tiny quiche

Drunk dream is my new favorite dream 🎄

From the literary masterpiece “be your july” by our Ladrien lord and savior, Reiaji 

I wanted to have it done by July 14th and then when that didn’t work, at least by the end of July (how could a piece inspired by “be your july” not be posted in July?) but! here we are instead

For the prompt game! Avatrice.... discreetly.

Thanks for the prompt, sorry it took a geological age! Please excuse my self-indulgent acadaemia-posting, and don't scrutinise the science too hard...

Finn doesn’t really want to be here. It’s all very well his lab lead saying that presenting at these kinds of things is a surefire way to get in the eyeline of future funders, that networking is half of the battle when it comes to being a postdoc, but that doesn’t mean he has to enjoy it. He’s still trying to fumble his heavily annotated lecture slides from the last presentation into his bag as he wades through the buffet crowd, paper plate with tiny quiches and cocktail sausages weaving through the air as he hustles to the main hall – he’s only got a few minutes before the poster tour groups start. He weaves through the neat rows of stands, nods to a few people he vaguely recognises, checks the smudged black ink on the inside of his left wrist – nearly sacrificing a cherry tomato to the floor in the process.

His poster looms like a beacon; after the countless hours he’d spent on the thing he could recognise it from a mile away. He sends his bag to the floor with a complicated, rustling thump – remembers a second too late the loose-leaf notes that are now surely succumbing to entropy, inhales a bitesize quiche to fortify himself for the coming battle.

Restless, he fiddles with his poster stand – wishes he’d brought the tape measure just to check. The venue mounted his poster, and yes, they’ve done thousands, but what if it isn’t quite square? That’d be the worst thing to notice 5 minutes before the first poster circuit begins.

The woman at the next display along seems to be having the exact same struggle. Finn watches from the corner of his eye as she stands, arms crossed over her pressed white blouse, surveying her own A1 display with a critical eye. As Finn fusses with his own shirt – nowhere near as smart as this woman, he laments at the creases he’s only just spotting – the woman reaches for her bag, a small black backpack sat beside a neatly folded jacket and pulls out the unmistakable form of the holy grail of conferences – a spirit level!

Finn sighs, rubs both hands over his face and berates himself for dropping the ball. His poster is definitely crooked. There’s no coming back from this – it’s all anyone will be able to see.

"Would you like to borrow it?" A softly spoken question breaks him from his spiral.

Finn uncovers his eyes to see the sharply dressed woman has stepped away from her poster and is offering him a small smile and a spirit level.

“Oh, god, yes please – thank you!” Finn accepts it like he imagines people accept priceless jewels, into cupped, shaking hands. “I knew I should have brought one, you’re so much more prepared than me!” He gushes, already trotting to his poster board, reaching up on tiptoes to reach the top border of his poster.

The woman huffs out a short chuckle.

“I doubt that.”

Finn checks and checks again – level.

“Of course it’s level…” He grumbles. “I could have sworn…”

“Mine was, too.” The woman offers, with a rueful grin. “Perhaps we are standing crooked.”

Finn laughs as he hands the level back.

“Thanks, at least I know I’m not losing my mind, at least.”

“No, or if you are, then so am I.” She smiles.

“Well, madness loves company.” Finn grins back.

“Your poster looks very interesting.” She stands up straighter as she surveys it, slips her hands deliberately into the pockets of her suit trousers – very faintly pinstriped, now that he notices.

“Thanks, I spent way too long crying over it, so I’m really glad you think so.” Finn sighs, before blinking apologetically at the woman. “Sorry, I mean –“ He fumbles.

“Mine was a beast too, don’t worry.” She saves him, still squinting deliberately at his results sections. He fights the urge to ask her what she thinks of the graph sizes. “There’s something about formatting for A1 that makes everything that bit more difficult.”

“Oh, absolutely.” He agrees wholeheartedly.

“This is really very interesting.” She murmurs, glances over at her own poster. “The organisers grouped us by research area, our fields overlap.”

“Oh? What’s your poison?” Finn asks, immediately wishing any other phrase had come to mind instead.

“I’m a little more clinical than you, it would appear – I’m working on the preliminary stages of a clinical trial for a new antispasticity agent in HSP – but we are both interested in the mitochondrial element of the disease process by the looks of things.”

“Well, you can’t ignore the mitochondrial element,” It’s tripping off his tongue – the bane of every lab meeting, the catchphrase –

“It is the powerhouse of the cell, yes.” His saviour’s quietly amused, quietly accented voice joins his stupid reflexive chant – but she’s laughing about it, and Finn grins widely.

“It is!” Finn shuffles to get a better view of his neighbour’s poster, “and it’s cool that you’re approaching things from that end, I never understood why that wasn’t already a thing.”

The woman hums, steps back over toward her own poster, taps with thinly veiled frustration at her results graphs.

“This is why.” She sighs, full of an unmistakable aggrieved resignation Finn knows all too well. “There was just so much variety in response, I mean –” she sighs again, sketches a circle around one graph in particular, “look at these error bars.” She gesticulates, raises a hand as if to run through her hair but seems to forcibly catch herself mid gesture, instead toying with a ring, twisting it between finger and thumb. “You can’t draw conclusions from results like that.”

Finn frowns, eyes darting over her poster, opens his mouth to refute her maudlin statement, but is beaten to it.

“Dr Silva, that’s no way to talk about your life’s work!” The admonishment is warm, the tone weirdly intimate – but hey, Finn’s met some pretty intense research teams in his time. The so-named Dr Silva startles, and Finn steps back as she whirls around to face the newcomer, expression washing from focussed frown to something Finn would be tempted to call wonder.

The woman who’s joined them is grinning – beaming really, and Finn feels a bit blinded by it. She’s beaming, and also dressed a little bit like one of Finn’s old-school professors - corduroys and everything, and she’s leaning on a heavily decorated cane. She’s also looking at Dr Silva like she’s the only thing in the world.

“Dr Silva,” Breathes his neighbour, confusingly.

“Dr Silva.” Echoes blinding-smile, stretching out the hand not gripping her cane. Finn feels a little bit like that meme his sister keeps sending him of the woman with the volume-of-a-cube calculation around her head.

The Drs Silva clasp hands in what is definitely some kind of fruity handshake, Finn’s deduced that much. This view is reinforced when the taller Dr Silva uses the fruity hand-clasping to draw the shorter Dr Silva into a hug that lasts way longer than Finn knows how to react to, leaving him inspecting his own poster and crunching aggressively through another half-forgotten mini-quiche.

He can’t chew loud enough to avoid eavesdropping though.

“Ava, what are you doing here?” Asks Tall Dr Silva, with frankly uncomfortable reverence. Finn chews harder.

“C’mon, Bea,” murmurs Shorter Dr Silva, “of course I came.”

Finn eats another mini-quiche.

“But your -”

“Bea, I wanted to be here for this.”

