#using his massive arms to carry groceries UGH

[moodyvoid]

Twice in a tight af crop top stretched across his muscles that says “baby girl” while he mows the lawn.

[itsclydebitches]

Why do people get hung up on whether a gay person in media is a good or bad representation of them? I'm gay and I can tell you we aren't all the same? Being gay is our 1 common trait. So as long as they're gay then you've done it. Gay people can be kind, mean, racist, open, kinky, reserved, shy, outgoing, sexist, and literally anything else under the human experience.

Because I am perpetually hungry, let's tell a story about cookies.

You are a bright-eyed, optimistic, baker in the making. Your goal is to wow the world with your culinary skills, so of course you head to The Best Baking School for your degree. Over the course of your studies you learn how to perfect a thousand different cakes, an equal number of pies, and more versions of brownies than most would even assume exist. But cookies... oh, cookies are your passion! You can't wait to learn about the wealth of cookies you can make too. Then, sure enough, that part of your education finally arrives.

Funny thing is though, it's just chocolate chip.

Surely there's been some mistake? The cookie experience is vast and nuanced! Why in the world are your instructors — supposedly the best in the world — reducing cookies to a single class about baking chocolate chip and chocolate chip alone? Hell, why are cookies so sparse in the curriculum as a whole? You're never asked to bake them as a demonstration, or practice with them, and they're definitely not a given across everyone else's baking experience. Cakes, pies, and brownies... they're the default. Cookies are comparatively rare and when you do get to study them, everyone is super focused on the chocolate chip.

Then you graduate and head out into the world, only to find that pretty much everyone is as cookie-blind as your school. A few years back you never would have found cookies in the average grocery store and yeah, the fact that there's a cookie section now is great, but it's, uh... all chocolate chip! Many bakeries still don't carry cookies at all, but when they do it's - again - chocolate chip. Chocolate chip out in restaurants. Chocolate chip at the bake sale. Your friend invites you over and proudly presents a massive sweets tray that includes a single, sad looking, chocolate chip cookie. They beam at you in pride. Isn't it so great?

"Uh..." you say. "Well..."

Every once in a while someone will switch out milk chocolate for dark chocolate, or add nuts alongside chocolate chips. One bakery was even crazy enough to exclude chocolate chips entirely! Crazy according to the press, anyway. Because for years now you've been shaking your head, wondering what exactly is so progressive about realizing that sugar cookies exist. You've found other bakers interested in cookies and, by god, there are thousands. So many flavors! Gluten free and allergy conscious! Someone even made a sweets tray that was predominantly cookies, can you believe it? The problem is, almost none of them are mainstream. Your friend baking cookies out of their personal kitchen is doing fantastic work, but their baking doesn't have the impact that those grocery chains and established bakeries do. Their work isn't going to fix your school's curriculum. Too many people still think that cookies are exotic somehow. They're not the default. And when they do acknowledge their existence, it's chocolate chip over and over. Until one of them adds those nuts and suddenly the whole country is losing its mind about how inspired, creative, progressive their baking is. Meanwhile, you're ready to scream because that baker doesn't even know that something as "exotic" as a gingersnaps exist!

The worst part? Most of these cookies are... bad. Like they exist, yeah, but good god most don't taste good. And that's the whole point of a cookie?? What is the point of buying cookies if the cookies themselves are awful? You go to these bakeries, these restaurants, your friend's house, and you try the very limited cookies on offer, only to find that they've been sloppily baked. Doesn't anyone care that the baker burned their cookies to a crisp? That another straight up forgot to add sugar? This one dropped his on the floor and still tried to serve it to you! But the overall sense is that you should be grateful for getting any cookies at all. "That cookie is an offense to my taste buds," you say and people shake their head at you, disappointed. "I liked the taste of it," one says. "If you don't like it, go buy a different cookie!" Well... easier said than done. "It's not that bad," another says, shrugging in defeat. "I mean yeah, I don't really like it, and the baker stopped making them two years ago... but I'm just happy to have had any cookie at all, you know?" You do know, but that doesn't mean it's any less frustrating. You look at the hundreds of cakes available, these bakers spending decades perfecting their recipes, and wish cookies had even a fraction of that work put into them. You find people who agree with you, absolutely, but there's this this prevailing sense that a cookie is a cookie. Any cookie will do. Supposedly.

Except go long enough and you feel like you're ready to lose your mind. You take some poor person by the shoulders and go, "Doesn't this bother you? Doesn't this make you furious? There is more to the cookie world than these three flavors, 90% of which is chocolate chip! And we deserve well-made cookies, not the crap they've been upholding as the next culinary masterpiece!"

But this person just shakes their head. "Well of course there's more to cookies than three flavors. There's a huge variety of cookies! I know that."

"Yes, but the world isn't selling that variety."

"Of course they are! Just last week I had an oatmeal raisin. That's amazing!"

"Yeah and how many years did it take you to find that?"

"Well..."

"And how did that oatmeal raisin cookie taste?"

Your prisoner pulls a face. "Ugh, not good. Oatmeal raisin is definitely not for me. It's hard as a rock! I really don't understand why someone would want to eat that on a regular basis."

"But it's not supposed to be hard as a rock!" you cry, waving your arms. "That's the problem! Oatmeal raisin is so goddamn rare and then the one time we get it, it was badly baked. Of course people are turned off by it. Everyone who already loves oatmeal raisin is getting pissed because their favorite cookie is misrepresented, they're unlikely to see more of them now, and everyone is still serving the most tasteless chocolate chip cookies I've ever had, acting like this is the pinnacle of cookie baking! Do you even know that a macron exists?"

The person pats your hand consolingly. "Of course I do. My roommate's sister's boyfriend used to bake macrons, you know. I don't know why you're so hung up on this. Cookies can be whatever the baker wants them to be. Provided they're a flat-ish sweet cake, they're still a cookie!"

You hang your head, giving up. "Yes, they can be so many things, but they're not. Let me know if you ever find a bakery actually making the variety you keep acknowledging exists. Bonus points if those cookies are edible. My soul if they're delicious, as a cookie should be."

"You know," they say, still patting your hand. "There's a bakery making chocolate chip with dark chocolate next year. Everyone is talking about it. You should think about buying one before they take it off the menu!"

You contemplate just walking into the ocean.

Now, incredibly long metaphor concluded... switch out "cookies" for "queer rep"! The representation matters because no, just making them gay isn't enough right now. You're right that queer people can be anything under the sun, but right now media isn't providing us with that variety. It's not enough to acknowledge that such variety exists, it actually has to make it into our books and onto our screen. Taking just characters who identify as gay and putting aside the HUGE variety of other identities for a moment (of which we are mostly lacking in terms of rep), where are the gay asexuals? The gay people of color? The disabled gays? Trans gays? Did your gay character appear for just a handful of episodes? Were they killed off? Are they nothing more than a stereotype or comic relief? Is this the only gay character in your entire story? We need to ask questions like this because though gay people can be anything under the sun, our media landscape has only shown a miniscule portion of that variety.

Today, even in 2021, our representation of gay people is still pretty limited to:

You are only coded as gay and evil

You are only coded as gay and queerbaited

You are canonically gay, but a cis, ablebodied, white person

You are canonically gay, but were written terribly/killed off/punished by the narrative/generally making the real gay people watching you feel awful about their identity

You are canonically gay, but you're not human. Gotta other the queerness by making you an alien/robot/fantasy being

You are canonically gay and that's your entire existence. There is one (1) narrative of how you knew by the time you were four, never questioned your identity after that, suffered through a family that rejected you, and now all your major arcs revolve around being gay. You are gay and that is it.

Despite being a list of six, that's still incredibly limiting. Are there exceptions to such a list? Always, but that doesn't mean the list isn't still dominating. We can look at any individual gay character and say, "Of course they can be evil/white/killed off/a joke/etc. because gay people can be anything at all," but when we look at the trends, when we look at ALL the media together, we see that gay people aren't actually depicted as being anything... they're depicted as being these handful of things, severely limiting how gayness is represented. Bad rep. If you hit up the bakery and question why there's only versions of chocolate chip available yeah, the baker can go, "But cookies can be any flavor! Including chocolate chip!" They are not, technically, wrong. The problem is not that chocolate chip exists, but that chocolate chip dominates and other flavors are rare, ignored entirely, or baked so badly it's actively damaging to that flavor as a whole. Yeah, your gay character can be mean. Or kinky. Or murdered by the story. But when so many gay characters are mean and kinky and murdered by their stories — when you're not getting other versions to balance that out and gay characters are still rare enough that it's just 1-2 characters trying to carry representation for an entire franchise — you start realizing that the claim of "Gay people can be anything else under the human experience" is an easy way to shut down the conversation of whether that variety actually exists in our storytelling yet.

It's not enough for the baker to acknowledge that yeah, of course there are hundreds of cookie flavors and of course cookies taste great! They've actually got to learn how to bake them properly and fill up their store with them.

[marlahey]

under the same roof part one: a stickler for the rules

a harry styles rpf ratings/warnings: references to stalking behaviour by a peripheral character, too many longing looks in a space too small to contain them, she’s clueless sometimes but we love her notes: surprise surprise! it’s good to be back my friends. as far as OG openings go, part one of utsr probably underwent the least amount of rewrites. the most notable change is sylvia’s age: she’s four-ish, going on five. just makes our lives a little easier in terms of continuity and logic! (please visit the masterlist to find all our other writing because I forgot tumblr is a BITCH and hates external links now. ugh.)  utsr masterlist | part 2 (7.12.2020) 

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• tuesday, 1st february 7:48 pm • In spite of the biting chill outside, it’s about a million degrees in this lobby. You wonder if the heater is broken and if it’s always going to be like this here. The hair escaping your ponytail is pressed flat against the back of your neck, and you’re struggling to balance the crate between your chin and the massive box in your arms.

One of the corners is digging into your gut so you raise a knee to adjust it, but the box slips in your grip and you barely manage to hang on. There’s a faint meow from Chowder’s crate. The doors to the elevator whirr open with a ding and you shuffle inside. “Which floor is it again?” India grunts. The box that she’s carrying is lighter but larger—more cumbersome. It obscures half of her face and the way she’s leaning over can’t be any good for her back. “Eight,” you reply, strained. India stretches an arm out to the keypad, struggling to reach the right number. She misses. “Yeah,” you deadpan, “so press four twice.” The sound of a quiet, stifled chuckle turns your head to the back corner of the elevator. A young man leans against the hardwood of the elevator wall with his hands clasped in front of him. He is tall and lean; silver and gold rings adorn his fingers. His hair is wavy and cocoa brown, as though he used to have a businessman’s haircut but has let it grow out. He’s wearing grey tartan tweed pants and black ward lo Vans. Tattoos poke out of the sleeves of his sweater. It’s an arguably strange ensemble, but he pulls it off well. The man pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up his nose with a thumb, gaze trained on the floor. His lips are still pressed together against a smile that flirts with the corners of his mouth. Only then do you realize you’d been staring. You tear your eyes away as heat nips your cheeks and ears. In your tattered converse, mom jeans, and grubby moving flannel, you feel suddenly small. Chowder moews plaintively, like he needs to remind you of his current status in, on, and surrounded by boxes. “Is it just me,” India murmurs to you as the doors ding open on the second floor, “or did that take… is the lift broken?” “It’s the slowest bloody thing,” the man interjects, like it’s the bane of his existence. “You get used to it.” The elevator jolts to a stop on the fourth floor and the doors peel open in silence. Nobody moves. “Sorry, ” India murmurs. The man just shakes his head. The back of the door to the elevator is a mirror so you’re able to privately relish in the invisible threads of your curiosity that reach out to him. “S’ fine, ” he replies softly. By the time you’ve reached the sixth floor, you’re still peering at the man periodically from beneath your eyelashes. He looks up and holds your stare in the reflection of the doors moments before they part, and a ding sounds again through the small space. He smiles at you, poised, before pushing off the wall and stepping carefully between you and India to the hallway. The doors close once again and you are alone with your friend. She drops her box a few inches and bugs her eyes out at you from over the cardboard lid. “Dibs.” You step forward, laughing, and bump your box into hers. Finally, you reach level eight, pile the last two of your boxes by the front door, collapse on the mattress on your bedroom floor still covered in clear plastic packaging, and order pad thai. • friday, 30th march 7:23 am •

