#I built this score brick by brick

[sistertotheknowitall]

I love the idea of Danny being just Some Guy.

Like yes he’s Phantom, yes he has ghost powers, yes he’s the King of the Infinite Realms. But to the BatFam? That is just Some Guy. A random dude - if you will.

They are positively baffled by him. Like he’s completely normal as far as they (and the background check) can see. Yet, he. Is. EVERYWHERE. (Not actually but it sure feels like it.)

The kids have a running bingo card of where he’ll turn up. Outside a warehouse they’re raiding? Check. Stopped a mugging? He was the one being mugged. Tim’s favorite coffee shop? He was just hired as a barista.  Seriously it’s like everytime they turn around he’s there.

Which wouldn’t be such a problem if he REACTED NORMALLY. But no. He doesn’t flee in fear, stare in awe, he doesn’t even try to say thank you. This man looked Batman in the eye and called him the furry vigilante - TO HIS FACE! He casually referred to Dick as “the flying monkey one” to Red Robin while also calling Tim a literal walking Red Flag. When he crosses paths with Duke he doesn’t always speak but he does always give him a snack. (Sometimes it’s candy, sometimes it’s fruit but it’s always food. And he only gives them to Duke.)

He once told Jason that he didn’t care that he was a crime lord and built like a brick house, Danny would kick his ass and drag his “rotted milk soul” too hell if the gun fights kept going on past midnight. (He had exams in the morning damnit.)

He will only call Damian “baby ninja” no matter how many times the kid insists that his name is Robin.

Spoiler and Orphan? The only ones he’s respectful to but even they get the occasional random comment. (“It may be a Tuesday, but if the universe is gonna make me the human equivalent of a pin cushion then I have the right to keep the knife.”) (It was actually a Friday but who were they to argue with a man bleeding out in an alley.)

Eventually the Batkids start keeping score of who has had the most out of pocket thing said to them by this random white boy.

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

There are two types of Mech, the Analog, and the Linked.

Analog mechs are the far, far cheaper of the two. Much less specialized, and infinitely more common, able to be found not just in military use, but in Agricultural and Industrial use as well.

To pilot one, all you need it four limbs (Including prosthetics) and good senses, and to score well in the Simulators to get your license.

Analog is a bit of a misnomer, a holdover word from yesteryear, simply meaning "Less sophisticated."

Analog Mechs work by scanning the Brain Activity of the pilot, comparing it to the physical input of the controls, and deciding what to do from there. They're considered old fashioned and less reliable than Linked Mechs, but they're reliable enough for the work they do. They are more easily replaced and retrofitted for different tasks.

They have simpler AI, and to exit one, you simply take the helmet off and open the hatch.

Linked Mechs are a whole other can of worms.

Each and every Linked Mech is custom built and fitted to their pilot, from the heaviest weapon, to the smallest nut, no one is the same as the other.

Linked Mech are Physically plugged into their pilot's nervous system, and they act as one. It can take hours of Decompression and Disconnection to remove a Linked Pilot.

Linked Mechs are truly nothing without their pilots.

Linked Pilots are the most terrifying people you may ever meet.

Their skin is mottled from the Oxygenator-Coolant that runs in their veins, the plugs and ports too deeply entwined in their flesh and body to be removed without serious disruption to their faculties, hairless and sterile from their conditioning and actions when inside their vessel, and that's only the physical differences.

Depending on how long they've been a Linked Pilot, their mental capabilities are affected in different ways.

'Young' pilots are simply too wary - able to pick up on the most minute details, in all five senses.

Their Mechs are still machine.

'Moderate' pilots have some neurological and mental degradation in addition to what they had before. often confused or forgetful outside of their mech, but still very aware of their surroundings, if not their place in time.

Their Mechs act protective of them, like a dog to it's beloved owner.

'Old' Pilots have all the earlier issues, compounded and worsened, and sometimes confusing themself for their mech, even going so far as to entering refill and Refueling areas of the hangars.

Their Mechs act the same, often trying to reach their pilot's quarters and the Cafeteria.

They may refuse to separate at time, feeling more comfortable together than apart.

and then there are the 'Fused' the oldest and rarest caste of Linked Pilot and Mech.

The Pilot and The Mech fused absolutely, inseparable for Neurological, Psychological, and physical reasons.

They are the same. They are one. A perfect fusion of the Biological and Mechanical, Electrochemical Intelligence and the Fissile-Logic Personality, Mirroring each other with every breath and ventilation protocol.

And they are still people.

The Fused still need social interaction and entertainment. They still need variety and novelty, comfort. All the things anyone else would.

Fused are the least common, but are the least likely to die. Too perfectly combined, Too well accompanied.

The Three times a 'Fused' has been separated, The pilot Died, the Mech 'Bricked' itself, like a Jail-broke phone, no matter how it was done.

Fused are the most loyal, true, and caring of all pilots.

Few ever meet the 'Pilot,' the meat within the metal, but the few that do are those most trusted by the Fused person, as the Fused is showing you their beating heart.

If you earn one's trust, and are given this deep, grand honor, I only have one piece of advice.

Do. Not. Break. That. Trust.

[somewhere-south-of-neutral]

Senior year of high school, a classmate and I both received the STAR award, which is given to the student or students who get the highest SAT scores in their graduating class each year. The award ceremony was held at the clubhouse of an old wealthy social club, the kind that, in Atlanta at least, probably doesn't want you digging into its past. I am Jewish, and the other recipient from my school was Black. Most of the honorees, students from high schools all over the city, were members of one minority or another. A large number (though I don't remember if it was more, less, or equal to half) were also women. I remember thinking that there was a good chance that almost none of us would have been allowed into that room before the 1980s. And then I remember thinking, as one student after another who didn't fit the white, Christian, male mold these clubs were built to cater to went on stage to accept their award, that our presence in that room was a victory in more ways than one.

I have been to Masada, from which you can still see the outlines of the Roman warcamps that besieged a doomed band of Jewish rebels and where, nearly two thousand years later, an Orthodox rabbi tearfully looked up from the ruin he was investigating to inform the watching archaeologists that the ancient mikveh they had found, the oldest we know of, was kosher.

