke to him. They had both liked her immensely, but knew how easy it could be to be fooled by kindness.

Strenuous background checks had been performed, Mulder asking the Gunmen to look into her and unbeknownst to him, Scully had asked the same. Then Skinner had come over one evening, a file in hand to tell them all about Hannah Gale.

She had been hired and came over again, seeing where everything was kept, any questions she had had been answered, and vice versa. They felt more at ease, but there was still that feeling of worry, that old paranoia hard to push down.

William burped loudly and Mulder shook his head, his hand that had stilled as he was lost in thought, once more moving and attempting to release any remaining air.

“You’ll be alright, right? You like Hannah. And your grandma will be here tomorrow. Plus, Mama’s only working a half day, so she will be home in just a few hours.” He rubbed William’s back and closed his eyes as he rested his head against William’s soft, nearly bald one.

“I’m ready,” Scully said. He opened his eyes as she stepped into the room, smiling at them. William raised his head and reached out for her with a toothless grin.

They went into the kitchen, the bread toasting and two cups of coffee poured. Mulder held William as they ate a quick breakfast, Scully repeatedly looking at her watch and glancing towards the front door.

“Scully…” he said, squeezing her hand.

“I know.” She squeezed back, taking a deep breath and smiling at him.

He handed William to her and she closed her eyes as she kissed his head and held him close. A couple of minutes later, right on time, the doorbell rang and she opened her eyes, looking at Mulder.

“We got this,” he said, standing up to open the door for Hannah. He heard Scully’s quiet affirmative and he smiled.

Another tour of the house, Scully again telling and showing Hannah where everything was located, while she smiled with a nod as she held William.

“We’re only doing rice cereal and carrots right now, seeing how he likes them and if he has any allergies,” Scully said, showing her the food and Hannah nodded again. William’s schedule was retold, the notes laid out and Mulder gently nudged Scully, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Okay. I know.” She sighed as Mulder began to gather their bags. “I’ll be back at around one thirty.”

“Yes. We will see you then,” Hannah said, waving William’s hand at her. “I’ll take him into the other room and read him a book while you leave. That will help with the detachment.”

“Mm…” Scully hummed, biting her lip and nodding her head.

“Come on, Scully,” Mulder said softly, kissing William’s head quickly and stepping back. Scully kissed William’s hand and Hannah smiled at her.

“We’ll be fine, Dana.” She touched Scully’s arm and nodded at both of them, walking out of the room, speaking to William and making him giggle.

“Scully,” he said again and she looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Come on, honey. It’ll be okay.”

She nodded and took the bag he offered her. He opened the door and they quietly left, William’s laughter the last thing they heard.

She cried on the way to work, accepting the tissues he had added to the car the night before. He said nothing, not wanting to add his own worry and sadness to hers. It was different for him and he knew it, so he stayed quiet, offering her his hand, kissing her knuckles softly.

Arriving at Quantico, they showed their credentials and were shown to their separate offices. They were no longer assigned to the X-Files, it being left in the capable hands of Agent Reyes and Agent Doggett. They were now teaching at Quantico as it afforded them more flexibility with a steady schedule that worked with a newborn.

Scully would be starting out at half days for a month, gradually moving into full days. He would be full time 9-5 every day,  starting today, and he was both excited and nervous. It had been a long time since he had taught a class, but he was excited about this new journey.

“Well,” he said, looking around her office as she hung up her coat and traded it for the pristine white lab coat that was hanging on a hook. “It’s not the basement, but I suppose it’ll have to do.” He smiled at her and she tried to smile back, but failed.

Setting her bags down on the desk, he pulled her close and held her as they both took a calming breath. He rubbed her back as she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

“How about we take it hour by hour? We both have a class at nine thirty. I’ll meet you back here when it’s over and we can make out for like five minutes.” She laughed against him and pulled back to look into his eyes. He grinned and kissed her softly, knowing they would be too busy and too far from one another to make that happen.

“I’ll be okay. You better get going or you’ll be late.” She kissed him and adjusted his tie, patted his chest and took a deep breath. “We got this.”

“We do,” he whispered and she nodded.

“See you in a few hours.”

“Oh, I’ll be calling you. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He smiled as he began to back out of the room and she laughed with a knowing nod.

He watched her walk down the hall, the sound of her heels familiar and it made him smile. She turned around before she walked out of sight and made a waving motion at him, telling him to get going. He nodded and hurried to drop off his coat in his office and then ran to his first class, arriving right on time.

He was only able to call her twice, both of them in a rush, their next class always fast approaching. She left a note on his desk before she left, telling him she was taking the car and would see him at home soon. There was no signature, save for an ink black open heart. He smiled and put the note in his bag, ate a quick lunch and headed to his next class.