“But -”

“Shut up, Bea,” the tone is so wildly incongruent that Finn finds himself glancing over, blinking embarrassedly at the intimate half-embrace he’s faced with. “Obviously I was gonna come and see you present - ”

Finn’s stomach swoops.

“The presentation!” Taller and shorter Dr Silva jolt, and Finn doesn’t blame them – he basically yelled it at them. “Sorry! Sorry, but I just saw – it’s now – the discussion group are just there!”

“Oh, shit, sorry Bea,” Shorter Dr Silva backs up a few paces, but she doesn’t look very sorry. “Also hi, I’m Ava!” She waves jauntily at Finn. “Don’t sweat it about the discussion group, you’ve totally got this.”

Finn is not sure he’s totally got this, but can’t help grinning back.

“God, I hope so.” He brushes slightly sweaty palms over his shirt, dislodges at least half a mini quiche’s worth of crumbs. “I’m Finn. Are you presenting today too?”

Ava barks a laugh.

“God no, not here at least, not my jam. Just here to cheer on my ex-girlfriend.” She grins winsomely, laughing again at whatever Finn’s face does as that sentence lands.

“Ava,” Taller Dr Silva has gone pink, “you’ve got to stop doing that. Ignore her, Finn. Ava is my wife.”

Finn can’t really help but laugh.

“Whatever, Bea, just be glad I found something funnier than ‘my ex-doctor’.”

Finn snorts, incredulous – he’s pretty sure Ava just winked at him, though, so he doesn’t feel too bad about laughing.

“Ava, please.” Taller Dr Silva covers her face entirely this time.

“Ahh shoot, gotta go, the discussion group is nearly here. Finn, nice to meet you, you’ll crush it. Bea?”

Ava trots all up into Taller Dr Silva’s space, tugs on the hand still over her face. She laughs at whatever expression she is met with – Finn’s trying not to watch too obviously.

“Dr Silva,” murmurs Ava, before pressing a kiss to the taller woman’s lips.

“Dr Silva.”

Taller Dr Silva’s cheeks stay pink for her full 10-minute presentation – which is flawless, of course.

🌌

new group pic of the main squad from h+h!!!

consider: pocket bubby

OMG POCKET BUBBY!! He finally gives those heart pockets a use on shirts :D He’s literally travel size finally. You could actually dip him in your coffee (pls don’t) and make him a miniature house with those little chairs and such :’) So many good ideas with just two words! Thank you Anon <3 You have made my day with this!

Why is it that when a mandatory work meeting advertises free breakfast, it’s always sad fruit?

my brain - cupcakes

me - nice

my brain - with meat

me - um

my brain - cupcakes with meat

me - wt fuck

physical therapy, part 5

--

Dream has been working with the modelling clay. Hob was right, it is more soothing and enjoyable than simple exercises, which mostly serve to remind him of his deficits. With the clay, he can make small figurines, and has been making cats and birds of all colors, firing them in the oven and arraying them on top of the kitchen cabinets. They add a few more small spots of color to the gray tones of his flat.

He has also been painting again, trying out a new technique with a larger brush that is easier to hold. It is strange, to work in broad swathes of color instead of the tiny details he is used to. But. Interesting. It makes him think more in shapes and general shades, the simple layering of light.

He is painting cats again. He has always wanted a cat, but some instinct always stopped him from following through. Now, he thinks that deep down, he had been afraid of what might befall it. His home had not been safe for a small animal. Nor for Dream.

This cat, he thinks, is mischievous and clever. He thinks he might give the painting to Hob, except it is not yet done.

For now, he goes, nerves prickling in his stomach, to the coffee shop Hob had suggested. He has not dated someone new in a long time. He is not certain what he is supposed to do. He does not know how to impress Hob. He does not know how to make Hob want him.

At least he can be assured that his current imperfections will not be a problem. Hob already knows about them. He already knows about a lot of things that are wrong with Dream.

Still, he dresses in one of his nicest outfits--it's new, actually, like most of his clothes, but he likes it nevertheless. Hopefully Hob will as well.

He goes to the cafe. He is a bit late, after dithering nervously outside for some time, and so Hob is already waiting for him. He looks uncertain, but then brightens when he spots Dream.

He looks... nice. Dream is used to seeing him in athletic wear. Now, he is in dark jeans and a jumper that looks very warm and soft. His hair is loose instead of tied back; Dream hadn't realized how long it actually was. He wonders, as he walks over, if Hob might hug him again.

And then he does. He pulls Dream into his arms without hesitation, and his body is very solid, his jumper, indeed, very soft. Dream makes a quiet, wanting noise, and Hob only squeezes him tighter.

"Hi, darling," he says. "You look lovely." Darling. For having expressed that he doesn't want to move too fast, he is being rather generously affectionate in how he treats Dream.

"Hello," Dream says quietly, and then Hob bids him sit down while he orders coffee and pastries for them, because he is apparently determined to be chivalrous. He's also sat them in the corner of the room. Kind. Considerate. All things Dream's ex had never been. He wonders if he should have expected such treatment all along.

Hob returns with coffee and some sort of small quiche-like pastries for them. Dream rather tends towards sweets but he has also not recently consumed anything that could be considered as having "nutritional value"--packaged biscuits hardly count--and so he considers this good judgement.

Dream takes a sip of his coffee. This, at least, is gratifyingly sweet. Then he says, "I have something for you."

His painting is not yet ready, but he's brought a tiny figurine for Hob. He passes Hob the tiny cat from his bag. It's one of the more elaborate ones, mixed blue and red clay in a tuxedo pattern. Hob smiles as he takes it. "You made that from the clay?"

"I made many. They are parading about my flat."

"Good." Hob sets the little cat on the table by his coffee. "How's the hand?"

This time Dream shows him without hesitation. Hob takes his hand, nodding in approval when Dream demonstrates the range of motion.

"I still fear it is not quite right," Dream admits, though he can concede that it is much improved, and rarely hurts at all now.

"Patience," Hob says, though not without sympathy. He is right, of course, only Dream is... a bit frustrated. When it had first happened, he had mostly been... numb. Then, for a while, hurt. Confused. It is only months later, and perhaps because Hob's kindness has been illuminating, that something hotter, more like anger has trickled in. Anger with his ex, perhaps, though that is still strange to feel. Anger mostly with himself, for not seeing it. Frustration that he has gotten himself into this.

But he tries to put it aside for now. He wants to enjoy being with Hob.

Only... "I confess that... I do not quite know how to do this," he says, with some hesitance.

"This?" Hob asks.

"Dating. If that is what we are doing."

"Is that what you want?"

Hesitantly, Dream nods. It is. He thinks that perhaps Hob was right, and the more reasonable decision would be to wait longer. He thinks that if he hadn't met Hob, he would not have dated for a very long time, indeed. But it feels so monumental to accept what he wants. And... good. Tentatively.

"Okay, then," Hob agrees.

"You... have not told me what you want," Dream points out.