“Hold the elevator!” you call mid-jog, and immediately wince. You need to be better about calling it a lift. You make it through the doors of the lift before they close halfway, but not before noticing an arm outstretched to hold them open for you nonetheless. A cross tattoo and the bottom of an anchor poke out from the sleeve of his suit. It’s black velvet that has a navy lustor in the light. You’re in the same company now as virtually every other morning since you’d moved here—the man with the glasses who noticed you on that first day. You’re pretty sure his name is Harry, unless he’s pinning someone else’s name to his chest every day on a badge beneath red emboldened letters reading, The National Gallery, London. It’s surprising to see him as you get on, however, because he lives below you on the sixth floor. Perhaps he’d forgotten something today and needed to go back up… if this were the case, you’re glad to have caught him by chance. Every so often the cast of characters rotates. Sometimes a stout older man with an emerald green briefcase and a mustache rides down with you on weekdays. A slender woman who is almost always on her headset, hovering by the button pad occasionally makes an appearance. They both live above you. Most mornings, however, are like today. It’s just you and Harry together, without fail, if only for those few measured moments of quiet at sunrise. Perhaps you two are on the same tube schedule. For someone you see so often, you know remarkably little about Harry apart from the observable; he’s not one for small talk, has poor eyesight, and boasts impeccable taste in suits. It occurs to you that you still haven’t had a full conversation with him. You absently wonder if he’s single. You’ve even made progress from polite nods of acknowledgment to a consistent “Good morning,” from him and a nearly unflustered, “Morning,” from you (though realistically speaking, a smile before you’ve had your first cup of coffee is only manageable because India would disown you if she knew that you weren’t taking every opportunity to talk to this stupidly handsome stranger). “Thanks,” you murmur, stepping through the doors Harry’s held open for you. “Sure.” The ride down passes in silence. You can’t work up the nerve to speak until the doors part and Harry gestures for you to exit first, and by then it’s too late. You offer a faint parting smile. But, you reason, there’s always tomorrow. • sunday, 8th april 2:42 pm • The lift stops on the sixth floor in its descent as you look up from your phone. Harry’s voice is audible from the hall as the doors open and it startles you because he’s usually alone. You take a sip of your iced coffee as Harry steps inside, wearing a black knit sweater with pink and orange planets across the front, black jeans, worn leather boots, and wayfarers. In one of his hands, he carries an umbrella and rolled-up reusable grocery bag. In the other—most surprisingly—he holds the tiny hand of a little girl. She’s wearing frog rain boots, rainbow leggings, and a t-shirt that proclaims the future is female. Her dense curls are a shade darker than Harry’s, her eyes are closer to brown than hazel, and her skin is a warmer golden hue—but her smile presses a dimple into her cheek, identical to the one you’ve been staring at for months. He has a kid? Harry pulls her gently inside and she seems disappointed that the button for the ground floor is already lit. “This one pumpkin,” he whispers, pointing at the close doors symbol just beneath. She presses it with a firm clack and beams when the familiar mirrors slide across. “Daddy, can we please, please get bananas?” You almost choke on your cold brew. He has a kid. Is there a ring? Do you see a ring? You’d never noticed him in a wedding band before and he certainly isn’t wearing one now. “Shh, we won’t forget bananas… I wrote it down, remember?” With his free hand, Harry fishes out a folded piece of Hello Kitty paper from his back pocket and holds out her, more than happy to let his child snatch it from him. “Daddy, look at the pretty star!” You almost choke on your coffee again as Harry’s gaze follows his daughter’s waving hand, still gripping the pink, polka-dot paper with cat ears, all the way to the golden star dangling from your neck. “Yes, it’s very nice,” Harry nods down at her, agreeing in a voice that could only be used with a child. “Don’t point, angel… s’not very polite.” He smiles at you, almost apologetic, and gently wraps his hand around hers to lower her outstretched arm. “You have a million stars at home.” The lift stops on the ground floor. You gesture for Harry to exit first, a courtesy he always seems to extend to you, and you melt into a smile as he lifts one corner of his mouth in timid gratitude. He hesitates in the doorway on his way out. “Say goodbye, Sylvia,” he says. He has a dad voice. It makes your stomach flip. Sylvia flashes you those sparkling brown eyes once more and waves, suddenly shy. You wiggle your fingers and she buries her face into her father’s leg. “We’re workin’ on it,” Harry says, like it needs an explanation of some kind. He keeps his tender smile when he glances at you over his shoulder before he and Sylvia disappear out the lobby doors and into the rain, hand in hand. • thursday, 7th june 8:24 am • You’re pinning an earring in as you step into the lift. It stops on the sixth floor and then it’s silent as usual between you, Harry, and the mustached emerald briefcase man. You still haven’t had a complete conversation with either of them, but you hardly mind. It’s gratifying to have a few moments of peace before the triathlon that is your final exams, the gym, then straight into your evening shifts at work. Even though you’re looking forward to drinks tonight with India to celebrate the end of term, you’re weary and your body is stiff. Another sleepless night had come and gone and you’d struggled to cover the bags beneath your eyes with makeup this morning. You frown in your recollection of the nightmare, the same icy stare tormenting you. There is an older man with nearly translucent blue eyes, who you see so often around London that you’re beginning to wonder if he’s a figment of your imagination. Yesterday you’d caught a glimpse of him in the reflection of a shop window on your daily walk home from the tube station. He was staring straight at you, but when you’d spun around to look closer, he had vanished. It had unnerved you so much that you hurried straight home without stopping at the shops for kitty litter. London is a crammed metropolis; at this point it’s likely nothing, but that doesn’t stop you from losing sleep over it. “My daughter has that book,” the man with the emerald briefcase says, pulling you back to earth. You let go of your now fastened earring and hold up the book that was pinned under your arm so that the cover is on display. The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen. “This one?” The man hums, continuing, "I’m ashamed to say I don’t even know what it’s about.” “It’s sweet.” Harry’s eyes flash to the book and then your face as you speak. You flip it over and consider the blurb on the back. “A girl sort of accidentally starts working for this catering company one summer while she’s dealing with the loss of her dad.” The stout man brushes over his mustache with his thumb and index finger. “I never knew you were American!” “Oh, yeah,” you laugh softly through a shrug. Harry looks down to the floor and you catch the last second of his smile. “I am.” “What brings you to London then?” asks the older man. “I’m a student at UCL.” “Impressive. What do you study?” “I’m a third year in Law... um, I have a minor in Art History, though.” You peer over at Harry through the reflection of the doors, but he simply pushes his glasses up his nose. You’re startled by the lift’s ding at the ground floor. “Cheers.” The old man nods at you before exiting. “Cheers,” Harry adds like a reflex, stealing a side glance at you before brushing past into the lobby. You could have sworn you’d seen the dimple forming on his cheek to mask a smile. • thursday, 27th september 8:51 pm • You knead the back of your neck with your fingertips and frown toward the ground as you wait for the lift. You don’t usually get home this late but your research advisor needed you to come in a little earlier to your shift this afternoon, and you hadn’t been able to get in a workout until an hour ago. What’s more, readjusting to London’s time zone after spending the month of August back home is taking a toll on your sleep. You sigh and try to relax your shoulders. The first term in your final year at university seems determined to bury you early. You press the auto-lock button on the set of car keys India had loaned you, then once more for good measure. You managed to finagle a guest spot in the garage beneath the building, though it’s your first time using it. It’s eerie and poorly lit down here; you tread lightly into the lift. You’d seen him again today—the blue-eyed man—and by this point it had just been… too often. You had convinced India to let you borrow her car to pick up some archives for your advisor in Ilford forty-five minutes out of your way. It was the first time you’d been to that part of London, and you were still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, so you were already on edge. You remember crossing the street over to a small brook beside the road and when you glanced over your shoulder, he was there in your wake, watching you. It was the middle of the day but you were alone, so you faked a phone call and took an indirect route to the Ilford Historical Society. It was enough to solidify your suspicions that something more serious is happening. On the drive home, you had mentally worked out a time in your schedule to visit the police department and file a report. The lift stops in the lobby on your way up, and your worries from the day promptly evaporate. You smile at your feet as Harry creeps inside the tiny corridor with a very measured, and even gate. Sylvia is passed out, her arms draped loosely around his neck. He’s in a charcoal grey tuxedo tonight and his usual glasses are switched out for contacts. You reach out to press the sixth-floor button, and Harry thanks you with the beginning of a smile. The two of you are stood at the back of the lift together, shoulder to shoulder facing the mirror, so it’s easy to indulge in your gaze toward the small child in his arms. You don’t try to hide the fact that you’re staring the way you might have a few months ago. Even in sleep, Sylvia’s tiny hand clings to the fabric of Harry’s collar. She nuzzles into his neck when the lift jolts upward. Her cheeks are rosy, and she wears a pyjama set covered in primary-colored dinosaurs. Her dark bob of curls—which have grown longer since you’d seen them last—are spread out across his shoulder, and her bloated toddler belly rises and falls against his chest. You smile absently at the short trail of memories you have of Sylvia, but your reverie is interrupted when you notice that Harry is looking directly into your eyes. It makes you do a double take. Could you have imagined it? Is that a blush? Had you embarrassed him? You’re still staring at each other in the reflection when the lift reaches the sixth floor. Your eyes dart to the floor, and you only allow yourself to look up once Harry is stepping out into the hall, well in front of you. He pauses in the doorway to turn around. “Goodnight,” he whispers. “Night.” You hesitate before adding, “Goodnight, Sylvia.” Harry’s smile only grows wider, as though the two of you had shared some fond inside joke. Something catches your eye when you arrive at your floor. You crouch down and pick up a plush kangaroo toy in the corner, flipping it over in your hands. It’s ratty, and has been washed so many times that the pink cotton on its ears is beading. One of the miniature black buttons for its eyes dangles loose, and the synthetic fur is matted. What was once chestnut has faded into a dull, tawny copper. “S.S.,” you read curiously. The initials are stitched in red to the bottom of the kangaroo’s long feet. The sound of the doors closing catches you off guard. You jump to your feet, tucking the small stuffed animal into your purse as you hurry down the hall and fish around in your bag for your keys. • saturday, 6th october 2:31 pm • You step into the lift, fasten in your earbuds, and tap the button on the keypad for the eighth floor. Today marks your third trip to the Ilford Historical Society this week. Soon you’re going to need to ask your advisor for reimbursement to fill India’s tank, but on the bright side you hadn’t seen the man with blue eyes since the first time you’d made the trip���You just hope that this means he’s retreating and not that he’s getting stealthier. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and increase the volume of your classical playlist by a few notches. A flash of purple, white, and green bolts into the lift as the doors part at the lobby. Sylvia is in a Buzz Lightyear costume today. Harry’s tattooed arm swings through the half-open doors immediately behind her, going for the jet pack wings, but she squeals and escapes his hold. You watch the scene play out like a Tom and Jerry skit with La Traviata in the background as Sylvia darts around the corners of the lift and her father fails to corral her. Harry lunges for her, misses, lunges, misses again, then catches her by the elbow as she screams in laughter, squirming out of his grip. You silently pause your music and press the button for the sixth floor as Harry spreads his feet apart, catching Sylvia in his arms like a goalie as she tries to bowl through the closing doors. It’s fortunate that nobody else is trying to get in. She kicks her legs before adopting that pose children do when they don’t want to be held, and makes a rigid plank with her body. Hair disheveled and glasses sliding down his nose, Harry lurches for the keypad with his daughter wedged under his arm a few seconds after the doors close. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks once he sees the button for his floor is already illuminated. “Thanks.” You flash a quick smile. Harry sets Sylvia down breathlessly and she finds a hiding place behind him, her little arms wrapped around one of his knees. He leans against the back wall of the lift, the smallest backpack you’ve ever seen swinging from one hand with the initials, S.S. reappearing stitched onto one of the straps. You swallow and tug your earbuds out by their chord before slowly crouching down to eye-level with Sylvia. For a moment you look up at Harry because you feel the instinct to ask for permission for some reason, certain your expression is more serious than necessary. He’s frowning but he’s also smiling at you as though to gauge your next move—so are you, to some degree. You shift your eyes back to Sylvia, and reach cautiously into your purse. Sylvia’s eyes widen at the sight of the small kangaroo you retrieve from your bag, her mouth gaping in a tiny, square-toothed grin. It might just as well be Harry beaming at you himself with such a striking resemblance. Both of the kangaroo’s black button eyes are fastened tightly in place now. You make your voice light and ask, “Is this yours?” The sound of a zipper comes from above your head; you glance up to catch Harry pulling another kangaroo out of the backpack. How many kangaroos does she have? He passes the stuffed animal to Sylvia and you see now that it’s quite a bit larger than the one you’d found last week. It’s also different from yours because it has a long white stripe along its front with a wide, empty pouch halfway down its belly. Oh… perhaps it’s just the two. She cautiously approaches you with the larger toy in tow, until you’re close enough to snuggle the joey back into its mother’s pouch. She stumbles backward into Harry’s legs. You sigh in relief before rising to your feet. “Sylvia, can you say thank you?” Harry folds his arms behind his back and leans over to whisper against the top of his daughter’s head, but loud enough for you to hear. Her curls bounce as she bobbles her head in a bashful nod, wrapping an arm around dad’s leg again. “Thank you.” This child, you have to admit, is devastatingly cute. “We tore the flat apart looking for him this weekend,” Harry intones, shaking his head. “Where did you find him?” “In here,” you reply. He makes a noise, like the possibility had only just occurred to him. “Thank you.” “It was the least I could do.” You lean back against the wall opposite them as the lift reaches the sixth floor with a ding and you wave to the two of them on their way out. “Cheers.” Harry nods to you. “Say goodbye, Sylvia.” She gives you a small wave. Harry gently nudges her forward into the hallway with his foot. There is an interim of about ten seconds of quiet before Sylvia is hurtling back into the lift, making a beeline to you, and wrapping her arms around your legs. She beams up at you for the second time with a smile cut-and-pasted from her father. Bubbling laughter overcomes her, and you uncross your legs, unable to help yourself from joining in her smile. “Hello again!” you say, before it occurs to you that you probably shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior. “Vi,” Harry calls from outside the lift. She just giggles and buries her face into your knee. He appears in the quickly closing doorway, one hand keeping it open as he narrows his eyes. There’s something playful in it though, a practiced pretend serious. Your gazes catch and Harry winks, putting a finger to his lips. “Uh oh,” he says, “I think I hear a tickle monster!” Sylvia shrieks, but she’s not faster than her father, who’s crouched low to catch her by the sides, merciless fingers at work until the child instinctively releases you. She laughs and laughs and laughs as he scoops her up into his arms. “So sorry.” Harry’s apology is much less flustered than you would have expected. Sylvia wiggles in his grip, cracking up, euphorically naughty. You simply let out a breathy laugh as they finally both make it out of the lift together. Down the hall, you hear Sylvia’s giggle melt into a screech against gravity; you lean over to catch a glimpse of Harry flipping her upside down on his chest with her belly out, legs flailing back and forward over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re bad. You’re bad.” He does not show his daughter the mercy of waiting until they’re in the privacy of their apartment before the second round of tickling begins. “You’re gonna get Daddy in trouble.” • monday, 8th october 8:23 am • Riding in the lift alone is nice because you don’t have a full-length mirror in your apartment. You brush the cat hair off of the front of your sweater and fix one of the sleeves that had bunched up beneath all your layers. The yarn is a warm, autumnal bay that compliments your thick scarf and the gold buttons of your roomy black overcoat. You hear a ding and your eyes flash up to the floor indicator above the entrance. You almost lose your balance jumping back from your reflection when you see the illuminated number six. The doors separate and Harry steps in beside you, closer than usual. Today he’s in a forest green, double-breasted jumpsuit with faint pinstripes, and you can’t help but find it fitting that he works in an art museum. “Morning,” he murmurs. “Good morning.” You feel something tense pinned to the air between you two. “Did you fix Jojo’s eyes?” Harry asks after a beat, almost accusatory. Your eyes narrow at his reflection in the doors. It takes you a minute to summon to mind what he’s referring to. “Jojo?” He flushes a little, just enough to warm the tips of his ears. “The um—” Harry clears his throat, shaking his head. “He’s… the baby kangaroo.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was embarrassed. But as you’ve come to learn, Harry just loves his daughter immensely. “It was nothing,” you reply evenly. Harry lets out a light, almost defensive scoff. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” “I know.” Part of you wonders if he’s the type to make a fuss over what you’d consider an innocuous gesture. You could see how an unsolicited favor from a stranger might come off as undermining to a young, single parent, come to think of it. The thought that you’d been the cause of Harry’s ire—or even his mild annoyance—makes your chest feel tight. The lift stops on the second floor. A group of three enters in staccato laughter, pulling your attention forward. Harry’s eyes meet yours in the reflection of the doors—just two seconds that maybe you could pretend were an accident—before you both glance away as though you’d been caught. The group leaves ahead of you into the lobby. “I just wanted to do a nice thing, you know. For her.” You’d been staring resolutely ahead in your admission, but dare yourself to glance sideways and look directly at Harry. “And for you, honestly.” You brush past Harry into the lobby without waiting for his usual beckoning you to go ahead, but sense him turn toward you at the last second. You do not look back. • wednesday, 7th november 8:23 am • “Ouch, shit―” You jerk your hand from your pocket, staring in disbelief at the tiny pinprick of blood welled on the tip of your pinky. Returning your hand carefully into your coat, you pull out the red paper flower just as the lift doors ding on the sixth floor and Harry walks in. Sucking on your finger is helping your wound, but consequently draws his smiling, vaguely concerned eyes. “Alright?” he asks. You nod with a little hapless shrug, holding up the offending fake petals with a black button center and protruding silver pin out the back. “Forgot I had this.” It’s only a slightly embarrassing admission. Commonwealth countries mark the day of the Armistice, November eleventh, in a particular, unfamiliar way; India had explained the Poppy Appeal briefly to you last week when the pins had begun to appear all over the city, and you finally had a spare pound coin for the volunteer offering you one yesterday after class. You have a scant three seconds to look at the poppy pinned smartly to the left lapel of Harry’s trench coat before he turns to face forward, but in looking down at the one in your hand, you realize you have no idea how he’s done it. Surely it can’t be that difficult? You frown down at your own jacket. A tentative stab of the pin into the fabric is met with an audible chuckle from the other side of the lift. You flush; Harry’s smiling gently with one corner of his mouth. You try a second time, going at it from a different angle. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” You haven’t had enough coffee yet to justify how warm you’re getting. You shake your head, accepting defeat. “Best let me help you before you hurt yourself again.” Despite his offer, he makes no move to take the poppy until you sheepishly hold it out to him. Neither the mustached, emerald briefcase man nor the headset lady have appeared today, but the space of the lift seems remarkably smaller when Harry gently takes the flower and shuffles forward to get a grip on your coat. An impressive array of rings on each of his hands catches the light. You have no idea what to do besides stand ramrod straight. “Trick is to put the pin through twice so you’re not poking yourself on it all the time,” he explains, his eyebrows pulling together in focus. You watch his chest move as he breathes; the scent of Harry’s cologne wraps around you like an invisible shroud. It occurs to you that this is the longest interaction you’ve had since he noticed your careful restoration of Sylvia’s tiny treasured kangaroo. You wonder how long she’s had the pair of them. You also wonder if Jojo’s eye had been falling loose for a reason―if perhaps Sylvia preferred him a little rough around the edges, and it leads you again down a strange rabbit hole of is Harry upset that you did that? “I hope it’s okay that I fixed Jojo’s eye,” you venture. Harry pauses a moment, then laughs once, which draws you inadvertently closer together. “You’re funny. Which you shouldn’t be when I’m holding something sharp.” You almost stop breathing altogether. “Course it’s okay,” Harry continues without looking up. His nose is now scrunched as he pinches the tough wool. “She loves that thing, and I’m shit with sewing.” His eyes finally flick up to yours, a self-deprecating tilt to his mouth, and you smile tentatively. “Glad I could help.” With that, you’re quiet until he’s done and his concentrated frown relaxes into satisfaction. You watch Harry consider his handiwork, tracing the side of a petal with one of his fingers. “That should do it,” he says, stepping back. Your eyes meet again. You’ve reached the ground floor, but the doors simply sit open. “Looks nice.” He’s talking about the poppy. Your cheeks warm anyway. “Thank you.” Harry smiles slowly, as though he’s trying to pace the expression. “That’s alright.” He turns and ushers you out of the lift. “Have a good day.” “Same to you.” The edges of your poppy flutter as you turn the corner out of the lobby. Don’t turn around. Don’t ruin the moment. Who are you kidding? A quick glance over your shoulder reveals Harry loitering outside the lift, watching you. He starts a little, lifting a hand like he’s going to wave and dragging it over his hair instead. Harry turns abruptly. You almost feel bad for catching him out. You’re too busy walking faster and failing to smother a stupid grin all the way to campus. • thursday, 20th december. 4:11 pm • You’re thankful that everyone else in the parking garage has ruddy cheeks and runny noses from the storm—nobody would be able to tell by looking at you that you’d been crying all afternoon. Just when you thought you’d never see those blue eyes ever again, you’d felt a hand brush against yours on the crowded tube just hours ago. You turned to see whose pinky was resting atop your knuckles as he clutched onto the pole directly above your hand. The fear was immediate and visceral; every follicle of hair above your shoulders prickled, your lips went cold, and you couldn’t get yourself to start breathing again before stumbling back into the chest of some other unsuspecting passenger. How long had he been standing there? You bolted out of the doors the first chance you got, a good seven stops from home. You didn’t think you were followed but of course you couldn’t be sure, so you ducked into a coffee shop instead of jumping straight onto the next train. You used up all your data to call your parents, hardly able to hold your cell phone steady with the sheen of sweat on your palms. The police had no record of such a man you described. He was middle-aged, taller than you could have imagined so close up, and had a deformity or some sort of scarring on his upper lip. You would have recognized him if you stumbled across his photograph, but you’d gone through every headshot on the books within a ten-kilometer radius of London at the police station. You’d lost sleep combing through the online database of sex offenders in your area without any luck. And since you didn’t have a name or a concrete instance of harassment, they could only add the encounter to the file you’d started in October. Once you’d managed to get a hold of India, she immediately came to rescue you from the coffee shop and dropped you off at home. You insisted she pull into the gated underground garage rather than letting you off by the front doors. With a hand on your shoulder, she offered to stay the night. You had declined. There were some days when you swore you were going crazy, but all it took was one last look into his eyes on the tube today for you to know in your gut that he was real, he was watching you, and you were right to be afraid. You hadn’t heard the ding of the lift but you notice when the people around you begin to huddle on. It’s a tight squeeze inside. You sigh when you see that nearly every floor up to ten is illuminated on the keypad. You sneak into a corner by the doors and try to distract yourself by focusing on the overwhelming smell of rain carried into the lift on everyone’s rubber boots. A faint buzzing noise thrums overhead, and the light seems dimmer than usual—one of the bulbs in here must need replacing. The lift comes to a stop at the lobby. Your eyes are on the carpet, but you recognize a familiar pair of black leather boots ambling through the doors. You look up to catch Harry shaking the rain out of his curls with one hand. He licks his lips and scans the lift briefly, only moving from the entrance once he sees you by the keypad. His eyes change, the corner of his lips quirking up. Harry parts a few people to stand in front of you, chest to chest, carrying a box of Legos almost as tall as you, covered in fire trucks and construction vehicles. They’re the bigger, softer type of plastic blocks that come in lighter shades made for toddlers. You didn’t even know they made sets with so many pieces. It doesn’t seem necessary. The thing could be a column. Harry rests the box on the floor against his hip and even more people pack inside behind him, so many that you have to give up your corner spot which was already tight, and sandwich yourself in between Harry and the wall. And why is the person standing directly behind Harry trying to leave a voicemail? The two of you share a small laugh, looking down at your feet and shifting to get comfortable as the lift vibrates into motion against your back. Ding. Level two. Someone to the rear of the lift needs to get to the entrance. In order to let them through, Harry actually has to press up against you and prop his hand on the wall behind your head to avoid crushing you completely. “Sorry,” he says, strained. “It’s fine.” Ding. Level three. The last thing you need is for your heart to race like this after the mess of a day you’ve endured. To make matters worse (or better), Harry is close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body. You’re struck by the most staggering urge to just… lean forward a few inches. It would be so nice to bury your face in his sweatshirt, to be engulfed in the embrace of his arms, and to let yourself cry about your afternoon until you feel empty and full at the same time. Ding. Level four. You choose a button on his open black overcoat to stare at, flustered and humiliated by your own sensitivity. If it were any other afternoon you’d be having a field day with this but you’re too much of a coward to look anywhere near his face in your state. A single drop of rain falls from the end of Harry’s chin and lands on your collar. Ding. Level five. Your eyes are dry and puffy, your breathing is still ragged, and you seriously consider holding your breath altogether until you reach the sixth floor. You’d known since the coffee shop that you were going to cry the moment you stepped foot into your apartment tonight, but you hadn’t considered the possibility that it might happen sooner than that. You shake your head. Ridiculous. You look up idly to find that Harry is watching you. His expression seems serious now, oddly focused. You tilt your chin up incrementally. Harry licks his lips. Is anyone looking? How is nobody looking? You take a small breath and Harry’s gaze flashes again to your lips. Your palm brushes the back of his hand, hidden by the toy box, and he tilts his wrist toward you, spreading his fingers just enough to fit the tips of yours between his knuckles. His hand is cool from the rain and yours is warm from the car. How is someone still leaving the same voicemail? There’s space enough now in the lift for him to give you a few inches of distance so why is Harry drawing closer to you? Why is he leaning in? Ding. “It’s you,” you blurt, and swallow before adding more quietly, “This is your floor.” A few people stuff their cellphones back into their pockets, making their way into the hall. Harry clears his throat and leans over to lift the toy box. Your hands fall apart but he reaches out to gently brush the side of your arm in goodbye—unable, it seems, to meet your eyes. You watch him as he turns on his heel to shuffle out behind someone else, carding a hand through his hair. You close your eyes and exhale without a sound. You only open them in time to catch him glancing over his shoulder at you before rounding the corner. Neither of you had smiled. When the lift reaches the eighth floor, you almost forget to step off. You lean on the back of your door and sigh once you’re in your apartment, dropping your keys to the hardwood with a clatter. Alone in the dark, after one of the single most distressing days of your life, you press two clammy palms to your face and laugh—giddy—like a fool. • tuesday, 1st january 2:33 am • You swing your leg inelegantly out of the cab. Your foot slips on the road’s thin polish of ice. The ankle strap of your stiletto comes undone at the clasp as you only just remember that you began taking them off in the back seat. You laugh at yourself, nearly dropping your half-empty bottle of Prosecco, hobbling to the sidewalk through the rain with one shoe in hand. “Thanks—thank you, goodnight!” You wave your shoe in the air as the cab speeds away after having left a fifty-percent tip—it’s half past two on New Year’s Eve for Christ sake—and turn toward your building. Have the doors to the lobby always been this heavy? Perhaps it isn’t the best idea to try and hop back into your shoe while shouldering through the doorway, because you bang your head against one of the large, protruding handles with a metallic thud. “Fuck.” It hurts a little but the jello shots and bottle of Sangiovese you’d guzzled with India earlier are helping. You squint up because the lobby is spinning, and spy the outline of a man facing away from you with his hands in his pockets. He looks over his shoulder as he waits for the lift, lackadaisical. It’s a familiar profile. The half of his face visible to you is in shadow apart from the crescent moon-shaped hollow of his dimple sinking in as he smiles. “Hi,” Harry drawls with a chuckle. You step into your shoe without bothering to fix the ankle strap and wobble over to the lift. All night you had glided so effortlessly in your four additional inches. Now, you feel as though you’re walking a tightrope in flippers. “Hello.” You enunciate too much in your efforts to sound sober. You and Harry look at each other and smile until you laugh, at absolutely nothing at all. There’s no sign of his specs tonight; his hair is sopping, and the shoulders of his burgundy suit are damp. Harry gives you a once over. “You alright?” He’s slurring a little. You bob your head in a nod. “M’good.” The lift dings and you both lurch forward to step between the doors before Harry stumbles backward and gestures for you to go first. You almost fall forward again in your shoes and have to grip the wall on the way in to steady yourself. These need to come off. Harry moves to his usual corner, leaning against the back wall with a hand on either railing and you do the same in the next corner over. You shimmy off your heels to hold them in one hand while balancing your half empty bottle of Prosecco against your hip with the other. The carpet is coarse beneath your bare feet. You take a gulp of wine and the curled silver ribbon around its neck tickles your chin. You and Harry glance sideways at each other at the exact same moment, both of your heads leaning against the back wall of the lift. You have to lean forward and cover your mouth with the hand holding your shoes so you don’t spit out your drink in laughter. It’s not even funny, really. How many times had you both accidentally caught the other staring over the past year in this very room Harry’s chuckle builds into a laugh and the echo of it reminds you of Sylvia the day she’d clung to your legs. You’ve noticed that Harry’s eyes crinkle like hers, too, if he finds something especially funny. The laughter melts and you stretch the arm holding the bottle out to Harry. He looks down at it, then back up at you before taking it gently from your grasp and helping himself to a swig. “You know wha’s not fair? I’ve—” he hiccups. “I’ve got to wear a badge t’work. With my name on it. And I see you everyday—” “Almost,” you correct automatically. “Almost everyday… so you probably know my name.” Harry’s eyes narrow. “Do you know my name?” You nod, a bit delayed. He passes the bottle back to you and you admire the intricate embroidery on the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’ve got a pretty good guess.” “What’s your name?” Harry asks after a beat, rolling his back off the wall to lean on his shoulder and face you. “Charles doesn’t know either.” You tilt your head, frowning a little. “Who’s that?” Harry rests his pointer finger on top of his upper lip. You grin slowly before answering his question. Harry echoes you with an equally slow smile, his voice italicizing the sound of your name. It sounds like he’s saying someone else’s name—a person you’ve never even met. He says it again, like he needs to introduce himself to each letter. Your heart is about the only part of your body able to move quickly. Harry smiles widely. It’s as though every other one he’s given you before had just been practicing for this moment. “Nice to meet you.” You wedge your shoes and Prosecco beneath one arm, taking a step forward with your free hand outstretched. Harry shuffles to meet you halfway in a handshake and the height difference between you feels staggering barefoot. You remember the feeling of his hand in yours when it was hidden by the Lego box. It would be so easy to just shift a little and clasp them together the way you had before. You can smell the memory of whiskey on his breath and see the flush of his cheeks close up. “You look like a disco ball.” You laugh and he releases you, like the sound had awoken his sense of propriety. His eyes take you in again, almost reflecting the shimmer of sequins scattered across the fabric of your dress before he looks back up at you. “Yeah,” you agree, tugging the hem an inch down your bare legs. “My best friend dragged me to some formal thing the other American students were trying to throw together. Really random.” Harry nods so you go on after a pause. “You’re handcuffed to someone and have to finish a bottle of wine, but India and I didn’t coordinate beforehand so we both brought one.” “Seems like fun.” “It certainly was.” You raise the Prosecco and it sloshes up against the neck of the bottle in tiny waves. “And you,” you raise your eyebrows, “look like a Turkish rug.” Harry grins, inclining his head as if that were the highest compliment. “Where’s Sylvia tonight?” His face is full of mock surprise. Harry pats the breast pocket of his jacket before running his hands over the front and back of his trousers. He looks over his shoulders, comically frantic, scanning each corner of the lift until you begin to laugh. Harry smiles wider, a little too pleased with himself. “She’s with her mum and her mum’s fiancé this week—so I guess her, um… soon-to-be other mum… They were having a little gathering at their new place tonight and we did the countdown a few hours early for her.” “How sweet.” Without a second thought, you inch closer and begin reaching for a stray piece of confetti in his hair. You can tell you’re drunk because you indulge a little in combing your fingertips through one of Harry’s curls, though it’s probably subtle enough for him not to notice. He goes very still. “Did—did you press the thing?” Harry stammers, his attention jerking to the keypad. “I didn’ press the thing.” “Oops,” you laugh, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the doors as you turn to watch Harry hit the sixth and eighth floor buttons. Though the rain has offset India’s efforts to tame your hair, what surprises you more is the bright-eyed expression on your face. It’s out of character for you to feel this exhilarated over a simple drunken conversation. But something delightedly nervous hums beneath your skin all the same. “Why are you so wet?” you ask as Harry returns from the keypad. A tad closer, you note, than where he’d been standing before. You lean on your shoulder to face him and he slouches a little to meet your height. “Walked home,” Harry replies. Your jaw drops. “In the pouring rain?” “S’like ten minutes—really not bad.” Harry shrugs. “I didn’t mean to get so pissed tonight. My New Year’s resolution was to go a little easy on the booze.” He shakes his head in a chuckle. “I can’t really handle what I used to since the little one came along. M’not much of a drinker anymore.” The lift jumps as you reach the sixth floor and your arm flies out to balance yourself in the same moment that Harry offers both hands to catch you. You clutch his forearm and then immediately let go. “Sorry,” you murmur, taking one last look at him. “Well, goodnight Harry. Happy New Year’s.” The look he is giving you is peculiar—on the verge of resignation, but not quite letting go of all hope. As though the last sober part of him is leaning forward on its elbows, asking if you agree without telling you first what it wants. Harry cranes his neck around to look down the stretch of hallway, his head falling back against the wall with a gentle thump. “You know, New Year’s isn’t really over until you finish all the champagne,” he declares, and you laugh a little in surprise. “Prosecco.” He waves away the correction. “Fine, all the Prosecco.” “New Year’s isn’t over until you get every last piece of confetti out of your hair,” you challenge. Harry raises his eyebrows, looking back to you. If he doesn’t get off soon, the doors are going to close. “New Year’s isn’t over until your shoes come off in the lift,” he shoots back. You burst out in a laugh. “New Year’s isn’t over until you’ve broken your resolution two hours into January.” Harry rolls his eyes. He smirks a little and it’s annoyingly charming in the dim, golden glow of the lift’s broken light. He’s stalling. All at once, you’re acutely aware of the lingering smell of rain and the faint hum of the light fixture overhead. You swear you can hear the echo of that never-ending voicemail from the day you’d slotted your fingers into his like it was a secret, just an arm’s length away from where the two of you stand now. He had tried to kiss you once before and you had stopped him. But now, in this moment, with your heart in your throat, you desperately want him to try again. Harry starts to speak and you don’t wait for him to finish. “Well, New Year’s isn’t over—” “—until you kiss someone at midnight.” You’re hyper aware of your own breathing in the daunting silence that follows. The lift doors seal closed. Harry is close enough for you to see the flecks of hazel in his eyes like sea glass. He floats his hand up as though he’s going to cup your jaw, but traces the tip of his middle finger in a line up your cheek to push back your hair so lightly it tickles. His jaw flexes and just when you swear he isn’t going to, Harry leans in. It’s gradual, as though he’s waiting for you to change your mind, but your heads are tilting and then the tips of your noses brush. If you turn, even minutely, the corner of your mouth will meet his. You can feel your pulse thumping in the side of your neck. It dawns on you that you’re both simply waiting to see who is going to do it. “It’s not midnight,” Harry breathes. “Don’t tell me you’re a stickler for the rules.” The warmth and dew of his laugh grazes your cheek. With that, Harry brushes his mouth against yours. It feels painstakingly tender, like he’s never kissed anybody before. You’re so spellbound that you’re hardly even sure how to reciprocate something so soft. Harry’s bottom lip hovers over the very tip of your cupid’s bow just before he pulls away. Was that even a kiss? The very edges of your mouths had met, but only just. You still feel the tingle of where his lips had been moments ago. You open your eyes and Harry is a few inches away now, looking down at you. His hand is still ghosting the side of your face, like he’s afraid he might break you. When had your own hand slid flat against his chest beneath the lapel of his suit? “Is this a good idea?” you whisper, sliding your hand out to trace one of the round, fabric buttons with your fingertip. He swallows roughly. “Maybe not.” “Okay.” “Okay,” he yields. But neither of you move away. “Maybe this should just stay between us,” you suggest after a beat, heart sinking in your chest. “Well then if it’s just staying between us…” Before you have the chance to inhale, Harry presses his mouth against yours, harder, like he means it this time. His lips are warm and soft as they move with yours. You’re on your toes as one of his hands slides to the back of your neck, the other snaking around your waist to pull you into him. It still isn’t close enough. It’s surreal to be kissing him after a year. How much time had lapsed in total since you’d seen him that first day you moved in? How many mornings had been spent beside each other in silence? You’d spoken through side glances and subdued smiles from opposite corners of a crowded lift more than you ever truly had with words. But this… this feels like threads made up of every intimacy you’ve ever shared in this tiny room pulling you together at last. You pull apart just before the lift dings on the eighth floor. You’re both somewhat winded as you rest your foreheads together, and you release two unintended fistfuls of his jacket. Harry slides his hands down your bare arms to cup your elbows, his thumbs stroking circles in the soft crook of your forearm. “Have some water before you go to sleep.” “I will,” you chuckle. You’re unsure why either of you are speaking so softly, there’s no need. “Goodnight, Harry.” “Goodnight.” He says your name like a promise—like he’s determined to make up for all the days he didn’t get the chance to use it. You didn’t know it could sound like that. “Happy New Year’s.” You smile over your shoulder before padding barefoot into the hall as he reaches out to push the sixth-floor button for the second time. The last thing you’re able to see through the closing doors of the lift is Harry rubbing a thoughtful hand over his stubble, smiling down at his feet. (part two)

