#but it wasn’t exactly sustainable which is what i wanna aim for this time around

[danothan]

decided to watch tutorials for cleaning fresh produce after washing my brussel sprouts for an hour straight and thinking “wait… something’s not right about this.”

you’re telling me you can just let them soak in a bowl and come back to it later?? occam’s razor, you tricky son of a bitch.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Christmas at the Hoods

You escape your family by going home with Calum to Australia for the holiday. And the escape is necessary, but at the end of it, you’re reminded that sometimes family is chosen rather than given. 

Reader Insert. Fluff a little bit of angst. You just a perfect amount of tear your heart out but then put it back like nothing ever happened. 

CW: Death of a parent, strained family relationships. 

Enjoy my masterlist. 

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You stare down at the text from your mother. Are u coming home for Christmas? The truth is--no, you don’t want to come home. Home is too stiff, reminds you just how much you don’t fit. And maybe it’s just you, you thinking that you won’t ever live up to their expectations of what your life should be like, and maybe it’s not fair to them. But given all that, you still don’t want to subject yourself to that awful feeling, the squirming in your spot wondering how long is appropriate for you to stay before you dip the family pretend bonding.

You don’t want to go home. But you don’t have an excuse not to go. You sigh and place your phone face down on the counter. Ice clinks around in the glass that Calum sets down in front of you. Over the speakers faintly, you hear the twang and kick of guitar as Carla Thomas sings her conversation with an imagined other. At Christmas time, Calum gave you control over the speakers whenever you come over. He liked the Christmas music you had saved and even if he didn’t always get full on decorations the music helped the holiday feel a bit more real for the time you were over at least.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “That had to be the heaviest sigh I’ve ever heard.”

“My mom,” you reply, unlocking your phone and showing him the text. “I can’t exactly say, ‘No, I don’t have any plans. But I don’t feel like pretending to care so I won’t be coming home.’ Wouldn’t go over nicely.”

Calum stares down at the text. The exchange previous to this was a Happy Thanksgiving text that you replied to and prior to that it seems like the conversation was just your mother updating you about the changes she was making to the home office. To which you only replied with ‘Pretty!’ but nothing more. He always suspected you and your family weren’t that close. You talked pretty highly of your dad, but he passed away a couple years ago. And you and your mother just didn’t click. Any sort of sustained interaction always seemed to go south. He just hadn’t had a clue just how sort you kept your conversations with your mother.

He had plans to go home to Australia. His sister was flying in too, the first time he wouldn’t have to split his Christmas vacation time between London and Sydney. Calum knew for sure that Luke was going home to Australia too. He wasn’t sure about Michael, though if previous years proved to be any sort of pattern, Michael would be spending Christmas with his partner’s family. Ashton seemed to be tentatively planning spending New Years in Australia at the very least. Sure you had other friends but given the holiday, he suspected that they might be traveling home or spending time with their families.

“Come with me to Australia,” he offers.

“You leave in a week, tops? The cost of that ticket on it’s own is going to be fucking awful.” You take your phone as it’s handed back over, but you only focus in on him. There was no way he was serious about an offer like that. There was no way he was getting a roundtrip ticket for you under three grand. Tickets for that kind of travel months in advance were easily a grand or more. So there was no way Calum could guarantee a ticket for you round trip in a week for a reasonable price.

“I always told you I was going to take you home with me one of these days,” he counters. “Show you those Sydney streets I grew up on.”

You laugh at the way he bobs with his fists in front of his face like a boxer in the middle of the ring. “Yeah, when we could both plan it out and I could at least pay for my own airfare. I can’t Cal. I appreciate it and you. But that’s too soon and I can’t have you dropping money like that on me such short notice.” You take the glass from the counter and spin around in the barstool before traveling to the couch.

Calum drops his arms and follows behind. He’s not worried about money. That’s nothing. “I can’t leave you alone for the holidays. I know going home would just be rough right now. I’d-I’d come with you if you wanted.”

“Oh my god, Calum, no. Go home. You haven’t seen your mom and dad in ages. I’ll be okay.”

“If I cancel I can still get a voucher for another time,” he offers and settles onto the ottoman in front of you.

“Go home. See your parents. Give them a hug. Fucking hell, I’m not worth canceling a trip over. I’ll suffer through this Christmas like I have every other Christmas.”

With a tap to your knee, Calum shakes his head. “My friend absolutely cannot spend Christmas miserable. I won’t have it.”

You shake your head. It’s not like you haven’t had to spend every other CHristmas miserable--what’s one more to the list? Calum looks to the coffee table and spies his phone. He stretches out for it. This would be embarrassing to admit. He wasn’t going to do it like this. In all actuality, he had meant to ask you last week. But you had to out of town for a conference. He hadn’t realized the conference was this late in the year but it was one that you had been trying to get into for years, so when you landed the opportunity, Calum knew you’d take it in a heartbeat.

You take hold of the phone as it’s handed to you. “What’s this?” You ask but Calum remains silent and you glance down to the phone to see it opened to an app. “Why am I staring at trip information?”

“It’s because I bought two round trip tickets,” he returns.

“What do you mean you bought two tickets?”

“One of those is for you. If you want to go.”

You drop his phone into your lap and push to the edge of the seat. “When the hell did you buy these tickets?”

“A couple months ago. I knew the holidays were always a little rough for you.” He shrugs. “At least you won’t have to lie to your mum now.”

“Calum you are the most insane person I’ve ever met and I’ve lived with myself for a while now. When the fuck were you going to tell me?”

“I had plans to last week. But I remembered you were going out of town for that conference and I wanted you to focus on that since you had to present and be on a panel too.”

“How fucking early do I need to wake up?” you asks.

“I-I figured you come over the day before, sleep over and then I’d drive us to the airport.”

“It’s summer in Australia right now, correct?” He nods at your question. “Beaches?”

“If you wanna go, sure.”

“Do I get to say that I’m being kidnapped for Christmas?”

“If you really want to phrase it like that.”

“I’m in,” you agree and Calum smiles, wrapping his arms around you as you fall into him in a hug. “Thanks, Cal.”

“Of course,” he returns softly. He’d do anything for you, or just about anything if he’s honest. You matter to him and even if he does have to kidnap you for the holidays, he’s happy to do it if it means you won’t be miserable.

A couple hours go by and you head home, now having to start packing for the holiday trip with Calum. As you sit on the floor in front of your suitcase, you pick up your phone. You aim to go the weather app and see what it’s like in Sydney right now. But the text notification from your mom still lingers on the messages app. You tap on it and reply. No, Mom, sorry. Going to visit Australia for Christmas.

Who’s in Australia?

Calum’s family is there.

Who’s Calum? Is that the boy you talk about in the band?

“Fuck,” you mutter, realizing there were two ways this could go. You hadn’t ever really talked about your friends with your mother. Your dad knew and he filled her in a little bit, but even still you didn’t tell him a lot before he died. Mostly because you were afraid. What would happen if you told him everything and you needed help and he died? He’d be the only one to know and then he’d be gone. You’d have no one. So you told him half of everything. You told him about the band and some of your friends and you told him that you were doing okay. But you didn’t tell him that you were finally starting to figure what what you were meant to be doing on this earth. You didn’t tell him that you were dating around. Your dad only knew half the truth and now you realized all he could tell was half your truth to your mother. He could only convey what he knew and your mother didn’t always listen too well. She always got into her head what she wanted to hear and that’s the version she went with.

You can almost imagine your mother now, sitting on her couch tapping at the screen of her phone with one finger and looking up to the kitchen where your dad would usually be--and here, she would call out to your dad to ask Do you know about this Calum fella? They ever talk to you about ‘im? And your dad would reply in some sorts clipped and in half truths, Yeah, they’re friends or something. He’s got a good head on his shoulders from what I could tell. Because that what your dad would always say about any of your friends, that they always had a good head on their shoulders because he trusted you.

Your dad told you once that he said they always had a good head on their shoulders because you had a good head on yours and you’d never be friends with anyone that didn’t match morals like yours. He knew you’d never get mixed up in something that you couldn’t see yourself out of because he had raised you, because he had to trust you now; his fears couldn’t stand in the way of you living your life.

If you could tell your dad the whole truth, you would. You would tell him the first year after his diagnosis you lost yourself. You’d tell him that Calum had found you more than once on the edge of something dark and secured you to his chest for nights on end. He’d take you the studio with you just so you wouldn’t be alone. You’d tell your dad about the times you cooked all his favorites just so your house smelt of him. You’d tell him that even though you and your mother fought and you felt like you were always at arm’s length with some family, you always loved him. You’d tell him everything in full detail so that when he died, he would die knowing fully.

Yeah, you start typing to reply to your mother’s question, he’s the guy in the band.

Enjoy. But you should see family during this season too. Remember the ones that have been with you through thick and thin.

You don’t respond to the text. More than half of your mom’s side didn’t show up to the funeral. They never liked your dad all too much and you were slowly uncovering why. But no matter the reasons, it hurt. It hurt to walk with your mother down the aisle of that church to the funeral procession and seeing a halfway empty church because her side hadn’t supported the marriage. Your father was dead and the least they could do was show up to a fucking funeral. There’s no thick or thin in that, just them.

Another text buzzes through your phone. It’s from your aunt, on your dad’s side. We’re loving the pj’s! Nana’s rocking the new slippers and everything. Take care and rest. Wanna come by for New Years? We may be old but we can still keep up!

You laugh at the photo of your grandmother, sleeping as she sits on the couch, bundling up in the robe you also ordered for her. The new slippers are almost falling off her feet. That’s keeping up if I’ve ever seen it, you return. I might come by a little after New Years but I’ll bring the wine--you just bring the chips and dip. Going out of town for a little bit.

No worries! We’ll see you then. Chips and dip are stocked. Don’t you worry. Enjoy!

There’s a twinge--you almost want to stay just for them. But nothing feels the same anymore if you’re honest. When you hang out with your dad’s side of the family, there’s a hole. His seat is way too empty, even if you sit in. There’s no one to joke around. Your grandmother has no one to pass on her list of chores too besides finding people in town to help her with. And it’s not the same. They don’t laugh when she hands it over. They don’t joke that they only had a son just so he could do all the house repairs, or lawnmower repairs.

It has to be hard for them too. It’s all around just not a great time. But then in your peripherals you see your halfway packed suitcase, the swimsuits you’ve rolled up and tucked into one of the mesh pouches. Was this running? Or was this healing? Was going all the way to Australia just an escape? Maybe it was all three, but it was running into an escape but on the other side, there was some healing in it too. You continue packing, pulling out some loungewear and figuring how many pairs of jeans to include on this trip too.

You feel silly in your sneakers and leggings as more people filter into the terminal area from TSA in bulky coats. But Calum’s dressed roughly the same next to you, only in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Your phone shakes in your hands. Let me know when you land, your mother requests in the text.