I have stood in the ruined Jewish quarters in Lisbon and Madrid, where there are very few Jews anymore. But I was there, and I did not need to hide. I have been to the former headquarters of the Spanish Inquisition, where, in buildings made of bricks hewn from the graves of my forebears, they orchestrated my nonexistence. But I was there, and I existed, and the inquisition did not.

I have been to Savannah, GA, where the descendants of those who fled the inquisition founded a synagogue. The Inquisition headquarters were in ruin, but that synagogue still stands strong, and people still pray there. It is beautiful.

I have been to Berlin, where less than a century ago a plot to ensure that I could never exist, along with the descendants of many other minorities, was hatched and came frighteningly close to succeeding. But I was there, and I walked the streets visibly Jewish, made so not by a badge of shame but by my kippah, which I wore, and still wear, proudly wherever I go.

I have been to Prague, where centuries ago, according to myth, the rabbis created the golem, a magical protector built out of necessity to shield the community from harm. The golem is not there, but the community still stands. The Great Synagogue is one of the most beautiful and ornate buildings I have ever been to.

In every generation they have tried to destroy us, but we are still here and they are not. These next four years, and likely many after, will be hard. They will be steered by those who want us dead, and when I say us I mean all of us, any who do not fit their very narrow mold, but we will survive. And, one day, our (literal or figurative) descendants will stand in the places where they plotted to destroy us, and they will be free, and they will work to undo the damage, and their presence in those places will be a victory in more ways than one.

Good luck. Stay safe. We will get through this together. I love you.

[moltengoldveins]

so we can all agree that the newest 2WEI song (take the crown) is the trailer song for an Antarctic Empires Emerald Duo pg14 movie where Techno is a gladiator who earned his freedom and has vowed to destroy the government that enslaved him and Philza is an old demigod banished to a solitary plane of existence for five decades after attempting to run a coup against the ruling class.

They meet on a battlefield, Techno having joined up as brute muscle and Phil having used some minor illusions to pass as a quirky avian and join the bombardment team. Combining some similar plot beats as Oceans 11 and Atlantis: The Lost Empire, they gather a specialized team of insurrectionists, anarchists, battle mages, and warriors to take down the imperium from the inside, eventually planning on restoring the nation to the democracy it was in Phil’s earliest memories. But will they manage it, or will their bloody pasts and violent present seat Technoblade on the throne as the Antarctic Emperor, with Philza as his right hand, the Angel of Death? (Spoiler, the second option. It’s the most controversial film finale decision of the decade.)

The movie is filmed in a style somewhere between Dune 1, the Prince of Egypt, and Topgun. (denis villeneuve is too busy and too expensive, but it’s clear they’re taking inspiration. Bold colors and lighting and a lot of shots of the sky, wildlife, architecture, or of characters’ hands.) It’s scored by an up and coming indie musician, working under the consultation of Ludwig Gorannson in his spare time as a pet project, though his association with the film doesn’t really come out until it Smashes the expected theatre income in the first two days of release and critics start Raving about it. Techno’s actor is nominated for an Oscar for one of the most compelling intricate portrayals of ptsd and platonic devotion in modern cinema, but doesn’t actually get the Oscar.

Tumblr is flooded with gif sets of Techno in the Obligatory No Armor After Gladiator Fight Scene and the Late Night Vibing With Phil In A Loose Poet Shirt scene (firelit, lots of closeups of his eyes, the film is obviously attempting to express his complex emotional state and his deep relationship with Phil, and is failing miserably at doing Anything but making him hot. The internet is ✨gay✨ about it, because when is the internet not?) Also most of the simps are calling Phil a dilf.

Fit MC is the fan-favorite side character, his four scenes and nine lines of dialogue are clipped and edited and giffed and memed into the dirt. (His armor and prosthetic, the makeup and costuming department say, were the hardest thing to do in the entire film, which is why he isn’t in too many shots.) Though, a close second is Niki, who is played by a woman built like a brick house who doesn’t wear sleeves, so…. Yeah. We all know what the response is there. The effects, including Phil’s wings, are almost entirely practical and the only real places it gets iffy is Steve, the giant war polar bear that’s pretty clearly clipping through a few snowbanks here and there. Nobody can agree on which characters are morally reprehensible.

Within a few years, very few people outside a dedicated fan base have seen it and a few assume it’s made up like Goncharov. It’s also, for some ungodly reason, been labeled a Christmas film. (most of the plot happens in the ice and snow, hence ‘Antarctic Empire.’) I guess nothing says ‘Christmas spirit’ quite like ‘unmitigated violence, platonic yearning, and overthrowing oppressors.’

[hometoursandotherstuff]

It's been a long time since I found a home made of recycled material and this one is exceptional. You gotta see this ecologically friendly, unique home, known as The Treehouse. Built in 1943 in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, it has 3bds, 2ba, and is only $299,900.

If you've never seen one before, an upcycled home made of architectural salvage and recycled material is an interesting mix of various unique salvaged elements.

What an appropriate sign- "Humble." It's just a house made of humble inexpensive or free discarded and reused material. Note the 3 different colored glass windows. I bet they have some interesting stories.

The fireplace could be made from leftover bricks.

On the other side is the kitchen with an island made of window panes, and miscellaneous wood, plus a counter. You have to be creative to put all the pieces together to make a home like this.

Oh, I like the red cabinets on the right.

The cooktop is in the island and it looks like pieces of quartz or marble. Note the interesting cabinets and shelves. The ceiling has a delightful configuration.

They've got a water dispenser next to the fridge. I love houses like this.

Looking from the kitchen to the dining area. Wow, they even scored a double red sink. Note the cabinet that the cook top is in- things don't have to match.

The kitchen is large and has a nice leaded glass window and tile on the floor. Closeup of the counter shows how it's pieced together.

I love the pitched ceiling and windows.

This room appears to be a home office with a built-in counter.

One of the bedrooms has some mirrored doors on the closet.

Bath #1 has some lovely tile and a bowl sink.

Even the recycled cabinets match the color scheme.

This looks like a large primary bedroom.

It has a matching en-suite.

2nd story roof top deck that makes this home really look like a treehouse.

Even the exterior of these homes are made of salvaged material.

On the lower level there's a covered deck.

A cute wood burning heat stove in the corner.

Love the windows- one looks like a mushroom.