Hob chuckles, wincing. "Ouch, you're right. Well, I wanted to hear it from you first, anyway." He's still holding Dream's hand, and squeezes it lightly. "Yes, of course I want to date you. I thought you were so pretty from the moment I first saw you. Didn't say it then, for obvious reasons. And on top of that, I think you're lovely all around, and a fabulous artist, and I admire so much how you've picked yourself back up."

"You do not know everything about me," Dream says, though truly he's stuck on pretty, lovely.

"...That's the point of dating."

Oh. Perhaps it is.

Well, if they are doing compliments, he can play, too. "I think you are very kind. And quite good with your hands."

Hob laughs, and Dream feels a blush rise to his cheeks. He... did not actually mean it to be innuendo, but perhaps he does not mind so much if it is.

"Well, thank you," Hob says, which only makes Dream blush more.

Mercifully, Hob changes the subject by pushing one of the little quiches across the table toward him. "Try this. They're really good here."

Dream has not yet explored this neighborhood much. His prior flat had been on the other side of the city. He will have to take Hob's word for what is worth trying.

He picks up his fork--alas, another test of his dexterity, though not so ambitious as chopsticks--and takes a bite of the quiche.

It is good, egg and cheese and spinach, and the crust is so flaky he loses some of the crumbs and has to lick his lower lip to catch them. Hob watches him, half merely fond, half tracking the swipe of his tongue. But when Dream meets his eyes again he just smiles brightly.

"It is very good," Dream confirms, "especially considering my recent diet has consisted mainly of biscuits."

This makes Hob laugh. "I'll have to cook for you some time, then. Can't have you living like that."

He's kind and handsome and he can cook. What a catch. It sounds like Desire's voice. Unlike your last one, hm, Dream? The thought is fond rather than annoyed, though, not least because he's now forced to agree. Desire had never liked his ex-boyfriend, but based on their general track record Dream hadn't been particularly inclined to listen to their advice. But Desire has always had a more intuitive sense of people than he has.

"I would like that," he says, and Hob beams. He is easy to please. It's a welcome contrast.

Over the course of the date he manages to learn more about Hob, outside of his work as a physical therapist. He goes to the gym a lot, which Dream probably could have predicted. Perhaps he will see if he can tag along some time. Exercise is not exactly his strong suit but he thinks he might like to be... stronger. So that if someone comes at him again, he could escape.

He also learns that Hob wants kids but hasn't pursued it strongly as he cares more about having the right partner. It's something that Dream wants, too, but had always been hesitant and nervous about in his prior relationship, even more deeply than his instinctive hesitance about having a pet. He remembers at one point feeling grateful that he was not a person who could become pregnant. Which. Should probably have been a red flag. In retrospect.

He's realizing a lot of things in retrospect.

Overall Hob's life seems very... stable and consistent. Which is perhaps what Dream needs right now.

Partway through the afternoon, Hob stops and says, "You seem cold."

Dream is, perhaps, slightly regretting how thin his shirt is. It is not quite summer, yet. But it does look good, and that had felt more important when he was getting dressed.

"I suppose," he admits, "but it is--"

Hob is already pulling off his jumper and handing it to him. Dream stares at him incredulously, but finally, hesitantly, takes it. "You will be cold," he says.

"Nah. I run hot anyway."

So Dream puts the jumper on, and the corners of Hob's eyes crinkle as he smiles, and Dream wonders if perhaps giving it to Dream is bringing Hob more joy than being properly protected against the cold.

"Thank you," he says, twisting his hands in the sleeves. It really is very soft, and warmed by Hob's body. And. He finds that it is making him happy. Not only being warmer. But that Hob wanted to make him feel warmer.

Later on, Hob walks Dream home again. At his door, Hob leans in to kiss his cheek, as he had once before--but Dream turns his head and catches his lips instead. He can't help it. Hob laughs, but lets him, holding Dream's face between his hands, kissing him light and sweet, but with definite banked intent. It stirs something low in Dream's belly, and he makes a happy sound against Hob's lips.

He almost wants to invite Hob in, but senses it might be a bad idea, and that Hob would likely decline anyway. Another time. And maybe by then Dream will have his flat looking more like someone actually lives there.

"Your jumper," he realizes, as Hob pulls away. He's still wearing it.

"Keep it," Hob tells him, then grins. "Until you see me again."

He truly does have a way of drawing Dream in again and again, without ever truly making him feel pulled.

"Soon, then, so you won't freeze," Dream says, and Hob laughs.

"Soon," he agrees. Then, as usual, "Goodnight, Dream."

It is not quite night, but it still feels a fitting send off.

"Goodnight," Dream murmurs, once Hob's gone. Tucks his nose into Hob's jumper, taking in his scent. Then retreats back into his flat.

I love Be My Favorite

Y'all, if this show does me dirty, I will be inconsolable because I love it so far. This is like Paris Hilton's debut album all over again. I showed up because I was interested in the mess, yet it's turning into a masterpiece. I'm watching this at normal speed with the sound on, and that is the highest compliment I can give to a show.

Kawi is incapable of shutting the hell up, so there are no secrets beyond the time traveling one, and he can't even keep that a proper secret. Homie is spilling all the tea all the time. Pull up with some Earl Grey and scones because we are sharing too much information at this table today.

That argument between Kawi and Pisaeng leading to this was the cream in my tea.

FUCKING DELICIOUS!

Pisaeng calling Kawi out for being fickle with his feelings just for Kawi to throw that shit back into Pisaeng's face and call him a hypocrite since Pisaeng isn't clear about his feelings for Pear, AND because this is a layered conversation, it's also about Pisaeng not being clear about his feelings for Kawi. This is the quiche of this tea time because it was feeding my soul and filling.

BECAUSE PISAENG WAS HONEST ABOUT HIS FEELINGS!!!!!

ALL OF THEM!!!!

These damn head nods this week are going to be the end of me! First Step by Step's Jeng, and now Pisaeng coming in with the head nod of admission. It's like the little cake you get once the tea is over. It's tiny, but it's a special treat after you thought you already had everything you needed.

And Pisaeng might even tell Kawi next week how he feels, but Kawi already knows because of the future, so the issue could only stem from Pear not knowing it's Kawi, and that's okay because the visuals of Pisaeng, blurry and unfocused, being in the background and in between Kawi and Pear the entire time they had this conversation is such a good scene that I'm biting my knuckles like I do when I see how cute the tea setup is.

Oh and Pear being an actual character and GOING OFF at those idiots was the cucumber sandwich at this tea time aka the best part.

Because she doesn't need to romantically like Kawi to know that Knot and the seniors are bullies. Kawi is trying to fit in, but from being pushed into the pool, and forced to drink, to recording the confession, they really proved they ain't shit and should not be invited to classy events like tea time.

Kawi wants to belong, but on his way along the road he thinks leads to perfection, he is gathering actual supportive friends who will help him to his real happy ending. This is the blueberry jam and lemon curd for the scones. Some may ignore them, but they are absolutely necessary to enjoy the journey.

Because all roads lead to DJ Squirtle.