At the end of the day, he caught a taxi home and was able to finish up on some things he had left unattended during the day. Sighing happily as he put away his work, he looked out the window as the sun began to go down.

He was heading home, to the woman he loved and their six month old son. Shaking his head, he laughed softly at how utterly crazy that still felt.

The lights of the homes in their neighborhood were on and every house looked cozy and inviting. He saw fall decorations on nearly all of them and it dawned on him that it was nearly Thanksgiving.

A couple walked by with a dog, the man pushing a baby stroller. He wondered what Scully would say about getting a dog. They had a decent sized yard and he had often thought what it would be like to have a dog to play fetch with when he had sat out on the porch drinking a beer. Maybe he would bring it up to her tonight, test the waters a bit.

“Here we are, sir,” the cab driver said and Mulder smiled as he saw the house coming into view.

“Thanks. Have a nice rest of your evening.” He paid him and got out, staring at their little house and smiling when he saw two pumpkins on the porch and a cornucopia of Indian corn.

He walked up the steps and smiled again when he saw the stick scarecrow family of three in the potted plant of red and golden flowers on the small table between the two porch chairs.

Someone must have done some shopping that afternoon.

Opening the door, he could smell garlic and his mouth began to water. Setting his bag down, he closed the door and took off his coat, hanging it on his cue ball coat rack. He walked into the kitchen and found Scully in front of the stove, stirring something in a pot, and holding William on her hip. She swayed slightly to the music she had playing softly and his heart swelled at the sight of them.

“Ahhhh,” William yelled, kicking his feet and waving his arms, smiling when he saw Mulder. Scully turned around and also smiled when she saw him, leaving the spoon in the pot and coming closer to him.

“Welcome home,” she murmured, kissing him softly.

“I like the decorations,” he said, kissing her again and she smiled.

“We were out and…” She shrugged and he nodded with a smile. “I didn’t realize it was nearly Thanksgiving. What would you think if we hosted?” He shrugged, not bothered either way, and walked to the sink to wash his hands before he took William from her, kissing his cheeks and head.

“So it was all okay?” he asked as she returned to stirring the pot and she nodded, glancing at him.

He smiled and nodded back, kissing the top of her head and taking William with him. Stopping to feed the fish, they watched them swimming around and then continued to the bedroom where he placed William in the portable crib while he took a quick shower and changed.

They all ate dinner, William sitting in his high chair and playing with his toys as they discussed their day, mostly focusing on what she and William had done once she was home.

“William was fine. He was sleeping when I got home and Hannah had even done some laundry and the house was very clean. I was surprised, but very happy with it.” She shrugged and he smiled. “I like her, Mulder.”

“Me too.”

They finished dinner and cleaned up, Mulder dancing around with William as they finished, his happy squeals echoing through the house. He was brought to the blanket on the floor, where they worked on rolling over and sitting up. He was close on both, but just needed a bit more time.

When he started to rub his eyes, Scully picked him up and they gave him a bath. She nursed him once more before he was placed in his bed for the evening, both of them watching him as he fell asleep, the mobile spinning slowly above his bed and playing a soft lullaby.

They left the room, closing the door halfway, and Mulder smiled at her. She raised her eyebrows and he bent his head to kiss her, pressing her into the wall, her arms wrapping around his neck. They walked down the hall, kissing and leaving a trail of clothing behind them.

She lay atop his chest, both of them out of breath, her thighs bracketing his body, his hand tangled in her hair. She scratched at his side and he thrust up, his body spent, but her touch eliciting a primal reaction.

“God…” she moaned and raised her head to kiss him, her tongue sliding slowly across his, his fingers pressing into her scalp.

She moved off of him, her eyes dark as they raked over his body. He got up and they both used the bathroom and brushed their teeth, before getting back into bed. Snuggling close to one another, he wrapped her in his arms, kissing her forehead and closing his eyes.

“It was a good day, Mulder. I had been so worried. After all we went through to get pregnant… there’s this guilt that constantly presses upon me about leaving him. Even if it’s only with my mother. It feels…”

“I know. And I also know, as I didn’t carry him and I missed a lot during your pregnancy, that it’s different for me. But… I was worried too.”

“What?” She raised her head and pulled back to look at him. “You never said…”

“No,” he said, brushing her hair back with a smile. “One of us had to be the stronger one, keep that worry at bay, and know that everything would be okay.”

“Did we switch places? Am I you?” She looked under the blankets and touched her chest, causing him to laugh.

“No, we definitely didn’t switch places,” he chuckled, pulling her closer, his fingers running over her soft skin. “As his mother, I know that your worry will always be there because… well, that’s what a mom does. Our lives have proven that that worry is not unfounded, but… we also have to learn to let people into our lives. I mean, we’ll vette them first of course…” She laughed and hooked her leg over his, her arm around his waist.