Will do.

“Do your parents know I’m coming?” you asks, suddenly remembering that you will be in their place for three weeks.

“They know,” Calum returns, slouching down in the chair. “Trust me. Mum keeps asking me if you have any food allergies or dietary restrictions. And everytime I answer, she asks if I have checked in with you recently about it. And I have a feeling if you suddenly sprouted some new allergy, I would know by now.”

“That’s how moms are,” you laugh.

“Don’t be surprised if you find your favorite snacks just chilling in the kitchen.”

The thought of Joy going out of her way to find out via Calum about your favorite snacks and to only have them just in her cabinets or pantry makes you laugh but deeper than that you feel touched, chest warming just a little at the thought that she’d do something above and beyond. You slouch down to match Calum and rest your head onto his shoulder. “Is your childhood bedroom still embarrassing?”

A soft exhale of laughter pushes through Calum’s chest. “No, not too embarrassing anymore. Some of the posters are still up and mum’s changed the bedding for sure. A few of my things are tucked into the closet. But Mum’s said she’s been going through things in the house slowly so maybe she’s put more things on display just to set me up.”

You nod. “I imagine there are going to be lots of sports posters.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Calum chimes, resting his cheek on your head. “I was supposed to be the sports kid. I mean, I was the sports kid for a really long time.”

“Then you found out you had those pipes,” you laugh, tapping on his chest.

“Yeah, then I realized music was a thing. Mali used to blast R&B and I mean blast it. But she’s always had great taste in music so it was never like the songs were bad. They were just loud. Sometimes I’d stay with Michael for as long as I could. Not that I didn’t want to be home, I just wanted to save my ears for a little bit before Mali and Dad would take over.”

“Your dad sings?”

“He’ll tell you only a little bit. But yeah, he sings.”

“So it’s a family trait!” you laugh. “A long line of singers.”

“Mum would disagree with you.”

You glance down and look at the initials inked into his skin. You brush your thumb over Joy’s. You had only heard about her. Once you saw her. Calum was calling home when you dropped by unplanned. It was quick, you waved at her from his computer but mostly you hang around in the kitchen, petting Duke as he wrapped up the call. From the way he talks about her, you know he’s close to his family. You know being away from home is hard sometimes for him. You’ve talked to Mali more, caught Calum a few times FaceTiming her too, or meeting her when she visited LA for his birthday. You know about his Dad too. Haven’t met him yet, but you’ve seen him when you watched the ARIA’s one year and he dad popped up in the crowd while the band performed. You screencapped the moment and send it as a reaction photo to Calum whenever he shares good news. You’re sure he must be sick of it, but he never says anything about your habit.

“There’s a little shop not too far from the house. I used spend hours to looking at all the trinkets. I think you’d like it,” he admits quietly.

“Yeah, I’d be down for that.”

“But first, there will be food,” he laughs just as the speakers overhead crackle to life and the voice faintly reminds everyone of the boarding procedure. You can Calum both stand, slinging backpacks onto your shoulders as you want for them to call group one to board. “Lots of food.”

“I’m ready,” you return.

Sleep on the plane isn’t all that restful, but you take it in stride though you manage to make progress in your book. Halfway through the flight, Calum holds out one of his earbuds to you. “You’ll like it,” he urges and you take the bud placing it into your ear.

Somewhere between the songs that Calum plays and the movie you’re not fully paying attention to, sleep claims you once again. And you let it hold you well past the light layer of sleep you had the first time. Sleep lays claim to you, holding you deeply into its grasps. You only find yourself waking up when the lights on the plane lift just a little and it breaks through your lashes and Calum shakes you awake. The two of you climb from your seats, backpacks on shoulders and wind through the airport to baggage. Thanks to the cat and dog luggage tags you bought, spotting your and Calum’s luggage is easy. Calum easy snatched the cartoon dog but you didn’t put up a fight. You let him have it, especially since it looked slightly reminiscent of Duke.

As you gather your luggage, you hear a voice from behind you. Calum turns to the sound of it immediately, his hand leaving the handle of his suitcase. You grab it for him and watch him, hearing his laughter escape him, as he runs up to his mother. “Mum,” he laughs, “hey!”

The hug looks bone crushing, only the hug a mom can give that even if it shouldn’t be tight is tight because there’s nothing like the squeeze. “Oh, my boy,” she grins. It lights up her whole face and you stand, just behind them, a couple feet off, both suitcases in front of you.

Joy spots you and the grin grows brighter. She releases Calum and shuffles up to you, arms still opened wide. “Hi! Look at you,” she greets. You immediately step out from the luggage. She’s warm and taller than you imagined as you hug her. She gives you a squeeze and your eyes water just a little. There’s something to the embrace that makes your chest tight and you find yourself clinging a little tighter to her too as she runs on about how late it is, and how hungry and tired you both must be. She keeps you close, an arm around your shoulders, hand splayed across your back. Joy pinches Calum’s cheek and wraps her other arm around his waist.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she urges. “David’s with the car. But I just couldn’t wait to see you both. Oh, it’s so good.”

Even as you exiting the plane it shocked you just how bright in the day it was still. But when you look down at your phone you realize you’re almost a whole day ahead, now standing in the middle of the afternoon, as if you somehow only flew a few hours instead of half the day. Calum’s dad is not parked too far from the entrance. As the three of you approach, he runs up some of the way with a large smile. “Aye!” he laughs, hands clapping Calum on the back. “Look at you!” “I swear I haven’t gotten any taller, Dad.”

“Coulda fooled me,” David returns. “Now,” he laughs, pointing to you. “I heard you got dragged along. Did ya put up a fight?”

“Less of a drag, more a kidnapping,” you return but step into the embrace with a laugh.

“Next time, next time, you’ll go a couple rounds with him, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, next time.” You don’t know if it’s going to be a next time but the idea sounds nice. Calum and David load up the suitcase into the trunk before all four of you slip into the car--you and Calum in the back.

“Hope they haven’t scared you off,” Calum whispers to you. You shake your head, mouth opening to say more but then David pipes up from the front seat. You almost don’t catch what he says, but Joy and Calum respond, so you stay quiet with a bit of a nod and watch the lights fade behind you as you travel down the streets. You make sure to text your mother that you arrived safely.

Calum’s room isn’t so bad, like he figured. Though you do almost wish there were a few more embarrassing posters on the wall. No sooner than the two of you can slip bags off and get out of shoes, a knock sounds from the door. It’s Joy, peeking her head inside. “Calum knows this, but you’re free to whatever’s in the house to munch on. I think there’s a few beer already cold too. But,” she waves her hand a little as if dismissing the thought. “either way, whatever’s there, you’re welcome to take.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hood.”

“Joy, call me Joy.”

“Thank you, Joy.” She nods and then slips back out of the room.

“They’ll be like that for another couple of days, but don’t mind them.” Calum shows you were the linen’s closet is and where the bathroom is too. “If you wanna shower first, I’ll whip up some snacks.”

“Oh, that’s some hard work putting together some snacks.”

He glares at you, throwing a towel at your head. You manage to duck it though it does land on your shoulder. You laugh as he flips you off and then heads to the kitchen. You head back to the room and grab a different set of clothes. It takes a moment to get the water right but you keep the shower as short as you can and slip into the clean clothes.

You return to the kitchen and find Calum with a plate of various chips, fruit snacks, and a small section of meat and cheeses out. He cracks open a beer just as you pad into the kitchen. “Want one?” he asks, but you decline the offer.

“It’s cozy,” you say softly looking around the living room and kitchen of the house. Even Calum’s room teleports you. You’re not sure where just yet, and even though it’s obviously a whole different continent there’s something about the house, about seeing Calum’s family so visibly happy to have him back home and the genuine smiles that feels like a warm blanket straight from the dryer. It envelopes you.

Calum shrugs a little. To him, it’s just familiar and a tad foreign. Like he can’t remember if the paintings are the same ones from his last visit but the pictures of him and Mali have never changed. The family vacation photos still line the walls too--unwavering it seems even against all of his mum’s decorating attempts. “Once Mali comes into town, it’ll feel complete,” he states. You wonder how any of this could feel incomplete, but don’t voice that curiosity.

Calum runs up to shower next and in the middle of your munching, Joy returns to the kitchen too. “I’m surprised you’re still standing upright.”

“Oh I could fall over at any point. Keep an eye out.”

Leaning into the counter she nods. “Time zones are killer. I’d say try to make it through as much of today as you can and then zoink out later on. Might be easier to adjust to the time that way.”

“I’m hoping,” you say.

“Calum told me you went to a conference last week. How’d that go?”

“It went well. Slight tech issues with my presentation but we managed to pull through unscatched after that.” You talk a little bit more about it, but are aware that you feel like you're rambling. When you ask her a few questions, she’s more than willing to answer them but she keeps them short and instead asks you more questions too.

“As the best friend, I feel like I need embarrassing material. Do you have photos of baby Calum?” you ask after a bit.

“Of course I do. He asked for some for a video once and I scanned over the most neutral ones. But if you want embarrassing photos, I got ‘em,” she laughs, wiping the salt off her fingers from a chip and waving for you to follow her.

Calum returns the sound of laughter and you cooing about something, he thinks you might’ve mentioned chubby cheeks and he knows without a doubt it’s him. “If you are going to embarass me I’d like to be in the room,” he states, seeing the photo album open on your lap. He steps to the arm of the couch you’re near and watches you flip through a few pages. You pause at a couple and pull your phone out to snap a few pictures of the picture. He doesn’t miss the several messages still lingering on your notification screen from your mother.

It’s over dinner that Joy suggest putting the tree up over the weekend, since Mali will be in town at that point too. No one objects to this plan and the latter half the week you and Calum spend mostly trying to adjust to the time change, though Calum seems to be having an easier go of it than you. Mali is licked up from the airport and you linger behind knowing that there’s not quite enough space for all three of you in the seat. It’s a little strange to be lingering around in Calum’s old room at his mum’s house but it’s not to bad. You take in all the sports posters, notice some medals and trophies still hanging around to otherwise bare shelves. Among them are some photos too--mostly of Calum and the guys. A few of some people you’ve never seen before and you assume they’re friends from soccer, or other sports along the way.

The sound of laughter echoes around you. Though you do hold onto one photo of Calum. He’s in a jersey, arms thrown over the shoulders of two other boys. They smile wide and big at the camera. The grassy fields hold blurry people and you like to imagine in that blur there are parents hugging kids, or kids running to their parents. There are coaches, people shouting in those blurs. The sounds of feet on stair should break you out of your trance staring down at the photo and you hear more laughter too. But you continue to stare down at younger Calum.

Calum tries to catch onto Mali’s wrist. “Do not! God,” he huffs when she slips through his hold. She laughs, backpack still on and barrels past her old room to Calum’s. You’re standing halfway turned to the door, but still clearly engrossed in something.