The house is on a 9,147 sq.ft. lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/94-Outer-Dr-Oak-Ridge-TN-37830/66905561_zpid/?

[wizzdot]

Star Crossed

A little fic series idea. Thinking a slow burn Simon x reader. I know I’m mixing old and new Ghost. Do I care? No.

Ok but what if ….

You’re Beth’s best friend. You tried to warn her not to mix with the Riley family, having been a couple of classed below Simon and Tommy at school. She didn’t listen..

You hate Mr Riley for how he treated his sons. You took self defence classes when Beth started dating Tommy, just in case, y’know? You noticed the marks and bruises Tommy would wear to school. Simon hardly attended school and when he did, he wore matching bruises. Sometimes even burns. It boggled your mind that the school didn’t ever say anything.

That’s why it shocked you that Beth decided to date the older Riley brother.

You’re around Tommy when he got addicted to drugs and alcohol, and you saw Simon again, when he was home between missions. He is high up in the army apparently.. He is stand-offish and brutish, you decide. You no longer saw him as the small, blonde child with bruises and marks all over his arms.. he is built like a shit brick house. Still covered in faded marks and scars. His hair is no longer bright blonde, now a much dirtier colour. Seemed fitting really.

You offered Tommy and Beth a safe space in your flat to help with Tommy’s sobriety after years of addiction and to help them get some savings. And to get them away from Riley Snr. Bastard of a man.

Turned out, after 6 months of lessons, you’re real good at self defence and you decided to try out for the army, having had a run of a few bad waitressing jobs and shitty bar work. You got accepted first try.

You visited Tommy and Beth when you could. They were practically living in your empty flat in Manchester at that point. While you were deployed for the first time, Simon apparently returned home and bet the shit out of his dad and threw him out of the family home, so Tommy and Beth wrote a letter to you, saying that they’re moving home, and vacating your flat.

Guess Simon isn’t so bad after all.. good for him, kicking his prick of a father to the curb.

You met Simon properly, again, at Tommy and Beth’s wedding. You were head Bridesmaid. Beth looked stunning, and Tommy stayed sober all night even though the drinks were flowing. Simon acted like he has a stick up his ass the entire night though.. always on edge. He looked nice in his fancy Army suit though.

A few months later, when you returned from deployment, Beth picked you up from the barracks with a blue balloon, and an ultrasound, and a very clearly swollen stomach. She was pregnant with Tommy’s child.

You’d been upgraded to Sergeant. You were one of the highest scoring women to ever reach the rank. You were proud of your achievement. The extra pay check bump got put into a savings account for your little nephew, Joseph. A little boy you’d fallen in love with through pictures and videos sent by Beth and Tommy. They were doing well. You were so proud of them.

You returned from Russia for Joseph’s first birthday. You gifted him his own little mini set of dog tags. “Joseph Riley. Love always, your Tee Tee” engraved on them. Joseph had started babbling. Beth had tried her best to film him saying Auntie. But he only ever managed Tee Tee. That was your title. You’d wear it with pride.

Tommy seemed stressed. Apparently he hadn’t heard from Simon for a while. You tried to comfort him. “You know how it is, he is a lieutenant now. Doing all the important secretive stuff! He’ll be off grid, the only man who could kill Simon Riley, is Simon Riley” you joked.

The truth was, you’d never crossed paths with Simon. Never spotted his towering form, or dirty blonde mop of hair at the barracks. Never recognised his face amongst other soldiers. But Tommy didn’t need to know that. He liked the fact that you and Simon ‘worked together’..

Your leave was set to end the following day but Beth barrelled through from the kitchen, slamming her tea down that she’d made, not 5 minutes earlier, shouting at you for ignoring your phone. “Your army friends are calling you, they have a celebration that you’re supposed to be at. Go. GO. Don’t you DARE miss it because of us!” She practically shoved you out of the house, and forced you to attend the party.

Tommy and Beth bid you a joyful farewell that night. Promising to see you when you next came home on leave. You promised you’d try to get your birthday booked off, but no guarantees seeing as you were a sergeant.

You attended the party at base, and deployed back out to Mexico the next day, feeling pleased that Beth, Tommy and little Joseph were doing so well.

You didn’t know that’d be the last time you’d see them, and that just a few hours after you’d left for the party, your three pillars of strength were assassinated.

It felt like a cruel trick of fate. You broke. Hard. You went off the rails. You crumbled even further, when you learnt that you’d left a couple of hours too early. If you’d have stayed, you could have defended them. You would have fought with your life. You slipped further when you learnt, at their funeral, that Simon had arrived a few hours too late. The window for their murders must have only been mere hours. Simon wasn’t at the funeral. You assumed he was dead. You didn’t want to know how he died..

You felt sick to your stomach.

You threw yourself into your work, getting reckless on missions, but producing noticeable results on the field. You gained a name for yourself. Fearless, brutal and blunt. You didn’t socialise any more. You were there to do a job. That’s all. You had nothing else to live for. No one to return to.

That changed when you’re contacted by Captain John Price. Apparently you’d been headhunted. Who gives a shit? He’d warned you that you’d be thrown into dangerous territory, with sadistic assassins and terrorists. Nothing could be worse than losing Beth, Tommy and Joseph. So you signed up.

That brings you to now. The newest member of taskforce 141.

The two sergeants are too happy for your liking. They are desperate to get to know you. You tried to avoid them, but they stuck to you like glue. Like dogs with a bone. They are fascinated by your fast climb up the ranks. They wanted to know everything.

The Captain is a gentleman, an authority figure who treats you like what you are. A soldier. A comrade. He instructs. You follow. He respects you and you respect him. It’s a mutual understanding.

Ghost avoids you. He has grunted at you twice in 3 months. He hasn’t taken that damn mask off either. It reminds you of the one that Tommy wore in the photographs of him as a child. Every time you see the Lieutenant, your stomach drops, as it reminds you of … them. They’re gone forever, your brain kindly reminds, as if you would have forgotten.. You get up and leave whatever room you’re in whenever he comes near. It seems like another mutual arrangement as he does the same to you.

What you didn’t know, however, is that Simon has spent years training his facial expressions. He almost gave it all away when Price came to him a couple of months back and told him of a new member. He almost fell to his knees in anguish when Price slapped a picture of you down on his desk.