“It’s going to be good. We just have to learn how to trust people beyond our small circle of friends.”

“Trust everyone?” she teased and he chuckled.

“After they’re thoroughly vetted by a few of us, I say why not?” She laughed, kissing his throat, as he smiled and closed his eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered and he kissed her head, taking a deep breath.

“I love you too.”

She shifted, turning onto her side and he followed, spooning her with a leg between hers. She brought his hand to her lips, holding it close as she took a deep breath. He kissed her cheek and she hummed.

“Hey, Scully?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think about getting a dog?”

“I think... we should talk about it in the morning,” she said tiredly and he smiled, squeezing her hand.

“That wasn’t a no,” he whispered in her ear and she chuckled, her breathing slowly evening out. He kissed her cheek once more and smiled as he closed his eyes.

It was definitely not a no…

[florianwirtz]

2020 is coming to an end and honestly I don’t really believe it. I still feel like I’m processing events happening in May. But I wanna say that I’m proud that you made it through that year and hope many good things will come to you in 2021. It was an awful situation for all of us and I hope you are not too harsh on yourself if you didn’t achieve want you wanted due to what is going on right now.

I want to take the time and say thank you for making the majority of my time a good one. Regardless of what is going on sometimes, I’m glad I got to meet so many cool people here, friends I wanna keep for life and started to treasure. I’ve been keeping myself lowkey the past month but I hope you know that I still appreciate and love you.

now my list of special people in my heart. I hope we will see us in 2021 again and thank you for everything. ❤️

@modricmio - we haven’t been in much contact lately but I hope you are well! I know I can always count on you and I love you. After all these years, I’m still grateful that I get to call you my friend. <3

@trentalexanders - milaa! Although we’ve been knowing us for quite a long time already, I feel like this year we grew particularly close! I feel like we have the perfect banter rivalry friendship where we can have a mix of banter and serious talk! It’s always so fun to talk with you and push my James Justin propaganda (I’m sorry for being quiet for a while but I hope you know it’s always gonna be him) 😘 #teamjj 

@dancefaeries - I’m still mad that your first association with me is probably that Harvey Barnes pic 🙃 because I associate you with Boilerman and I think that’s waaaay cooler (we probably should do a rate the mascot list one day) Also your awfully bland taste in men. Regardless, it’s always good to see you on my dash even if most posts consists of complaining about how you’re much older than all of us and we’re all babies 😂

@footballffbarbiex - Amy, I hope you are well and didn’t forget me! It’s been an awfully long time since the last time we talked to each other but I haven’t forgotten you! I’m still sorry for never turning in my piece for the writing challenge (maybe one day I can make it up to you 😬) but I hope you know that you are still one of the most talented writers out there! I also enjoy our talks about how salad should be eaten and tomatoes shouldn’t exist. Because having good food opinions automatically makes you the best!

@stydiaherondale - Meliiii my love! Oder sollte ich sagen Jadon’s love? 😂 ich erinnere mich immer noch gern an den Moment zurück als du mich einfach mal angeschrieben hast und ich finde immer noch, dass es einer der besten Momente war. Weil wir zusammen gerade versuchen Erwachsensein zu meistern und beide iwie keinen Plan davon haben. Auch wenn du gefühlt 80.000 Clubs supportest, für mich bleibst du der einzige Dortmundfan den ich akzeptiere. 💕

@neckarinselstrand - es ist immer wieder schön dich hier wiederzusehen! Lia,  ich hoffe du hast 2020 gut überstanden und wir werden wieder tolle Konversationen in Spanisch haben nächstes Jahr 😁 Theoretisch sollte meins ja besser sein, aber ich muss sagen, ich kann immer noch nicht viel mehr 😂

@theweatha - we haven’t been much in contact lately but I hope you know that I still appreciate you! I’m proud of you going through with that idea of the podcast as it’s always a pleasure listening to you and Liz. I hope 2020 wasn’t too messed up for you and I hope you are well xo. May we talk more in 2021 again!

@julianbrandtrelated  - Ich weiß du nutzt kein tumblr mehr (ohne dich ists nicht dasselbe) aber ich will trotzdem sagen, dass du einer der coolsten Menschen bist, die ich hier getroffen haben (man findet echt selten Leute, die 100% immer das Gleiche fühlen wie man selbst haha). Ich hoffe, dir gehts gut und wir reden mal wieder öfter demnächst ❤️

@ehrenbrandt - was soll ich noch zu dir sagen haha? Mein Tag wär nicht mehr derselbe ohne den content den du mir jeden Tag schickst oder unsere täglichen Zusammenbrüche und Jubel über Leverkusen. Auch wie du immer wieder mein liveblogging über United tolerierst, ist einfach das Beste und ohne dich Fußball zu gucken, ist seltsam! Dass du mich am Anfang des Jahres noch besuchen konntest, war eines der besten Dinge in diesem Jahr ❤️ allein die unzähligen Insider, die währenddessen passiert sind, werd ich nie wieder vergessen hahaha!  auf das wir uns hoffentlich bald wiedersehen <3