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Stuck With You

Sebastian quarantines with you, his co-star, when he feels like you shouldn’t be left alone. When you’re asked to be in a virtual music video, he finally lets a secret slip out.

-

           “I’ll be fine,” you insisted, looking at your friend, Sebastian. He doubted you, clearly, because he was crossing his arms and paying more attention to you than the food on his plate.

           “I don’t want you in that house alone,” he said. “North Hollywood’s not a great neighborhood, you don’t have a dog or a security system, and I really don’t like the idea of leaving you alone for this long.” He was right. North Hollywood wasn’t great, and you knew that. Your roommate had moved out so there was a second bedroom and bathroom, and there was definitely enough room for him.

           “I’m 22, Seb, I don’t need a babysitter.” You knew he didn’t mind staying there and you secretly wanted him to because he was one of your best friends, even with such a big age gap, and you kind of liked him too. And the fact that he was willing to quarantine himself with you for an indefinite amount of time was, well, your dream. It was better than flying home to see your parents in the middle of a pandemic even if tickets were half of what they normally cost.

           “I’m not going to babysit you, if I wanted to do that I would’ve gotten you a juice box instead of a beer.” He had paid for your lunch, since you paid for his coffee that morning, and he had gotten you a beer because you looked like you needed it. And after deciding to stay here instead of go home, you definitely needed it.

           “Thank you, Seb, but you really don’t have to.”

           “So you’re telling me you want to be alone?” You shook your head, violently.

           “No. I just don’t want you to get stuck anywhere you don’t want to.” He chuckled as the check for your food came.

           “You are the only person I would want to be stuck with right now. And, besides, if you’re not flying out I probably shouldn’t either. I’ll leave whenever you want me to, but just let me be with you for a few days.” You sighed and crossed your arms against your chest.

           “Fine. But you’re paying for the first grocery run.” He grinned. You’d gotten put with him over the last press tour, so you knew that he was a scheming mastermind even if he didn’t look like it. He probably had something up his sleeve.

           “Then I’ll meet you with my stuff later tonight.”

           Later that night he was there, parking his car in the short driveway, and brought in a massive amount of groceries as well as his bags because he’d checked out of his long term Airbnb (he should really buy a house out there, but he always said New York was home). He was your savior – he’d gotten multiples of all your favorite snacks, including your favorite Australian cookie that was very hard to find for no reason, and three bags of the chips he knew you could get through a full bag of in ten minutes.

           “I didn’t get anything to really cook with because I know you like to Postmate in,” he explained as you started putting everything away. He smiled when he realized how excited you were about all of the snacks.

           “You’re the best,” you said, walking over to him and giving him a hug. He smiled and messed up your hair before going upstairs to put his bags away and move them into the empty room. Truth be told, he did kind of have an ulterior motive for quarantining. His mission was to make you fall in love with him because he knew about the puppy crush you tried so hard to hide. He was your best friend. He knew you better than almost anyone else, except for your mom, and he knew it wouldn’t be difficult if you were truly stuck there.

           For the first few days, things were good. You two became vegetables on the couch, forcing him to re-watch Gossip Girl even though he was in it because you’d never seen it before. Then you’d binged all of the Harry Potter, Star Wars, and Lord of the Rings movies. He would go to the neighborhood gym in the mornings, until it closed, and then he would just go on runs. The only times you were really alone were when he was going on a run. You would go get groceries every now and then, but for the most part you were planted on the couch. Your head would always fall on his shoulder or into his lap if you were laying down and you thought nothing of it. You just liked being close to him and he liked being close to you.

           The first interruption came after three weeks. It was the beginning of April and you’d been locked up for so long that you had a breakdown. You just started crying, out of nowhere, and he had no idea what was going on at first. You never really cried in front of him, or in front of anyone. Without even thinking about it, he rushed forward and gave you a hug.

           “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, pulling your hair out of your face. It was just a reflex.

           “Nothing, I just… I honestly don’t know why I’m crying. I just hate being so locked up and feeling like I’m going to get sick every time I have allergy problems, and…”

           “Okay, breathe, first of all,” he suggested. You took a deep breath that matched his, and after two or three you were just sniffling like it would pull the tears back into your eyes. “Good girl. Now start over.” He brought you over to the couch and you sat down beside him.

           “What if one of us gets sick? Or what if this lasts for so long that they just drop the movie and we’re both out of jobs, or what if I just lose my job and I can’t…” He looked at you in a way that nobody else ever had and it made you stop in your tracks. “I’m just worried.”

           “Don’t be, alright? I’m here as long as you want me here.” You sniffled and wiped the tears from your cheek with a t-shirt you’d found in the laundry room. On second thought, it was his. And you didn’t even think anything of it because why would you?

           Things were different after that. Just the way he’d looked at you made you feel… like even if things didn’t get better, you weren’t alone. He carried you up the stairs to his bedroom that night, not wanting to go to the third floor where your room was, and slept on the other side of the bed so close to the edge that he probably would have fallen off. You woke up, wondering why you were wrapped in the blanket that belonged in the den, and looked over. He was there still, sleeping soundly, but you knew how close he was to the edge. So you pulled him by the t-shirt, half asleep, until he turned over. He opened his eyes just enough to see that you had done it and that you were still asleep. He smiled and went back, too.

           You woke up the next morning in the middle of his bed, not the side he didn’t sleep on, and you could hear music from your Alexa in the kitchen. You decided to clean up a little bit because you looked like a complete mess, and after taking a quick shower you walked down to smell that he had been making breakfast and singing along to bad 80’s pop songs.

           “You look happy,” you said, almost like you were accusing him of something, and your eyebrow raised when you saw that he was making pancakes. From scratch. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

           “There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, sweetheart!” He said over the music. You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit, sitting down at the counter because you didn’t quite know how to help. You barely knew how to use the electric oven since you’d had gas your whole life.

           “Are there enough for two?” You counted a stack of five already done pancakes and the rest of the bacon that was about to go bad, but you knew Sebastian could eat.

           “Duh!” He looked at you like it was obvious. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you to your room last night, I got tired after one flight of stairs. You’re heavier than you look.”

           “Hey!”

           “Kidding. You’re gorgeous and you know it.” You could feel yourself blushing and to hide it, you turned away and got out two glasses. “Mimosas? At 9 AM on a Tuesday?” You shrugged.

           “Bombs away, bitch,” you said as you poured it. He took one anyway, clinking your glasses together before putting the food onto separate plates for you.

           “By the way, I have the interview later, the virtual one,” he reminded you. “Can I use your room? It’s the only white wall besides in the stairwell.”

           “Yeah, go ahead,” you responded. “Am I allowed in the room?”

           “If you want to be. You just have to be quiet though.”

           “I’m a quiet person!”

           “Sure you are.” You absolutely devoured the food he made and helped him clean everything up. Then he took off to take a shower and find some decent clothes to wear for his interview. He’d finished another movie two weeks before coming to L.A. to work on the movie you two were doing, and both press tours had gotten cut short. Every few days one of you would have an interview to do, or a Zoom call to get on. Most people hadn’t seemed to catch on that you were together, and if they did you knew the first thing they would suspect is that the two of you were together together. You wouldn’t mind, you realized after a few days of being with him. He was slowly starting to grow on you even more – you came to have very strong feelings for the crow’s feet in his eyes, the way he would sing terribly on purpose, and the way he wasn’t afraid to tell you embarrassing stories from his childhood.

           You climbed the stairs and made sure Sebastian wasn’t on his interview yet when you climbed onto the bed, out of sight from his camera, and started answering posts on social media and emails like you did almost every morning.

           “Does my hair look okay?” He asked, looking over at you. “I have thirty seconds.”

           “It looks fine,” you answered. His hair was slightly disheveled, but cute anyway. He was so cute. Ugh, you thought, great. I have a crush on my co-star who was in high school when I was in diapers. He grinned and went back to his interview, starting the camera as soon as it turned noon.

           “Hey, how are you doing?” Sebastian asked the interviewer as they came on. “I’m great, thank you.”

           “Are you quarantined yet, what’s the situation?” Sebastian glanced up at you and then chuckled nervously.

           “Yeah, I’m quarantined in Los Angeles right now, I didn’t feel like it was safe to head back to New York and my co-star had an extra room so I begged her to take me in. It’s pretty slow, we’ve probably spent a few hundred dollars on renting movies at this point, but we’re both healthy as far as we can tell, so we’re good.” It was really the only time he mentioned you, but the entire interview, you were nervous for him. Just in case the question came up again, you remained extra quiet as you typed out emails. One caught your eye, though, and it was from your agent.

           It was asking you and Sebastian to be part of a celebrity cameo – halfway to promote the movie, halfway to promote the song – in the new Ariana Grande and Justin Bieber video. About a hundred other people had been asked to record a ten to fifteen second-long clip of dancing with someone, preferably slow dancing. Internally, you were screaming. Of course you wanted to, even if it was just a friends-helping-friends thing. But it was another chance to be close to him and you absolutely wanted that. So you said yes, that you’d con Sebastian into it, and that you’d have the video for them tomorrow.

           “Alright, thank you, man! Enjoyed talking to you!” Sebastian was saying his goodbyes on the interview, and even after he turned the camera off, he held his fingers to his lips for a second to make sure it was over before shutting his laptop.

           “That went well,” you said.

           “I know, right? I thought maybe I’d forget how to do press stuff, but maybe not. Why are you smiling like an idiot?” He flopped down on your bed close to you and you turned the computer toward him to let him read. He read it a few times before looking back at you.

           “I told them we’d do it. It’s good press.”

           “Fine,” he said. “Come on.” He pulled your laptop off your lap and dragged you downstairs, making sure he had his phone since the camera was better.

           “We don’t have to do it now!” You said as he tried to find some place to put the camera. You could just do it in front of the door, you decided, and helped prop it up.

           “Alexa, play slow 90’s music!” He commanded. He dragged you over to where he was, taking your hand. Don’t Dream It’s Over started playing right away, which wasn’t a terrible song to dance to.

           “You face the camera, I look awful,” you said, looking down at the shorts and t-shirt you were in. He smirked.

           “I look worse. Come on, just dance with me, I already hit record.” You looked down for a minute. It was just like acting, right? You looked back up when he put his arm around your waist and pulled you toward him. He had that look in his eyes again and you were glued to them, a stupid smile on your face as he forced you to dance with him. You had taken dance classes, you knew what you were doing, but with him you were tripping over your own feet.

           “Stop laughing at me!” You said, laughing yourself. “I think the clip is probably long enough.”

           “What if I wanted to keep doing this, though?” His eyes were begging you not to leave, so you didn’t. You found yourself unable to look anywhere else. The idea of the phone recording you went away, the idea that you were tripping over him went away. The song changed to Linger by the Cranberries, and maybe it was the slow guitar and the backing orchestra that made it, but you could have sworn that Sebastian was looking at you like… He leaned slightly closer, like he was about to say something.

           “Ah, fuck it.” He closed the gap between you and you stopped, bracing yourself with your hands in his shirt, and his hand moved to your face to hold you there as he kissed you. He actually kissed you. And he didn’t stop.

           You got me wrapped around your finger, the song said, and it wasn’t wrong. You tugged him closer and closer, unable to keep from smiling, and eventually he just faded into laughter too. But he didn’t let you go, even when you couldn’t control it anymore.

           “I’ve been wanting to do that for a really long time,” he admitted with a grin.

           “Yeah,” you responded. “Me too.” You leaned your head into his chest and you just stood there for what felt like hours, even after Sebastian had told the Alexa to stop playing music.

           “We should probably talk about it, though, right?” He asked finally, pulling away from you. You nodded, knowing he was right, and took his phone off of record. The video was five minutes long. You’d been standing there for five minutes. It felt like both forever and no time at all.

           “I like you,” he said as you handed him his phone back. “I really, really like you, and I get it if you don’t because there’s such a big age gap and it might be weird to you, but I think you’re amazing, Y/n.” You took a moment before you answered.

           “Is it a little weird? Yeah, maybe, but maybe it’s not. I like you too, I have for awhile, and I just didn’t tell you because I figured you wouldn’t feel the same way. But I guess I was wrong.” He looked down, smiling.

           “So if I’d said that right at the beginning of quarantine we’d be in a pretty different place right now, huh?” You nodded.

           “I guess. But we know now, and… Do you wanna do this, Seb?”

           “Yeah. I really do. I’m sorry I can’t take you out on a date or whatever, but…” You put your arms around him again.

           “Just send me the videos and give me some time to change. I can order some food and we can make it seem like a real date?” He smiled and leaned down, fully kissing you again.

           “Sounds good. I’ll give you a good hour.” You turned away from him and went up the stairs, sending the video back. You told them to use whatever part of it they wanted after cutting out the part where you were talking.

           A few days later, you both curled up on the couch to watch the video premiere. Halfway through, for a few seconds, there was the video where he stopped dancing and leaned down to kiss you. Sebastian looked over at you, smiling, and pulled you in as you continued to watch the video.

           “There’s absolutely no one I would rather be stuck with,” he repeated, remembering what he’d said almost two months ago now.  

A/N: I hope the anon likes it as much as I do! I loved writing this so much! 

[queerbutstillhere-writes]

Day 5: Quarantine

- You can't come over tomorrow.

~ what do you mean? "Can't"?

- Gotham is on quarantine. Mandatory. Only medical personel allowed out. Hell, even the JL grounded us.

• I'm seeing can't, but hearing "help me please"

- guys. This is serious.

• for you, maybe. Timmie, we can't get sick from Covid. Kon is alien, and my metabolism is just too fast for it.

- Bart..

~ he's right, Tim.

- Do not encourage him, Kon.

- you two are not allowed to come.

Tim sighed, staring at his laptop monitor. He’d been stuck in quarantine for several days now. Alone in his apartment. He could probably suit up and hightail it across town to get to the manor if he wanted, but being quarantined alone sounded far more appealing then bring quarantined in the manor with his siblings. Dick would probably drag him into nightly board (read: bored) games, Bruce would be constantly trying to bond, Damian would probably never stop insulting him. Duke and Cass would probably be fine, but Duke was easily roped into Dick's shenanigans, and Cass had that habit of creeping up on you.

No. Tim would survive being stuck alone, working on case files and reading news headlines. Today's news was singing the praises of Wayne Enterprises for their massive donations to research centers, the city, and for them paying for housing and healthcare for homeless. They were also praising Bruce for personally paying for the Covid testing and for paying for food and housing costs for those who couldn't afford it. Bruce had enough money to do so, so he might as well, right?

Amusingly, Tim had seen a headline from Star City about Red Hood and Arsenal highjacking a supply truck full of toilet paper and medical supplies and redistributing it among the poor and homeless, as well as stealing from some stores and making care packages for the homeless.

But now, his idiot boyfriends, severely upsetted by the fact that their Thursday date night had been cancelled, were texting and calling him non-stop, trying to convince him to let them come, finding out if he needed anything ("do you have food?" "Yes, Kon." "I'm talking real food, Tim. Not some Rice Krispies and a few boxes of cereal." "Conner."), and constantly fretting over him. Did he mention they kept whining about missing date night? Well they did. Even the suggestion that they could still hang out with each other didn't appease them. ("But we need our Robin! Our birdie!")

Tim Drake was a smart man. He was a good detective. If he had been at the manor, he'd probably be working with Bruce to develop faster testing, or figure out cures. But what Tim forgot, is how truly, truly, dumb his boyfriends are.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised to hear his door open on Thursday evening.