No, this DJ Squirtle.

Earl Grey himself and the entire reason I LOVE this show.

Please, baby Jesus with the historical accurate skin tone, continue to serve me this good ass tea.

Amen.

I cannot for the life of me get this idea out of my head…so…

Like we all know Steve, the beautiful single mother of 7, can cook. Has learned to cook a variety of meals and treats. Knows everyone’s favorites.

Max loves roast with mashed potatoes and glazed carrots. Erica loves quiche. El loves French toast with fresh strawberries and lots of syrup. Mike loves tomato soup and grilled cheese made with soft buttered rolls. Dustin loves chicken nuggets with homemade honey mustard sauce, and Steve knows he prefers steamed broccoli even though he won’t admit it. Lucas loves eggplant Parmesan with diced olives in the marinara. And Will loves homemade chicken noodle soup, for which Steve makes fat egg noodles and his own broth.

Steve even knows the older members of The Party’s favorites. Nancy loves vegetarian curry, the spicer the better. Argyle loves chicken pot pie. Jonathan loves meatloaf with buttery peas and roasted sweet potatoes. And Robin, love of his life, loves soft scrambled egg over rice.

He knows all their favorite snacks too. Learns to make potato chips, mini pizzas, pigs-in-a-blanket, popcorn. Always has fresh fruit and veggies with a variety of homemade dips. And when Hellfires starts playing at his house, he learns all of the members favorite snacks too.

He even makes an actual 7 course meal for the end of a Hellfire campaign for Will’s birthday. It impresses everyone.

And none of them complain about the desserts. He learns to bake cookies, brownies, cinnamon rolls, cakes. Anything they ask for, he delivers.

And Eddie, he loves all of it. Will eat anything without fail. Tells Steve after every meal it was his favorite. And when pushed about what is *actually* his favorite food Eddie will say something like, “Babe you could serve me a phone book covered in gravy and I think it would be delicious if you made it.”

So Steve figures Eddie just loves food or there’s something only Wayne knows how to cook a certain way and that’s Eddie’s favorite.

But one night Steve is exhausted. It’s just Eddie and Steve alone for dinner. And Steve just doesn’t have it in him to actually cook. So he makes a box of Kraft mac and cheese. Does the bare minimum. Boils the noodles adds salt. Mixes in the butter, milk, cheese powder. Sprinkles in a tiny bit of nutmeg. Adds cracked pepper. Globs some hot sauce in it. Then serves it.

And Eddie loses his goddamn shit over it.

And Steve can’t comprehend it at first. All of the extravagant meals and this…THIS is what Eddie flips out about.

Steve ends up making a lot of Kraft mac and cheese.

Handle with care... May bite

Hi, please could I order a mini spinach quiche with Eddie Munson but there's only one bed?

you are formally invited to ddejavvu's 10K dinner party, now serving hors d'oeuvres

--

"Okay, you need to- no, Eddie, that's not what I mean! Move this way," You grab his arm, maneuvering it out from underneath your back and tucking it to his side, "There. That way I can lay down and- no!"

He lifts it, bringing it around your shoulders and squeezing you to him so tightly you can barely breathe. You're regretting your decision to share your tiny twin bed with your best friend right about now, as your cheek squishes against his guitar pick necklace hard enough to imprint the shape onto your skin.

"Sweetheart," Eddie huffs, frustration evident in his voice, "I gotta. If I don't, I'll fall off."

"I think one of us just needs to take the floor," You conclude, wincing slightly as Eddie's foot prods at your own, "There's not enough room."

"No, no! There's totally enough room!" Eddie insists, jostling the bed as he scrambles to sit upright, "Lay down, sweetheart."

You comply with growing suspicion as he hovers over you, but before you can ask what he's doing, the wind is knocked from you as he flops down on top of you.

"Eddie!" You nearly wake your parents in the next room over, eyes wide as he burrows his face into your chest, "Eddie this is not working, you can't squish me all night!"

"Squish you," He mumbles ruefully under his breath, "Stop being so dramatic!"

"I think you're crushing my guts," You moan dramatically, letting out a sharp cry when his elbow digs into your side for a split second while he gets comfortable, "There! Crushed, decimated, gone-zo."

"Gonzo," Eddie chuckles, his voice muffled into your shirt, "He's my favorite muppet."

"Yeah? Well, you remind me of animal," You jab him harshly in the ribs, ignoring his indignant shout, "A rockstar with scruffy hair and a penchant for noise."

marinette please put your chaton out of his misery and smooch him silly

AO3

Pairing - All sides of the square

Prompt - ‘Gradual Reveal’

Summary -

"No, no. In fact, I just came out of the building now. Maman and Papa have made our favourites for lunch, even their special salmon and spinach quiche that you love! With extra salmon! I hope you're excited~" She continued to act oblivious, secretly relishing the way his eye momentarily twitched and the way he tried so hard not to vibrate on the spot with a little frustration. He was so Chat Noir right now that she wanted to shake her past self up for not realising it sooner!

"Homemade cooking from a fellow Lady's parents? And made especially for a stray like me? How marvellous~!" His sharp nose was grazing hers now, an unbreakable habit of his when he was internally daring her to do something as their masked personas.

And right now, he was daring her to keep up with her pretences, probably more than aware that she has caught on to his identity for a little while now (perhaps even knowing before he declared his own knowledge of her civilian identity).

"Can you really call yourself a stray if you're with me?" She dared back, challenging him to show himself with one of her brows raised attractively and a smirk playing on her pretty pink mouth.

"That depends if I'm yours or not, Marinette,"