“Hey,” Mali huffs out, slipping just inside the cracked door. “Have you found the good blackmailing photos yet?”

You jump just a little but lift your gaze and find Calum’s sister beaming brightly at you. “Hi,” you return with a laugh. “I found a few. Your mum broke out the photo album.”

“Good,” she returns. “Sorry for kicking you out of the arrival party. It’s not normally five of us.”

“No, no, it’s cool. I couldn’t necessarily swing a vote on voting Calum out, so, I just took that blow.”

She gives a light tuft of laughter and hisses just a little. “Yeah that’d be a little hard to swing. But I’ll teach ya a few pointers for next time.”

“I’d appreciate that,” you return and Mali excuses herself to drop off her bag. Everyone seems hooked on the concept of a next time. It falls easily from their lips and while you’ve enjoyed the time here thus far, next time isn’t on your mind. Honestly, you’re not sure what’s on your mind besides not thinking about the text messages you need to respond too. Most of them seem to be about making sure you’ve adjusted to the time difference, if you’ve seen anything exciting. And you want to tell her--but you know you’d most likely tell her half truths too. Possibly even quarter ones. So you’ve opted to tell her nothing really. It seems trivial to explain to her that you’ve gone out a couple times--to the beach and the shop that Calum mentioned earlier. Most of the time though, you spend with Calum going down his memory lane. You rode past the school’s he attended, saw all the spots he used to hang out. Those don’t feel like the spots your mother is looking for.

When the Christmas tree is unearthed and Joy brings out the decorations you don’t think about those text messages again. You instead help feed the garland around the tree to Calum who’s standing at the back of the tree and he passes it along to his mon and she passes it to Mali and Mali passes it back to you. And that’s the way it goes for the lights too. Once those are put up, you look over the bulbs that Joy has. Behind you Calum and Mali are already working to put the hooks through the box Joy approved. You’re trying to help her find the last box in that set.

“Short end, Calum. Short end is what you hook through the top of the bulb.”

“Which end is short then?” you hear him return.

“That end,” she laughs. “I’ll put the hooks. You put them on the tree. Don’t put the same colors close together. Space them out.”

“I can decorate a tree,” Calum states.

“Sometimes I wonder.”

You find the last box of bulbs in the matching set, under a layer of icicle like ornaments. “Found ‘em,” you tell Joy and she beams, stopping her work on the box she was digging in.

“Ah! I’m not sure how they got separated.”

“Someone packed them wrong,” Mali returns, focused in on hooks still. “Most likely,” she counters. You step over to her and help prep more ornaments. A few look homemade with popsicle stick and felt. You pause looking at them on the table.

“Made ‘em in primary,” Calum answers, picking up the ornaments you’ve already hooked. “I thought Mum would give up on bringing them out.”

“But I never have and never will,” she counters picking them up and proudly displaying them on the front of the tree.

Calum makes a show to wave his hands. “That.”

“You made them and I cannot not display them,” Joy laughs and takes the bulb you’ve prepped.

“I think it should be the star,” you tease.

“Do not give Mum any ideas,” Calum groans. “She needs zero ideas.”

“My dad would put mine near the star. I used to hate it too,” you offer.

“Because he was proud of them! See, it’s a parent thing,” Joy laughs, taking another ornament.

You don’t respond, giving a shrug. Maybe it’s a parent thing. And maybe it’s just a love thing, you think. Maybe putting your atrocious ornaments near the top was a way your dad was saying you were always near the top, he was always thinking of you first. When you blink the silver hooks blur for a moment and it hits you that you might be crying. So you blink again and the tears don’t completely clear.

Arms are around your shoulder and you think it’s Calum but as you turn into the embrace, you notice it’s Joy. “Hey, it’s okay,” she offers. She’s quick to scoot you over to the other end of the living room and hands you a tissue. “Do you want to keep on decorating? You can take a breather.”

“No, no, I’m okay.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Her hand runs a soothing line up and down your back. You can only nod. It takes another moment and a deep inhale before you find a resolve. Joy takes your spot hooking the ornaments and you hang one up on the branch. You’re not even sure if Calum and Mali noticed your quick time out, but they don’t seem to be visibly concerned. You finish the tree half an hour later--many ornaments had to rearranged after realizing the back hadn’t gotten nearly enough love. You snap a photo and you don’t think too much about sending it to your aunt and your grandmother, but you hover over your mom’s contact.

Would she think you’re betraying? Would she find some way to say that you could’ve been home decorating the tree too and that she could’ve used the help since Dad wasn’t around anymore? You don’t hit send. Instead you lock your phone, place it face down and ask Joy if she needs or wants any help cooking dinner. She waves you in happily, explaining the dish she’s preparing to you as you wash your hands. This is easy. This feels complete, listening to the sounds of the TV in the background. Knocks at the door don’t make your heart startle and you almost know, without looking, that it’s David. And he no doubts has an armful of things--food, drinks, and god knows what else.

“Do-do you mind me asking about your mom?” Joy brings up as you tend over your hot pan.

“I,” and all words have fallen from your brain. “I don’t know,” you answer. It sounds so stupid but it’s the truth. The whole truth. “I don’t know how I feel. I-I wouldn’t be upset, but there may or may not be a reason I’m hiding on the other side of the world.”

It’s a small laugh, but a laugh nonetheless that Joy gives. “You know, fair. It’s okay if you don’t know. Instead, we’ll knead dough,” she offers, “or whatever else we need to do.”

“I’ll take kneading dough.”

There’s a nod and a smile, an understanding that kneading dough is the best alternative. The sleeves to your hoodie start to slip down again and just before you can clear your hands from the flour to pull it up, two hands come from the side. Calum, you deduce. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Did Mum put you to work or did you volunteer?”

“Volunteered,” you answer and go back to kneading the dough. The fridge door opens and then closes a few seconds later.

“You’re a guest. You don’t have to you know?”

“I know. Just need to do something.”

“Besides not answering your mom’s texts.”

“Besides not answering my mom’s texts,” you agree. Calum reaches across the counter and grabs your phone. You gave him the passcode ages ago and shockingly he remembered it. “Gonna delete the embarrassing photos?” you tease. You already emailed yourself copies just in case you tried too.

“Nah, no need. You’d just find a way to get them again.” You watch him for just a moment open up the app and the picture of the tree is still loaded in. “Why didn’t you send this?”

“Because I didn’t want her bitchin’ to me about how I could’ve been doing that with my real family. I would rather decorate a tree with you and your family anyway. Just as real as anything else,” you huff out, pushing in a little harder into the dough.

Calum pauses for a moment, glancing over to you. He’s not even sure his ears actually heard what you are saying. “What?” he asks in an exhale.

“I’d rather spend legit any holiday with you.”

He stops you, a hand on your wrist. “Did-did you just admit that you’d spend any holiday with me and my family?”

“Do you want bread or not?” you ask and he releases your wrist. “But yes, I did admit it.” You look up from the dough, knowing you’ve worked well enough for you to be done. The Christmas tree twinkles from the corner and it’s nice to see a family together--there’s no arguments, no need to feel like you’re at arm’s length. The TV plays and it’s idealistic. It’s what you want, not the screaming that occurs on most holidays, no one too drunk off their ass, no one being kicked out.

“I like it here,” you admit softly. Christmas is about five days out and you still need to wrap Calum’s present. It’s currently hiding in your suitcase and you want to get something nice for his parents for hosting you, and you’re not entirely sure what to get Mali but you want to do something nice for her too. Calum doesn’t miss the way you stare, the longing in your gaze as you’re still knuckle deep in dough. “I could send the photos to Dad. He’d probably just send a thumbs up. But, still it would’ve been better.”

“Then send it to him.”

“Mom disconnected the line. I have no clue who has the number now.”

“Send it anyway. Whoever it is, probably wouldn’t mind.”

You shake your head and look down at the dough. It’s done and you place it back into the bowl. The idea is asinine to you. No stranger would be okay with getting a random text about a Christmas tree you decorated and whatever sob story you’d type out. Best not to bother a stranger. Even as Calum tries to urge you one last time, you don’t give in. You move about the kitchen as if you’ve always worked in and wash your hands. It doesn’t take you long before you settle onto the couch next to Mali.

I know this might be strange, Calum starts drafting. But my best friend lost their dad about two years ago and this is his old number (this is their number and they still has the number saved). I took them to see my family for Christmas since they and their mom and that side are in a rough spot. I say that like it hasn’t been years of a rough spot but they helped us decorate the tree. I don’t know who’s going to see this, if it’ll go through or not, but I’m hoping for a miracle, I guess, for kindness in the universe and kindness in a stranger. They just needs something good, so we hope you enjoy our Christmas tree. They told my mum about how their dad would put the homemade ornaments near the star. Needless to say my mum agreed with the idea.  If you see this, and get the picture, I hope you have safe and happy holidays.

Calum doesn’t even think twice about hitting send on the message. He finishes pouring himself a glass of water and pour another one for you too. By the time he grabs a snack too your phone buzzes again. There’s a response from the number that once belonged to your dad.

Tree looks awesome, kid, reads the first message. And then another one follows it. Homemade decorations near the top are the only way to go. Hope your friend gets through the holidays safely, but with people like you in their life, we think they will. Happy Holidays and enjoy our tree too. A picture comes attached with it.

Calum leaves the response up. It works out perfectly that the first response sits directly under the picture Calum sent. The first part of the second text is still visible but he doesn’t worry about that. He taps on your shoulder. “The world’s not so bad after all,” he states.

It takes you a moment to realize who the message is under. And you know it’s not actually your dad. You know that line went cold months ago.Your dad didn’t call you kid too much else he was trying to annoy you.  But it’s something about seeing a message from that number that makes your chest ache. For a split moment in time, he’s real again. A sob racks through your chest and you're quick to cover your mouth, aware that other people are around. “I should’ve told him so much more,” you gasp and another sob breaks the sentence up just a little at the end. But all you can do is stare at the response with blurry vision.

Calum wraps you into his arms, pulling you into his chest. “Hey, you can still tell him. Maybe not by texting this number but you can still tell him,” he whispers. And though you tremble against him, he manages to get you to the shelter of the stairs. You settle oddly on top of him, your legs draping over his and your cowered into his chest mostly. But you don’t object to the arrangement.

Joy places a box of tissues down next to you both and settles on the step just below Calum. Her hand is warm on your knee. “I thought you were kneading dough.”

You chuckle just a little but tremors still rock you. “Dough didn’t have a lot of resistance.”

She nods, tsking just a little. “Ah, next time I’ll have you knead two loaves.” Once she’s sure you’ve cried it all out, she leaves you be, though most of her comfort was soft reassurance and knee pats. But it’s just what you need.