But yet, he was.

He shot up off his sofa, spinning towards the door. He hadn't changed in a day, and probably hadn't showered in three. His apartment was a mess and honestly he didn't remember what he had for breakfast that day. But yet he grabbed the nearest thing to him, an empty metal waterbottle, and brandished it as a weapon.

"Oh, I'm so scared," a chipper voice said, with a laugh.

"Bart?!" Tim exclaimed, half in shock and anger.

Standing in the entry way of his apartment was Bart Allen and Conner Kent. Conner was carrying several bags of groceries, and Bart had a couple jugs of milk and juice.

"What are you two doing?!" Tim hissed, glaring.

"Uh, visiting, duh?"

Bart zipped to the fridge, putting up his jugs, and then dumping a backpack that Tim hadn't noticed earlier onto the floor.

"Bart," Tim said, his tone dropping to his more commanding, Robin voice.

He noted Kon was also carrying a duffel bag. The man just smiled and then turned to walk into the kitchen.

"Nonono, I know what's going on here, you two aren't staying."

"Why not? We can't get it, and you're just gonna . . ." Bart motioned at the messy living room. "Besides, what if we quarantine ourselves with you."

"Well, because! Because. . . " Tim scowled at him.

He was starting to lose his energy to argue. And he was getting pretty lonely. And this . . . He wasn't wrong either. They could just quarantine together. . . 

"And also, now if you need something, one of us can just zip over to metropolis and pick it up, or go do laundry at Clark and Lo's," Kon called from the kitchen.

"And if you do get sick! You'll have us to look after you!" Bart exclaimed, zipping over and kissing Tim before he could protest.

Tim glared at him from just a few inches away, then at Conner, who had moved to the doorway. They both just grinned at him.

"Fine. Fine! You can stay!" He exclaimed, defeated.

Bart whooped and kissed Tim again.

"Okay, first things first. You need to take a shower, man," Bart told him, wrinkling his nose. "Or else no cuddles."

Tim, touch starved as always, found himself immediately hating that idea.

"Also, we need to clean this place up. So, you go shower and brush your teeth and shave and stuff - or don't shave - and Kon and I will clean up and start supper!"

Tim huffed at him, but obeyed, heading towards the bathroom, stopping by Conner first to give him a quick kiss. Kon just grinned and pulled him in close, tweaking Tim's nose before kissing him. Then he shoved Tim towards the bathroom.

He went through the bedroom first, snagging some clean clothes, and then went into the bathroom. He quickly stripped and showered, making sure to clean his hair thoroughly, he shaved when he got out, and quickly brushed his teeth as instructed, because frankly, he didn't remember the last time he had done that and didn't want to make his boyfriends deal with that. 

When he got back out, admittedly feeling a little better, he noted Bart and Kon's bags on his bed. He just sighed and shook his head, walking back to the main room. He could already smell the tomatoey scents of Italian food, and wondered what all those two had actually brought with them. There was some form of pop music playing, and he could hear Bart happily singing along to it, Kon chiming in occasionally with the choruses. Tim chuckled and looked around the living room. 

They had cleaned up trash and dishes and fixed the pillows on the sofa. The curtains had been opened, and a candle was burning on the coffee table and all the glasses and mugs and plates had been removed. Tim walked over and leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Bart dart around and cook, while Kon washed dishes.

"This that hot girl bummer anthem. Turn it up and throw a tantrum~" Bart sang, doing a little dance as he darted from the fridge back to the stove, throwing a few things into a sauce.

"What are you making?" Tim asked softly, but they both heard him.

"Hey! He's clean!" Bart announced cheerfully. "And I am making lasagna! Max's special recipe."

Tim hummed in response, grinning back at the speedster.

"So are you two going to eat me out of house and home by the end of tomorrow, or?"

Kon shot Tim a smirk. "Depends."

"Ugh, Kent! I meant food!"

Conner laughed, rinsing one last dish before drying his hands, walking over and pulling Tim up against his front.

"I never said that wasn't what I meant, did I?"

"No. . . But with you there's always some kind of innuendo."

Kon huffed in mock annoyance, before ducking his head and gently kissing Tim a few times. Tim tilted his face up and obliged, wrapping his arms around Kon's neck.

"I missed you," Kon mumbled lightly, his hands sneaking up Tim's soft cotton shirt that may or may not have belonged to Kon at some point.

"I missed you too," Tim responded instinctually, not really realizing exactly how true that was.

"Then why didn't you let us come sooner?" Bart's voice asked and then he was slipping between their arms, sandwiching himself between them.

Tim laughed, giving the pouting Bart a few kisses, turning him from pouty Bart to smiley Bart.

"Because I didn't want you guys getting sick."

"Tim we literally can't."

"Did you confirm that?"

"Yeah. I called Lex and asked. And you know as well as I do that Bart can't get sick from these things."

Tim sighed, looking down at Bart, then up at Kon. "Well either way, it's too late now."

Once the lasagna was in the oven, Bart made Tim help him finish cleaning, sweeping floors and dusting things, meanwhile Kon just sat by and gave unhelpful commentary and got occasionally whacked with cleaning supplies. Once the apartment was properly cleaned, and feeling much better, they decided to properly move Bart and Kon into Tim's room, even though they had stated they'd probably be leaving to get more clothes and such. And probably their dogs. 

Tim sat on his bed and watched them unpack bathroom supplies and clothes and other various personal items. Phone chargers got plugged in his few remaining wall outlets and things got shoved into previously neat areas.

"Were you really gonna stay here all by your lonesome?" Bart asked, flopping down onto the bed next to Tim and idly bumping his thigh with his knee.

"It wouldn't have been forever, Bart. I was probably gonna go to the manor eventually."

"Ew, and be around your brothers?"

"They are my family, Bart."

"I know but still. . . "

Tim chuckled and shook his head fondly, moving to lay partially over Bart and softly kiss him.

"Wait, is Keystone even in quarantine yet?"

"Uhhh." Bart grinned sheepishly.

"Bartholomew!"

Bart just giggled a little. "I'm sorry, but I wanted to come too!"

Tim just shook his head and then dropped it to Bart's chest, laying on him and listening to his breathing.

"Hey, this looks like a cuddle pile in the making."

Both of them groaned when Kon flopped - gently - on top of Tim. 

"Kon you big lug! Get off!" Tim whined, pushing up on his hands and knees, trying to dislodge Kon, who didn't move.

"Why, I thought you liked cuddle piles?" Kon giggled out, nuzzling at Tim's neck and causing him to squeak.

"Not when I'm being squished!"

Kon gave an over dramatic groan, but moved, rolling and pulling them both on top of him. It took a bit of squirming before they were comfortable, one on either side of Kon, heads on his shoulder, hands clasped on top of his stomach. They laid there and chatted idly, with no concern for anything that might interrupt their lives.

"Bart the oven is going off."

And just like that, Bart was gone. A couple seconds passed, then he was back, snuggling right up against Kon again.

"Where were we?"

Both Kon and Tim just started laughing.

Once dinner was ready, they sat on the sofa and binged a couple episodes of Broadchurch before settling into another cuddle pile. Their default form was cuddle pile. Then eventually Bart got bored with sitting still, so they turned on Mario Kart, played a few normal rounds to watch Kon and Bart suffer, then Tim turned on the mod he had made to make the game go super fast. 

He had learned not to watch the screen while this was happening. That's how you got eye damage.

"I'm gonna go do a little patrolling," Kon said, standing after Bart had beat him, again.

"Oh. Okay. Be careful, give a call if you need any help," Tim said, looking up from his laptop.

"Yeah, if I need anything, I'll call Bart."

"Kon."

"Hey, you're grounded, remember?"

Tim sighed, stretching up so Kon could kiss him. Kon chuckled and did so, then bent over the back of the sofa to kiss Bart, before disappearing into the bedroom to change. Then he called a goodbye on the way out the window. Tim and Bart looked at each other.

"So what are we doing then?"

Tim shrugged vaguely and looked back at his laptop.

"Well I'm gonna keep playing my game then."

"Okay."

Bart left him alone for a solid twenty minutes, which was a bit of a record for him, then he was tugging on Tim's laptop, trying to steal it.

"Yes, Bart?"

"I wanna cuddle."

"Cuddle?"

Bart's silence cause Tim to look over, and found he was pouting. Tim chuckled and saved his files, setting the laptop on the floor, then moving so his back was on an armrest, and opened his arms for Bart. Bart practically dove forwards, laying between Tim's legs, head on his chest, arms around his stomach. Tim chuckled and adjusted a bit for his own comfort, then let himself relax with Bart.

Eventually they turned on a movie and just laid together, idly chatting. There would be plenty of time for work later, Tim decided. But for now, he'd spend time with Bart. He may be stuck with these two for months before restrictions laxed, but he would take every moment he could, just to spend time with them while he could.

Kon got back after a few hours, stumbling back through the window, and giving them a grin, but he didn't come over, just walked away into the bathroom, leaving the scent of soot and acid in his wake.

"He's stinky," Bart remarked, still laying on Tim's chest.

"Hmmn, stinky boy."

Bart sniggered. Tim had, at some point, set his laptop on Bart's ass and was still working. Was it the most effective or romantic? No. But Bart didn't mind and it was keeping Tim from getting bored. 

Then his phone started ringing.

"Bart, grab that for me please?"

Bart quickly grabbed the phone from the coffee table before immediately settling back into place.

"Yello?"

"Hey, Timmy."

"Hi Dick, what's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to check in and see how things were going with you."

Tim glanced down at Bart.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah? Just hanging out and working on cases, I assume?"

"Yeah, I'm working on that March case."

Dick hummed from across the line.

"Well, are you sure you don't want to come to the manor?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Honestly I'm surprised you're there. I thought you'd be with Wally?"

There was a pause. 

"I was going to, but he got directly exposed the day before he was supposed to come down, and he didn't want to risk it until he discovered if speedsters could actually catch it."

"Hmmn, I have it on good authority they can't."

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

"They're there with you, aren't they?"

Tim just grinned, even though Dick couldn't see it. His brother laughed.

"Tim, you scoundrel."

"Listen, I told them no, they wouldn't listen to me, and then when they showed up, it was too late because Bart like, immediately kissed me."

"Hell yeah I did."

Dick just laughed again. Tim could envision him fondly shaking his head.

"So, I'll let you go then, I'm sure you guys have some catching up to do, if you know what I mean."

"Oh my god, shut up," Tim laughed out, even as he started playing with Bart's hair.

"Just speaking the truth!"

"Goodbye, Dick."

"Bye, Timmy! Love you, stay safe!"

"You too!"

Tim hung up the phone and let it fall to the ground beside the sofa.

"Oh good, you're off. I didn't want to come do this with your brother still on the phone."

Tim tilted his head back to see a shirtless Kon standing over him, grinning, hair still dripping slightly from his shower. He bent down and deeply kissed Tim. Tim gave a surprised noise and reached a hand up, resting it on Kon's jaw. When he pulled away, leaving Tim breathless, he just grinned mischievously, then moved so he was closer to Bart.

"Bartie."

"Hmmn?" When the ginger picked his head up, Kon kissed him the same.

Bart just grinned at him after, and put his head back on Tim's chest.

"Do you guys want a snack, because I'm starving."

Tim watched Kon walk away, and just had to laugh.

It was lucky the three of them were huge cuddlers, because otherwise they would not have fit in Tim's queen sized bed. Not with Kon's huge shoulders. After their snacks, Bart had to literally steal Tim's laptop, and then Kon decided to carry him to the bathroom to get ready for bed, instead of just letting him walk.

As the three of them laid in bed, a few minutes later, more focused on lazily kissing then actually sleeping, Tim decided that if he was going to be quarantined anywhere, being in his apartment with his amazing, dumb, loving boyfriends couldn't be the worst solution. And it was, by far, preferable over going to the manor. So he would happily keep his mouth shut and let them fret over him. Because he loved them. And they loved him.

@core-disaster-week-2020 originally written for @unknownunseenunheard !!

[abalonetea]

Just Keep Breathing: Chapter One

I was partnered with @the-dot for the @originalfictionbigbang! Thank you for working with me, Dot! 

Here is the first chapter! I’ve split the first 10k words between four chapters, and will be posting them all in a masterpost in just a moment!

Summary: It’s the height of storm season and everyone in Hi-Banks, Florida is getting ready for the bad weather. It should be a year like any other - but on the tails of a national pandemic, a new disaster strikes. More than one new disasters. So many disasters that Eddie Carver would like to put some of them back, thanks. He’s just a down on his luck guy living in the local trailer park with his boyfriend. He’s not interested in dealing with the revival of an old murder case - which he knows nothing about, thanks -, the storm season of the century, or…zombies?

Yeah. Absolutely not interested in the zombies.

This black-comedy follows the inner workings of a small town as they band together to survive, and the young man - reckless, mean, angry, written off b the big city folk come to look into a cold case - that might hold all of societies survival in his hands.

Forget about society. Eddie’s only interested in keeping his friends alive.

Chapter One – Hi Banks Florida

“ - increased reports of unprecedented aggression all across New York City. This is following in the wake of Mayor Alex Grand’s assault on his wife. These attacks have increased nearly ten fold in the wake of the recent vaccine’s release, prompting many to wonder if the vaccine was released too soon – should more tests have been done? Could this be a side effect of it? We have reached out to the head of the FDA, Doctor - “

The television goes to pure static, a hissing crackle of black and white fuzz. Eddie groans. “Seriously? I was watchin’ that!”

“Guess you ain’t watching it now,” says Carson, draping himself over the back of the couch. He curls an arm around Eddie’s chest, pinning him against the back of the couch. “You should be at work, anyway.”

“Penny don’t got work for me today.”

“Then you should be out working on the truck. I’m sick of walking to the docks.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. He shifts, leaning up and wrapping his own arms around Carson’s neck, tugging until his boyfriend is leaning down enough that Eddie can kiss him. “I can’t fix the truck ‘till we get a part mailed in. Penny let me use the work account.”

“Bullshit,” says Carson. “You just don’t want too.”

“It ain’t bullshit. It’s, uh, truth shit.”

“Wow.” Carson shakes off Eddie’s grip. “You worked hard on that one, huh? Whatever, don’t work on the truck. I’ve got actual work to get too.”

Eddie twists, pulling himself up so he can drape over the back of the couch. “Gonna rain today. Take an extra shirt.”

Carson says, “sure, I’ll put it in the truck so it stays dry. Oh, wait.”

And, okay, so Eddie kind of deserves that one. The truck hasn’t been running for almost a week now. This isn’t the first time that it’s stopped working. Carson bought it straight out of the local junkyard five years back, and it’s pretty much held together with duck tape – literally – and chewing gum – which might be the next step.

Eddie really is waiting on the part to come in.

The problem is that he sort of forgot to order it until yesterday.

Drooping, Eddie makes a disgruntled sound. “I’ll see if I can’t fudge it, okay? Just, I dunno, don’t get hit by lightning. The storm’s supposed to be nasty.”

“Great.” Carson shoves on one boot, then the other. “So we’re going to have no power tonight.”

“I’ll fill the tub.”

“Summer sucks ass.”

“Florida sucks ass,” corrects Eddie.

Carson thinks on it, then bobs his head in agreement. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go with that one.”

“You gonna be home for - “ The television bursts back into being with a crackle of too loud sound. Eddie swears.

The woman on TV reads off, “ - no official links between the two. Gerald Harbrinks has been arrested today for the most bizarre case of armed robbery the county has ever seen, in which he dropped his gun and instead chose to bite the cashier - “

Eddie mutes it. “Sorry. One’a these days we need to get actual cable.”

“Yeah, when toads fly,” says Carson. “You doing dinner?”

Eddie thinks about what they have in the pantry. Not much, but probably enough to throw at least half a meal together. He’s better at cooking and coming up with things than Carson is. “Yeah. You going to be back before dark?”

Carson shrugs. “How should I know? They never tell me anything. I might not even have to stay if it rains.”

“Babe, if it rains, they’re gonna make you stay out of spite, and you know it,” says Eddie, because the guy who runs the docks is kind of an ass.

Carson grunts. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

“No problem.” Eddie shuts the TV off all the way and finally pries himself up off of the couch. “So, dinner, unless we lose power. We’ll have to hit up Red’s. He’s got that grill or whatever.”

He sways his way over to his boyfriend, plasters himself against Carson’s front and schmoozes his way in for a kiss. Carson curls an arm around him for a moment, then makes a face. “Come on, man. I gotta at least get down there before the rain starts or I won’t make shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” says Eddie. “Get outta here. Don’t get drowned or nothing.”

* * *

Hi Banks, Florida is the sort of place you’re born into, you slog through, and then you die in. And mostly, the people are okay with that. Why leave a good thing, right? Or maybe it’s more that the people born into Hi Banks just have a hard time getting together the chance to leave.

The trailer park is on the backside of town, filled up with old mobile homes and trailers parked up on cinder blocks. The paths between homes flood any time it rains and Eddie makes a point of sloshing his way through the puddles until the inside of his sneakers are soaked and his stained up jeans are covered in mud. Splash! Slosh! Splat!

The Calloway’s have added a new pick up truck to the collection of cars sitting out front. Eddie would bet it’s like the rest of their vehicles and the engine doesn’t actually roll over. Not that he can say too much on that front, considering his own truck.

If there’s any chance that he can trick the thing into running, he needs another quart of oil and – well, it is his fault that Carson’s going to have to walk home in the rain later, so Eddie figures he’ll pick up a box of swiss rolls while he’s out. Swiss rolls are Carson’s favorite.

Sweets in general are his favorite, but whatever.

So he sloshes his way through the trailer park and out onto the long, main road that cuts through the center of town. If you keep going long enough in one direction, it will take you to the highway. Keep going long enough in the other, you’ll hit the swamps.

There’s just the one commercially owned grocery store in the whole town. The parking lot is mostly empty, which isn’t a surprise considering it’s the middle of a Monday, and also about to cut loose. The wind’s started to pick up and everything, clouds dark and violent overhead. Eddie scurries into the shop, muttering a brief ‘hey’ to Annie Green when he passes her counter and heads towards the back.

Fitz is curled over the meat case muttering under his breath to himself, which is less unusual than it sounds. Eddie opts not to wave at him, and instead just goes for the cake aisle. It’s so picked over that it’s ridiculous. There aren’t any swiss rolls so he grabs the oatmeal cookies instead.

No doubt that the milk and bread aisles are already empty, to go with the alarmingly small amount of paper product. Up at the check out, he asks Anne, “you seen Roy come in yet today? He owes me ten bucks.”

“Nope.” The machine beeps when Anne scans the box of cookies. “Is Ftiz still back at the meat? I swear, he’s been in here for an hour.”

“Yeah. Maybe he’s stocking up on it.”

“Even Fitz isn’t stupid enough to stock up on meat right before we’re due for hurricane season.” Anne holds out her hand and Eddie fishes a crumpled five from his back pocket to pass over. “You talk to him?”

“Nope.”

Anne heaves out a sigh. “Great. Guess I can walk back and deal with it. If he’s drunk - “

“If he’s drunk, call his wife. She’ll have his ass for drinking that much this early in the day.”

Anne snorts. “Yeah, she will.”

Eddie shifts from one foot to the next, peering out the glass front doors. It’s still raining hard outside. “You think this is gonna light up any time soon?”

“Supposed to rain all evening. I’m surprised that they haven’t canceled work at the docks,” says Anne.

“Ugh. Great. Just, double bag them, I guess. I have to walk back in this.”

Anne doubles the bag and Eddie steps back out into the deluge. He’s soaked in a matter of minutes.

* * *

“Fucking Hell!” Eddie shakes himself off as he steps into the trailer. He fumbles around in the dark for the first few minutes, stripping out of his sodden clothes and down to his equally sodden boxers. Still swearing, he drops the bag of soaked oatmeal cookies onto the counter and flips on the light switch for the kitchen.

Nothing happens.

Eddie swears louder.

There’s the sound of something shuffling about from the bedroom. Eddie grabs the natty tea towel off the front of the stove handle and uses it to wipe off his face. “That you, babe?”

No answer. The shuffling sound gets closer. Eddie rolls his eyes and attempts to pat himself dry with the hand towel. It has a mixed amount of success in actually accomplishing anything.

“I got you cookies. They should be dry. Cause of the plastic and stuff?”

Still no answer. Eddie mutters under his breath. Fine, he’ll just have the cookies himself.

He pops open the plastic wrapper and pulls out a handful of them, carrying them over to the couch – where he finds Carson stretched out, massive headphones in, and a blanket pulled down over him.

“What the Hell, man.” Eddie kicks the couch base. “Move your legs.”

Carson grumbles and slides his headphones out. “When did you get back?”

“Like, five minutes ago. I went to get you cakes, but they didn’t have none.” He passes Carson a cookie instead. “You could’ve said something when you came out of the bedroom.”

Carson squints at him. “What are you talking about?”

Something in the bedroom is knocked over. CRASH. Eddie jerks, spinning around and squinting into the dark of the trailer. “So, uh, that’s not you.”

“Of course it ain’t me,” says Carson. He shoves the blanket onto the back of the couch, swings his legs over the cushions, and leverages himself up. There’s a bat by the front door. Eddie grabs it and passes it to Carson, because he’s tiny and Carson’s not.

“Chicken,” mutters Carson, but he doesn’t look thrilled to have to go deal with this. “We got that flashlight in the kitchen?”

“Batteries are dead,” says Eddie.

“Great. Storm season, and we’ve got bad batteries.”

“Pretty sure that’s not a hurricane breaking stuff in our bedroom, babe.”

Carson shoots Eddie an unimpressed look. “No duh.”

They make their way to the little off shooting bedroom, Eddie tucked close to Carson’s back. It’s at least still early enough in the evening that wane, yellow light creeps in through the nearby window. Carson presses a hand to the door, pulls in a deep breath, and shoves it open.