~(x)~ . . . "Noooooo...you promised!" Chat Noir wailed childishly, arms scrambling around his Lady's waist to prevent her from leaping away from the rooftops and leaving him for the night after their long patrol. His beloved heroine simply rolled her eyes at him, albeit fondly and patted his fluffy head almost mockingly. He was such a cat at times. "My Lady???" "Yeah, I promised to stay for ten minutes longer. Not over three hours, mon Chaton," Her partner only tightened his hold on her with another silly whine, burying his face into her stomach whilst still on his knees. "But time flies so fast when we cuddle! It felt like two seconds!" "That's on you for falling asleep on me." "But you were so warm and comfy and smelled so good, my Lady! You're a walking, talking sleeping spell!" This time she couldn't help but giggle out loud at her partner's dramatics, seating herself back down and letting him hold onto her tighter, his body stubbornly wrapping itself around her tiny frame as if he were a blanket. "We have school, silly Chaton," She tapped his nose with her pointer finger only for him to defiantly shove his face in her neck, her body shaking from the tickling sensation. "Chat Noir..." "Just...ten more minutes? Please?" He then faced her with a cheeky grin that spelt nothing but trouble for her. "Unless you want to come home with me and cuddle~? That way you get your precious sleep and I get all your warmth~?" He expected a scoff. A light reprimanding about their secret identities. . He didn't expect the way she watched him with wonder and the way her expression smoothed into a sweet, sweet smile. "Maybe next time," Her heart swelled from the way elation and adoration were quick to make way on his adorable face, his feline greens glittering with joy and his faux tail waggling behind him excitedly. "Okay?" "R-Really? You mean it!?" His face was a mere breath away from hers, their noses barely grazing. Though they've breached personal boundaries and spaces numerous times, it never failed to take her breath away. And right now was definitely no exception. "Yes. Yes, I do." This time, he was the one observing her thoughtfully, one of his hands cradling her cheek and a clawed thumb rubbing the ridge below her eye. Ladybug felt like she was put under a spell by his captivating eyes and loving touches, her heart pounding inside her chest even harder and her complexion so red, it could have blended in with her mask and suit. It took her everything to not flicker her eyes to his peach-pink, soft lips because he would surely catch her in the act and would probably take the initiative and- "What if...what if I already know who you are? What if I've worked it out a long time ago but kept it a secret, My Lady?" She would've been a little more surprised had he told her this months ago. However, she's now more than aware of how perceptive and smart and cunning her partner is, far from shocked about his revelations. It's as if she knew deep down inside that he would find her in due time and had faith in his skills from the start. "Then, it would only be fair for me to find you too in our other lives, right?" Her answer was met with a huge beam from Chat Noir and then he suddenly tackled her down on the rooftop within his embrace, earning a quiet yelp from the impact. "Please, please, ple-eeeease, find me quick, Marinette. I won't be able to hold back now knowing that you want to see me too," His fluffy head was met with a tender, soft kiss. ~(x)~ She figured him out. Sure, she too has been harbouring her suspicions for a little while, especially since he's opened himself up more in class and how she's peeked over her anxious feelings to finally, finally just see how much he adores her to bits (how much he genuinely loves and adores her and how he's always looking for reasons to stay around her for longer or looking for opportunities to get closer). But those suspicions have turned into concrete knowledge. And right now? She's been testing his buttons just for fun because nothing is more hilarious than seeing her silly Chaton come up with all sorts of hijinks and shenanigans, especially when it comes to matters relating to her and her heart. . "Hey, salut Marinette!" A beaming Adrien enveloped her unsuspecting frame in a huge hug and then pressed a huge kiss on her cheek as a greeting, his own rosy with both love and joy. "Did I make you wait too long?" He leaned into her face, both his hands holding hers against his chest just above his adorably pounding heart and watching with a pleading expression. She could practically hear his thoughts. 'It's me, My Lady! I'm right here! Your Chaton is right here! Miau!' Instead of falling for his pleading looks and actions, however, Marinette only smiled gently, plastering a faux innocent look and fluttering her dark lashes at her partner in terrible disguise. "No, no. In fact, I just came out of the building now. Maman and Papa have made our favourites for lunch, even their special salmon and spinach quiche that you love! With extra salmon! I hope you're excited~" She continued to act oblivious, secretly relishing the way his eye momentarily twitched and the way he tried so hard not to vibrate on the spot with a little frustration. He was so Chat Noir right now that she wanted to shake her past self up for not realising it sooner! "Homemade cooking from a fellow Lady's parents? And made especially for a stray like me? How marvellous~!" His sharp nose was grazing hers now, an unbreakable habit of his when he was internally daring her to do something as their masked personas. And right now, he was daring her to keep up with her pretences, probably more than aware that she has caught on to his identity for a little while now (perhaps even knowing before he declared his own knowledge of her civilian identity). "Can you really call yourself a stray if you're with me?" She dared back, challenging him to show himself with one of her brows raised attractively and a smirk playing on her pretty pink mouth. "That depends if I'm yours or not, Marinette," His emerald eyes were intense and bright, flickering to her baby blues and then shamelessly resting on her lips yearningly. Desperately. Hopefully. Tempting her to give in without any words. Unfortunately for him, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is the definition of competitive. "Of course, you're mine! You're my very good friend, after all, Adrien!" Merrily hooking one of her arms up with his, silently cackling at his extremely baffled appearance, she led him away towards her humble abode. She pretended to ignore his low, scoff-like remark of: "How could you say this to your future husband, My Lady!?" ~(x)~ "Oh, good evening to you too, Chat Noir." Marinette continued to work on her midnight project, rattling away with the sewing machine and a light grin playing on her lips whilst he pitifully glowered from her bed like a kitten who was denied his treats. Like a swift shadow, he swept his way towards her, towering over her frame from behind and emeralds fizzing with slight annoyance. "You totally know who I am," He hissed, hands on his hips and chin now resting on the crown of her head as she continued to work without a beat. "Marine-eeeeette...you're so me-eeean...why are you torturing me?" He growled childishly as she giggled but then he couldn't help himself and wrapped his arms around her neck like a desperate lover, placing his cheek on her head now. His faux tail swished obnoxiously behind him and his feline ears plastered themselves upon his blond dishevelled locks. "I have no idea what you're talking about, mon Minou. I'm simply taking my time being thorough and observant in my mission~ I thought you'd be happy?" She finally faced him, wheeling her chair around, mischievous sky blues shadowed by her long lashes whilst he tenderly rested his forehead on hers. "So you're telling me that you still haven't figured it out? You? The most smartest, amazing, wonderful girl I know?" He brazenly draped himself on her lap without a care in the world, nuzzling his face into her neck like his namesake. "You? Who comes up with all those insane lucky charms and plans?" "Looks like not even Lady Luck can figure out the elusive Chat Noir, hmm?" The bamboozled, annoyed look on his face was more than enough to make her laugh like a drunk hyena, losing all of her composure and holding onto his body to stop herself from falling off her chair. "F-Fine! You may have won the battle but you've yet to win the war! Mark my words, My Lady! I'll prove to you that you already know my identity! And then I'll get all the cuddles I want!" With a harrumph, he was about to make his way to the loft and then out to the balcony, only to pause and for his iconic devilish smirk to plaster itself on his face. His tail fluttered and swayed behind him as she cutely cocked her head to the side, wondering what was going on in that silly head of his. He ventured back towards her, bending down dramatically to meet her level so that their fringes intermingled when he leaned his forehead against hers anew. "Aren't you forgetting something, ma belle~?" He waggled his brows comically, his tail curving up into a prominent heart behind him and his hands clasped behind his back. She raised a brow at him, a smile still on her face. "And what would that be, mon chou chou?" "A. Good. Night. Kiss?" He tapped her lips with every word, emphasising them, a chuckle vibrating through his chest when her cheeks coloured in a beautiful strawberry hue. He totally charmed her~ Though, her flustered face didn't last for very long, her eyes shutting innocently and a sweet smile back on her lips. "Of course~ come," Savouring the victorious giggle from her unsuspecting partner, she brought his face closer by cradling his jaw and then... "PFFFFFFFFTTTTFTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!" "HEY!?" She blew a raspberry into his cheek. Marinette continued to cackle and wheeze like he was the biggest joke of the century, clutching her stomach and rolling on the floor whilst her Chaton remained frozen ridiculously on the spot. One hand on his slobbering cheek and his poor face left extremely agape as if he couldn't comprehend what the fuck has just happened. Every time his faux ears or tail twitched at the slightest, the girl simply guffawed even louder, ramming her fist against the floor as if she's inhaled a lifetime's worth of laughing gas. There were even tears seeping out of her eyes too! Finally, her partner regained back some level of conciseness, kitten ears drooped and a big pout resting on his wobbling lips. "Oh, I see how it is," Without a warning, he leapt to her loft and then to her bed at incredible speeds, grabbing his 'well-deserved consolation' prizes as a determined scowl remained tattooed on his face. "Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing with my pillows and my Monsieur. Cat!?" Marinette barely wobbled back to her legs, rushing to the end of her ladder with the little energy she had. "They're mine now! au re-miau!"  And then without a beat, Chat Noir leapt out through the balcony and darted his way back home, leaving Marinette's pink bed devoid of her beloved pillows and giant cat teddybear. Oh, that stupid cat! ~(x)~ When Adrien finally settled in his bed with a huff, surrounded by the many items he shamelessly stole from Marinette's humble abode, he received a text from said love of his life. Eyes narrowed, even with the curious Plagg on the shoulder, he opened the message. His heart pounded so thoroughly against his chest and his face took on a huge red bloom. Message: From "Ma belle Princesse" Content: Image Description: 'This could've been you tonight, silly Chaton. Have fun sleeping alone with Plagg~' And the image was of her cuddling her homemade Chat Noir stuffed teddybear, a cheeky smirk resting on her kissable lips which were pursed against her beloved creation's head. The boy was filled with understandable envy and jealousy and his tiny little companion did nothing but cackle wildly at his wielder's blatant misery which was quite well deserved. "Nooooooooo! That could have been meeeee!" ~(x)~ A pouting, messy-haired Adrien popped his head out of the blankets with a grimace, his arms around the giant cat teddy bear and his body surrounded by his beloved's abundance of pillows. He merely narrowed his eyes in mock anger as Ladybug remained seated on the open ledge of his window, a charming smile resting on her glistening lips and her baby blues warm with all the love she has for him. "You're not taking these back, you know. Mine. All mine." He cuddled the plush tighter, shoving his face into it childishly and pouting even more as his Lady giggled softly, making her way towards him. She placed a gloved hand on his head, combing her fingers through his soft, silky hair as a betraying purr vibrated within his chest. He faced her once more in defeat, wondering what she was going to do. "So you're saying there's no space for me?" Ladybug kept on her cool, impish smile as he shot up from his position, stray strands of his hair like golden wisps and emeralds glittering wonderfully like his namesake. "Y-Yes! Come! There's so much space- ey, Plagg! Budge up! You don't need all that space!" He continued to squabble with his troublesome kwami, the little God purposely riling him up and then finally taking his own pillow (which was about twenty times his minuscule size) and heading upstairs where they expected Tikki shall join him later. Adrien then turned and eyed his Lady with expectation, hugging her pillow to his chest and raising a brow charmingly. "So~? Does that mean I was right? That you absolutely knew all along and were just totally messing with me? And totally botched up that goodnight kiss I absolutely deserved because you felt like torturing me~?" He leaned in closer when she sat down on the bed, crossing her legs and pressing tiny her shoulders against his. "I have no idea what you're babbling about, civilian. I'm just casually breaking and entering into your home so that I can steal your bed." Her words ended in a whisper when he leaned even closer to her, his minty breath brushing her sensitive, dewy lips. "You're more than welcome to steal my bed if you detransform, Bug," He grazed her collarbone with a searing finger, eyes pleading and his delectable warmth just so inviting. She wanted nothing more than to just dive in. Eyes fluttered closed once more, she released her transformation, adorned in her fluffy pyjamas and then immediately tackled down to the bed by her purring, ecstatic partner. A sweet laugh escaped her when he held her tighter, the dopey smile on his lips tickling her skin and his hair just so, so soft. He opened his eyes, lifting himself by an elbow and lowered his forehead back on hers. His silent, desperate question was more than obvious to the girl. "Alright, you can have your kisses, come." She wrapped her arms around his neck, quietly giggling from the way his purring helplessly increased in volume until she was silenced by his eager, sinful lips. . Teasing him was so worth it~ . . . ~(x)~