Calum guides you upstairs and unearths his journal from his bag. Or at least a journal you think you’ve seen him writing in before. “I was going to give this to you on Christmas. But it sounds like you could use it now. Whatever you wanted to tell your dad, write it down. Pretend like your writing letters to him. I know know it might sound silly, but it helps me.”

The journal is leather, embossed on the front are your initials. It almost looks too expensive to even write in it, but when Calum hands you a pen you think you might explode again if you don’t get it off your chest. So you settle onto the edge of his bed, which is barely just enough space for two of you to sleep on during the night and tell your dad all the full truths. Everything you felt like he couldn’t take the grave, you spill onto the page.

Dad, It’s Christmas. Or it’s nearly Christmas. I’m in Australia with Calum and I’ve already had one emotional breakdown. So we need to reset the count on that one. It’s hard without you. Joy put Calum and Mali’s old homemade decorations near the star of the tree and all I wanted was to be six again and be up on your shoulders and have you force me to put my decorations up high on the tree for everyone to see. I used to hate it. When you did that. But now I miss it.

I miss a lot of things, I guess now. I miss being honest with you. I wasn’t very honest while you were dying. I was afraid that I told everything I’d be weak. That if I told you everything you’d take all the words with you when you died and I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else since it would’ve been one of the last things I told you. It all sounds silly now to write it down, but that’s what I thought.

Here’s the other half I never told you.

Calum lingers, sitting on the floor and finding one of his old guitars sitting on the floor tucked into a corner. He slides over, and places it into his lap before strumming mindlessly over it. The scratch of the pen is hardly audible as he strums but he can envision what it sounds like, see how fast you’re scribbling words down onto the page.

Later in the week, as you have Mali and Calum helping you find a gift to give their parents, you stop at one of the small shops in the mall. Mali’s wandered off to the far corner but Calum’s close next to you, glancing around the walls for something that looks remotely interesting and appropriate. The housewares all look too dated and Calum’s not even sure what his parents do and don’t have to even suggest something like this. But Mali thought it might be a good place to stop so the three of you stopped to look.

“Thanks,” you say to Calum, running a finger over a serving spoon. “For the journal. It helped a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” he beams at you. His attention is still filtering around the store. “I have no clue what to even suggest in a place like this for my parents. They’re not super into stuff like this.”

“You sure a Kiss The Cook apron wouldn’t do the trick?” you joke holding up the red and white apron.

“Hmm, afraid not,” he laughs. The two of you still wonder about the store and you find a couple cookbooks that seem interesting. One’s for cocktails and Calum says it’s a definite--his dad would enjoy flipping through it. Neither he or Mali had gotten one for him before, so it won’t be a duplicate.

“Your mom has a lot of photos you guys. You think she’d be into something like this?” you ask, pointing out to a few picture frames. They’re all collages, just arranged differently. Calum seems to be vaguely interested though Mali worries about the fact that she tends to keep them in a particular way.

“Could make one with the photos you’ve taken over this trip, she loves stuff like that and I’m sure she wishes she could get more photos of us now since we’re gone. We spend a day taking some photos in front of our old stomping grounds and I know she’d love it,” Calum offers looking over to Mali.

She shrugs. “That could work. Sure we can’t say it was from all of us?” she jokes.

“I wouldn’t mind, especially since you two would be doing some leg work in it,” you state.

“If we’re going to do it,” Mali counters. “Let’s go with this one.” She points to a wooden slab with rows of twine wrapped around and clasps that are wooden too where stock photos are currently pinned but it’s clear that you can add your own photos.

“This really blows my flowers out of the water,” Calum mutters, holding onto the paid for box of the wooden frame.

“You also got her the embroidered pillow,” you counter. The pillow has the coordinates of Sydney, LA, and London on it--for each of the cities they’re in respectively.

“True,” he nods. “But still,”

“If you don’t want--” you start but he cuts you off.

“Hey, no, I want to do this. Shush,” he laughs. “We gotta make another stop though. I’ve seen ads for those portable printers and can print photos and I don’t see either one of you with those old school polaroid cameras.”

“I’ll have you know,” Mali teases. But she interrupts her own joke as a ponderous hum falls from her. She rattles off a couple stores that could have it.

“Let’s give it a shot,” Calum returns. The first store is a bust but the second one has it. They grab one of the last ones off the shelf and scurry to the lines. They’re long and it’s no avoiding it two days from Christmas. The rest of the day, Mali navigates, pulling over into random parking lots and telling stories about their childhood.

You snap as many photos as you can. Some are more planned than others but it’s okay. You play with angles, flipping your phone upside to get some cool shots and you’re honestly impressed with the quality of just a cellphone camera. By the time it starts to get dusk, you’re half convinced your phone will alert you that you’re almost out of space. It’s not too hard to sneak the bags up to the bedrooms. You take up distracting Joy just a little as Calum and Mali book it up the steps.

“Oh, this reminds me,” Joy says standing right as Mali clears the first step. “If you need any sort of wrapping supplies they’re in here,” she directs you down the hall and you watch Calum and Mali clear into one of the bedrooms, you think it’s Mali’s before diverting your attention back to the wrapping paper.

“Thanks,” you nod at her. “I’ll be down in a few if you want help with dinner?”

“An extra pair of hands never hurt,” she counters with a grin and it’s become a tradition, or a thing at the very least that you help her with dinner and she’s given up on trying to shoo you out of the kitchen.

You take the stairs slowly, but you can feel the buzzing in your pocket. No doubt Calum bugging you relentlessly that you’re needed upstairs. You find them in Mali’s room situated on the floor as she removes the pictures from the frame and Calum seems to messing with the printer.  “Thank you for joining us,” he teases. Music starts up and the door closes.

You settle on the floor next to him. “My job was to distract so that’s what I did. What do I need to do?”

“Pairs with BlueTooth, so I just gotta get this thing on.”

“Let me know when it’s up,” you return and then pull up the photos you took on your phone. Mali helps pick out which photos have to go onto the frame. It’s only a minute or two later that Calum tells you to make sure your phone has the BlueTooth turned on.

“You cannot use that,” he laughs, as the first photo prints out. “I look so dumb in that take.”

Mali laughs. “Oh, c’mon it’s a pretty shot.”

“Yeah of you,” he returns.

You swipe to the next photo and there are no photo blunders for either one of them so you print that one down. Some are in front of buildings that you’re not even sure could mean anything. A couple are of Calum’s old practice field for soccer--the same one from the photo you were looking at when Mali first arrived. There are a few of Mali in front of the place she sang to a large audience for the first time. There’s a picture of the Christmas tree as well--Mali and Calum are in the photo adding decorations to it. There’s one of you, in the middle of Calum and Mali, arms wrapped around each other. You’re laughing because even standing you nearly stumble just trying to shift your weight a little, but the picture is perfect as the sun just starts to step a little behind you.

With the last photo printed, you look over the arrangement and give your approval. “Did you remember to grab our wrapping paper?”

“Shit,” Calum sighs. “I’ll run to the car and grab it.” You nod and head back downstairs just in time to help Joy.

It’s late before another opening arrives for you three to place the gift under the tree and during this time you also add Calum’s and Mali’s gift to the bunch. You managed to snag some cool t’s with Calum’s help for her. She eyed them in your shopping adventure and carted them around the store before ultimately deciding to put them back. Calum stayed behind to grab them off the rack while you went with her to the next store.

Over mugs of hot chocolate--though the Australian heat doesn’t warrant it-- you, Mali and Calum sit on the floor in front of the tree. “It’s been nice to outnumber him,” Mali laughs.

“I’m already outnumbered with you and Mum,” he retorts.

“Yeah, but it’s Mum. She counts but like not really. Now you’re outnumbered by someone in our age range.”

Calum shakes his head. “If you say so. I’m glad Mum and Dad weren’t too weird about it.”

You know he hasn’t brought anyone home in a long time. And part of it is probably just time, but another part is deliberate but you don’t know why. “I’m sure they were starting to think I wasn’t real,” you joke.

“Haha,” Calum gently shoves your legs. “You’re a fucking comedian.” You snicker and take another sip from your mug. The night almost doesn’t feel like it’s slipping away as Mali and Calum take turns on the guitar. You climbed up onto the sofa at some point during the night, asbentedmindly playing in Calum’s hair. But somewhere in it the strumming, sleeps pulls you under, you felt your eyes blinking close but weren’t able to recall when the final blink took you full under.

You find yourself startled awake to the sounds coming from the kitchen. Mali’s asleep on the couch, facing the opposite away of you. Calum’s reclined against the sofa between the both of you but still sitting on the floor. There’s a faint light coming from behind you and you squint against it to see the kitchen light’s on. You settle back against the arm of the couch and let yourself fall into sleep a second time.

When you wake the second time, it’s to gentle shakes and you’re not even sure you had fallen asleep again. Until you find yourself stretching again and blinking back the light of the living room. Calum’s slumped to the floor. “No, five more minutes.”

Joy chuckles. “It’s your presents you’ve gotten open.”

“Hmm, maybe I’m awake enough for presents.” Presents are slow to be handed out, mostly to the three of you still trying to wake up. But Mali gets the first tear into the wrapping paper and beams over at you spying the two shirts.

Joy loves the pillow from Calum and the jacket from Mali. Calum gets a few things, most of them necessities but the socks are cool enough to put on immediately. Mali’s content with the clothes she’s received and the necklace. Calum thought about wrapping your journal as a joke but he hands you a tiny stocking stuffed with some candies, a cool pen, and some knicks knacks he found during some of the shopping adventures. David’s tickled as he flips through the cocktail recipes.

“What is this?” Joy laughs pulling on the wooden and twine picture frame ad she’s handed it.

“For you,” you answer. “A collective effort between the three of us.”

“But originally their idea,” Calum tacks on.

Joy looks at the three of you, unsure of what trick might be pulled. She unveils the first corner and pauses. “Seriously, what is this?”

“Just keep going Mum,” Mali counters.

Joy continues tearing at the wrapping paper and she gasps for a moment noticing the photos hanging from the pins. “No way,” she laughs, lifting it up to take a closer look at the photos. “No way,” she whispers.

“The pictures can be switched out, so you can frame some, or just rotate it based on the season,” you explain.

The tears collecting in Joy’s eyes don’t get past you but they do hurt just a little. In a good way. You hadn’t seen a teary eyed smile like Joy’s in such a long time you almost forgot how good it felt, but how much it hurt too.

“You did all this for me?” she asks.

“I had help,” you return. “But I wanted to do something or give you something nice for hosting me the past two weeks and agreeing to take on an extra mouth to feed. It’s a thank you.”

She gives you another one of those hugs that squeeze more than they should, more than thought possibly. You squeeze in return and though you feel a couple tears slip down your cheek, you aren’t so afraid of the emotion. It’s something like loved, maybe it’s understood. Quite possibly it’s just the feeling of being embraced without judgement or restriction. You’re not really sure, but you do know you like it.