What happens next happens fast: there’s motion from the over turned bedside table. Carson swings with the bat, effectively smashing their lamp to pieces. The neighbor’s fat, orange tabby cat gives an indignant hiss and jumps onto the bed, then out through the nearby busted window. There’s glass all over everything, from the lamp and the window, and rain has blown in from the storm soaking the bed and the table in equal parts. The carpet nearby squishes loudly when Carson takes a step.

“Oh,” says Eddie. “Window’s broke.”

Carson drops the bat onto the ground. “That’s it. We’re going to Red’s.”

[crystalwillow]

The Pregnancy, Part Two

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey Valentine (F!MC)

Tagging: @kiteplayschoices @brycelahelalover @obsessedheehee @eleanorbloom @fuseboxmusebox @princesslahela @vibrantlyjaz @kaavyaethanramsey @queencarb @schnitzelbutterfingers @ramseysno1rookie @caseyvalentineramsey @ethanramseyswhore @whippedforethanfreakingramsey

=====================

Six months had passed since Casey and Ethan discovered she was pregnant, and she was now in her last trimester. She still wanted to go to work so she had something to do and so that if she went into labor she was already in the hospital. Of course, Ethan got less and less enthusiastic about her going to work, now a few more months that passed. He insisted that she stay home and look after herself, to let him work a little overtime and do the heavy grocery shopping. But Casey, being the stubborn woman she is, dug her heels in saying a firm no, continuing to go to work.

One lunch break, Casey and Ethan were sitting outside round the fountain, sharing a pizza and some fries, when Sienna came over. "Hey. Could I sit with you guys?" she squeaked out quietly, "Of course" Ethan smiled as Casey took another bite of her pizza slice, "Want a piece?" Casey asked as she held out the box to her friend. "No thank you. I'm okay. I've already eaten." She said politely, hoping her lie went undetected, as she took a seat next to Casey. "Do I still smell of blood and bile?" Ethan joked, "Honey. if you smelt of that I would not even be near you. Sienna just doesn't like getting in the middle of people" Casey explained jokingly. Sienna chuckled at the sass levels in Casey's reply, and the three spent the rest of their lunch break together. Late that afternoon, Ethan stopped by Casey's floor to collect the grocery list and her dinner order as he was finishing early, and she had to work late. "oooo someone's coming" a nurse teased Casey, as she walked away from the nurses station with her files, to give the two privacy. "Hey." Ethan smiled as he greeted her with a kiss leaning over the nurses station. "hey" Casey smiled back, as the phone rang. "one moment" she smiled and answered the phone, "Hello, Francis Ward, Dr. Casey Ramsey speaking, how may I help? ... uh-huh, okay. ... Could you hold for just one moment and I'll check that for you." she answered as she put the phone on hold "Janet!" she called out to a passing nurse, who stopped in her tracks and turned coming over to the station "yeah?" she asked, sounding tired. "I've got Dr. Rasheen on the phone calling from OR recovery 4, asking if we have any free beds on the ward for a patient that has just woken up." Casey explained. Janet checked the chart, "mmmmmmm, yep. We have room 783 free." She smiled at Casey, who picked the phone back up. "Hello, Dr. Rasheen? ... yes, we have 1 room free. Could I get the patients name please? .... Holly Barkermann. Alright, we'll have that ready for arrival in the next few minutes okay? .... okay, Thank You. B-Bye" she chimed happily as she hung up the call. After letting out a deepened sigh, Casey leant back in her chair and looked up at Ethan who smiled back at her. "Could I have the lists?" He asked sweetly. Casey sat up and pulled them out of her pocket and passed them to him. He looked at her dinner request and smiled. "I'll pick it up later on the way to get you from work sweetie" He grinned as he looked back up at her. "Thanks baby. I'll see you later okay?" she replied. Ethan nodded and gave her one last kiss before heading off the do the grocery shopping and go home.

That night Casey text Ethan.

Casey: Hey babe! Finishing up here in about 45 minutes!!

Ethan:

Casey: Babe???

Casey: Bubs?

Casey: HELLO! ETHAN RAMSEY! ARE YOU THERE?! T-MINUS 45!!"

Ethan: Can't a man poop in peace? xD

Casey: ... sorryyyy :/

Ethan xD. It's okay. I'll see you soon

Casey: Can you bring Bleu? or is he sleeping??

Ethan: Sleeping. Sorry honey :(

Casey: It's alright. I'll see you in a bit. Don't forget our dinner!!"

Ethan: I won't don't worry :D. Love you!! <3

Casey: Love you too bubba :* <3

After sending the text messages, Casey stuffed her phone back into her pocket and got back to work. It was nighttime so everything was slower paced. She got bored and decided to try and balance a pencil on the tip of her nose because she still hadn't been able to complete that. She was so occupied by it that she didn't hear someone approach the desk. "Ahem." the voice said as the person it belonged to clear their throat. Casey jumped, dropping the pencil then pouting at it "awww! I was so close!" she quietly exclaimed as she looked up to see who it was. "Oh, hey Esme!" she chirped, Esme smiled. "I'm here to take over. Your husband's downstairs, in the main lobby." she told her. Casey checked the clock on the wall. "Oh my gosh. Was I just trying to balance a pencil on the tip of my nose for 45 minutes?" she asked, flushing a deep red, fully embarrassed. "I guess so." Esme chuckled as she came round the desk to switch places with Casey. "Well.... see you Saturday I guess." Casey said to Esme, giving her a hug before grabbing her belongings, checking out and making her way downstairs. As she stepped out of the elevator, she let out a massive sigh and took her tag off over her head, tucking it inside her bag. "Busy shift?" Ethan asked, as he walked over to her and greeted her with a hug. She gripped onto him tightly. "ugghhhh, I missed youuuuu" she whined as she crushed Ethan with a hug. Ethan chuckled as he returned his wife's hug, "I missed you too munchkin" he mumbled, Casey pulled back and looked at him strangely, "Munchkin?" she asked with a confused frown, as she laced her fingers with his. "I was browsing words on that Urban Dictionary site you're always going on about. Munchkin can be used as a term of endearment for one's partner who is playful and mischievous" He explained as they walked to the car hand in hand. "Oh...? So you're saying I'm playful and mischievous now, are you?" Casey teased as they got into the car, Ethan just chuckled as he gave her a knowing look. As Ethan drove them home, Casey sat in the passenger seat chowing down on her fries and gulping down her drink, "Hungry? Ethan smiled. Casey nodded eagerly as she shoved more fries in her mouth, "bank oo bor biss" she grinned. Soon they pulled up on the drive and went inside, Bleu greeting them straight away by barking as soon as they opened the door, "Ugh. My feet are so sooorrrreeeee" Casey whined as she took off her shoes and jacket, she then squealed in delighted surprise as Ethan lifted her up and carried her to their room, content concentration on his face the entire time. I'll go grab us some soda, water and snacks then we can binge whatever it is you wish to watch tonight, okay?" Ethan smiled as he pressed a tender loving kiss to Casey's forehead before leaving the room and heading downstairs to the kitchen, and they spent the night cuddled up in bed doing exactly what Ethan said they would, and fell asleep happy and content, ready for the next day and what it would bring them. In the middle of the night Casey woke up feeling around for Ethan and groaned slightly when she couldn't feel him. She slowly opened her eyes and spotted him sitting at his desk across the room with a creased brow as he stared at his screen, "Ethan?" she whispered, and he snapped his head towards the bed, "What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asked as he swiveled round in his chair. She pouted and held her hand out towards him, he sighed and walked over to their bed, sitting next to her and taking her hand in his, "Is this case keeping you up again?" she asked as she placed her head on his leg. He instinctively started stroking her hair, "mmm" he mumbled staring blankly ahead.

Casey looked up at him an noticed the bags under his eyes and looked at the clock on their bedside table, seeing it read 3:47am, "Honey. Your shift starts in an hour and 13 minutes. Come to bed and try to get some sleep. Please" she begged quietly, looking up at him. Ethan exhaled heavily through his nostrils and got up. "Just let me save this document and I'll come to bed" he said as he sat back in his office chair and spun back so he was facing his screen, sliding his glasses back on his face. "They really enhance your beauty, you know?" Casey spoke out, Ethan just smiled at her comment, gently shaking his head as he saved the document and shut his computer down. About 45 minutes later, Casey was up with Ethan as he got ready for work, she was in the kitchen making his lunch. Ethan walked in a few minutes later, smelling like his heavenly self. He stood behind Casey and wrapped his arms round her stomach and rested his chin on her shoulder, pressing delicate kisses behind her ear and down her neck. "You don't have to be up doing this for me. I can make my own lunch you know." He said, his face and voice full of concern. Casey smiled at him with a look full of love that makes him realize there's no point in making it an issue because today is her day off before her last week working. She looked up at Ethan wistfully, "What?" he softly smiled back, "Nothing.... It's just... Are you sure that you're ready to be a father? Because when we done those scans when I was an intern. You said you didn't see it in your future. You weren't sure you could give them what they would need. And if you still aren't ready. We can put them for adoption. Or into foster care. Or to a same sex couple who wants children. I want you to be ready for this Ethan. I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into being a father by keeping this child." Casey rambled as she brought her hands to her stomach, cradling the child inside. Just as he opens his mouth to answer, Ethan's alarm goes off telling him it's time to leave for work.

Later in the day, around noon the doorbell rang. Casey answered it after looking through the peep hole, and greeted Tia and Bryce on the other side. "Hey! What're you guys doing here?!" she asked as she gave them both hugs and invited them inside. They walked in, Casey shut the door and they all made their way to the living room, taking various seats around the room in chairs and on couches. "Ethan caught us this morning and told us to bring you lunch." Tia said as they took their seats, "We brought both enough hot and cold food for all of us and we even brought some for Ethan to have later, he looked drained when we saw him." Bryce added. Casey smiled at her friends, "I'm not surprised. He was up half the night working on the case of Mr. Hopkins again." she informed them. They gave a knowing yet understanding look with a small nod. "Anyway. How's the hospital today?" Casey asked, as her and Tia dug into their food, Bryce walking off the get a fork. Tia swallowed her bite of food and smiled at Casey, "Busy as usual. Same old people shouting the same old things, cases that take only a few moments to solve. Although, there is this one case that's come in this morning and nobody can seem to work out what's going on with them. They have no genetic markers for anything, no test that has been run so far comes back with anything that could be used as a lead to do further tests. Bryce, as always says the simple solution is to cut them open. But I have to keep telling him, you can't randomly go cutting people open, with nothing supporting them needing and operation. You know?" She tells Casey as Bryce walks back into the room. "Your dog is seriously so adorable!" Bryce exclaims as he sits back down. Casey smiles and eats more of her food. The three talk and eat until it's time for Bryce and Tia to head back to work. Casey going back to binge watching Netflix series she needs to catch up on and drinking her herbal teas. Before she knows it, she hears Ethan's key go into the door and sits up as she hears him call out that he's home. "In here!" she calls back as she gets up so she can move to the couch and cuddle him.

He stops off at the kitchen first to get plates and cutlery for them to eat then walks into the living room placing the food, plates and cutlery onto the coffee table before sweeping Casey up into a massive bear hug, inhaling her perfume deeply. "I've missed you today." He mumbled into her neck, she smiled in response "I've missed you too." She mumbled back and they sat on the couch and talked about their days. "... and then the stupid woman tried to take off with a line in her arm and the machine still plugged into the wall. She didn't even grab the pole to wheel the machine with her as she walked. She just walked. Blood everywhere. It took about 10 minutes to get the bleeding under control. I have never witnessed something so daft in all my life." Ethan rambled, as Casey listened intently. Taking in every tone change in his voice as she ate quietly beside him. "So....... You're stressed?" Casey asked as he finished rambling. "hrm?" Ethan mumbled, Casey just chuckled and got up, heading to the bathroom.

Ethan followed and stood outside so they could continue talking. "When I say I missed you at work today. I meant it you know. I didn't have someone I could just walk up to and plop my head on their shoulder, and whine to. I don't know what you done to me rookie... but.. I feel love again now. I have friends. I can be friendly with others without feeling awkward. You're a blonde bombshell of sass. But you're my blonde bombshell of sass. My other half that I gave up searching for and accepted I was going to be a dog dad forever and die old, alone and miserable. Naveen was right. When you started at Edenbrook as an intern, I took my work way too seriously. And my ways were rubbing off on you. You were becoming a mini female version of me. But, somehow I knew you already were. You were serious about your work. You were serious about a lot. You got yourself in trouble for your patients because you care. You put everyone else's feelings before your own and you took time to get to know me, ask me how I was. I.... I'd not had anyone do that there for 10 years, because I was at the top of all the interns in my year as well. They quickly became envious, jealous, angry at me even. I couldn't understand why at the time, I was just an intern doing my best to make sure all my patients were happy, healthy and had the best care provided that they would need. I wasn't actively seeking out pissing them off. I was just being me. I thought it was my fault at first but then I realized, it's not my fault that my brain is on a different level to theirs. It wasn't my fault I worked and ticked differently. Performed my best when I worked on cases solo. When I wrote and published my book I didn't expect it to be such a huge hit. To influence the next generation of medicine and impact it in such a way. Then you walked into Edenbrook and shook everything up. Including me and my heart. You gave me the wake up call I needed, and I fell for you. I fell for you hard. In Miami all those years ago, I wanted you as much as you wanted me. Damn Casey, when I first stopped you in your tracks as you followed me to the new wing of the hospital. I wanted me taking you for coffee to be a date. But I was scared of the intricacy of it all. I was your boss. It would have been wrong. It was wrong. But somewhere along the line I stopped caring. I wanted... no, needed you. I needed to know what it was like to hold you. Kiss you. Dance and laugh with you. I needed to learn to love and open up my heart. I'd both needed and wanted to do that for years, but nobody caught my eye.. that was until I saw you. I'm here today pouring out my heart and emotions, but I want you to know I wouldn't be doing that if it wasn't for you. You went from rookie, to the owner of my heart. And now... well now you're going to be the mother of my child too. Well... children... I looked closer at your last scan, saw something that shocked me so grabbed a sonographer and they confirmed that.. we, we're having triplets Casey.... We haven't conceived just one child. We've conceived t-" He spoke, voice thick with emotion. The bathroom door opened, Casey looked up at him, a delicate smile on her face, with small tears running down her cheeks, "We're having triplets?" she asked softly, trying not to let her voice break as she reached out and rested her hand on Ethan's cheek, he leant into her touch and smiled as she gently stroked his stubble with her thumb. He nodded as his own tears fell from his eyes. "And I want to keep them. I'm ready to be a father to 3 of the most amazing kids I will ever have the pleasure of knowing. I-" He started to speak again but his voice broke. The purity and happiness if this moment shone and lit the whole house up. Some would say you could hear a chorus of angels if you listened close enough. The two stood in the hallway basking in their moment of happiness as Ethan's revelation set in. They cuddled and swayed together to the music in their heads. Neither feeling their current state of happiness ever before.

Soon, Casey spoke quietly not wanting to disturb the happy peace too much, "You mean it? You're ready for parenthood?" She asked as she looked up meeting Ethan's gaze. He nodded. "I'm ready." He answered quietly, pressing a kiss to her lips and then the two headed upstairs to shower and get ready for bed. The happiness still shining bright around them, they enjoyed the peace knowing soon, it would no longer exist for a while.

[queerbutstillhere]

For @unknownunseenunheard

- You can't come over tomorrow.

~ what do you mean? "Can't"?

- Gotham is on quarantine. Mandatory. Only medical personel allowed out. Hell, even the JL grounded us.

• I'm seeing can't, but hearing "help me please"

- guys. This is serious.

• for you, maybe. Timmie, we can't get sick from Covid. Kon is alien, and my metabolism is just too fast for it.

- Bart..

~ he's right, Tim.

- Do not encourage him, Kon.

- you two are not allowed to come.

Tim sighed, staring at his laptop monitor. He had been stuck in quarantine for three days now. Alone in his apartment. He could probably suit up and hightail it across town to get to the manor if he wanted, but bring quarantined alone sounded far more appealing then bring quarantined in the manor with his siblings. Dick would probably drag him into nightly board (read: bored) games, Bruce would be constantly trying to bond, Damian would probably never stop insulting him. Duke and Cass would probably be fine, but Duke was easily roped into Dick's shenanigans, and Cass had that habit of creeping up on you.

No. Tim would survive being stuck alone, working on case files and reading news headlines. Today's news was singing the praises of Wayne Enterprises for their massive donations to research centers, the city, and for them paying for housing and healthcare for homeless. They were also praising Bruce for personally paying for the Covid testing and for paying for food and housing costs for those who couldn't afford it. Bruce had enough money to do so, so he might as well, right?

Amusingly, Tim had seen a headline from Star City about Red Hood and Arsenal highjacking a supply truck full of toliet paper and medical supplies and redistributing it among the poor and homeless, as well as stealing from some stores and making care packages for the homeless.

But now, his idiot boyfriends, severly upsetted by the fact that their Thursday date night had been cancelled, were texting and calling him non-stop, trying to convince him to let them come, finding out if he needed anything ("do you have food?" "Yes, Kon." "I'm talking real food, Tim. Not some Rice Krispies and a few boxes of cereal." "Conner."), and constantly fretting over him. Did he mention they kept whining about missing date night? Well they did. Even the suggestion that they could still hang out with each other didn't appease them. ("But we need our Robin! Our birdie!")

Tim Drake was a smart man. He was a good detective. If he had been at the manor, he'd probably be working with Bruce to develop faster testing, or figure out cures. But what Tim forgot, is how truly, truly, dumb his boyfriends are.

So he really shouldn't of been surprised to hear his door open on Thursday evening.

But yet, he was.

He shot up off his sofa, spinning towards the door. He hadn't changed in a day, and probably hadn't showered in three. His apartment was a mess and honestly he didn't remember what he had for breakfast that day. But yet he grabbed the nearest thing to him, an empty metal waterbottle, and brandished it as a weapon.

"Oh, I'm so scared," a chipper voice said, with a laugh.

"Bart?!" Tim exclaimed, half in shock and anger.

Standing in the entry way of his apartment was Bart Allen and Conner Kent. Conner was carrying several bags of groceries, and Bart had a couple jugs of milk and juice.

"What are you two doing?!" Tim hissed, glaring.

"Uh, visiting, duh?"

Bart zipped to the fridge, putting up his jugs, and then dumping a backpack that Tim hadn't noticed earlier onto the floor.

"Bart," Tim said, his tone dropping.

He noted Kon was also carrying a duffel bag. The man just smiled and then turned to walk into the kitchen.

"Nonono, I know what's going on here, you two aren't staying."

"Why not? We can't get it, and you're just gonna . . ." Bart motioned at the messy living room. "Besides, what if we quarantine ourselves with you."

"Well, because! Because. . . " Tim scowled at him.

He was starting to lose his energy to argue. And he was getting pretty lonely.

"And also, now if you need something, one of us can just zip over to metropolis and pick it up, or go do laundry at Clark and Lo's," Kon called from the kitchen.

"And if you do get sick! You'll have us to look after you!" Bart exclaimed, zipping over and kissing Tim before he could protest.

Tim glared at him, then at Conner, who had moved to the doorway. They both just grinned at him.

"Fine. Fine! You can stay!"

Bart whooped and kissed Tim again.

"Okay, first things first. You need to take a shower, man," Bart told him, wrinkling his nose. "Or else no cuddles."

Tim, touch starved as always, found himself immediately hating that idea.

"Also, we need to clean this place up. So, you go shower and brush your teeth and stuff, Kon and I will clean up and start supper!"

Tim huffed at him, but obeyed, heading towards the bathroom, stopping by Conner first to give him a quick kiss.

He went through the bedroom first, snagging some clean clothes, and then went into the bathroom, he quickly stripped and showered, making sure to clean his hair throughly, he shaved when he got out, and quickly brushed his teeth as instructed, because frankly, he didn't remember the last time he had done that. When he got back out, admittedly feeling a little better, he noted Bart and Kon's bags on his bed. He just sighed and shook his head, walking back to the main room. He could already smell the tomatoey scents of Italian food, and wondered what all those two had actually brought with them. There was some form of pop music playing, and he could hear Bart happily singing along to it, Kon chiming in occasionally with the choruses. Tim chuckled and looked around the living room. They had cleaned up trash and dishes and fixed the pillows on the sofa. The curtains had been opened, and a candle was burning on the coffee table. Tim walked over and leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Bart dart around and cook, while Kon washed dishes.

"This that hot girl bummer anthem. Turn it up and throw a tantrum~" Bart sang, doing a little dance as he darted from the fridge back to the stove, throwing a few things into a sauce.

"What are you making?" Tim asked softly, but they both heard him.

"Hey! He's clean!" Bart announced cheerfully. "And I am making lasagna! Max's special recipe."

Tim hummed in response.

"So are you two going to eat me out of house and home by the end of tomorrow, or?"

Kon shot Tim a smirk. "Depends."

"Ugh, Kent! I meant food!"

Conner laughed, rinsing one last dish before drying his hands, walking over and pulling Tim up against him.

"I never said that wasn't what I meant, did I?"

"No. . . But with you there's always some kind of innuendo."

Kon huffed in mock annoyance, before ducking his head and gently kissing Tim a few times.

"I missed you," Kon mumbled lightly, his hands sneaking up Tim's soft cotton shirt that may or may not have belonged to Kon at some point.

"I missed you too," Tim responded instinctually, not really realizing exactly how true that was.

"Then why didn't you let us come sooner?" Bart's voice asked and then he was slipping between their arms, sandwiching himself between them.

Tim laughed, giving the pouting Bart a few kisses.

"Because I didn't want you guys getting sick."

"Tim we literally can't."