His hand flew to his chest when price closed the door behind him, and he clutched his dog tags tightly, gulping.

Simon had seen their corpses that night. He could tell someone had been there. 3 cups of tea. Joseph was too young to drink tea. They weren’t even cold. The blood hadn’t dried. He should have guessed it was you. Auntie Tee Tee. Worn firmly round his neck, attached to his own.

Simon was sick that night, as he removed the tags from Joseph’s neck. He closed Tommy and Beth’s eyes, and moved Joseph so he was cradled by his mother’s corpse. Comfort in death, he thought. He fled the scene, after saying his final gut wrenching good byes. He was going to kill whatever bastard did this to them. He promised himself he wouldn’t stop until they were dead.

Tommy had told Simon that you’d joined the army. Simon never corrected him when he mentioned, constantly, that they were colleagues. He had never seen you in a crowd of new recruits. He would have noticed you.

But here you are. In front of him. Looking… awful. Dark eyes, that were once so bright. Slumped shoulders, that were once so happy to grab Tommy and Beth in for hugs. A scowl, instead of her perfect smile…

A far cry from the bridesmaid he had kept an eye on all evening at Tommy and Beth’s wedding.

You didn’t seem to realise that Ghost and Simon were the same person. That suited Simon down to the ground. John clearly picks up on something but decides not to mention it.

The team were working well together. Simon must admit, your style on the field is ruthless, not too dissimilar from his, but where he uses brute strength, you use the element of surprise and your brain. Smart girl.

What do we think??

Should I make this a series…?!

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 61 (Conrad's Childhood Memories)

cw: parental death, terminal cancer

"Come on, Conrad, if it gets too late the snow won't be good for building snowmen anymore! Can you even hear me with those things on your ears?"

"You know I hear you fine when you're two feet away from me, Malcolm. I only need them until I'm big enough for surgery."

"Then let's go!"

"Just a second. I've almost beaten the high score."

"Isn't that the same high score you've been trying to beat for weeks?"

"I almost had it! Whoever this ButtercupNesbeets is, they're amazing at this game!"

"If you think they're so amazing, why don't you marry them?"

Conrad turned up his nose. "Ew, gross. We're ten!"

"Well if they're not important enough to marry, it's not important enough to beat their high score! Let's go!"

Conrad followed Malcolm to the street. They passed his parents, Nancy and Geoffrey, whispering about something. Conrad thought he heard them say his name, but he knew it was impolite to ask - especially since his father was employed as the head of billionaire Chester Landgraab's security team.

They took the elevator down over one-hundred stories. Older brick rowhouses still stood in the shadow of skyscrapers, like the luxury Spire Tower where Malcolm lived with his family.

The boys built their snowman, laughing and carefree as they caught fresh flakes of snow on their tongue. Malcolm didn't make friends easily - his name scared other kids away, and his snobbish demeanor didn't endear him to those who weren't intimidated by the Landgraabs. But Conrad was kind to everyone, and his father's job meant he couldn't avoid spending time with Malcolm.

He was always quick with a rude remark if he didn't get his way, but Conrad spent enough time with Malcolm to see the side that feared never measuring up to his family's expectations. The side that loved music as much as Conrad loved video games.

The boys stood proudly in front of their finished snowman, then shared mischievous grins before knocking it down.

Cold crystals of snow flew through the air, burning their cheeks, but they laughed harder than they had since the time they pranked Malcolm's Uncle Johnny with pink dye in his showerhead.

Conrad's father stood at the edge of the snowy sidewalk. "Boys, it's getting late! Time to head in!"

"You're home!" Conrad cried, racing to give his father a hug. "I thought you'd be in Tartosa with Mr. Landgraab until the end of the week!"

"I had better reason to come home," he said, but sad eyes betrayed his smile as they were joined by Conrad's mother. Her lavender-coloured hair was her signature - the thing that let her stand out in a sea of grey suits and pressed style in busy San Myshuno, but the expression on her face was sallow and defeated.

"Are you alright, Mrs. Gordon? You don't look so good."

Malcolm's innocent question tipped Conrad's parents over the edge and both let tears drip down their cheeks. Conrad had never seen his father cry, and it frightened him. Stephen Gordon was always so stoic.

"What's going on?"

"One of my guys will get you home, Malcolm, but it's time to come on home, son. Your mother and I want to talk to you about something."

That was the start of the worst conversation of Conrad's life. "Your mother has cancer," his father explained. "But the doctors are going to do everything they can to make her better."

Conrad's lip quivered. "What do you mean? Won't the doctors be able to fix her like they're gonna fix my ears?"

"They hope so, son."

Next to his father, Conrad's mother sat quietly, with a lost look in her eyes. She was never at a loss for words.

He put his arms around her and smiled. "You'll be alright, Mom. Dad and I will take care of you."

As if pulled from a trance Helena smiled for her son, returning his embrace with a soft smile. "I know you will," she said. "But you're just a kid. I'm supposed to be taking care of you."

Years passed. Conrad got his ears fixed, but he cared much less about his own health than his mother's. He and his father shuffled her to and from her appointments week after week, year after year.

They learned never to trust a good test result, because no matter what doctors did to help, she got sicker. When she lost her gorgeous lavender hair to chemotherapy, she cried for days, and Conrad grew angry. He hated seeing her put herself through so much pain only for her health to get worse.

He hated the world for putting her through hell. But his father begged him not to burden her with his resentment in her condition, so he spent the hours between her naps keeping her company in her room.

"There's this new mobile game I like to play when I finish my homework. I've almost got the high score but there's always this one user with the best score for so many games I play. I can never beat them. I don't know who they are, but I think maybe they're just some weird vegan who does nothing but play video games all day."

His mother tried to raise a smile. "What makes you say that?"

"Their name is ButtercupNesbeets - like the new meat substitute everyone keeps talking about from that small town that's really old - Henley-on-Bagford or something."

"Henford-on-Bagley. I went there once. Made friends with a red fox."

Helena held tighter to all her memories these days. She knew she was dying and would give almost anything to stop it, but there was no cure for what she had. Her treatments were beginning to break her, and Conrad and his father could both see it.