“Thank you,” Joy whispers while still hugging you. She makes space for the frame almost immediately though it takes a little rearranging of the living room but she finds the space. You’re sucking on a piece of candy, looking down at your phone. You know your mother is still living in Christmas Eve and the only message she’s gotten from you are about you being safe and okay.

I would send this as an actual letter, but I worry from Australia to home would take too much time. So I guess this works as next best. I can only hope you understand.

The easy things: Australia’s been fun. Haven’t run into a spider as big as my head just yet but there’s still plenty of time. Calum’s family has been amazing. I helped with Christmas decorations. Joy and I are cooking buddies. If I never had to leave, I probably wouldn’t.

And on and on you go about the tails of this particular vacation before getting to the hard stuff, how it’s hard sometimes to be home because home feels empty and too far away and how it’s hard sometimes to feel like you fit in the puzzle of it all. You tell her how hurt you are seeing how her side paid the death of your father dust. How nothing’s felt right once and you don’t know what caused it. You don’t know how it started but all you do know is that when dad was around, when you and him had those quiet moments it was closest to right you had every experience until now--sitting in your friend’s childhood home in a whole different country, more than half the day ahead of your own family and watching someone else’s world that you know you’re not really apart of but somehow you fit even as a stranger.

There’s that nagging voice in the back of your head that tells you this could all go to shit. Your mother could read all this and blow her top. But at least she would blow her top knowing the truth and the whole truth at that--that you love your family for being your family but recognizing the detriment happening.

I need you to know Mom. Because Dad didn’t. Or maybe he did, but I know I wasn’t the one that told him. So I am telling you. You don’t have to like it. You don’t have to like any of this and I’m not asking you or telling you you have to. But you have to know the truth and I have to tell you.

Before I go, there’s a present for you. Hidden in the top box of Dad’s stuff in your closet. It’s only tiny pieces of me and him, of us, but I hope you enjoy it. I hope it provides comfort.

While you’re not the most crafty, you know your way around a sewing machine. You didn't keep nearly as many t-shirts from family vacations as you would’ve liked to, hanks to a couple moves. But you kept enough and you snagged a few of your dad’s t-shirts and some of his old flannels too. All together it made a decent sized blanket--it could’ve been larger but there were a few failed starts before you got the true hang of it.

You’re not sure the whole message will send correctly and you think maybe it should’ve been an email, but that feels even less personal. So you watch the message lift up, hover for just a moment before it settles down and just beneath it, Delivered, pops up. Immediately, you place your phone face down. A watched pot never boiled and a watched text is never actually read.

“Calum!” Mali laughs. Just behind you they go barreling past, through the living room and he tries to make an escape up the steps but she manages to lunge fast enough to take hold of the back of his t-shirt. “Drop the cookies and no one has to get hurt.”

“Never!” he cries in return. His attempts are half hearted and you can only giggle watching them. That in turn earns you target as a potential accomplice and he calls out to you to get you to take the cookies and make an escape.

You walk over, take the packet of cookies. They’re decorated for Christmas and you decide take one off the top is fair pay for whatever mess you’re stepping into. After your take the first bite of your cookie, you hand the packet over to Mali who happily release Calum to snag a couple. “Traitor,” Calum returns, but takes another cookie too.

“I got my pay,” you laugh, polishing off the one cookie in your hand.

David enters then, taking another cookie too. “I got mine too,” he laughs before disappearing again back down the hallway. There are a few things around the house he needed to repair and Calum had been helping him though you suspect more than helping, Calum was sneaking cookies and trying to hide them from Mali. You offered to help too, but David insisted that you actually take a rest at least once during this time away.

You manage to catch the buzz over all the laughter. You don’t think your mother could’ve responded that fast. It’s not possible. But you slip away from the group and grab your phone from the couch cushions. Your heart hammers against your ribs, you can feel the vein in your neck throbbing.

Thank you for the blanket. It’s quite lovely. Glad you’re enjoying Australia. I don’t know if I can say sorry and have it mean much. But in turn, thank you for telling me the truth. Somehow you expected this to be much more emotional, much more earth shattering. But tides don’t change in the blink of an eye and cities don’t build themselves in a day.

“We should have a board game night,” Mali suggests from behind you. “Dunno know. Not much will be open up for long.”

“I’ll kick your ass in Scrabble,” Calum returns, “Anytime.”

And just behind is all you’ve ever really wanted. But just in front of you is all you’ve ever had, your mother and the distance. Maybe it’s not a matter of what you deserve or what is actually yours by blood. Maybe it’s just time to admit that family is also chosen. And you did all you could with your mother. You told her the truth.

A tear splashes onto your screen and you wipe at your eyes quickly. When had those formed? They didn’t even sting that time or maybe they did and you just hadn’t felt it. You’re not sure. Her message doesn’t warrant a response. Though you do imagine for a moment, her curled up on the couch, your blanket across her lap as she snacks on pistachios and the fireplace blazes next to her. The TV is playing Polar Express, her favorite Christmas film. And if the scene is sad, your mother is sad. And if the scene is happy, your mother is happy. And you like it better that she is tethered to the film’s emotions rather than anything going on outside of it.

“You down for a board game night? If not, we can find something else.” Calum’s voice is close and you can feel just how close is he off to the side of you.

“I’m down for a board game night,” you nod. Your voice quivers just a little. Crying is exhausting and you’d wish you had nothing left, but there is always the dregs left. Just enough to make your cheeks wet.

“You good? What’s up?”

“Told my mom,” you answer truthfully.

He figures it didn’t go super well given your silence.  “We can watch movies in my room then.”

“She didn’t threaten to blow up the country so I think we’re good,” you continue on. “But she loves her Christmas present. So I’ll take it as a win.”

“It’s the small victories.”

You nod, looking at the photos hanging right next to the Christmas tree. “Like kicking your ass in Scrabble,” you laugh. “I’m on Mali’s team.”

“Fighting words, those are fighting words. I brought you out here and you already turned over my cookie stash. Now you’re going against me in Scrabble! Really?”

“I’ve chosen you over and over,” you admit quietly. You’ve chosen him as a friend, and confidante and you appreciate him for being there. But you don’t say all that, instead you counter with, “But I think sometimes I should kick your ass in a game of Scrabble or too.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he returns with a laugh.

“I am,” you state simply. “I am lucky.”

[is-it-madness]

Metal Fingers

A/N 1: This fic is for my lovely beta/bestie @wowjeena Heyyo, would you be up to writing a soulmate au with Bucky? You can choose which type of soulmate au but can you make the reader a normal person (so not an Avenger or anything related)?? Thanks girl and if you don’t wanna that’s chill 👉🏼👉🏼 So... it’s not exactly a soulmate au, but I hope this is okay instead ☺️💜💜 I’m also so sorry it took so long. I hope you like it, my dear.

A/N 2: The Bucky Barnes Exhibit states he was born in 1916, but at the bottom where it gives his life span, it says he was born in 1917. I googled it to find the correct year, and it said 1917… I don’t know what to do with that information, other than to tell you guys there’s a mistake in the movie. 

A/N 3: I apparently couldn’t make this a one shot, so it’ll be a multi part story. I’m aiming between 3-5 parts

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x single mom!reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.5k+

~~~

Part 1

A Fallen Comrade.

James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes

Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom. Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front. Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation and torture. But his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, The Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed Hydra bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.

He knew these words. He read and reread them dozens— if not hundreds— of times. He wrote them down in every one of his notebooks as he was scrapping, searching for his memories that were just out of his reach. He could nearly taste them. They fluttered teasingly in front of him: close, but not close enough for him to snatch out of the air of uncertainty. 

He pulled a fresh notebook from his bag and a pencil, worried away from teeth and words. 

Start with what you know…

My name is James Buchanan Barnes. I was taken captive by Hydra and was used by them. I know a man named Steve. He was my friend.  

He trailed off. This is where he always was left floating in a sea of not knowing. He was left grasping for more. He was a starved man, empty without his memories. The few he managed to uncover did little to tide him over from insanity. He bit at that familiar indentation on his pencil, trying to think of something, anything at this point that was more than those four simple sentences he’s written everyday for the past several weeks. Sighing and pulling his baseball cap lower in frustration, Bucky returned his supplies to his bag, stood, and swung it over his right shoulder. Eyes low, and clutching his bag, Bucky made his way towards the exit of the crowded museum. Ever since the Potomac, this section of the Smithsonian was more packed than usual.

Nearly there. Nearly there. 

It was an understatement to say that Bucky Barnes didn’t like crowded areas. Too many bodies, pressing, and pushing against each other, loud noises, pointless conversations discussing mundane things. 

Nearly there. Nearly ther—

“Oof!”

He wouldn’t have noticed the boy that ran into him if his bag hadn’t slipped from his hand, spilling out the contents onto the floor. Bucky hurriedly crouched to retrieve his precious memories. He barely registers the boy picking up the items that had strayed a bit further. 

“Here you go Mister! I’m sorry for bumping into you like that.”

Bucky silently takes his belongings back from the little boy standing in front of him. 

Bucky unintentionally begins to analyze him.

Probably seven or eight. Bright eyes. Tousled hair. Skinny. Doesn’t clear 100 pounds soaking.

He shakes his head. Stop. No more. 

“Whoa, cool! Metal fingers!!”

Bucky quickly retracts his fingerless-gloved hand.

The boy pulls his hand from his sweatshirt pocket. “Yours are cooler, but I have metal fingers too! Well, actually it’s a metal arm because the doctors had to get rid of my real one because I got hurt super bad, but I think it’s really cool.”

The boy said this all extremely fast, Bucky had to blink a few times to register what he had said. A compliment? For his hand? A hand that’s maimed, killed, and caused so many people to suffer?

“Uh… I… I have a metal arm too.”

The little boy’s eyes widened even more. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but Bucky took off his glove and showed it to the boy.

He took Bucky’s hand in his and stared at it, looking back and forth at Bucky’s hand and his. Bucky stood there stiffly, unsure how to respond. The boy looked up at Bucky solemnly.

“Do you have super powers?” he whispered. 

Bucky couldn’t help but crack a smile at his seriousness, but before he could answer, a woman came running through the crowd.

“Noah!”

The boy turned to give her a lopsided grin. “Hi Mom!”

“How many times have I told you to stay by my side, young man?”

The boy, Noah, dropped Bucky’s hand and took a step closer to the woman. “Sorry. But Mom!”

A raised brow silenced Noah. The woman looked up at Bucky.

“I’m so sorry if he was bothering you. He’s very social.”

Bucky forgot how to speak for a minute. The woman standing in front of him was… well, he’d never seen anyone as beautiful as her. Bright, sparkling eyes confirming where Noah got his from, a soft voice, and a sweet smile.

“Oh, uh, no. I mean, he is. I mean‒” When was the last time he had gotten tongue-tied?

Bucky cleared his throat, forced himself to try to ignore the sweet smile that was widening, and tried again. “He wasn’t bothering me. We were just talking about‒”

“His metal arm! Look at it, Mom!” Noah hurries back to Bucky’s side and holds his mechanical hand. “Look how awesome it is! And it’s huge!” He started poking Bucky’s upper arm and gasps. “And so are his muscles!! I bet he could crush anything!”

Noah began miming picking up heavy objects or crushing imaginary things, complete with sound effects. Bucky doesn’t miss Noah’s mother’s eyes widen slightly when Noah pointed out how massive his biceps are.

“Noah, honey, why don’t we go check out the exhibit?”

“Oh yeah! Let’s go, Mom!” He nearly takes off again before giving his mother a sheepish smile.

“What did you do?”

“I… I turned our map into a paper airplane.”

“And?”

“And... it… flew out of my hands?”

“Mm hmm. I see. Well, I guess we’ll just have to come back another time.”

Noah gasps and clutches his mom’s hand. “No! Please Mom! Don’t do this to me!!”

Her laugh causes Bucky’s heart to skip a few beats, and it frustrates him that he doesn’t know why.

“Which exhibit are you looking for?”

Noah looks at Bucky and salutes. “We’re here to see the Mister Captain America exhibit.”

“I could take you guys there.”

What. On earth. Gave him that idea?!

“Woo! Let’s‒”

Noah’s cheer was cut off by his mother. “Oh, no that’s okay. I’m sure you’re busy and you probably have something to get to you.”

She’s right… Why did I even offer in the first place? I can’t‒

“It’s not a problem. I was heading over there right now actually.” 

Jesus! What’s wrong with me?

Noah grabbed his mother’s hand and followed Bucky to the famed exhibit.