"Did you confirm that?"

"Yeah. I called Lex and asked. And you know as well as I do that Bart can't get sick from these things."

Tim sighed, looking down at Bart, then up at Kon. "Well either way, it's too late now."

While their dinner was cooking, they finished cleaning up the apartment, got the two of them moved into the bedroom properly, and then fell in a tangled mess on the sofa to wait for dinner. They ate while watching a movie, and Tim did have to admit, the lasagna was really good. After their movie, they played some video games, and then Kon left to do a little patrolling for Tim while he worked on some cases and Bart just did whatever it was Bart did.

It was lucky the three of them were huge cuddlers, because otherwise they would not have fit in Tim's queen sized bed. Not with Kon's huge shoulders. After Kon got back and showered, Bart had to literally steal Tim's laptop, and then Kon had to carry him to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As the three of them laid in bed, a few minutes later, more focused on lazily kissing then actually sleeping, Tim decided that if he was going to be quarantined anywhere, being in his apartment with his amazing, dumb, loving boyfriends couldn't be the worst solution. And it was, by far, preferable over going to the manor. So he would happily keep his mouth shut and let them fret over him. Because he loved them. And they loved him.

[amenomiko]

What Being Like A Girl Feels Like

There's one time when the Warlords went to the future with MC, and every time he observed what the women in the future do, or what MC has been wearing on her face, or maybe even the curiosity when they talk about a women's multi task as a wife and also as a mother would be..

MC asked if he would like to try to be like a girl in a day. He be like "Meh / Nah / That's ridiculous." at first, but eventually he agreed when MC said "Oh well, it would be interesting to me on how you can adapt to it." with a shrug.

Nobunaga - Wearing a Bra

"Heh. Only this one piece of cloth? Alright."

"Wh- you want me to wear this plastic--"

He frowned to the fake silicon boobs that MC make him wear before giving him a bra to cover it.

"It's okay, just wear a mask or sunglasses, they will just think you are a-"

"Don't say it..!"

He were given a task to buy some groceries by MC. Hmph. Just a few walks away from her apartment, this would be easy........ It's closed.

Then he have no choice but to go to the town.... Closed.

Fine..! There's one near the station. He is glad he knows the way..! Closed.

"Why, me, the Demon King.. Has.. To.. Do.. This..!" He huffed with a gritting teeth as he take a breath when he walk up the stairs. Just how the women in this world manage to bring this heavy thing around their chest to wherever they go??

As he came back, he let out a long sigh of relief when MC helped him to unbuckle his bra and silicon breasts.

After that he hugged MC so tight, saying "I respect you." While massaged on the shoulder by her.

Hideyoshi - Heels

"Oh? Walk around this while I multitasking? Alright, this will be easy."

Not.

Everytime he move around, he will slip and fall. Slip and fall. Like a baby deer about to walk on its own legs.

He trembled whenever he move his feet, one after another.

"Hideyoshi..! I need help with this book- kya..!"

"M-MC?? WHAT'S WRONG??"

Despite trembling like crazy, he managed to move his feet into a quick pace. But halfway through, he is wheezing.

Just how those working women that he saw at the streets can run and walk fast in this shoes??

"M-MC..I'm.. Coming- OOF!"

He fell near the door, bumping on the door knob in the process.

Apparently MC let out a surprised sound just now because one of the books in her arms fell to the side when she tried to carry it.

That night, she dab a cold cloth on his swollen ankles with a giggle. "Hehehhe good job."

"...It's not a laughing matter ( T ʖ̯ T).." He rub his own swollen forehead.

Masamune - Being Pregnant

MC borrowed a fake silicone belly, a silicone that is specially made so it is heavy like the 3rd trimester pregnant belly.

"Oooh.. Not bad." He wink to himself in the mirror. "I look sexy. Heheh."

"Alright. Help me with the chores, I will be--"

"Go go, I'm doing just fine~~" He smirked to her, waving her off.

The moment she finally went on her way, he turned to the living room. "Okay..! Let's start. Oh."

He smiled to the pile of clothes on the floor. "I was very rough indeed 😏."

"Oof-"

He feels very heavy the moment he tried to bend down.

"Ehh okay, let's try that again-" He winced to the pain in his waist. "Oookay. How about this one- uh- wh- I can't see the floor-- gah this belly is too big-- wa--!!"

He rolled on the floor like a watermelon. "....Nevermind. I will just- oof! M-my waist..! Nnnh!" He growled in each and every movements. "Okay.. Phew..! I guess I will eat lunch first."

He didn't. It was hard for him to eat as the belly boink away his plate. Each time he move forward towards the table, the plate move further and further away from him.

Drip. Drip. "Ah crap..! The clothes outside--! Mmmf--" He tried to look down to wear the outdoor shoes but to no avail. "Dammit!!"

At the end of the day, MC find a gloomy Masamune in the middle of the room. She had to help with the chores, feed him dinner, and listen to his rants of how bad the day was to him.

"I swear I won't let you do all those stupid chores when you are pregnant!" He said it while hugging her tightly.

Ieyasu - Charcoal Mask

"I don't understand why you women wanted to ruin your skin with this.. thing that we usually use to make fire."

He sigh as he mumbled "You are more than beautiful, why do you even need this-- wh- I'm just-...!"

Both of them were blushing for a while, until Ieyasu covered it with cough. "S-so. I have to wear and wait til it dry and take it off? That's surprisingly easy. Fine."

As he applied the mask all over his face, (scrunching his face to how he look like), he wait and wait and grow impatient. "How many more I have to wait?" He grunts.

"Another 20 minutes, Ieyasu. Let it dry naturally alright? Don't force it to dry so much or else you will regret it later..!" She shouted from the other room, followed by a giggle.

Nope. 20 minutes? N O P E. He glances to the hand fan next to him and starts to fan his face. "Hmh what's there to regret for?" After a few minutes of fanning, he smirked to himself. "See, all is left is to peel-"

He couldn't take it off.

"....Shit..!"

"Ieyasu..? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine..! Don't bother!!" Shit! The moment he shouted back the pain gets stronger.

MC eyes widen when there is a lot of sound coming from the bathroom with "Shit shit shit shit fuck this shit shit shit..!!!"

She is worried. And so she stopped in whatever she was doing and quickly rush to the bathroom.

"Ieyasu, are you ok-"

He turned around with half of the mask peeled off his face "..what-"

"KYAAAAAAAAAAA OAO!!!!!! Ugh--"

She fainted.

"MC!!!!!"

That night, she has been sobbing into his arms with "I'm sorry uguu I'm sorry.. QAQ~~". "Shh.. It's fine.." Ieyasu has been patting her head to calm her down while the other rub the aloe vera gel on his red face.

Mitsunari - Lipstick

He observed on how MC applied her lipstick, asking "Wow.. What is this called?"

"This is a lipstick. Easier to wear than a lip gloss."

"What is a lip gloss?"

"This one. It's makes your lips glossier, except its like a lipstick in a liquid form. Want to try?"

"Okay!"

MC hand him a pink lip gloss and move to the other room after that.

So he apply and apply and apply. Layer after layer.

"Hehehe they won't realize because you are pretty like a girl..! Let's go, Mitsunari." MC grabbed his hand, didn't bother checking on his lips because to her it looks beautiful. Until...

She ordered a drink at the cafe they were having lunch for.

"Awww you look so gorgeous, Mitsunari--"

She sipped her tea and flabbergasted when Mitsunari revealed his PINK TEETH.

"PPPPPPPPUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!"

His face is showered with tea now.

MC? Choking on her meal and were rushed to the hospital in instant.

Not to mention the doctor nearly had a heart attack when Mitsunari explained to him what had happened.

Mitsuhide - Eyelashes and Mascara

"So you put the glue here.."

"Wait- Mitsuhide-- that is too mu-"

Too late, he already put it on. Upside down. He slowly opened his eyes and smirked to the mirror. "You women are so quirky. This looks... Unique."

"I would like to say thank you for choosing a kind adjectives, but you are the one who make it that way yourself."

"Now onward to this mascara thing-" He opened his eyes widely (nearly give heart attack to MC who mumbles 'That's not necessary actually... Hey did you hear me..?')

He accidentally poke his own eye. "Ahaha.. Ouch. That's kind of.. Hm." He tried again "Oh- hmhm not bad. This mascara thing is such a tease like you, little mouse."

"No, that is you."

Kenshin - Eyeliner

"Alright, I've done your left eye, now you do your right eye by yourself okay?"

"Hmh. From what I observe you doing it, this is easy."

Yeah right.

He applied, and applied. "This seems imbalance.." He applied again. "Hmm this is too short..." And "Hmm the 'wing' thing is too low--"

DING DONG! "Delivery~~!!"

"Oh, Kenshin~ could you get it for me? I'm cooking right now~"

"Hmh."

He put down the eyeliner, not bothering to check on himself in the mirror and so when he opened the door...

"Good morning, Sir, this is your packa- AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH \(OAO)/!!!!" The delivery man fainted, forming a foam from his mouth.

MC rushed to the door, "Kenshin? I heard a scream-- HOLY MOTHER OF EYELINERS--"

Imagine his left eye is pretty, while the other is like the make up of WWE Wrestler. Yeah, like that.

Shingen - Corset

"This is what you use to shape your body? My, my, goddess, I can always "shape" you whenever we have se--"

**SLAP**

"Anyway." He smirked to the corset in his hand (with a hand red mark on his cheek nonetheless), "Let's wear this shall we?"

"Oh correction. Who said that you are going to wear modern corset hmm (ㆁᴗㆁ✿)?"

"Eh ( ͡^ ͜ʖ ͡^)?"

Later.... Shingen were smacking on the sofa, wheezing from the massive tightness around his waist "M-MC..! H-HAVE MERCY-- *GASSSPPP*"

She pulled the rope so tight with a giggle. "Hehehehehe this is fun isn't it (ू•ᴗ•ू❁) ❤❤❤~~? This is how we became sexy, Shingen~ I bet you can't even have a bite of your dessert. I shall present this to Yukimura." (She made him wear the victorian era's corset)

"N-no..! Forgive me..! Anything but that..!"

Yukimura - Lace Panties

"Wh- wh- wh O//////O???"

"D-don't be ridiculous..! I won't wear this.. this.. Piece of... Transparent see through-- GAH!!"

"My you are not a virgin anymore but your way of saying is virgin, Yuki ( ͡°з ͡°)."

"Shut it stupid-- GAH DON'T STRIP ME! AAHHH STOP!!" He shrieked like a girl when MC stripped his pants and made him wear it.

"Okay, let's go..!"

He couldn't stop MC on time and now he is wriggling, blushing to the itchiness down there. "D-damn it.. MC..!!!"

"Yes?"

"Y-you.. Damn you..!"

"Psst. They will see the "shape" if you move a lot you know?"

"S-SHAPE?? WHAT SHAPE O//////O??"

"The line of the underwear, silly. Pffft. What do you think?"

"GUHHHH!!!" His face is hot and red like a red chilli pepper now.

Sasuke - Make up as a whole.

This ninja decided to surprise his lover with the most beautiful make up before she arrived back home.

But Boop!

Blackout.

Still, it's fine for him. He is used to the dark. He is confident he can do it.

First... Base primer.

And foundation. And Concealer. Blusher. Eyeshadow. Eyeliner. Fake lashes. And so on, and so on.

His ears perked to the sound of rattling keys. Thank god he's almost done.

The moment MC stepped into the apartment, the lights coincidentally turned on at the same time. "MC." He walk to welcome his lover excitedly to show his "make up".

"Ah, thank god the light is on agaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH \(QAQ)/ WHY IS THERE 'IT CLOWN' IN HERE?? SASUKE-- SASUKE HELP!!!!!"

"M-MC it was me--"

"KYAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!"

She run out from the door, screaming, waking up the neigbors and that evening Sasuke nearly get caught by the police.

The very next week, he moved out.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Forty-Three: Storm of the Century

“Now I know how easy it is to just get... yanked out of the world. I wish I didn’t, but I do...”

It’s been blisteringly, hot-as-balls here in Wisconsin for the past few weeks. It’s gotten to the point the heat is actually making me anxious in a, “Global warming is real, and going to kill us all...” kind of way. To be clear, the recent heat hasn’t just convinced me global warming is a threat. I’m a woman of science. A woman of science who composts and celebrated the fact we’re officially out of plastic grocery bags (we use them for cat litter disposal); and hopefully will never see another one again. Wow. That was quite the overshare. I swear to God, my life is more than celebrating the fact I can now scoop cat poop into paper bags. 

Ok, that didn’t help. I’m just going to stop now. 

Back to the heat... I’m not going to lie, reading Storm of the Century had me fantasizing about a cold, snowy blizzard. Which, thanks to quarantine, I won’t have to leave the house to go drive in. I kinda hope this whole social distancing thing will extend through March, so I can live in Uggs and leggings all winter long, drink lots of tea, and continue to binge watch Cold Case Files with my daughter. A girl can only dream... 

In the introduction, Steve talks about how he wanted to try his hand at a screenplay, and a jailhouse image wouldn’t leave him alone: “...that of a man...sitting on the bunk in his cell, heels drawn up, arms resting on knees, eyes unblinking. This was not a gentle man, or a good man... this was an extremely evil man. Maybe not a man at all.” 

I have to give Steve credit for trying a new format, and I thought he was successful. I fully anticipated reading a dry screenplay, full of director’s notes. But instead it was a vividly descriptive screenplay, with plenty of Steve’s humor and snark throughout. For example, “He bends out of the frame, and we hear the SOUND OF VOMITING. (Sort of like the SOUND OF MUSIC, only louder.” and then later on, “He gestures to the girl, who is (pardon the pun) just about CATatonic.” The girl in question, her name is Cat. Groan. But also kind of snort-laugh. 

There were also plenty of references to Steve’s universe:

The story is set on Little Tall Island (the former home of Dolores Claiborne)

“There hasn’t been a murder on this island for almost seventy years... unless you counted Dolores Claiborne’s husband, Joe, and that was never proved.” 

“Crawl out of the sewer” (It)

“A friendly, grinning, Saint Bernard” (Cujo)

Storm of the Century takes place seventy years after Dolores Claiborne killed her husband. Little Tall Island is bracing themselves for... you guessed it... the snow storm of the century. People are stocking up on groceries, getting the town hall ready in case the island loses power, and picking their babies up from daycare. 

While all this hustle and bustle is going on, Andre Linoge bludgeons Martha Clarendon to death with his cane (black, with a silver wolf’s head on the top); while whistling “I’m a little teapot”. 

Local kid Davey Hopewell is walking home when he stumbles across the crime scene, and immediately alerts the police. When Constable Mike Anderson arrives on the scene, he finds Linoge calmly waiting to be arrested. Creepy. Of course a murder happens just as a massive snowstorm is starting, and he can’t contact the authorities on the mainland. 

Mike tries to get Linoge into the jail, but the door won’t budge. So, he needs to parade him inside the grocery store, to get to the attached jail. While in the grocery store, Linoge locks eyes with a few townsfolk, and spills some dangerous secrets. He seems particularly fascinated with Mike’s son Ralphie. Mike eventually gets him locked in a jail cell, and calls on teams of men to guard the cell. 

All hell breaks loose. 

Linoge has the ability to visualize a crime from his cell, and have unwilling participants commit it. For example, he has one woman bludgeon her boyfriend to death, and he has one of his guards hang himself. And he keeps leaving little notes everywhere, “Give me what I want, and I’ll go away!” 

What Linoge wants is one of the town’s children. He puts them all into a deep sleep, and makes the parents pick which one of the eight children will leave with him. If they can’t decide, or decide not to give him a child, he’s going to kill all the kids. Mike is the only parent that strongly objects to this, but the town (and his wife Molly) quickly overrule him. The parents all pick a stone out of a sack, and whichever parent picks the black stone, loses their child. Of course Molly picks it, and Ralphie leaves with Linoge. 

Mike is understandably heartbroken, and leaves Molly and Little Tall Island for San Francisco. One day he’s out getting groceries, and sees an older man and a teenage boy walking down the street singing, “I’m a little teapot.” He’s convinced it’s Ralphie. He chases after them, and Ralphie turns around and snarls, showing him his fangs. Mike decides to leave well enough alone. 

And that’s pretty much where the book ends. It was an annoying, and frustrating end: I hate it when the good guys get screwed over without any silver lining. But there was a rather prophetic moment in the book. Mike tells some of the local townspeople, “You know the story about Job? In the Bible? Well, here’s the part that never got written down. After the contest for Job’s soul is over and God wins, Job gets down on his knees and says, “Why did you do this to me, God? All my life, I worshiped You, but You destroyed my livestock, blighted my crops, killed my wife and my children, and gave me a hundred horrible diseases...all because You had a bet going with the devil? Well, okay... but what I want to know, Lord- all your humble servant wants to know is- Why me? So he waits, and just when he’s about made up his mind God isn’t going to answer, a thunderhead forms in the sky, and lightning flashes, and this voice calls down, “Job! I guess there’s just something about you that pisses me off!” 

Well, I guess there’s just something about Mike Anderson that pisses God off too. 

Overall, I thought the book was good. There were a few loose threads for me: what exactly IS Linoge? Is he a monster like Pennywise, or a villain like Leland Gaunt? Lots of fan sites claim he might be Randall Flagg. And what’s up with the word “Coratan?” That was never really teased out. I also feel like three quarters of the screen play was the lead up, the end felt kind of rushed and unsatisfying. But all in all, it was a quick, fun read. And now I need to watch the television series. 

Speaking of television series... there was a character I thought was named Fred Andrews... which made me sniffle, thinking of Luke Perry in Riverdale. 

You can imagine how dumb I felt when I realized his name was FERD and not Fred. Selective dyslexia strikes again. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 28

Total Dark Tower References: 39

Book Grade: B-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

Needful Things: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Storm of the Century: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Next up... ugh... I put it off long enough. It’s time to come back to the twisted world of the long-deceased Richard Bachman. It’s time for Regulators. Mount up!

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[moonfox281]

I can't help it but I see Dick from your mobwife series as someone who can't spend like 200$ on something because it is too much and Jay, Trevor and Jeff have fun of him because he is literally husband of one of the richest crimelord and son of billionaire and if somebody dare him to spend a lot of money at once he invest it in orphan house

“So, this one is on sale.”

“If we buy another IKEA table, I’m burning that whole place down.”

One Saturday, one free peaceful Saturday morning after such a long week of working and being vigilantes, and Dick just have to settle on hunting for on sale furniture. It would have been fine if said on sale furniture wasn’t some cheap stuff that either took 5 hours to put together or wouldn’t last for more than a week, or both. Jason still briefly remembered the last time Dick was so angry at him he decided to throw a whole lamp at him, and that lamp just fell apart while halfway in the air.

“Besides, we don’t need another coffee table.” He said, nudging his foot into Dick’s lab.

“But it’s cheap.” Dick stayed stubborn and showed Jason his laptop screen.

Yep, there was no way in hell they were going to buy that table. “You know how ridiculous it is when you said that?”

“So, I saw Blue at Trader Joe today.”

Not this shit again.

“I thought I pay you better than that.”

“You do, it’s just old habit. The question is why Blue was there.” Trevor didn’t seem like he would drop the subject soon, Jason cursed Dick for charming his men this hard. They were Jason’s men, this whole gang was supposed to devour itself for the Red Hood, now Jason constantly felt like they were just an army of giant puppies that followed Dick’s every step.

“You tell me, I can’t control him.” Not in the way that he could control Jason. Fuck his life, one bat of those lashes and he would come kneeling, mob boss or not.

“You know how shaken the cashier was when he just stood there like a Hollywood star with a diamond ring on his hand that shone like a disco ball? I tagged along to make sure he wasn’t going to get robbed or something. Jesus, boss.”

Yes, letting his husband wandering around the not so friendly neighborhood looking like that and dressing like that, wasn’t always such a good idea. Jason did have a bad habit of painting Dick in fancy jewelry that looked so fucking nice on that silky golden tanned skin and made his gorgeous blue eyes popped like heaven.

“I’ll give him a word about that.” Jason decided, already knew he couldn’t convince Dick to stop going for grocery alone or even chose some other place without landing himself on the couch tonight.

“You boys are here to help, not to look like you’re about to kill someone. So quit it!” Blue hissed, making the whole team jumped.

Jeff tried his best to not look like he was touching his guns three times in every 10 seconds. The whole store looked like it was ripped out of some Zombieland’s scene, which meant it suck, and stunk so fucking bad one of his men sneezed the first second they stepped in here. Jeff wasn’t even sure if he should let Blue’s pretty slimy fingers touch any of these out-of-date looking stuff on the rack.

After 10 minutes, Blue decided he had taken it enough and tore apart the team’s formation, ordering them to get as many supplies as possible because today was such a lovely day to go donating foods to some homeless people out on the street. It had been long since Boss assigned this much of arm force for Blue’s protection team for just daily casual stuff like this. Stupid Trevor must have spilled with the man about the Trader Joe incident, Jeff had told him Boss was too scared of Blue he wouldn’t say anything to his husband at all. In return, to shut Trevor’s worry up, he assigned more men tagging after Blue for just a walk out of the house and now Jeff was taking the full hit of it.

It wasn’t like Jeff wasn’t anxious to carry Blue’s billionaire ass back to the penthouse in Diamond District or Boss’s fortress in Crime Alley, but Blue was stubborn and hard to handle, damn it Trevor.

“Pfft, the last time I saw a weirdo buying this much can food, he thought the apocalypse was getting close.”

And of course came with the shitty store, was a shitty cashier.

“But I guess with a face like that, people will take in even the stupidest thing you throw out, huh?” The guy huffed, eyes taking a quick swept at Blue that made Jeff itch to blow his brain out.