@tottenhamsstuff  - you’re a weirdo. In a good way because so am I. Will I ever tolerate your taste in men? no - but if we’d agree on everything, it wouldn’t be the same between us, so I’m fine with that. I hope you are doing well with the situation going on at your country right now and I am sorry for not reaching out sooner. I’m glad I got to know you 🤍

@danieljamesmufc  - my favourite welsh ❤️ the reason why I always have an eye on the Welsh nt and I am an honorary fan! I’m glad I got to know you and although you rep a shit footballer, I think that’s fine. Also us sharing the same bland taste in men and knowing it never gets old. Grateful for our endless chats this year and hopefully one day we do will see each other, regardless if it’s in Germany or Wales. I hope you are doing well X

@zalimaaa - so actually I have no words for you because I feel like I’ve already said everything I ever wanted to say to you. But I will never stop saying how much I actually love you, the way you always care about me and help me out of every life situation, it’s hard to imagine what I would do without you. The first time we facetimed or when we rant about life or literally everything else, it feels like we’ve known each other for an eternity. I’m always here for you and the day we meet each other will be one of the best in my life. You always know how to make me the happiest, thank you for everything in 2020 <3

@emwritesfootball  - you know what you’re annoying but in a good way. Annoying because you will never stop to take that name from the chipmunk out of your mouth. Regardless of that, you made time during lockdown bearable and I will never forget the fun chats we used to have but also the rather serious ones! I’m grateful that I got to know you and hope 2021 has something better for you in mind! Also you’re one hell of a writer and thank you for dedicating so many pieces to me (even those with the wrong person 😘), I always feel honored to be a source of inspo haha.

@shockintha - Alice!! With you, everything is fun and positive and I feel like everyone needs a person like you in life. I feel like I already said what I always wanted to say to you on your birthday but I will say once again how much I appreciate you. I know I can always turn to you about literally every topic because we either absolutely agree with each other or have a vastly different opinion about it. And I feel like these dynamics are what makes our friendship so wonderful. Thanks for always seeing the positive things in life when no one else does. I love you and hopefully we will see each other soon! <3

@idiotsfc - Alicia!! Nothing will beat your weird taste in men but since it’s so amusing and making my day, I’m fine with it 😂 thank you for always sending me lovely messages in my inbox, I love and appreciate you so much and hope you are doing well 💕

@magicmartinelli  - I know you don’t like sappy texts so I will try to keep myself short. I think it’s super cool that you like my taste in music and literally every song I send to you and how you started liking CHVRCHES because of me ☺️ the way we are secretly both sore losers and get mad about our clubs is what connects us. See ya in 2021 and congrats for avoiding relegation so far!

@donnyvandered - I feel like I’m repeating myself but it’s true that getting to know you was one of my highlights this year too. I have so much love to you and I feel like we are always on the same wave length when talking. Together with Radia we just vibe so well and I feel like if we’d ever do a triple meeting we’d get along so well. Facetiming with you both was so fun and hopefully we can repeat this much more often next year. I love you and I hope you are doing well. Thank you for everything and see you in 2021 ❤️

@duckysweater - seeing you in my inbox every time I’m here, makes me so happy and I hope you know that I have so much love for you although I don’t say it very often! You deserve the world and more, with you it’s never a bad day here, thank you for everything you do! <3

@kingkepaff - Lily you are a very sweet person and I hope you know that you are loved! You are always brightening my day when I see you on my dash and it makes me happy that you’re always in my notifications and thoughts. Love you lots!

Other blogs I like a lot (give them a follow too):

@fredtheredsarmy @tierneystescobag @jackiexxgroenen @lucystani4th @giirlinterrupted @footballerimaginess @felltoabove @yonceutd @dioogoo @inlovewithamess @barkleysbabe @turtlelightwood @songofachillespdf @leahwilliamson @joytayloranya @danieljamesthighs @skb7 @lea-schuller @ansu--fatsi @elleeceunknown @ivanafuso @farmers-league​

I also wanna say thank you to those mutuals who unfortunately deactivated or are inactive. You are always in my thoughts and I hope you are doing well.

Another special shoutout to my arsenal anon and german learning anon. I don’t know what you are up to but I hope you’re having a great time, it’s always good to have you in my inbox!

Also any other reoccurring anon who is always making my day or simply needs to rant, you make it worth leaving the anon feature turned on!

In the end, I love all of you very much. Thanks for making my tumblr experience the way it is

over and out, Liv XO