But she pulled herself together for her son's fifteenth birthday. Doctors said she was rallying, but she seemed healthier. Happier. Conrad begged himself not to get attached to the idea she was healing. He'd watched her get sicker for years.

But he basked in this period when she could get out of bed, laugh, smile, and even make a trip to the Copperdale Fair. Conrad's parents fell in love on the midway there, and they'd always talked about returning with their son.

Helena Gordon was determined to see through one final dream. She rode the old Ferris wheel and posed for photos with her husband and son. She'd avoided cameras ever since she'd lost her hair, but she wanted to capture this time in a bottle and let her husband and son carry it with them after she was gone.

Conrad would always remember the trip more fondly than any other memory of his parents, but Conrad's fifteenth birthday was the last his mother would ever see.

The men she left behind faced grief in different ways, but would always lean on each other in the years after her death. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Writing this almost brought me to tears because I have fallen so hard for Conrad. His story is so tragic in so many ways, and I can't remember the last time I was this invested in the life of some pixels I was playing around with. He just intrigues me so much and I loved getting the chance to drop little Easter eggs about his future with the ButtercupNesbeets herself, and tiny dickhead Malcolm was fun to play with, too.

This isn't even all backstory there is to tell. Conrad and his dad, Stephen, will definitely be seen again in the past, but it will probably get a content warning, too, because a lot of their story is pain.

[gg-neptune]

Three

So uh this is kinda rushed at the end but it was just hard for me to write honestly. And yes this is based off my AP tests score and how I reacted. And yes I am still upset. Yes I know I should be grateful but like. :( I hope you like it. <33

Warnings: academic over achiever, crying, age gap? (possibly I mean he's like a year older than them but he's also her teacher and no I do not care that this is not canons shut up leave me alone)

Waiting eagerly, you refreshed the page once more and it appeared. You could only see the top of it, your hands shook in fear at what you might see. This dumb test meant everything to you and now months after taking it you could finally see your score. It was finally time. You had studied for hours every night for 2 months leading up to it. You had an A in the class the entire year as well and had made a 4 on the mock exam. Countless tears and hours had gone into this and now you could finally see your score.

Some might say you were a bit of an academic overachiever. You had gone from making straight failing grades to A's in the matter of a year. You took your grades rather seriously, always being terrified they would drop back down to failing. Your hard work had landed yourself in an Advanced Placement class at Hogwarts. Now you were finally getting your score and you were terrified. 

With trembling hands you scrolled down a bit, looking at your score with great fear. What if you had failed? All your work for absolutely no profit. You wanted a 5. Now you knew this was asking a lot. However you thought you deserved it in a way. This year had been awful and you had gotten a high A in the class so why could you not at least get a 4? You were confident in your answers as well so why not stretch for a 5 as well?

3

You stare blankly at the screen for a moment. Your score is sinking in. A 3. You passed at least. At least there was that. However you were still thoroughly disappointed. You expected more of yourself.

How would you tell everyone? You knew everyone expected you to get at least a 4 or a 5. To get a 3 was almost humiliating. How would you face Severus? 

You and Severus had been dating for a few years. You were still in school as a seventh year while this was his first year as a professor. He had only graduated the year prior being only one year older than you. You two got some strange looks from the younger years but majority of the older kids knew him and you from when he was at Hogwarts as a student so it was not a big issue. 

He expected a lot from you. He taught you privately on his own time along with his lectures in class. He had also been expecting you to pass with a higher grade and you had only gotten a 3. Most of the universities you had been looking at did not even accept 3’s for credit. Most of them honestly only accepted 5’s. And you had pulled off a 3.

A knock sounded at your door. Somehow you knew automatically who it was. A sense of dread built up inside of you immediately. It seemed like a brick had been placed in your throat burning you from the inside out.

“Hey, can I come in,” his deep voice rang out from outside. You felt frozen in place feeling a panic overtake you. The thought of him knowing your score sends you further into your state of distress. It felt like your chest was collapsing in on you. Like your own body was capsizing and you were trapped inside.

The door opened anyway despite you not giving permission quickly after him looking around for a moment his eyes landed on you.

“What’s wrong?” His voice seemed blunt as he just stared at you confused. Not being very good at comforting others he simply stood there staring at you for a moment before thinking that might not be a good idea and taking a seat on your bed.

You attempt to choke out an answer but your throat does not allow you. The feeling of the brick being there still haunts you as you attempt to communicate with the man in front of you. You hadn’t realized before but tears had begun to roll down your cheeks as you stare at him scared out of your mind of what he will say to you.

“It’s… it’s alright whatever it is. Nothing is unfixable I mean like we can even bring dead people back it can’t be that bad just tell me what’s wrong. I can fix it.” Severus tried his best at comforting you he really does but this does nothing to soothe your distress. You can tell by the worried expression and tone of his voice he is concerned but you can not manage to spit out any words. This in fact can not be fixed. Your score is already set in stone. There is nothing you can do about it at all.

A sob suddenly breaks from your mouth as you break. Loud wailing breaks from you as you crumple in front of him. Your body slouched forward onto your knees, sobs wracking your body taking you down. Quickly Severus is leaning forward and gathering you into his arms. Cradling you like a little baby. Pressing your face into his chest allowing you to sob into him he attempts to soothe you again, “Shhh, I mean really it can’t be worth crying over hun what is it? Hmmm?” Putting on his comforting voice instead of his cold monotonous one. 

You reach over to your computer keeping your face still pressed into him, you drag it over to the both of you showing him your score wailing out, “I’m such a failure,” brokenly.

You can’t see his face as he looks but you can only imagine the rage and anger crossing it right now. All of the hard work he had out into you and passing you had failed him.

“I don’t get it? You did great, what's wrong?”

“I got a 3! How is that great,” your voice breaks multiple times as you cry this out. Still sobbing into his shirt you feel both of his arms wrap around you after he closes your computer putting it aside. One hand runs up and down your back soothingly while the other simply stays firmly wrapped around you keeping you close to him.

“Love, a 3 is passing that’s still good don’t be upset,” he whispers out rocking you back and forth trying to calm.

You don’t respond, instead just opting to cry into his shirt as your misery overtakes you. Now logically you knew that a 3 was not in fact terrible but it was not what you wanted. Or what you felt like was expected. However you weren’t quite thinking logically right now, so instead you let Severus just hold you. Letting him take your tears and soak them up.