“Watch your fucking mouth.” A guy from the team hissed, despite Blue telling them to all get in line and pretend like they were just casual customers and didn’t know each other.

“Oi, what’s your problem, man?” The guy waved the scanner around. He looked like a junkie, with that beard and the freckles around his upper shoulder. Jeff hated this place.

“Just ignore him and do the rest of my stuff, please.” Blue sighed and tried to be polite.

“Okay okay. Jeez, you pretty people are demanding.”

Blue did his best to stay emotionless, glaring at the one that had barked out first in the corner of his eyes. Stupid Bob.

Everything would have turned out perfectly fine if that pig of a cashier didn’t spot out Blue’s giant ring when he handed over the cash.

“Fag huh, must have got some sweet sugar daddy.” He muttered, and Blue had already turned toward the door far enough to not hear anything, but others were still in line and every single one of them caught the words perfectly.

They lost their shit in a matter of seconds, pulling their guns out even before Jeff got the order out of his mouth. The cashier looked like he was about to faint when 7 pistols pointed at his face at the same time, lucky for them the whole place was so shitty looking they were the only customers. Speaking about that, the only reason they were here instead of some more decent, nice looking store was that because Blue felt pity for the place at the first time.  

“The…the fuck!” The fucker yelled, looking desperate when Bob went toward Blue, took the plastic bags for him and pulled him close to him, locking the front door of the store and flipping the “CLOSED” sign out. “You… you want money..? He..here, I can get it for you.”

Blue was escorted back to Jeff and immediately he hovered over the smaller man, shielding him close with his massive body mass. Blue pinched the bridge of his nose, groaned and turned his head to murmur near Jeff’s neck. “What did I told you guys?”

“Sorry, but some people just don’t deserve your suffering like this.”

“This is so unsightly!” Blue hissed back when the cashier dumped all the cash out from the drawer without them demanding for any. “Ugh, just put that back please, we’re not here to rob anything.”

“Blue…” One of his guys tried.

“Don’t Blue me!” Blue glared and grunted in that dictatorial voice he rarely used. “I don’t know what the heck my husband had told you, but I don’t like this ridiculous protective shit you’re all pulling.”

He stopped to take a breath, pulling out his phone and yep, Boss was so dead. Blue spent a good five minutes yelling at the speaker in French and judging by the gap between each sentence, Jeff could read Boss didn’t get much speaking in this.

“We’re buying this place.” He stated after closing the phone, eyes staring straight at the cashier.

“Wait, what? This whole place?” The fucker looked disbelieved.

“Yes, this whole place.” Blue repeated nonchalantly. “From now, I want you to invite every homeless person in here and charge free for every item they pick, understand?”

“What the…” The idiot yelped. “Who do you think you are to−”

Jeff fired the gun into the gum rack and the next thing they know, that fat fucker had already run out of the store yelling at the old man pushing the cart across the street.

[inquisitorinquisitor]

Commission: Grayza

Commissioner: Anon.

My first Commission! Hehe

Pairings: GrayxErza

Along with some BrOtp with other people or mentioned possible couples. Enjoy.

It was supposed to be a simple, simple, simple recipe.

Just a simple recipe.

A strawberry shortcake recipe.

Gray did not understand where he went wrong. One moment he had placed the cake in the oven and he turned around to make the frosting when the smell of something burning entered his nose. Quickly turning around to see that smoke was trying to escape the oven. When he went to open the oven door, he burned his hand and smoke filled the entire apartment when he opened it.

The Ice User quickly found a fire extinguisher and fired at the oven. Once he managed to clean up the oven in an attempt to figure out what happened… Gray smacked his forehead when he realized the mold he had used was not meant to go into an oven.

While all of this was occurring, Gray forgot to turn off the hand-held blender that was still in the bowl. The blender shook enough that it fell over and splatted cream, sugar and butter all over the kitchen while Gray attempted to clean up the oven.

Why was he doing all of this?

His and Erza’s first anniversary is coming up and Gray wanted to bake a cake. So far… it was not looking good, not for him, his kitchen and cooking appliances. This was his fifth attempt on making the pastry and it all had similar results.

The first attempt, it actually turned out great, but it had so much sugar that the taste taster had to see the Old Hag for a remedy. Which still reminds Gray that he’ll have to face a very pissed off Lighting Dragon Slayer later that week…

Second Attempt, never in his life did Gray ever see cake bounce…

Third attempt, managed to convince the taste taster to give him another try… now she has to broken tooth. Oh, he’s going to get his butt handed to him but dammit! This cake needs to happen!

Fourth attempt… Let us not talk about that one.

The fifth attempt, this attempt… wrong mold. Just the wrong mold.

Gray raised his hands into the air cursing out the First’s name in vain. His oven is beyond use now, he’s out of ingredients and is girlfriend is due to arrive back at the Guild by the end of the day.

Of course, he had the opportunity to just buy a cake.

No.

That will make things to easy and impersonal.

Gray decided to make a strawberry shortcake himself.

If only he listened to his friends. Go buy a cake. Not be bothered with the hassle. Erza will not even know the difference. The main difference would be the price tag. So, here’s Gray trying to recreate that ridiculous cake to no avail. With the amount of ingredients, he’s spending to make this cake would amount in buy the damn cake itself.

“Dammit… This did not go as planned.” Gray muttered to himself while he took off his jeans and ring out the extinguisher foam and what was supposed to be frosting. With a frown, he looked over at his wallet that he placed on the table and did a mental calculation of how much he had left in there. It was not looking good for him. “I should have just bought that dammed cake to begin with.”

Some time later…

“WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING!!!”

Lucy and Levy slowly edged away from Ezra as she attempted to clothing from scratch. Erza had actually arrived back in Magnolia Town last night with bundles of fabric in hand and ensured no one knew of her arrival. The only ones that knew of her arrival were mainly the ladies in Fairy Hills… as Erza did not bother to keep quiet of her frustration of making a set of clothes for Gray and Lucy. The latter was there to talk to Levy and they heard curses form Ezra’s room. They investigated and well… the entire room had what looked to be unfinished clothing, ripped cloth and several sewing machines thrown around broken.

So far, from what Lucy took note of, several of the pieces Erza attempted to do were done in the wrong sizes, sewn too close to the edges and the wrong material. Two pieces, what assumed to be a buttoned up was done in denim while a pair of jeans was created in statin. They look amazing, but from the Celestial Mage imagined what was wrong with it, wrong material… and uncomfortable.

“Dammit!!!!” Erza cursed out as she accidently sewn over her pointer finger. In frustration, the Requip Mage picked up the sewing machine and chucked out across her room and scaring her occupants. When Erza saw that she had company, her entire expression to one of shock and dismay. “Er… Hi guys… hehe…heh.”

“Here I thought Gray was having problems with his anniversary gift…” Levy whispered to Lucy, watching Ezra looking for a first aid kit for her wound.

“He still is having problems, he came to me and Natsu to see if he could borrow some cash…and out kitchen.” Lucy whispered back defeatedly, shaking her head at the memory. Gray arriving at her apartment only wearing soaking and stained jeans, carrying grocery bags and Natsu following him, whom was laughing nonstop. She took pity on the Ice Mage but threatened if he destroyed her kitchen that he will owe her three months rent. That only seemed to depressed Gray even more.

“Please tell me you did not allow that to happen with Natsu under the same roof?”

“I had to bribe him with a promise of taking him out for breakfast tomorrow.” Lucy face fell at the thought of having to buy Natsu breakfast tomorrow. To top it off, at a buffet. There goes this months rent. “At least Happy won’t be there…”

“Why are you two here?”

Levy and Lucy nearly jumped into the air in complete freight, temporarily forgetting they were still in Erza’s room. “Er….”

“Well?” Erza huffed, she had managed to unsewn her finger and sanitized it before putting on a bandage. She looked around the room to see the mess she had created and inwardly wondered how much fabric she had left… and if any of the sewing machines where still usable.

“Well… ah…” Levy looked up at Lucy and elbowed her for help.

“Ah!” Lucy glared at Levy momentarily, before she looked back at Erza with an uneasy laugh. “We heard noises coming from your room… and we thought you were still on a mission?”

Erza’s entire expression fell at the mention of the supposed mission. It was not even a mission, it was just her wanting to go out and buy fabrics to make Gray something for their anniversary. Which is proving to be more difficult than she originally thought. “How much have you seen?”

“Right when you had sewn your finger.”

“Ugh…” Erza fell to her knees and raised her hand to grip her hair tightly in frustration. “Nothing is working.”

“What are you trying to make anyway?” Levy asked, she picked up some of the pieces that Erza created to take a full look at the unfinished pair of pants. She sweat dropped when she saw Erza is now laying on the carpet, screaming into it.

“Clothes… I have been trying to make Gray clothes…” Erza moaned into the carpet, she looked up to see her friends flinch back when they saw her tears of frustration. “Nothing is working right.”

“Have you asked Juvia for help?”

“Why?”

Levy and Lucy looked at each other and let out a sigh.

“Juvia creates her own clothing, dolls, and have you even seen her room? She’s a natural!”

“She could help you… or you could hire her to make the clothing herself and pass it off as your own.” Levy said thoughtfully, she gave Lucy a pointed look when the blonde sent her a look of flabbergast. “Their date is tonight and she’s at her wit ends.”

“That’s actually a good idea.” Erza had stars in her eyes as she processed what Levy had just told her. That was a very good idea indeed. Now to see of the resident Water Mage is still in her room or at the Guild. Wait… then people will see her and inform Gray of her presence. She slowly got up from the carpet, her friends not seeing her as she began to loom over them. When they did, Levy and Lucy gulped when Erza grabbed hold of their shoulders. “I need you two, to do me a favor…”

Somewhere else in Fairy Hills…

To contrary to the beliefs of many, Juvia did not cause a scene when Gray and Erza announced they were seeing each other. No. None of that. She learned to love herself before she learned to love someone else. In that process she fully let go of Gray and Juvia felt such a heavy weight was gone off her shoulders.

Juvia and Gray actually became best friends, well… not in the same context as him and Natsu, but best friends! Almost exactly like her and Gajeel. Hehe.

A friendship Juvia is becoming to regret. She rubbed her cheek and stomach in pain, never again she is ever going to taste test any of Gray’s pastries. The first time around was just her helping him out. The second time… she should have learned from past mistakes. The resident healer managed to heal her tooth but it is still sore and was having trouble speaking because of it.

Even with the pain, Juvia continued to help Gray with his anniversary gift. She almost snorted seeing the Ice Mage climb through her window with cooking supplies in his arms. Once upon a time she would have squealed and faint at the sight. Now, she’s more annoyed and in pain.

“What does Gray-san want Juvia to make?” Juvia signaled for Gray to follow her to the kitchen area of her room.

Gray looked around the room to see that Juvia gotten rid of everything that had his face on it, except for the photographs him them along with their guildmates and friends. There were random pieces of yellow and purple stern around but not enough to make a massive statement. “I need your help making a cake.”

Juvia froze in her spot, she slowly turned around with a look that made Gray take several steps back. “Come again?”

Gray gulped. “I… need help making… a strawberry shortcake.”

Juvia took in a deep breath and quickly snatched the bags from Gray’s arms. “Leave. Juvia will do this on her own. Gray-san will simply her kitchen.”

Not even to bother with a retort, Gray ran towards the window and jumped out. He did not want to be at the end of Juvia’s anger and he already had go back to Lucy’s apartment to clean it up before she gets back home to see a huge mess he had created.

With a huff, Juvia stomped towards her kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. She nearly jumped out of her boots when she heard a knock coming from her door. Sighing, Juvia wondered who it was. Going over to her doo and opened to reveal Levy and Lucy, very suspicious looking Levy and Lucy. “Yes?”

“We need your help.”

“Well, Erza needs your help with Gray’s anniversary’s gift.”

Juvia took in a deep breath, she looked over where she placed Gray’s supplies warily. “What does Erza-san want Juvia to do?”

Date night…

Erza paced around her room for what felt like an eternity. Her hair was done, make-up to perfection and her favorite red dress adorned her body. She had decided to not where her shoes yet until it was time to go. After sending off her friends to have Juvia help her, they sent word via. Virgo that she has to pick up the gift from Juvia’s apartment before she had to leave to meet up with Gray in front of the Guild.

Looking at the clock Erza decided it was time to go.

Somewhere else…

Gray hung out of Juvia’s window, waiting for her place the blasted cake in an container for him to take. He once again looked around the apartment to see a boxed gift placed on top of a dresses. The Ice Mage had not gotten words that Laxus had returned and isn’t set to return for another half a month. Eh, whatever, not his problem anyway.

“Here.” Juvia handed Gray a white box that contained the strawberry shortcake. “Juvia hopes Erza-san loves it.”

“Thanks, Juvia.” Gray sent her a thankful smile before he dropped down towards the ground.

Juvia let out a sigh of relief and plopped herself down on a plush chair. Friends…

A knock interrupted her temporary peace.

“Come in.” Juvia called out, not even bothering to get up from her spot. She saw Erza popped her head into the room and started to sniff the air. Cold sweat dropped down Juvia’s neck, forgetting about the S-Class Mage knack for smelling out her favorite treat. “Erza-san, are you okay?”

“Did you make strawberry shortcake?” Erza asked with hearts in her eyes.

“I-I made some for lunch.” Juvia squeaked out, a thought ran passed through her mind. “I gave what was left to Levy and Lucy.”

Erza made a mental note of that and looked around the room to find what she assumed to be Gray’s gift. “Thank you, Juvia.”

“Erza is most welcome. I hope you have a goodnight.”

“Thanks!”

Erza took the gift and ran out of the room and Fairy Hills towards the Guild. The sound of her heels clicking against the ground could be heard around the star filled sky. Stress no longer present in her system and only giddiness ran through her system.

It took her around twenty minutes to arrive at the Guild and Erza quickened her pace when she saw the familiar silhouette of her boyfriend. The closer she got to him, a familiar smell filled her nose that caused her to think back at Fairy Hills.

Gray watched Erza come closer to the Guild, at that moment he could not but feel he had won the lottery. For the first time in his life since the death of his parents and teacher, he could finally get close to someone without the fear of them dying in front of him. In truth, Erza is by far the most powerful person he had ever met and is breaking down his wal-Why does that gift look familiar?

Erza and Gray stood in front of each other, staring at each other’s respective gifts questioningly. They both had a feeling where they attained the gifts but kept silent. Should they bring it up? Maybe. Are they? No. Neither of them wants to explain why they went to their common friend for help when they could not do something on their own. Too much pride.

Taking the lead, Gray held out his gift to Erza. “Happy First Anniversary, Erza.”

“Happy First Anniversary, Gray.”  

[kenzieam]

The Return of the Viking Daughter - Chapter 6 (Ivar X OC)

Rating: M - Mature (angst, swearing, violence, eventual domestic violence, eventual attempted assault, eventual smut)

Genre: Drama, angst

@fuckyeahalexhoghandersen @my-emotional-self @bloodyivar @lupy22 @alex-ivar-minx @heathensisterwives @kduran04 @charliexowrite @angryschnauzer @rachiieee @ivarinleatherpants @ivars-heathen-army @neonxwitch @theheathenqueendickubus @dangerousvikings @zpandaqueen @irishhiggins @romanchronicles @didiintheblog  @mercy1997 @kawennote09  @iammarylastar @sparklemichele @son-of-anubis  @beltzboys2015-blog @paranoia-love  @captstefanbrandt  @ivars-valkyrie @fullpeanutkoala @ruler-of-hel @poopercoot @magical-mischief-makers

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*If you want to added or delete to the above list, let me know*

Holy shit everybody! Thank you so much for the support!!    

****************************************************************************************************

I didn’t know what to think, what to do. There was no denying that Ivar’s kiss had felt amazing, but my thoughts were still so cloudy about him. I’d grown up with Ivar, I couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, what if this wrecked the best and longest friendship I’d ever had? Would that spoil the bonds I’d forged with Bjorn, Ubbe and Hvitserk? They were like my own brothers, doting on me and protecting me like I really was their baby sister. He’s already told you his feelings, it wouldn’t wreck anything. Cursing my indecisiveness, Ivar had always been the decision maker in our dynamic duo, I fumbled for the key and chanced a glance at him. To anyone that didn’t know Ivar, he would look expressionless, maybe a little fierce and intimidating, but I knew him and I could see the faint tension around his eyes, he was wondering the same as me, had he just wrecked our friendship, reached too far?

“I just need some time to think,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning, my gaze locked on the centre of the steering wheel. Ivar reached over and I let him softly cup my chin, with fingers far too large and strong to be so gentle, and turn my head towards him. I kept my eyes lowered, scared to look into his eyes, was he willing to give me time? He’d waited years already.

“Sera,” his voice was pleading, a tone I’d never heard from him before and I looked up in surprise.

Ivar searched my eyes, forehead furrowed. He looked.... scared, he looked like he expected me to throw him out of the car and drive away forever and my heart squeezed; I hated to see that anguish on his face, to know that I was the cause, but I respected him too much to lie and I wouldn’t speak before I knew what to say.

Ivar seemed to see this in my eyes, and nodded slightly. His thumb skimmed my bottom lip once more before he pulled his hand away.

“You needed to go shopping?” He asked quietly, letting me off the hook.

I nodded, lip still tingling from his touch. “Yeah.”

The drive to the market was silent and I finally reached over and flicked on the radio. Ivar immediately wrinkled his nose and shot me an incredulous look.

“What the hell is this?”

“Rap.”

“It’s shit.”

“It‘s Tupac.”

“Ugh.” Ivar reached over and began randomly punching at buttons, skimming rapidly through the stations.

“Hey!” I pawed at his hand, trying to drag it away, but Ivar was determined and gently pushed me away.

“Watch the road, Red.”

“Then quit playing with my music.”

“My ears can’t take that anymore. There.” He settled on a classic rock station, which wouldn’t normally bug me, except it was playing the world’s most annoying song, in my opinion anyway, “Every Breath You Take” by the Police.

“There,” he declared, sounding satisfied.

“Jesus Christ Lothbrok, really? The stalker song?”

“What?”

“You never heard that? Sting himself said he never understood why people think this song’s so romantic, he wrote it about a stalker or the government spying on you or something.”

“Bullshit!” Ivar sounded personally offended.

“Google it,” I replied simply, trying to hide my smile. If there was one thing Ivar hated, it was someone correcting him. I could see him side-eye me for a moment before pulling out his phone and I forced myself to gaze impassively forward, concentrating on the drive. After a few moments I heard his outraged scoff and couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping. I glanced over and Ivar was throwing me a massive stink-eye, pouting like a child and I couldn’t stop my giggles from growing into full-fledged roaring, smacking my hand on the steering wheel.

I chanced another glance at him, he was still pouting, but had resumed glaring forwards. I waited a moment, then flicked the radio back to Tupac.

I parked at the market and glanced over at Ivar, who’d remained silent the rest of the drive, even through “How Do You Want It’.

“Are you coming in?” I asked.

“No, sorry Red,” He gestured to his legs and I understood immediately.

“Bad today?”

“No, no more than usual, just don’t want to make them worse.”

“You scared one of Fanny’s friends is going to be in there and demand to see my ring too?” I teased, wanting to know his answer more than I was willing to admit.

Ivar threw me another stink-eye and waved a hand at me dismissively, like a king releasing a thrall. “Just go, Red.”

“Don’t be fucking with my stations while I’m gone,” I threw over my shoulder as I left.

I returned twenty minutes later, having just grabbed the essentials, ignoring the surprised glances that came my way; apparently not everyone in the neighbourhood knew I was back yet.

Ivar was twiddling on his phone when I arrived, and I caught him watching me in the rear-view mirror as I packed the grocery bags into the back.

I jumped back in and turned the key, immediately loud polka music filled my ears and I screeched, reaching over to blindly slap at a hysterically laughing Ivar while I frantically pounded at the radio, finally silencing it. I collapsed back against my seat and caught my breath, I should have know the little prick would do something like this. Ivar was still howling when I decided to retaliate. Leaning quickly over I sucked my index finger and jammed it directly in Ivar’s ear canal. His laughter turned into an roar of indignation and it was my turn to laugh. Ivar scrambled away, flicking and digging at his ear as if I’d just squirted liquid shit in there and I couldn’t help but laugh all the harder. Finally, he stopped swiping at the side of his head and threw me another dirty look. I turned the key and found first gear.

“Fix the radio, asshole.” I laughed.

Sullenly, Ivar poked a few times at the radio and a generic classic rock song filled the cab, it was a decent compromise and I threw him a sunny smile, earning a glower back.

We were almost back when Ivar spoke again, and although he tried to sound neutral, I heard the edge in his voice anyway. “Were you ever going to tell me what Sigurd did last night?”

Shit.

“It was no big deal-”

“Bullshit Sera! He tried to hurt you!”

“He was just being a prick, as usual; don’t worry about it, after Bjorn broke his nose I doubt he’ll try anything again.”

“I don’t like how he looks at you.”

“Did you ever?” I counter coolly, and as the words leave my mouth I wonder why I’m pushing him like this.

Ivar was silent for so long I began to think he'd either not heard me or was refusing to answer, but then he murmured, so low I almost missed it.

"No."

A strange flutter hummed in my chest and I was absurdly grateful to see my driveway dead ahead.

I parked the car and jumped out, trying not to let my hands shake. What was the big deal? Ivar had never liked Sigurd, why was this such a revelation? It wasn't, I realized, but I was aware now of so much more than before.  

I tried, but couldn’t carry all the grocery bags at once and was forced to leave three behind, I hated making second trips and grumbled under my breath all the way to the house. I put the milk, eggs and other perishables away before turning to go back outside and froze. Ivar was just making his way into the house, carrying the remaining three bags and I rushed at him.

“Ivar! I can do that!”

“So can I, I’m not that goddamn useless,” Ivar retorted.