LBTE: Jared (164-166)

In which interviews are viewed, closets cleaned, and nobody is Mr. Darcy.

If you'd like to follow along, the series page is here.

164. Object of Fun

Jared sinks deeper into his spot, taking several angry sips of his beverage, aims a glare at the back of Bryce’s head as he gesticulates at a group of rapt rookies, for not being as grumpy about this as Jared is, and waits for Stephen to make his way over. It doesn’t take long. He can’t help himself.

“Why are you here?” Jared demands.

“Hi Jared,” Stephen says. “So lovely to see you.”

Whatever the opposite of a ray of sunshine is? Jared is that. Disgruntled storm cloud.

Mortifying himself in front of his teammates is one thing, total strangers is another. Not that Stephen’s a total stranger, but — it’s the principle of the matter. The principle of the matter says that Stephen should not be here to mock him.

Stephen disagrees. He thinks it’s very important he is here to mock him.

Jared’s still sputtering with indignation when Gabe comes over, takes one look at Jared, then sighs.

“What’d you say to break Math?” Gabe says.

“I said hello,” Stephen says.

“He also told me to learn to take a joke!” Jared says.

“Well,” Gabe says. “You do need to work on that. Also to take constructive criticism, but you’re getting way better at that one. Unless it comes from Dmitry.”

He is improving at that one (barring Dmitry). But a joke? At his expense? Jared is not here for it.

“Sit down, Jared,” Stephen says.

“I’m getting a drink,” Jared says.

“No you’re not,” Stephen says. “You don’t think I recognise a fellow coward?”

Stephen continuing to be like ‘you’re me when I was six years younger, you don’t think I know every play in this book?’.

“That’s not a comeback when I just admitted it,” Stephen says, stealing Bryce’s seat — not that Bryce has sat in it, he’s been on the move since they got there, catching up with teammates and eating all the tiny quiches — to monitor him. It’s clear that’s what he’s doing even before he says, “I’m here to babysit you so Gabe doesn’t have to.”

Bryce out there living his best life, socialising with friends and eating his weight in hors d’ouevres. Jared getting babysat.

“Sit down,” Stephen says. “Because your teammates mean well, they’re trying their best to be supportive, and you can endure a few chirps without dying.”

“Allegedly,” Jared says.

If he dies of humiliation you’re going to feel really guilty, Stephen.

(Will he, though?)

“Also look at your husband right now,” Stephen says.

Bryce is nodding enthusiastically at whatever Jan’s telling him, a beer in one hand, a plate of even more mini quiches in the other. He looks happy, and that’s before he somehow feels Jared’s eyes on him and turns, shooting him a huge grin when their eyes meet.

BEST LIFE.