~~~

“So, I take it Noah’s a fan of the Captain?”

The beautiful lady standing next to him nodded. “Yeah, Noah loves him; really looks up to him.”

“Makes sense, he’s a good guy.”

“Sounds like you’ve met him before.”

“You could say that.”

They were pulled away from their conversation when Noah ran up to them, grinning.

“Mom! Look how skinny Steve was! And, and his friend? Um… Bucky? Yeah! Bucky! He would always help Steve out because Steve would always get in fights! So Bucky would come and have to save him!” 

Noah then proceeded to animatedly tell his audience how Steve became the Captain and fought in the War. When he went to go read the display in front of Steve’s motorcycle, Bucky turned back to the woman.

“Is this his first time here?”

She nodded and smiled. “I promised I would take him when I had a day off. He’s been waiting for weeks.”

A pause.

“How ‘bout you?”

“What?” Damn that smile! He got distracted.

“I take it this isn’t your first time here?”

“No, ma’am.”

Her giggle caused his firm expression to slip into a small smile.

Bucky spent the rest of the afternoon showing Noah around. He learned that Noah and his mother had been in a terrible car accident two years before. The injuries Noah sustained to his right arm were irreversible, thus leading to an amputation, a prosthetic arm, and even though she didn’t say, expensive medical bills burdened on his mother.

When the museum closed, Noah was asking his mother when they’d be able to return.

“I’m not sure baby. How about next weekend?”

Noah did a little dance showing his affirmation. Then he looked at Bucky.

“Will you be here too, Mr. James?”

“Uh, yeah sure kid. I’ll be here.”

Noah fist pumped as his mother said goodbye to Bucky.

~~~

Holy shit. Holy shit! 

You had been trying to keep your cool ever since you found Noah with James. You were eating dinner and you still hadn’t gotten over him. That man was fucking stunning. Blue, blue eyes that were filled with such sorrow, a smile that made your insides flutter, and a deep voice you were willing to listen to for hours on end. Soft and sonorous. And he was so sweet and kind with Noah. That alone had you taking a liking to him.

“Mom?! Mom!”

“Oh— sorry, baby. What’s wrong?”

“Thanks for taking me to the museum.”

You ruffle his hair. “Thanks for being so patient for me.”

He smiles as he shovels pasta into his mouth. 

~~~

My Ride or Die:

@lehuka123 @thejournalman @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @rebloggingeverything @just-the-hiddles @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @thehumanistsdiary @fanfictionaries @astheworlddturns @bbarnestan @buckyfan12

[kadavernagh]

Avulsion Pt. 2 || Solo

TIMING: This morning, following Avulsion Pt. 1 LOCATION: The Common

Nudge.

Tap.

Push.

There was pressure against her back, against her wings, and they rustled in complaint. Regan stretched out, the pain of her tired muscles rousing her. Just a little.

“Abel, stop. We talked about this. Don’t touch the--” Wait. Abel? No. The horror of reality came rubberbanding back, and she was fully awake. She was five inches tall. And had just spent the night sleeping in the grass under a park bench. So who was-- Regan shot up, straining against the pain as her wings snapped tightly against her back. She stared up at an enormous hand, fingers crowding her, trying to nudge and poke at her again. They were dirty, with a sticky sheen to them, and Regan’s slow heart hammered frantically in her chest. Adrenaline surged. Her lungs filled. She scrambled backwards, further under the bench, and the hand tapped around in exploration, seeking her out. “Get back!” Regan yelled, because that had worked so effectively with the squirrel. “I scream impossibly loud!”

Hands. Hands were attached to people. Well, usually. She’d found plenty of hands that weren’t, over the years, but this one clearly was. Regan sidestepped the fingers and tried to peek out past the digits to see who they were attached to. 

A child. Kneeling, with eyes as bright as new pennies as she got a better view of Regan. Her giant mouth widened, and Regan stared up at teeth that seemed as big as her head -- with a dark gap where a deciduous tooth had been recently lost. The child had a spatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose and both cheeks, and Regan could smell her shampoo. She aimed her bright saucer eyes at Regan and the smile didn’t leave her face as the hand reached back out to grab her. Regan jumped away again, crawling back under the bench where even tiny fingers couldn’t reach. “I told you to stay away,” Regan said, voice shaky to her own ears, “I’m not a bug. Or a doll. Or whatever you think I--” 

The hand retreated. Regan watched the kneeling girl stand up and run over somewhere. Not far. She could still see the girl’s feet as she bounced on them in excitement.

“MOM!” The child shouted in a tone so loud that Regan thought she might have sustained hearing damage. “Mom, come look, there’s a fairy!”

Regan’s chest thumped again, and she pushed herself as close to the far leg of the bench as she could.

“Ashlee, there’s no such thing. Do you want your cookie?”

“No, mom, I wanna show you the fairy.”

“Here’s your cookie.”

That was close. Too close. She’d almost been grabbed by some child and--

The hand was back. Regan clung to the leg of the chair, trying to shrink into herself. If needed, she could make a run for it past the back of the bench, but she wasn’t convinced she could get very far, not right now. But instead of patting around for her, the hand -- there was something in the fingers. Regan gave it a hard look, and her nose answered the question: it was a small piece of cookie. “Fairy, where are you?” The shrill voice asked, as Regan caught those huge, shiny eyes peeking under the bench. They lit up when they landed on Regan, and the fingers pushed the cookie closer to her. She couldn’t help it; her stomach grumbled again, irritated at not being fed in… well, two days, she thought.

“My momma doesn’t believe in fairies, you know, but I dressed up as Tinkerbell for Halloween and I have TWO fairy shirts. One has glitter.”

Slowly, cautiously, Regan approached the hand. She reached out. Hesitated. She decided to make a grab for it, and used all of her might to break off a smaller piece of the cookie, devouring it greedily. Not exactly the nutrition her body probably needed right now, but it filled her stomach, made it stop chewing through itself. 

“What’s your name, fairy? I’m Ashlee. With two e’s, ‘cause e is better than y. That’s what mom says.”

Regan moved back toward the leg of the bench, staying back. Not answering. Not moving. She bit back the instinct to respond, that same discomfort on her tongue that forced the truth out of her mouth. She was never good with children, or even adolescents and subadults, and now this one had taken a keen interest in her. And was massive. 

“Do you talk, fairy? Most people can’t hear Tinkerbell ‘cause she’s so tiny, but Peter Pan understands her and they’re best best friends, like me and Maddy. Do you have a best friend? Do you wanna be friends?” Ashlee pushed another small bit of cookie closer to Regan, and her stomach lurched when she remembered just how grimy the child’s hands were. She had eaten out of them. But the thought of Nadia was worse. She was probably right there with Kaden, searching frantically. Regan wasn’t sure what she had done to earn Nadia’s friendship, but she was certainly the closest Regan had ever had to be a best friend. Queenie had always been a best… something else.

She sighed and looked up at Ashlee’s bright eyes. There was no way out of this without saying anything, was there? She didn’t suppose the girl’s mom would come hollering after her right now. 

Regan stayed toward the back, but called out. “I’m not a fairy, first of all.” Bishop’s voice rang through her head. Crush that little girl’s dreams, why don’t you, Doc? Ashlee’s eyes grew wide. 

“Your mother is right; fairies do not exist. I’m human, like you, and I’m a doctor. A doctor who is... unsure about a lot of things right now, and doesn’t know whether to question her education or her sanity. But I’ve sustained some injuries. Can you text someone for me?” She looked up, hopeful. 

But Ashlee glanced around, like she was about to whisper a secret. “My mom says I can’t have a phone until I’m as old as Max, but that’s never gonna happen ‘cause he has a birthday every year too. She thinks I don’t know that ‘cause I’m six and a half.”

Regan pressed her hand to her forehead and groaned, both at the situation and the flare of pain as her palm made contact with the burn. Pressure filled her lungs, which caused a crest of pain, and the scream seemed to slink back, as if it knew Regan’s body couldn’t handle it right now. “Then can you-- I need help. Please. Can I talk to your mother?”

As if on cue, her mom’s voice shouted in an annoyed whiplash.

“Come on, Ashlee. Leave whatever bug is down there alone. Don’t make me say it again.”

“But mom, it’s a fairy! A real life fairy! A doctor fairy, like in--”

“Ashlee, we’re leaving.”

“Sorry. My mom says I gotta go.” Ashlee whispered to her, leaving the rest of her cookie under the bench, before abandoning the bench, too.

“Not a fairy,” Regan grumbled, even as she was alone again. 

She stared at the cookie, covered in child-hand-grime and dirt. A six -- no, six and a half year old -- child just left her a cookie under a bench. Because she was five inches tall and mistaken for a fairy. Because impossible things upon impossible things kept happening. 