I spun to set the bags on the counter and heard the door shut behind me. My heart sank slightly, Ivar hadn’t even said goodbye.

I turned around and inhaled sharply. Ivar hadn’t left, in fact, he’d moved closer to me, within a few feet. There was an unfamiliar mix of emotions on his face, but I saw that same tortured look I’d first glimpsed in the diner parking lot. Ivar looked.... nervous, for lack of a better word, but he didn’t give me long to dwell on this because he closed the remaining distance between us and stopped, only inches from me now.

He was breathing harder than his exertions merited and his eyes seemed even more supernaturally mesmerizing. My own breathing started getting heavy, my heart beginning to race. His hand came up and cupped my cheek, the tenderness in his touch surprising me. His eyes dropped to my lips, his own parting as his breathing picked up even more. He wanted to kiss me again, and Christ, I wanted to kiss him too.

A jolt shot through me as our lips touched and I reached up, threading my fingers through the hair on the back of his head, pulling him closer, opening my mouth and deepening the kiss, a shiver running through me as Ivar groaned against my mouth, his arm wrapping around me, crushing me to his chest. Like at the diner, this kiss held an edge of desperate want and my pulse thundered in my ears, goosebumps breaking out on my skin. Ivar pulled away first, resting his forehead to mine, breathless as he moaned my name, the anguish in his voice cleaving my heart.

I suddenly realized that I didn’t want to ever hear this misery in his voice again. The thought of causing him pain made my own heart ache. All the excuses I’d fed myself since I’d come home evaporated, drifted away like smoke and a fierce desire took its place. Damn the consequences, damn the reasons why not, damn the potential obstacles, Ivar was baring his soul to me right now, and my soul was answering back.

A shudder ran through Ivar as I cupped his face and pressed my lips to his again, I couldn’t find the words right now to tell Ivar what I was feeling, so I poured them into my kiss, into my touch against his cheek and he groaned as he understood what I couldn’t yet say. With my free hand I curled my fingers into his belt loops and began to pull him gently along with me, leading him towards the living room as I stepped backwards, knowing exactly where I was going without needing to look. Ivar followed me, his muscles trembling as he continued to kiss me, his desire and need finally allowed to show, allowed to the surface.

I reach the couch, my calves bumping against it and Ivar pushed me down, lowering himself gracefully on top of me, dropping his crutch to the ground. Both hands free he roamed them over my body, one threading into my hair while the other curled at my waist, trailing underneath my shirt, his hands tracing fire along my skin. I arched up underneath him, my body igniting at his touch. His hips ground against me and I spread my legs, letting him settle between them, his cock rock hard against my core.

Breathless, we pulled apart, lips parted as we panted, eyes locked together. Ivar cupped my face, trailed his thumb gently along my bottom lip then dropped his head, capturing my mouth in another soul-stealing kiss. His hips thrust against mine and I moaned against his mouth, reaching down to pull at his belt. I needed him inside me now, I’d already waited too long.

Ivar shuddered as I pulled his jeans open and my fingers brushed his tender skin.

“I love you.” He groaned against my mouth.

[puyohero]

Puyo Puyo/Darkwing Duck AU fic “proto-prolouge” chapter

Alright, I’ve got a sort of “prototype-prologue” to my Puyo Puyo/Darkwing Duck AU fanfic up. I’d like to remind everyone that this isn’t exactly final, but I’d like to hear what you all think. Please remember that I’d appreciate it if there was NO flaming and/or harsh criticisms. I spent almost the whole day working on this, you know.

Welcome to Pwurp City. A quaint and relatively peaceful metropolis. However, like all metropolis…metropolises? Metropoli…? Meh…like any other CITY, that’s only what you see on the surface. The truth is, it unfortunately has a bit of a…” problem” with the criminal element…

As the moon lights up the night sky, we see what appears to be a pair of imp-like creatures currently in the process of stealing from a store filled to the brim with all kinds of doodads on the outskirts of Pwurp City.

“Hurry up, will ya?! Ugh…I KNEW this was a bad idea…!” exclaimed a Kosatan, a little blue imp normally seen guarding the depths of Lyla’s Ruins. A massive plot of property owned by none other than the Dark Prince himself, Satan. This particular one was carrying an unusually large bag of golden accessories.

“Hey, hey! Don’t rush me! With our small size, do you wanna try carrying 60 pounds of gold back and forth? Sheesh!” retorted yet another Kosatan.

“I’m just saying, I’d rather we get the heck out of here before someone contacts the authorities. Honestly, why are we even doing this again?”

“Do I really need to go over this again? Lord Satan’s one stingy fella...and hecka powerful. If we asked him to give us a raise, I can’t imagine that conversation would go over so well, could you?”

“…Good point. So now what?”

“Well, we’ve already gotten all this loot, right? I imagine this’ll hold us over for, what? 15-20 years? Heh-heheheh…”

“Well, come on. Let’s move before we get into bigger trouble. Huh…?”

“Hmm? Hey, what are ya standing around for?! Weren’t you the one who was just squawking at me to get a move on? What’s the matter?”

“It’s just…Look, I’m sure this is going to sound REALLY cliché, but…have you ever gotten the feeling you’re being watched?”

“Well, no…but if we stay here any longer, I’m sure I WILL feel it. Which why we should be hightailing it out of here!"

“Huh?…Oh, yeah! Right, right!”

Not too far from the Kosatans, we see a dark shadow watching from afar. It appears that the Kosatan that felt like there was a third party to their little gathering may have been a bit justified in his suspicions feelings after all…

In a large puff of red smoke, the Kosatan reel back in shock.

“Wh—What the heck?! What’s going on?! I—I can’t see worth a darn! Hey, where are you?” exclaimed the more nervous Kosatan.

“Agh! You’re stepping on my foot, idiot! Get off me!” yelled the braver Kosatan “Urgh! Where’d all this red smoke come from??”

“I am the terror that prowls in the night!” shouts a booming voice.

“What—what the heck?! What was that?! Is someone there? No…Lord Satan?!”

“I am the dark shadow that haunts your nightmares!”

“Huh? Wait a minute…that voice…that’s not…��OY! Who’s out there?! Show yourself, punk! Hey, be on your guard, man. I don’t know what we’re dealing with, but we should be fine as long as we hold our ground, and don’t show this jerk that we’re scared.”

“Are you scared right now?”

“W—What? Of course not! What’s there to be scared of? Aside from whoever this is trying to steal the gold we so rightfully stole, this is nothing! That doesn’t sound like Lord Satan, and it’s obvious this isn’t that blue-armored magical chick with the weird pet bunny-thing, so who else is there?”

“So…just WHY are you vibrating like a massage chair...” asked the timid Kosatan in a deadpan manner.

“What? I’m not…” the braver Kosatan notices that his body really IS shaking at an unusually high speed. “Wh--?! Oh, shut up! Heck, I’m more surprised you haven’t wet yourself 10 times over already!”

“Hey! I told you that’s a condition that runs in my family!!” cried the timid Kosatan. “AND I told you that in complete secrecy, you jerk!” he hissed.

“HEY!!!” exclaimed the voice, still hidden in the red smoke and startling the two Kosatan. “If you little trolls are done? I was in the middle of my introduction, thank you very much! Now, as I was saying, I am the terror that prowls in the night! I am the dark shadow that haunts your nightmares! I…am Darkbag Chop!!!”

As the dark shadow finally reveals his true form, we see that this paragon of the dark doesn’t have white hair. He wasn’t even drooling. No, this particular shadow wore a paper bag on his head, wearing slightly oversized black-framed glasses on top of THAT. 

In terms of his clothing, he appears to be wearing a blue fedora on top of the paper bag, along with a blue t-shirt with a white tank top over that. He also wore what appears to be blue and red shoulder pads over his left shoulder and torso. It all seem to come together with the help of a blue cape with a red trim. If one didn’t know any better, one would think this mysterious entity resembled that of…

“What the h--- Arle Nadja?! Quick! Run for your—wait, wait. Hold on now. Di---Did you say…DARKBAG CHOP??? Pppfftt…BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! What are you supposed to be? Some otaku grocery clerk who got lost on the way to the supermarket?” asked the brave Kosatan. “Dude, do you see this chump? Man, and here I thought that perverted Dark Wizard could make himself look like a fool just from opening HIS big mouth! Hey…Hey, did you hear m--Uh…buddy?”

Unfortunately, the timid Kosatan, unlike his comrade, is frozen in fear. Losing the ability to bolt away, there’s only one thing he can do now…

“Waaaagghh!!!! Please don’t hurt us!” cried the timid Kosatan. “Look, we’ll give you whatever you want! I beg of you, please don’t hurt me! I bruise as easy as a Puyo!!”

“Oh, boy…” said the brave Kosatan.

“Please, we only did this to get some extra cash! We didn’t want to do it, but we didn’t have much of a choice! That stingy miser Satan barely pays us anything, and we guard Lyla’s Ruins 24/7!”

Darkbag Chop could only look on surprise at the timid Kosatan who suddenly blew up in a panic in front of him. To say that this was NOT how he pictured fighting some of Satan’s minions…was an understatement.

“Heck, there’s been times where he’s given our paychecks to OTHER Kosatans! We all look the same! We can’t help that!”

“Well,” declared Darkbag Chop. “It still doesn’t change the fact that you little imps were trying to steal all this gold! Sorry boys, but it looks like someone’s going be put away for a while.”

“Like heck we are!” shouted the brave Kosatan. “Come on, bud! Let’s mess him up good!”

“Right! Let’s do this thing!” the timid Kosatan agreed.

“Alright, so we’re doing this the hard way, huh? OK then…come at me!”

The brave Kosatan led the charge, swinging a large wooden club at Darkchop.

Darkchop hops over the club, and lands on it, taunting the Kosatan all the while. He performs a flying backflip off of it…only to get a face full of thrown wooden club, courtesy of the timid Kosatan.

Darkchop, realizing these imps won’t be pushovers, decides to get them separated from each other, to avoid any more team attacks.

Darkchop gets the brave Kosatan to follow him into an alley, and as it attempts to track the paper-bag wearing hero, it doesn’t realize that he’s right behind him preparing to karate chop him into submission. 

That is, until Darkchop clumsily trips over a rock, alerting the imp to his presence. It swings its club at him once again, leading to D.C. just barely avoiding getting his head knocked off his body. D.C. decides to stop playing around, and whips out a pistol-like weapon.

The weapon releases a canister containing of orange powder which lands on the brave Kosatan.

“Huh? Orange powder?  Ha! What’s this? Are you gonna paint me to death? You’re mine, ya paper-bag wearing dork!” shouts the brave Kosatan. ‘ The Kosatan rushes at D.C., but starts to scratch the arm holding his club. And more. And more. Until he can’t stop!

“What the---? My body…My skin feels tingly…Why am I so…? Ah…ah…. Ahhh!! Oh, jeez! Oh, my…What the heck is going on?! Why do I feel so…” inquires the brave Kosatan

“Itchy? Tell me, imp boy. You ever heard something called, Oh, I don’t know…ITCHING POWDER?” Darkchop asks in a taunting manner.

“Itching pow…ITCHING POWDER?!?! Oof…Ahh!! I can’t stop!” cried the brave Kosatan.

Darkchop knocks the brave Kosatan out with a timed chop to the neck, and tosses him in the sidecar of his custom-made Vespa-like vehicle, the ‘Mystical King’.

The brave Kosatan was sprawled out along the ground. The timid Kosatan, who had been watching the entire exchange from a distance was shocked to see how D.C. was handling his comrade. He decides to bolt from all the action before Darkchop figures out that he’s disappeared. All the while, panicking over what to do.

“Oh, man! I gotta get the heck out of dodge before this jerk comes after me too! But where can I hide? Puyo Hell is WAY too far to make the trip. Besides, I doubt Lord Satan will be all too happy that we even caused all this commotion and brought it to his domain.”

Suddenly, the ‘Mystical King’ comes racing down the same path that the timid Kosatan is on, with Darkchop preparing to scoop the little Kosatan up in a net. “Time to go-a-hunting!” yells Darkchop as he grabs the Kosatan just as it notices it’s being chased.

“Waahh!! Wha—What are you gonna do to us?” the timid Kosatan asked, although it was practically dreading the answer.

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little horn. Besides, I already I have an idea as to how I’ll be handling that...” Darkchop explains, in a cryptic manner.

Next thing the Kosatan knows, the ‘Mystical King’ seem to go into overdrive, speeding off into the night.

(Not even 15 minutes later, at Lyla’s Ruins)

Now at Lyla’s Ruins, Darkchop talks to a rather large demon guarding Satan’s castle after handing off the two Kosatan to it.

“Here’s the pair of dastardly little delinquents! Delivered on your doorstep, courtesy of Darkbag Chop! I found them trying to steal some gold from Mr. Oshare’s store.” says Darkchop.

“Thanks, pal. It’s a good thing you took care of this before Lord Satan found out.” said the guard. I’m pretty sure he’s busy in his Carbuncle shrine, and believe you me, he does NOT like to be disturbed when he’s in there, and I don’t want to have to be the poor soul who tells him about all this nonsense.”

“Say, speaking of which...” inquired Darkchop. “While I don’t condone what those imps were doing, have any of you demons ever thought of asking Satan for a raise? As lovestruck as that guy may be more often than not, he never came off as the type to be all stingy and whatnot. Arle and her pet rabbit-thing notwithstanding...”

“Well...would YOU ask Lord Satan, or any demon for that matter, such a question?” asked the guard in a deadpan manner.

Rubbing the back of his head with his right hand, Darkchop sheepishly replies, “Heh-heh...uh, g---good point there.”

Darkchop,prepares to leave, but remembers something he should mention to the guard.

“Oh, hold up! Heh, almost forgot. Soooo…. In the event that any, I don’t know…news stations just HAPPEN to come by here and ask about tonight, just tell ‘em who sent these troublemakers packing…Darkbag Chop!”

“Uh, wha—"

“Oh, and that's two words, not three; the D AND the C ARE capitalized. Here's my photo. If the papers need more glossies, my numbers on the card.” Darkchop chuckled.

“Oh…well, O…K? So, again…thanks for bringing these guys in.” inquired the guard.

With a billow of his cape, Darkchop dramatically spun around and faced the guard.

“Don’t mention it, my good demon! Now, I must go! The despicable odor of crime and general evil-doing…is in the air!!” yelled Darkchop.

“What a self-promoting weirdo…I mean, DARKBAG CHOP? What kind of a stupid name…?” said the guard.

Darkbag left the premises of Satan’s castle, trying to make himself look presentable for the news cameras, only to find…

“What the---So, where the heck’s the press? The news reporters, the journalists, the Twatters?? I THOUGHT this was the new age of high-octane media! 

Where’s the action news when you actually need ‘em? Sheesh…and just after I spent all morning to ironing out my cape and cleaning up my shoulder pads…”

Darkchop boards the ‘Mystical King’, and rides off into the night. Eventually, he makes his way to his hideout, Darkchop Tower. A tall tower located in an uncharted portion of the woods. He flips a small switch on the M.K., causing a long ramp-like structure to shoot out the side of the tower wall, allowing the ‘Mystical King’ access to the tower’s interior.

As he rides in, Darkchop makes his way to the top of the tower, and rides into a large room that appears to be the hangar where he parks the M.K. He leaves the hangar, and enters a corridor leading to the kitchen of the tower.

“Honey, I’m home!” shouts Darkchop. The room is deathly silent, not another soul to be found. Honestly, it’s a little depressing.

“Woof…yet another night cleansed of the criminal element, thanks to…Darkbag Chop! Oh, man…I swear, one look at my Puyo pillow, and I’ll be out like a light. But FIRST!...Some breakfast. I’m starving here…”

Darkchop heads over to his kitchen, which looks somewhat unkempt, but mostly because of all the gadgets he has lying in the tower.

“Alrighty then, let’s see what we got here…Sunny-C, some pink stuff, leftover sake from that little get-together at the Skeleton Bros.’ place, but where is—ah, here it is! Chocolate-chip pancakes, buttered toast, and to top it all off, eggs and bacon! It might mean indulging a bit, but after all that craziness last night, treating myself wouldn’t too much of an issue...”

After making breakfast, Darkchop reads the newspaper to see if he made any headlines recently. Unfortunately, what he sees doesn’t exactly delight him, to say the least. 

“Aw, what?! Still nothing?! ‘Arle Nadja foils schemes of Dark Prince yet again’? Foil evil schemes, my aunt Fanny! Unbelievable! You know, I put my neck out to keep these towns safe from any harm from REAL monsters almost every night!” Darkchop starts up from his chair, marching around angrily while clutching the newspaper.

“What kind of evil scheme is this newspaper even talking about? Knowing the song-and-dance between Arle and Satan, that lovestruck imbecile probably tried to do something to impress her, only for it to end up endangering the planet, and I’ll bet they played Puyo, with her winning yet again!”

Annoyed, Darkchop starts to chug down some orange juice, skip breakfast due to his sour mood and heads to bed. He starts to feel a little bit down in the dumps and goes to change into his pajamas, preparing for a couple hours of deep sleep.

“Arle and that blonde girl and the redhead, they usually seem to have the big stuff handled, and that’s just from popping a bunch of blobs from time to time! Heck, they even seem to have some pretty interesting adventures. Traveling between dimensions, going into space, fighting demon kings and space creatures alike.

“But still, it’s not like I haven’t done anything special! I mean, I kept tabs on that kid with the red arm for almost 3 months…although I DID end up getting flack for it when his teacher reported me to the authorities for bugging her classroom… I just can’t believe it. Me, a superhero getting upstaged by a bunch of Puyo-popping teenage girls! I mean, what the heck?!”

“Hmm…there’s times where I wonder if what I’m doing really matters in the long run. I mean, I fight monsters, spirits, and the occasional mischievous demon every now and then, but does it ever really amount to anything if no one’s aware of my good deeds? I’d like it if I got a chance to take on a big-time baddie like Satan or the Count.”

Darkchop gets up with a start, surprised at himself.

“What am I saying?! Just because I don’t get a headline in a newspaper, or even a short section about my exploits on the news, it doesn’t mean I should just quit the hero business! This town needs a protector, and I’m it! For I am the terror that prowls in the night! I am the I am the cholesterol that clogs your arteries! I…am Darkbag Chop!”

“Besides, it’d be a real shame to have all this cool stuff go to waste. Not to mention, how it was so nice for Wish and her husband to let me rent out their tower. They really are good people. I should probably send them a gift basket. I wonder what they’d like…”

[omnomwithrob]

I could so go for like a huge cookie right now, with like, a lamb kabob simultaneously.

Tuesday August 29th was a significant day for my well-being; it was the day when the kitchen in our new place was unpacked JUST ENOUGH to make our first home-cooked meal in the new condo! I was very excited for this moment - the actual grown-up sized kitchen with adequate storage and counter space was one of the things that attracted us most to this place. Speaking of attractive - hello! 

On the menu for our first home-cooked meal in our new home was a pair of smoked pork chops we’d picked up at the Logan Square Farmers’ Market the previous Sunday (http://www.jakescountrymeats.com/). We honestly don’t often get meat from farmers’ markets since it can be so expensive, but this little package of two was only $5! Not bad for a local product without any nitrates or nitrites, the latter being a quality I always look for in the meat I buy for us.

We wanted the smoked flavor to really shine through, so we only lightly seasoned the chops with salt and pepper before taking them for a spin in screaming hot cast-iron pan. They were ready just a few minutes later, and we served them with some freshly mashed potatoes, gravy, and a little side salad. Let it be known that I usually make my own dressings, but we just moved! Gimme a break.

The pork chops were amazing! Leaps and bounds above your standard grocery store pork chop - they were super juicy, and I’m so glad we didn’t try to compete with the smoky flavor, which was what really made them special. They went very well with the mashed potatoes, which I made with Yukon Gold potatoes (I think they make for the smoothest texture) and a little stump of cream cheese I had hanging around. I also whipped up a little gravy with the pan drippings (plus a little butter, let’s be honest), milk, and rosemary; it was a nice savory compliment to both the smoky pork and the creamy potatoes.

After a very successful dinner, I was stricken by a craving. I needed chocolate cake. And I needed it now. We have seldom had to leave the house for a craving, but at this point in my pregnancy I was still kind of in denial about how intensely I needed a daily dessert, so I had no sweets on standby. And Rob was not about to let me sit there without any cake. I told him we should just hit up the local grocery store bakery section and get it over with, but he wanted me to have the BEST, which Yelp told him was at Dos Urban Cantina, a swanky Mexican place in Logan (http://www.dosurbancantina.com/). We drove all the way there, and they were closed! Not open on Tuesdays, apparently. Rob, steadfast and undeterred, quickly consulted some reviews and sped us over to Wicker Park to Goddess and Grocer (http://www.goddessandgrocer.com/).

They were open! A good first step. I was worried when this little bakery/market didn’t have just a straight up chocolate cake, but they DID have one with Oreos in between the layers. Ugh, twist my arm. And give me a biiiiig glass of milk.

Rather than share the cake with me, Rob decided to try some of their gelato. He ordered the butter pecan, which IS a much more Rob-type dessert than something super chocolatey. Still, he admitted that it wasn’t as good as my cake! I think it was his soft spot for Oreos that drew him in, and luckily for him, I only ate about half of this massive, decadent slice of cake, so there was plenty for us to share later.

Well, that was a very good 1-2 hours in our little food world. It was so wonderful to cook our first meal together in our new home, and I’d definitely recommend picking up some of those smoked pork chops if you’re ever at the Logan Square Farmer’s Market or at other retailers that carry Jake’s Country Meats (I recently saw some for sale at the Dill Pickle). And big thank you to Rob and to Goddess and Grocer for coming through in the clutch -  I couldn’t have survived this craving without you!

Caroline