He didn’t know they interviewed other players. Why didn’t he know they interviewed other players? Did they tell him that and he just didn’t pay attention? Did Grace know and hide it from them? Who the hell decided Dmitry was the one to talk to?

Answer is ‘yes’, ‘no one hid it from you’ and ‘Dmitry is your linemate, Jared. Also he volunteered’.

“Nothing I have heard,” Dmitry says, before his mouth tips up into a mirthless smile. “But if anyone wants to say anything, I am on Jared’s line, and my dance card is always open.”

Look at this motherfucker threatening dudes with a 19th century metaphor. Whatta guy.

Dmitry gestures at the TV. “I already did.”

“Quite obliquely too,” Stephen says. “Very nice.”

“Great use of metaphor, Dima,” Gabe says.

“Thank you, I do my best,” Dmitry says.

Stephen and Gabe are so proud.

“I’m not!” Jared says, because he’s just noticed the TV has been paused for the duration of this argument, and if talking incessantly means that nobody watches the interview, Jared is willing to argue all night. “And premeditation isn’t just murder, it’s also applicable to—“

Jared about to filibuster the fucking interview.

“I’m not kissing you in the back of an Uber,” Jared says in an undertone. Bryce’s hands are starting to wander, and their poor driver doesn’t deserve that.

“We’re out,” Bryce says.

“Us being out doesn’t make it less tacky,” Jared says, and Bryce makes a huffy noise and sits up, pouting out the window.

Bryce can’t believe you just called him the ‘t’ word, how dare you.

165. Adaptation

Love this team. Bryce has written, with alternating blue and green hearts, below a picture of Jared, looking furious, Dmitry’s hand over his mouth, Stephen a blur of blond evil in motion, while Gabe’s head is tipped back in a laugh beside him.

It’s a great picture.

“Fine,” Jared says. “Let’s take a picture.”

“I’m going to change,” Bryce says.

This fucking guy.

“I hope you don’t think I’m going to be the kind of person who regularly takes selfies,” Jared says.

“I would never,” Bryce assures him.

“This is an exception,” Jared says. “Due to special circumstances.”

“I totally understand,” Bryce says. “Can you stop looking like I’m blackmailing you into this, though?”

The camera goes off, and in the end result Jared is smiling reluctantly, looking precisely like someone who was asked not to look like a victim of extortion. Bryce’s eyes aren’t on the camera at all. Bryce’s eyes are on him.

This is also a great picture.

“But I am besotted,” Bryce says. “So I don’t like, see the problem. You should be besotted with your husband, shouldn’t you? That’s like, the point of marriage.”

Man’s not wrong.

“Raf would consider it beneath his integrity to say anything other than what he truly believes,” Jared says. “He’d like, swear on a stack of Pride and Prejudices or something.”

He totally would, and that’s why I love him.

So first of all you’ve both made the mistake of thinking Mr. Darcy is cool

He is not

He is deeply uncool and feels so many feelings and he’s trying to hide it all the time but he can’t because the man has no chill whatsoever

Fitzwilliam Darcy spends half that book having a fucking panic attack. The rest is 'I love you (derogatory)'.

165. Adaptation

“You want to come grocery shopping with me?” Jared asks.

He’s sure Bryce doesn’t, and frankly Jared doesn’t want him to — Bryce stops to look at everything, picking stuff at a whim instead of following the list, and they’re significantly more likely to get asked for autographs together than Jared is alone — but he’s learned inviting Bryce is the key to a peaceful marriage. He’ll feel left out if Jared doesn’t ask, even if he doesn’t actually want to go.

Jared doesn’t understand the FOMO, but he does accommodate it.

“Nah, interview, remember?” Bryce asks.

Jared blinks at him. Bryce has been doing interviews lately. Like, interviews plural, and voluntarily, which kind of blows Jared’s mind, even though Bryce isn’t bad with the media when he isn’t in a cold war with them, or pretending to be someone else entirely.

Because building a media presence is helpful if you want to launch a charity. That is very much in the works at this point, though it’s just Bryce and Elaine talking about it so far — other people get pulled in a bit later.

At the bottom of a bag he doesn’t think ever got unpacked he finds the Marcus shirt he bought for himself their first Christmas together. He runs his fingers over the plastic-y 9, the bunched up 4, before he finally tosses it in the donation box. Fuck the Flames. He wears Bryce’s jersey every game now. Or Bryce wears his. Either way.

Into the (proverbial) trash the Flames go.

“Did you eat?” Jared asks, reaching for his phone to turn the music off. Bryce gets visibly antsy around any music with a beat too slow to work out to.

Jared would argue he’s a selfish person (and I’m not disagreeing with him), but Bryce isn’t the only one who pays attention to likes and dislikes and changes their behaviour accordingly. And yes, this is self-serving, because extra fidgety Bryce drives Jared mad, but still.

Bryce pointedly swerves into the bathroom, like that was his plan all along. Though maybe it was, so he can tragically look at himself in the mirror. There is no more dignified way to describe his current expression than ‘pouty’.

Let the man be a little emo, Jared.

“People will notice if you try to stow yourself away,” Jared says.

“Ha ha,” Bryce says.

“Pretty sure involving international borders makes it a big deal,” Jared yawns as Bryce pulls out of their parking space. “And getting on a no-fly list would definitely fuck up road games.”

“God, I’m not going to stow away,” Bryce mutters, but not like a man who hasn’t seriously considered it.

You know all he has to do is give Brian big sad eyes and he’s getting on that plane.

“Be real with me,” Jared says. “Do you have your passport on you right now?”

“No,” Bryce says, but he says it like a fucking liar.

Jared closes his eyes, takes a giant sip of coffee, and then exhales.

“I wasn’t going to stow away,” Bryce mutters. “It was just in case.”

You know, if they run into Coach and Coach says ‘hey Bryce, want to come along?’. That’s a totally possible scenario, Jared.

“Nope,” he says, when Bryce unbelts himself at the drop off spot.

“I was just going to get your suitcase,” Bryce says.

But how can he coincidentally run into the coaching staff if you don’t let him leave the car, Jared?

When he gets off the plane, Bryce’s name is trending online again. On the drive to the hotel Jared gathers that this is because he’s involved the internet in cleaning out the closets, down to polls on what to donate and what to keep. Apparently Michael Buble has been weighing in.

I cannot overstate how big a Canucks fan Michael Bublé is. He recently admitted he cancelled a concert over a decade ago because the Canucks were in the Stanley Cup Finals. He would absolutely weigh in.

166. Byways

Jared goes on the longest road trip of the season, which is, you know. Long. Obviously. Longer than it would be if Bryce was there, also obviously.

The most poetic of my narrators.

Bryce finishes the closets on the third day, thanks to the help of the internet, and somehow that turns into a clothing drive. Bryce is cagey about how this occurred, but Jared suspects PR Grace saw an opportunity that no son of Elaine Marcus could refuse.

Boy has charity on the mind right now.

Though Jared’s never expected logic from homophobes.