I would be fascinated to hear your expert medical opinion on this, Bishop had said. Regan didn’t have one, not this time. Her medical opinions had failed her, her expertise had failed her, and somehow, like a shared secret, others in town seemed less disturbed and surprised by all of this. They always did. All of them. Kaden, Nadia, Bishop. Even her old boss, who’d ousted her from Augusta after likely being involved in an attempt on her life, all to stifle information, part of this big secret, this language she didn’t understand. Things were accepted without question, hand waved with supernatural non-explanations, and everyone thought she was the insane one for relying on facts and medical expertise. 

But she was the one who was five inches tall, under a bench, torn up, with wings. Whether it was denial that got her here or her righteous, stubborn, but ultimately often correct nature, this was the result.

Desperation made you blind, she thought once more. 

Maybe that was a good thing for her.

She was about to break off a piece -- at least a piece not contacting the ground -- when she heard a shout. 

The word sent a shockwave through her tiny system.

“Poutine! Hot poutine! Get your Canadian snacks!”

Regan perked up, and her wings gave a small flutter. Kaden. He wasn’t selling poutine in the Common, of course (probably), but she imagined him scouring every inch of grass looking for her and getting in an argument with this Poutine Man. Maybe he was nearby. And maybe the poutine would draw his attention. He would be out searching. All night and day, he would be out. Probably with Bishop. And Blanche. And Nadia. They were all looking for her, and here she was, giving up. 

She peered out from underneath the bench and saw cart wheels rolling down the path, heard the voice shouting from even closer. “Poutine! Come and get your poutine!” 

It wasn’t some sign from the universe, and certainly not from some greater power, but she would take the reminder for what it was. 

She steeled herself for the pulsing pain as she stretched out, wings spread as a test. Everything still throbbed, but the Poutine Man, of all the damn things in this horrible town, so prone to misery, tightened her focus. Or, at least made her not want to lie in the dirt waiting to die. 

“Okay,” Regan said aloud, a hard edge of determination crystallizing in her voice, “Find Kaden. Or fly home. Whichever comes first. All without being eaten by a bird, chased by a squirrel, or mistaken for a toy.” Her feet left the ground as the wings whirred behind her; it hurt, but not as much as staying here. Find Kaden. Fly home. No more things will break. But first, the raccoon carcass.

[madisonbarton]

Daddy’s Blunt Little Instrument Chapter 4

TITLE: Daddy’s Blunt Little Instrument Chapter 4 PAIRING: [Steve/Madison] RATING: T CHAPTER: 4/? SUMMARY: Madison Barton, Junior Agent for SHIELD, is determined to get her father back from Loki. Along the way, she falls in love. When her father returns, she is determined to get revenge on Loki for what he did and becomes an Avenger herself against her father’s wishes.

“It’s good to meet you, Dr. Banner”, Stark said, “Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage-monster”.

“Smooth”, Madison said in a stage whisper.

“Thanks”, Banner said. It seemed like he wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. That and he wasn’t exactly proud of some things he had done in the past.

“Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube. I was hoping you might join him”, Fury snapped.

“Please, Stark is more like a mad scientist”, Madison scoffed.

Fury sighed and said, “Thank you Agent Barton”.

“I’d start with that stick of his. It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon”, Steve said.

“I don’t know about that, but it is powered by the cube. And I would like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys”.

“Monkeys? I do not understand”, Thor said causing Steve to say, “I do. I understood that reference”.

Stark rolled his eyes and turned to Banner. “Shall we play, Doctor?” Stark asked Banner.

“Oooo, kinky”, Madison purred.

Stark looked at her and winked. “Oh, you’ve got no idea sweetheart”, Stark said before walking off.

Thor walked up to Madison. “You are Agent Barton’s daughter are you not?” Thor asked her.

She nodded.

“I promise my brother will pay for what he’s done to your family, little bird”.

Tears filled Madison’s eyes and Natasha placed her hand on the young girl’s back.

“Why do you cry, little dove?” Thor asked.

“My father calls me Baby Bird. Excuse me”. Madison pulled away from Natasha and left the room. She walked to the training room and decided to shoot a few arrows to calm her nerves.

It wasn’t long before she felt someone come up behind her. Madison spun around and aimed for their heart. She dropped her bow when she noticed it was Steve. “Don’t do that!” she snapped, “I could’ve killed you!”

“Sorry, I…I came to see if you were okay”.

“I’m fine”, she said, going over to the target to retrieve her arrows.

“I was going to go check on Banner and Stark. I thought you’d wanna come with me. We need to stick together at a time like this”, Steve said as she placed them in her quiver.

“Us as in me and you? Or us as in the team?” she asked him.

Steve stammered and blushed, looking down at the ground.

Madison walked up to him and placed her hands on his chest. The tips of their noses were touching due to how close Madison was standing to him. “Thank you”, she said.

“For what?” Steve asked her.

She shrugged. “Oh, you know. Stopping a homicidal God, saving the world”, she said smiling.

Steve smiled back at her, his gaze subconsciously drifting to her lips.

Madison stared up into his blue eyes as she closed the distance and kissed him.

The kiss was short and only lasted about a second, but it was one of the best kisses Madison had ever had.

Madison pulled away from him and said, “Come on, big boy”. She gave him a wink and walked out of the training room.

They entered the lab as Stark poked Banner with something that shocked him. Stark looked at Banner, checking for some kind of reaction.

“Hey! Are you nuts?” Steve asked Stark.

“Jury’s out. You really have got a lid on it, haven’t you? What’s your secret? Mellow jazz, bongo drums, huge bag of weed?”

“Is everything a joke to you?” Steve asked him.

“Funny things are”.

“Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn’t funny”, Steve said without thinking. He turned to Banner and said, “No offense, Doc”.

“None taken”, Banner told Steve, “It’s all right. I wouldn’t have come aboard if I couldn’t handle pointy things”.

“You’re tip-toeing, big man. You need to strut”, Stark told Banner.

“And you need to focus on the problem, Mr. Stark”, Steve said.

“Do you think I’m not?” Stark asked him, “Why did Fury call us in? Why now? Why not before? What isn’t he telling us? I can’t do the equation unless I have all the variables”.

“You think Fury’s hiding something?”

“This is Fury we’re talking about. Of course he’s hiding something. He’s a spy. He’s the spy”, Madison told Steve.

“Katniss is right. It’s bugging him, too. Isn’t it?” Stark asked Banner.

“I just want to finish my work here, and…” Banner said deflecting.

“Doctor?” Steve asked him.

““A warm light for all mankind”. Loki’s jab at fury about the cube”.

“I heard it”. “I think that was meant for you”, Banner said indicating Stark, “Even if…Barton…didn’t tell Loki about the tower, it was still all over the news”.

“My father and I live in Brooklyn when he’s not here or on a mission. Of course we heard about it. I guarantee my father told him about it”, Madison said.

“The Stark Tower? That big, ugly…building in New York?” Steve asked.

Stark gave him a look.

“It’s powered by an arc reactor, a self sustaining energy source. That building will run itself for what, a year?” Banner asked.

“It’s just the prototype. I’m kind of the only name in clean energy right now. That’s what he’s getting at”, Stark told him.

“So, why didn’t S.H.E.I.L.D. bring him in on the Tesseract project? What are they doing in the energy business in the first place?” Banner asked.

“I should probably look into that once my decryption program finishes breaking into all of S.H.E.I.L.D.’s secure files”, Stark said.

“Awesome! How are you doing it?” Madison asked grabbing the thing in Stark’s hand.

“I’m sorry. Did you say…?” Steve asked.

“Jarvis has been running it since I hit the bridge. In a few hours, I’ll know every dirty secret S.H.E.I.L.D. has ever tried to hide”, Stark said grabbing the thing back from Madison.

“Yet you’re confused about why they didn’t want you around”, Steve quipped.

“An intelligence agency that fears intelligence? Historically, not awesome”.

“I think Loki’s trying to wind us up”.

“Maybe I can help you wind down”, Madison purred.

“This a man who means to start a war, and if we don’t stay focused he’ll succeed”, Steve said ignoring Madison’s offer, “We have orders. We should follow them”.

“Following’s not really my style”, Stark said.

“And you’re all about style, aren’t you?” Steve asked him, the tension in the room growing.

“Of the people in this room, which one is A. wearing a spangly outfit, and, B. not of use?”

Madison stepped between the two men and said, “Dial down the testosterone”.

“Steve, tell me none of this smells a little funky to you”, Banner said.

“Just find the cube”, Steve said walking off.

“Steve!” Madison called going after him.

[n3rdlif343va]

Yuuri and Viktor going bowling for date night. Viktor completely destroys Yuuri. so on there next date night they go mini golfing... Yuuri rules... But the next date night they go to Lazer tag...... Write who you think would win that one!!!

FINALLY answering this ask!!! And because I had your permission to do so, I have adapted it to fit in the Law Firm of Handsome Nerds series :) Without further delay, I give you… Team Building (also available on Ao3: Team Building)

Their firm was exactly one week old. Boxes had been unpacked, hours of sweaty labor had been put in to rearrange furniture and arguments over who got which office had been resolved by a game of flip cup, played across the conference room table. The letters were finally stenciled on the door and everyone had agreed to Yuuri’s thoroughly structured filing system. They were officially the Law Firm of Katsuki, Nikiforov, and Chulanont, attorneys at law, friends in sarcasm.

The concept had been simple. Three friends, all the experienced attorneys, going out on their own to build a firm based on their combined knowledge and skills. Victor and Phichit would be in charge of networking and bringing in new cases, while Yuuri provided the initial clientele, stealing the majority of his previous clients from the public defender’s office. Reduced rates would be offered to each of these clients, with continued offers for reductions for every client they referred. Phichit was convinced that they would easily be making sustainable money long before their individual savings accounts ran out.

Yuuri had been the most hesitant, although a few drinks and hours of delicious food prepared by the husbands Chulanont had brought him on board. His paycheck from the State was a steady one, but it came with its own negatives and the positives of the new firm outweighed everything his current employer could offer him. At the top of the positive list was the open policy on bringing all of their pets to the office. The idea of having Vicchan circling his feet while working had put Yuuri solidly in the yes column.

So the firm of Katsuki, Nikiforov and Chulanont was born, an infant firm with three incredibly good-looking partners determined to make a name for themselves in the midst of the polluted market of legal counsel.

It was Phichit’s well-intentioned idea that they celebrate their new partnership with the ridiculous concept of team building. Yuuri had googled the phrase, finding workshops and campsites that encouraged it and had immediately shut Phichit down on the potential list of activities. In response, Phichit had volunteered another idea: bowling.

That’s how they all found themselves strapped into Velcro rental shoes, surrounded by loud music and flashing neon lights late on a Friday night. The idea of rock-n-bowl hadn’t appealed to Yuuri since their drunken college days, but he found himself having fun nonetheless. Until Victor had leaned over the back of his chair and laid down a challenge.