Eventually your tears subside, having worn yourself out from sobbing so much. Severus slowly shifts you both into a lying position against your pillows, haphazardly pulling a blanket over you both. He keeps you close to him, not letting you get even an inch away from him as he continues his rubbing on your back.

“I am incredibly proud of you,” he whispered into your ear, “I want nothing more than for you to see yourself the same way I see you.”

He continues to wipe stray tears away as they fall. Neither of you say a word to another, you being too scared to speak and him not being sure what would be right to say.

Instead of breaking the silence you snuggle yourself closer to him seeking his comfort. Sniffling every now and again you use his arm as a pillow to try and make it easier to breathe. He presses gentle kisses to your face still whispering his sweet nothings of how proud he is of you and how good you did as you slip off into sleep.

[sn00pism]

"Do you have a heart? Within."

WC! Kunigami Renskue x reader

He was handsome, that you'd give him.

But oh God was he an asshole.

You really hated his guts, at least you thought you did, maybe annoyance was the word for what he made you feel? You couldn't stand rude or mean people, you really didn't get what his problem was.

However, when you asked Chigiri, the Kunigami that Chigiri described was with him in the Blue Lock program was a completely different person than the one you had interacted with the last few weeks in class. Maybe somehing happened to him? You didn't know exactly what but it must have been terrible for him to do 'a complete 180' as Chigiri described. You really wanted to stop paying attention to him, stop interacting with him, yet you couldn't help glancing his way when he entered your shared class.

Something that drew you to him, maybe you were kind of a masochist? Those BL manhwas were starting to get into your head. Daydreaming about this rude guy, built like a brick, mean to everyone but you, traumatised by something terrible. You could fix him. And as much as you wanted to convince yourself you could, it was anything but realistic.

Kunigami looked down on everyone and mostly stayed out of your way when you came over to study with Niko or Chigiri, yet, you found your eyes never leaving his figure when he exited his room, eyes glued to his toned arms and, dare you say, pretty face. Maybe you were delusional, always bringing stuff to share with them and without realising it, getting him something too even if you knew he wouldn't take it. You couldn't help being kind to him even if he proved to be indifferent to you gestures.

Seriously, what the everloving fuck was wrong with you? You'd be better off liking someone like Yoichi from your mandatory sports class or even Yukimiya from english literature, but you had to get your eyes on the rudest, most insufferable guy on campus.

In an effort to completely put distance between you and Rensuke, you stopped studying over to their dorm, opting for going to a small café near campus and changing your seat over to the far back.

As a few weeks passed by, you kind of forgot about your small infatuation with Rensuke. After all, I seemed it was nothing short of a crush.

In this past weeks, you began speaking with a guy in your class, doing some paper on the hero's journey in fiction books, you grew closer quickly and before you knew it, you had a date.

This of course prompted you to talk about it excitedly with your friends, during a break you had from class. And later on, bragging about it to Ryusei, who complained about not scoring a date with Rin's brother of all people.

And as the day came, you found yourself waking up slightly earlier to get ready, your make-up and outfit casual but sweet, nothing too big or flashy.

Once you got there, no one had arrived at the place you were supposed to meet in.

He's probably late, after all you're thirty minutes early. You'll wait.

After twenty minutes had passed from the time you'd agreed on, you began getting anxious, checking your phone for any messages or calls you might have missed from him but none arrived. Deciding to call him up, immediately noticing he had been online a few minutes ago. The call went unanswered, a simple 'sorry, I think we are not a good match.' following up in the message app you had been checking for the last twenty minutes.

Are you serious?

You began to feel stares on you, couples whispering to each other while looking in your direction. Maybe it was your anxiety, but you couldn't shake the sadness that washed over you like a wave, drowning you in self-doubt and insecurities.

Was something wrong with you? Was it that you came on too strong? Were you boring? Weird?

Sighing and preparing to leave, ego bruised and tears of humiliation begining to appear in your lashline, someone sat right in front of you.

A voice you recognized apeaking up over the chatter of the place.

"Hey"

"Come to laugh at me, Rensuke?"you bit you lip, tears threatening to fall. "Really not in the mood now," you looked down, the first tears sliding down your cheeks "Please just go.." you spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper. You seriously felt like just going home and crying while playing a funny Ryan Gosling movie to cheer you up slightly.

"Now why would I do that?" You stared at him dumbfounded, "I'm here to keep you company while I rest." He flagged down a waiter, ordering a piece of your favourite cake and a glass of water, "Besides, really needed some water, forgot mine."

You scoffed softly, although it sounded more like sigh, "You don't eat sweets, what are you really doing?" You looked up at him, drying your cheeks and looking down at you hands. You didn't want to look at him more than necessary, each time you looked at him, your heart began to beat a like faster, but you didn't want to make assumptions that he was here for you, besides, the pain of being rejected and stood up was still fresh in your chest.

Rensuke looked at you, seemingly bored, but never taking his eyes off you.

"Are you done interrogating me?," he thanked the server gruffly, taking a fork and a small piece of the cake. "I was just on my run and happened to see you." he psuhed the fork near you, motioning for you to take the utensil, "Heard you talking to Shidou the other day, weren't you supposed to be on a date?" you took the fork and took the bite, it made you feel a little better.

You looked back at him, immediately noticing that his hair was slightly damp and there was some sweat sliding down his neck and face. "But this place is far from your dorm, you're telling me you went out of your route to get some water?" your heart raced in your ribcage, hoping he had done that romantic thing the main leads do when they realise they like the protagonist and chase after her, but you didn't want to get you hopes up, look where that got you. That was fiction after all, this was real life and the facts are that you got rejected because of whatever reason and Kunigami probably hated you along with ninety percent of the campus population. Your shoulders sagged in dissapointment as another wave of sadness rushed out of nowhere.

"I did, yeah." He looked away, sighing at you defeated state. Maybe this was his fault, maybe he should've said something sooner to avoid this mess. He took a swig of his water.

You looked at him with a small frown, motioning to his half empty glass, "You're free to go then, won't keep you hostage any longer." Kunigami shook his head, looking out the window next to you, "It's fine, I'll wait for you to finish up."