Can hear the sneer right through the screen.

Closet jokes aside, social media’s consensus, according to the group chat, is that Bryce is a) a stupidly nice guy, and b) he owns way too many clothes. Jared thinks this might be the first time he’s agreed with popular consensus on anything.

Jared will conform if conformity is appreciating his husband.

They swing south just long enough for Jared to get a sunburn, then climb the eastern seaboard, manage to lose in regulation only once the entire time, to the Caps, which Raf is, of course, obnoxiously nice and humble about after.

That fucker. Someone needs to stop him.

Dmitry gets into two fights, which matches his previous total for the season. Jared refuses to notice any potential correlation between Dmitry saying his dance card is open and there being a few more fights punched onto said dance card. Oksana thinks it’s hot or whatever, Dmitry said it himself. Never mind that Oksana’s currently in a different country and therefore would not be able to act on it.

Jared doesn’t want to know, because then he’ll have to be angry and disappointed, and he just doesn’t have that in him at this point. He doesn’t ask Dmitry what the fights are about, but he doesn’t give him as much shit about screwing up the line changes by sitting in the box, because if Dmitry did fight because of him he’s not going to be a dick about it. Even though he didn’t ask him to. And frankly would prefer he didn’t.

Jared and Dmitry just mutually pretending that Dmitry isn’t getting in fights for him. (Bryce egging him on via text)

Bryce is inconsolable about the fact there won’t be pictures of Jared and Maia together, though. Maybe inconsolable’s an exaggeration, but — not much of one, honestly. He keeps telling Jared to make Ash send pictures, as if he isn’t part of a ‘Maia!!’ groupchat. Well, they both are, but Bryce actually looks at it. It’s not that Maia isn’t cute or anything, but Jared kind of misses the days where you had to physically shove a photo album in someone’s hands if you wanted them to look at pictures of your kids.

Jared will NOT conform on the matter of baby pictures.

Hugs aren’t transmissable, Jared replies, has already hailed a cab when he gets a text from Ash that Chaz is still getting stitched up from a high stick in the third. Stevie feels shitty about it, which is a message Jared will be conveying. Right when he pays for drinks with the cash Stevie shoved into his hands when he found out Jared was getting drinks with Chaz after the game.

Stevie so repentant he’s offering reparations even after sitting through a double minor.

Jared walks into the bar and immediately feels simultaneously over and underdressed, and also deeply uncool. He feels like that’s possibly the entire point of this place. He isn’t cool enough for it. Chaz definitely isn’t cool enough for it. Ash probably is. Jared suspects she’s the one who picked it, and then, when he looks at the cocktail list, he knows for sure. He’s never seen Chaz drink anything fancier than sparkling wine, and that’s because it was Bryce and Jared’s wedding. Other than that he’s a beer guy, not mezcal, tea, and…wasabi? What the fuck.

This is a real bar. That was one of the more tame cocktails.

If Ashley is having a cocktail she is having a cocktail, people, she does not get nights out very often right now.

“Are you Jared Matheson?”

“Uh,” Jared says. “Yeah.”

“Could me and my friends get a picture?” she asks, gesturing back towards a table of women around Bryce’s age.

The first time Jared’s recognised in the wild outside of Vancouver (he gets it plenty around arenas, but not out and about) but far from the last.

“But we’re New York,” Chaz says. “In New York. Everybody pretends to be way too cool to recognise people here.”

Chaz has a Norris trophy winner and a five time All-Star on his team and THEY don’t get recognised, what the hell.

“He got recognised on the subway once,” Ashley says. “And then pretended he didn’t understand English for some reason.”

“That is not the point either,” Chaz says.

“Which was problematic considering he doesn’t actually know any other language,” Ashley says.

“Just ignore Chaz,” Chaz says. “That’s fine. He’s used to it.”

“So of course he just kept saying Parlez vous francais over and over like a malfunctioning toy,” Ashley says.

“You weren’t even there!” Chaz says. “Why do you know all this!”

Chaz is a very different form of comic relief than say, Erin, or Julius, or Stephen (Hobgoblins all) but in his way, he’s my favourite bit of levity. He has a good portion of the lines that make me snort years later. 'Chaz has ears. And feelings' lives rent free in my head.

“Samuel was very, very happy to tell me all about it,” Ashley say s. “Just like he was very, very happy to listen to your beautiful French.”

“Poor Chaz,” Chaz says quietly, and that’s when Jared loses his battle to be cool enough for this place and bursts out laughing.

Poor Chaz. (But really, poor Samuel, who does speak French, as it is, in fact, his first language.)

A bear would get recognised in Hartford. is her response.

I feel like a bear would get recognised everywhere? Jared replies.

Ashley probably should have picked a less majestic animal.

Maybe polar bears blend in with the snow? But if you’re that oblivious to a polar bear he’s pretty sure you’re already dead. Polar bears are not to be fucked around with.

Rules for survival when encountering bears:

Black: fight (do something to scare them off)

Grizzly: play dead

Polar: you’re dead

Jared still doesn’t know why his sister’s allowed in the main group chat now. He feels like that’s too many Mathesons in one place. There’s a reason his family doesn’t have a groupchat, and it’s not just that none of them could be bothered to make one.

Too many cooks in the kitchen, too many Mathesons in the group chat.

This groupchat is a fucking mess.

It’s delightful, you’re a grump.

It practically overlaps with ur not calling me or j the gay kind of bear right? from Bryce, followed lol from Ashley, Lmao from Erin, and Haha from Raf.

Oh Pooh Bear, no.

Jared considers whether to chime in with a laugh of his own. He thinks ‘hee’ is a little too juvenile, so maybe a ‘heh’? Why did Raf have to take the ‘haha’? Jared is clearly the ‘haha’ person in this group.

We interrupt Bryce getting laughed at to focus on the latest thing Jared isn’t happy about sharing with others: the word ‘haha’.

“J?” Bryce says.

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Go back to sleep, I’m coming to bed.”

Bryce continues to lean on his arms as Jared unbuttons his shirt, alert but in a hazy way, clearly waiting for Jared to get into bed before he lies back down. His head is tilted in Jared’s direction, but his eyes are still shut. He’s probably three-quarters asleep right now.

Jared is home! Must stay upright, Jared is home!

“Lie down,” Jared laughs as undoes his belt, but Bryce doesn’t until Jared crawls in beside him, wrapping an arm around his torso and gently tugging him back down.

“You’re home,” Bryce murmurs.

Jared is home!!!

“I’m home,” Jared says, and when Bryce turns, pressing a clumsy, sleep-blind kiss to Jared’s face, getting more nose than mouth, Jared laughs again, low, presses a kiss to Bryce’s sleep hot temple and pulls the covers over their shoulders, tucking them in.

Soooooooooft.

Tiny Bubby what will he do...

Be a little menace as always but the catch is he can fit in more smaller spaces. Imagine Tiny Bubby coming out of vents and landing on you or something. Terrifying! No one’s safe when Tiny Bubby is around :0