“I’m better than you,” Victor taunted, tugging on the back of Yuuri’s hair and making him twist around in his seat. “How about if I win, you have to set up my computer.” The signature smirk was painted over Victor’s face and Yuuri felt the distinct need to wipe it clean off.

“Fine,” Yuuri said, standing to take his turn. “If I win,” Yuuri lifted his ball, eying Victor over the top of it, “you have to build the TV stand that is sitting in my living room.” Turning, Yuuri bent his knees and released his ball. When it struck the pins they shouted in protest, diving for the ground in a pile of ten. Yuuri shot his own smirk at Victor. “Beat that… partner.” The last word had a bite to it, daring Victor to retaliate.

The challenge burned through Victor’s chest and he hopped off the small step, moving directly into Yuuri’s space. “You’re on, counselor.” He flicked Yuuri’s nose before dancing toward the lane to retrieve his own ball.

“The fun has just been sucked out of this activity,” Seung-gil stated, arm slung over his husband’s shoulders as Phichit snorted. Seung-gil wasn’t a part of the firm, but he was Phichit’s husband and therefore invited anywhere they went as a group.

“Let them fight it out,” Phichit watched as the teasing continued, Yuuri mercilessly attempting to distract Victor during his attempt to pick up a spare. The result being a slight wrestling match at the front of the lane, making Phichit chuckle and Seung-gil snort. “They have to get all that tension out somehow!” The pair was now tickling each other, firing off insults in rapid witty bullets.

“Side bet,” Seung-gil turned to look at Phichit instead of the ridiculous ball of sexual tension wrestling fifteen feet away from them. “I say they are together within the year.”

Phichit laughed, loudly and accompanied with a slap to his knee. “Those two?” He threw his head back with unexplained humor. “Oh my gosh, honey, they are so dumb. They have at least another five years of bickering to go before they realize how much they love each other!” Putting out his hand, Phichit shook his husband’s with a cocky smile. “You’re on, sweetheart. And if I win you’re mine for the day.”

“I’m yours every day,” Seung-gil purposefully avoided his husband’s innuendo, smiling when Phichit huffed at him.

“You know what I mean,” Phichit leaned in, running his tongue over Seung-gil’s ear. His husband blushed a fierce red and Phichit sat back triumphantly, eyes traveling back to the struggling mass that was his law partners. The two idiots were now crumpled on the floor alternating pinches and tickles in a fruitless fight for control.

It took them until the lights were being turned on to bowl the final frame of their first game, their progress dramatically slowed by Yuuri and Victor’s insistence on physically fighting between every turn. In the end, Victor beat them all by over forty points and Yuuri spent Saturday afternoon assembling his partner’s computer while Victor gloated from across the desk.

“What is that?” Yuuri leaned on Victor’s office door frame. In their first month they had made enough money to pay their rent and take home a little money for each of them. The flow of clients wasn’t yet constant so they all had time to tweak their offices to their liking. Currently, Victor was hanging a large chalkboard in his office.

“My win board,” Victor said, speaking around the nail that was braced between his lips.

It was a softball, lobbed beautifully into the air and Yuuri couldn’t resist the easy shot. “Why is it so big?” He snickered when Victor glared over his shoulder. “I believe my win-to-loss record is still better than yours.” Yuuri ducked when Victor threw a nail in his direction. “Your aim is as good as your defense work.”

Victor calmly hung his chalkboard over the nail, unwilling to ruin his hard work to pummel Yuuri. As soon as it hung in perfect balance, Victor laid the hammer on his desk and spun to face his best friend. “You better run, counselor.” He laughed as Yuuri yipped and took off running down the hallway. Taking pursuit, Victor could feel the laughter bubbling up. He snagged Yuuri halfway down the hall, bringing them down into a pile of laughter and cursing.

They hadn’t made record-breaking money, but the relief that they hadn’t fallen flat on their faces had kept Victor in an elevated mood. Using the exhilarated feeling, Victor let himself slip back into his younger self, wrestling with Yuuri in the slender hallway, uncaring about the wrinkles taking over his shirt and his one shoe which was lying a foot away from them.

Above them the distinct click of a cell phone camera broke through their physical altercation. Freezing, they both slowly turned toward their third partner seeing the smug smile planted on Phichit’s face. “I’m going to post this to the firm’s Instagram,” Phichit teased, waving his phone in the air.

Making eye contact, Victor dropped Yuuri’s wrists as they both screamed, “get him!” Scrambling from the floor, they chased the laughing Phichit through their small office.

Three days later there were chalkboards hanging in both Yuuri’s and Phichit’s offices, lovingly hung by Victor, despite each of the new boards being half the size of his own.

“Mini golf,” Phichit text to their group chat with a number of emojis that Yuuri didn’t even try to understand.

“Why,” Seung-gil text back without punctuation. Yuuri snorted at Seung-gil’s ability to be deadpan even in text.

“Sounds fun,” Victor responded, the three little dots appearing underneath it. “Katsuki, wanna bet I kick your ass again?”

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed at his screen. Victor had won in bowling, but there was no way he would win in mini-golf. “Nikiforov, last time we played mini-golf you lost three balls in the water and threw your club at the clown hole.”

“Yuuri, you be in charge of Victor’s balls then so he doesn’t lose them,” Phichit added fifteen winking faces and laughed when Yuuri responded with all of the available weapon emojis.

“Ignoring you,” Yuuri responded, taking a second to structure his response, “Ok Mr.-I-can’t-handle-my-own-balls, you’re on. Name your terms.”

“I do just fine with my balls!” Victor’s text appeared so quickly it was as if he had anticipated Yuuri’s joke. “I win, you vacuum the office for a month.” The office cleaning was a set of chores which were divvied each week to avoid the cost of a cleaning service. Victor had pulled vacuuming which wasn’t the worst chore, but was a chore nonetheless.

“You’re on,” Yuuri replied, “and if I win, we switch chalkboards, since I need the bigger one anyway.”

“Over-compensating?” Victor shot back attaching eggplant emojis to his text.

“Who bought it in the first place?” Yuuri sent his message while snickering into the bag of his hand.

“Again, I ask…. Why.” Seung-gil’s text had Yuuri fully laughing at his desk as they continued to argue back and forth to set times for their next round of team building.

When Saturday afternoon rolled around, the four of them stood in the middle of the mini-golf course, surrounded by little kids, frustrated parents, and annoying teenagers. They had already been scolded twice for their inappropriate language and Victor was on his second ball.

“What’s the score?” Yuuri asked, lining up his shot on the ninth hole, wiggling his ass for comic effect.

“You are winning,” Victor huffed, arms crossed over his chest. “Cheaters never prosper, Yuuri.” Proving his own point, Victor kicked Yuuri in the foot and tripped backwards being caught by a giggling Phichit.

“Is that so?” Yuuri tossed back nonchalantly. Staring straight at Victor, Yuuri swung his club and sunk his ball into the hole in one shot.

“For fuck’s sake!” Victor exclaimed, tossing his own club onto the ground.

Yuuri won by 14 strokes, they almost got kicked out twice, and Victor relinquished his larger chalkboard after three solid days of whining about his loss.

Yuuri was sitting behind a stack of files, feeling overwhelmed as he delved into the detailed word of personal injury. He had signed up for a conference taking place later in the year and hoped he could fake it until he received the training and continuing education that the conference would provide. Sighing again, his head snapped up as Phichit knocked on his open door.

“I acquired two interns,” Phichit leaned against the door with his arms folded over his chest.

“Acquired? Phichit it sounds like you fucking bought them!” Yuuri shook his head as Phichit howled with laughter.

“Of course not! Only you, Yuuri!” Phichit laughed again. Composing himself, Phichit cleared his throat. “They are ending their first year of law school so they need experience and are happily working with us without pay. I’m trading them conference room access and studying assistance.” Yuuri hummed in response, not particularly caring as long as he didn’t need to be involved in the process. “You know what this means, right?”

Glancing up at Phichit’s excited face, Yuuri moaned and banged his head on his desk. “Phichit, no!”

“Phichit, yes!” his law partner yelled, pumping a fist in the air. “Team building, here we come!”

Which is how they found themselves, along with their two interns who looked bewildered, strapped into laser tag gear at ten p.m. on a Thursday night. Phichit attempted to sacrifice himself to the team he deemed the “intern team,” leaving Victor, Yuuri, and Seung-gil on the same team.

“Nah uh,” Victor declared loudly, “I can’t be on the same team as Katuski. Bets don’t work if we are on the same team.”

“No bets!” Seung-gil and Phichit yelled in unison, making the interns, Yuri and Otabek jump. “We are here for fun, you two!” Phichit eyed them carefully, flicking a finger between them. “This is an activity to make us a better team.”

“Besides,” Yuri added, glaring at Victor, “you are the tallest, so you are an easy target, I don’t want you on my team.” Yuuri roared with laughter until Victor shoved him into a wall. Kicking his foot out, Yuuri caught Victor behind the back of the knee, dumping his best friend on the ground. “On second thought,” Yuri shoved Phichit into Seung-gil’s arms and yanked Yuuri to the side with himself and Otabek. “We’ll take him.”

Victor pouted from the ground, his acceptance of Yuuri’s offered hand filled with grumpy salt. Leaning over Yuuri, Victor narrowed his eyes. “If we win, I want my chalkboard back.”

Yuuri laughed, stepping back to stand with Yuri and Otabek. “If we win, I get the couch.”

A shocked look appeared on Victor’s face. “You wouldn’t!” He placed a hand over his heart, mockingly acting as if he had been mortally wounded. “That couch has sentimental value to both of us!”

Rolling his eyes, Yuuri stuck his hand out. “Take it or leave it, Nikiforov.” Smirking when Victor grabbed his hand, Yuuri quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “May the best man win!”

“I intend to,” Seung-gil added, smiling slightly before dragging Phichit away to their base.

In the end, Yuri was a ringer no one saw coming, mercilessly killing off the other team with repeated and skilled fire. His score was so high that it left the other members of the firm staring at the scoreboard in disbelief. Yuuri’s team easily won and he silently gloated through dinner about his future use and possession of the worn blue couch that had once existed in his shared apartment with Victor.

Victor refused to get off of the couch while Yuuri and Phichit attempted to move it from his office the next day, resulting in them giving up and calling him a baby. “A baby with a couch!” Victor yelled triumphantly from his office, dodging the handfuls of the firm’s pens as they were launched at him by his partners.

The war of thrown office supplies, spurred on by Victor’s retaliation for being bombarded with pens, left their office a complete disaster and the three partners a flushed, humor exhausted mess. Sinking back into his chair, smirking at the pile of disorganized supplies scattered through his personal office, Yuuri decided that joining his friends in this adventure was the best decision he had made in his life.

And thus through humor, friendship, and curse-laden sarcasm, the Law Firm of Katsuki, Nikiforov, and Chulanont came to be.