He turned his head towards you bored, emotionless eyes staring directly into yours. There was something different on his eyes you had never noticed before, did he want to say something?

Kunigami found that he couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth, the feeling of almost losing you because of this stupid date, the fact that his chest ached when he found you sitting far away from him in class, the way he wouldn't see you in the dorms, studying or watching anime with Niko. Before he knew it, he had to come to accept the fact that he liked you. Every small glimpse he could get of you around campus felt like a breath or air on his strained lungs, he longed to find you waiting for his football practice to finish, looking towards the bleachers hoping to see your figure waving at him, but he never got the courage to even accept these feelings. He wanted to erase them, go back to the machine they had designed him to be, cold-hearted, mean. A wall had erupted between everyone and his feelings, yet you broke through it like it was made of glass, and all it took was a smile. Whenever you went to study, you'd buy them snacks, you got him something everytime, even if he never showed any affection to you. Before he knew it, you had him completely hooked. The old Kunigami resurfacing, soft, firm but gentle.

"I came here, because I was worried.. I just.." He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "You probably hate me, and won't want to hear what I have to say... but please just hear me out, you can tell me to piss off if you want after I finish." You sat looking at him stunned, you had never seen Kunigami act so different, he seemed almost desperate to say whatever he wanted to tell you. You nodded at him to keep going. This was weird.

His eyes softened "I like you." He dropped his head into his hands, the weight of his words and feelings sinking into his heart, thoughts of you leaving him there, rejecting him, distancing yourself from him even more had his chest thightening. He found it hard to breathe. The glass wall broke, his feelings flooded him like a wave, had you created a gap between you and him because you hated him in the first place? Had he said something wrong? Mean? Had he pushed you away the way he pushed his friends away? The thought made hot tears line in his eyes, breath shaky. He swallowed, trying to calm his racing mind and heavy heart, "I'm sorry, I never wanted to be mean or rude to you, I like you so much."

You blinked, you had never seen Kunigami cry. You reached over to grasp his hands buried in his face, gently peeling them away from his cheeks, warm and wet with tears, your heart raced and a small smile made its way into your face. Kunigami looked up at you, misty eyes looking into your softened eyes, waiting for the blow that would make his heart break again.

"I like you too." The words stunned Kunigami and he shook his head, heart stuttering in his chest against his will. "No you don't, I know you don't..." his eyes watered again, looking down to you joined hands as you reached one to cup his face, "Yes, I do" Kunigami looked up at you, seeing the smile in your face, warm, sincere.

"Then why-?" you didn't let him finish his question, shaking your head and looking down. "I was being stupid, should've told you how I felt since the start instead of playing around." You smiled at him, gripping his hand again, "How about we go and watch a movie? I think that'll be a good first date, don't you think?"

Kunigami stared at you for a second before his lips broke out into a slight smile, eyes full of warmth, heart sighing in relief and happiness. How long has it been since he felt this at ease? Always looking to be better, pushing his limits, withdrawing from connecting with others to avoid getting too close, letting them get too close.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

it's been a hot minute since I wrote anything in english, let alone fiction. I'm sorry if the pacing is kind of weird, I'm kind of used to slow burn and I kinda rushed this one, I'm sorry!

Thanks to @pinksodacan for being my beta reader and editor! Eternally grateful bub.

[chickenparm]

almighty chickenparm are you cooking up any hsr stuff by any chance.....we are starving

i'm so-very-slowly working on an aventurine(x reader ofc) fic, but i don't know when it will be done because big parm has little motivation these days. but here's the first bit of it, go crazy, brother

---

The first time the app is suggested to him between rounds of digital slots on his phone, Aventurine thinks it’s a joke. He can’t help but laugh at the simplistic nature of the advertisement, with simple adornments that clearly lay out what the app is for. Not to mention it’s based in Penacony, and that’s a long ways off from where he’s lounging in Pier Point. 

And it doesn’t cross his mind until a few weeks on, when he’s between assignments once more and passing the time with a few rounds of online blackjack. The stakes are low, practically nonexistent, so he lets his mind wander a little after the advertisement shows up again.

What a ridiculous concept, he thinks as his heel taps against the floor and his knee bounces. Professional cuddling - how silly. The only people who would solicit such services would be those who are incredibly lonely and desperate. On the screen, his score changes, showing he has a neat twenty. His thumb hovers over the button as he contemplates the risk of taking it further. 

Aventurine’s turn ticks down, and the player to his right at the virtual table hits twenty-one. The jingle of the advertisement echoes faintly in his ears as he loses.

A handful of months trickle by, a few assignments, a few wins, some losses. It’s after one of these narrow wins that he counts his luck and tucks his phone against his ear with his shoulder as he listens to Topaz get dressed down by their superiors. 

Topaz dodges his invitation to assist with the Penacony job, a bit more brusque than he was expecting. It’s not like they were friends, but he at least expected her to be a bit more open to it all. Her loss, he thinks as she abruptly hangs up on him and he’s left staring at the wall with his phone falling silent. 

Something nags at him - it always has. But up until now, there’s been little point in picking that apart and examining what he’s so quietly caught up on. Unfortunately, as of late, it’s been crawling up his back and whispering in his ear in ways that can’t be ignored further. 

Aventurine is well traveled. The IPC sends him far and wide to suit their needs. A backwater planet comes to mind, some place with a low grade and a high debt. The hotel he’d stayed at was the best he could find, built of bricks and covered with ivy that crept close enough to his window that opening it would disturb the vines. 

The owner of the hotel had workers trimming back the plant, and he’d overheard him griping to said workers that the ivy was a nuisance and grew back thicker each year, no matter how often it was pruned. 

Loneliness is like that, he thinks.

[autumngracy]

The Hangman

By Maurice Ogden

1. 

Into our town the Hangman came

Smelling of gold and blood and flame—

And he paced our bricks with a diffident air

And built his frame on the courthouse square.

The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,

Only as wide as the door was wide;

A frame as tall, or little more,

Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.

And we wondered, whenever we had the time,

Who the criminal, what the crime,

The Hangman judged with the yellow twist

Of knotted hemp in his busy fist.

And innocent though we were, with dread

We passed those eyes of buckshot lead; 

Till one cried: “Hangman, who is he

For whom you raise the gallows-tree?”

Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,

And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:

“He who serves me best,” said he,

“Shall earn the rope on the gallows-tree.”

And he stepped down, and laid his hand

On a man who came from another land.

And we breathed again, for another’s grief

At the Hangman’s hand was our relief.

And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn

By tomorrow’s sun would be struck and gone.

So we gave him way, and no one spoke,

Out of respect for his hangman’s cloak.

2.

The next day’s sun looked mildly down

On roof and street in our quiet town

And, stark and black in the morning air,

The gallows-tree on the courthouse square.

And the Hangman stood at his usual stand

With the yellow hemp in his busy hand; 

With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike

And his air so knowing and businesslike.

And we cried: “Hangman, have you not done,

Yesterday, with the alien one?”

Then we fell silent, and stood amazed:

“Oh, not for him was the gallows raised . . .”

He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:

“ . . . Did you think I’d gone to all this fuss

To hang one man? That’s a thing I do

To stretch the rope when the rope is new.”

Then one cried “Murderer!” One cried “Shame!”

And into our midst the Hangman came

To that man’s place. “Do you hold,” said he,

With him that’s meant for the gallows-tree?”

And he laid his hand on that one’s arm,

And we shrank back in quick alarm,

And we gave him way, and no one spoke

Out of fear of his hangman’s cloak.

That night we saw with dread surprise

The Hangman’s scaffold had grown in size.

Fed by the blood beneath the chute

The gallows-tree had taken root.

Now as wide, or a little more,

Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,

As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,

Halfway up on the courthouse wall.

3.

The third he took—and we had all heard tell—

Was a usurer and infidel. And:

“What,” said the Hangman, “have you to do

With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?”

And we cried out: “Is this one he

Who has served you well and faithfully?”

The Hangman smiled: “It’s a clever scheme

To try the strength of the gallows-beam.”

The fourth man’s dark, accusing song

Had scratched out comfort hard and long; 

And “What concern,” he gave us back,

“Have you for the doomed—the doomed and black?”

The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again:

“Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?”

“It’s a trick,” he said, “that we hangmen know

For easing the trap when the trap springs slow.”

And so we ceased and asked no more,

As the Hangman tallied his bloody score;

And sun by sun, and night by night,

The gallows grew to monstrous height.

The wings of the scaffold opened wide

Till they covered the square from side to side; 

And the monster cross-beam, looking down, 

Cast its shadow across the town.

4.

Then through the town the Hangman came

And called in the empty streets my name,

And I looked at the gallows soaring tall

And thought: “There is no one left at all

For hanging, and so he calls to me

To help him pull down the gallows-tree.”

And I went out with right good hope

To the Hangman’s tree and the Hangman’s rope.

He smiled at me as I came down

To the courthouse square through the silent town,

And supple and stretched in his busy hand

Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.

And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap

And it sprang down with a ready snap—

And then with a smile of awful command

He laid his hand upon my hand.

“You tricked me, Hangman!” I shouted then,

“That your scaffold was built for other men . . .

And I no henchman of yours,” I cried.

“You lied to me, Hangman, foully lied!”

Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye:

“Lied to you? Tricked you?” he said, “Not I.

For I answered straight and I told you true:

The scaffold was raised for none but you.”

“For who has served me more faithfully

Than you with your coward’s hope?” said he,

“And where are the others that might have stood

Side by your side in the common good?”

“Dead,” I whispered: and amiably,

“Murdered,” the Hangman corrected me; 

“First the alien, then the Jew . . .

I did no more than you let me do.”

Beneath the beam that blocked the sky,

None had stood so alone as I—

And the Hangman strapped me, and no voice there

Cried “Stay!” for me in the empty square.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Fight Me, Love Me, Save Me Pt. 1

This will fill the "It's mine, and you can't have it." square on my @jacklesversebingo card. The quote will be bolded.

Summary: A series in three parts exploring Y/N's and Dean's relationship from bickering children, to love and broken promises, to a plea for salvation.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None really. This part is mostly fluff, with a tiny bit of making out at the end. They are both 17 when they're making out, so technically underage, but barely - and they are the same age.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 4,398

A/N: So this series will fill the last three squares on my bingo card. This part covers "It's Mine, and you can't have it." Part two will cover Broken Promises, (Nov 12) and part three will be for the Isolated/Trapped square. (Nov 19)

I hope you enjoy!! If you do, please remember to like, reblog and/or comment. Means the world to us writers! ❤️

The dividers included here were created by @talesmaniac89

Dean and Y/N basically spent their childhood bickering. They met when they were six, when their fathers teamed up for a hunt. The two of them, and Sammy had been left together with a friendly old lady who was mostly deaf, so she very happily didn’t have to hear their constant fighting. 

They fought over toys, they fought over snacks, they fought over who would get the first turn on the tire swing in the old lady’s backyard. Dean’s longer legs always got him there first and he’d gloat down at Y/N, his smile wide and wicked.

“Too slow, Y/N!” He’d taunt. “It’s mine, and you can’t have it!” 

Since their fathers often teamed up, they ended up with the same babysitters, or in the same schools all the time. Dean was always popular; the teachers always adored him and his sweet smile and big green eyes. But Y/N was shy and slightly awkward, so the other kids didn’t usually play with her and teachers tended to ignore her. 

Dean would never let that stand though. When they'd play tag in the schoolyard he’d purposely go up and tag Y/N even though she hadn’t been invited to play the game.

When he’d tap her arm, she’d scowl at him. “I’m not playing, you idiot.” 

But Dean would ignore her and any of the other kids saying she couldn’t play. “You’re it!” He’d yell and then run away, sticking his tongue out at her and taunting her because he knew she’d never stand for it, and be forced to play. Once she was playing, the other kids usually didn’t care and the game would go on.

No one teased and tormented her like Dean did though. He was constantly yanking on her ponytail, or shooting spitballs at her from across the classroom. They competed over everything; test scores, who got to be the Christmas tree in the Christmas concert, who could skip with a jumping rope more times in a row without stopping, who built the best sand castle, who made a better volcano in science class - anything and everything.

In spite of that, however, Dean was also her biggest champion. When they were in third grade, Chester Hugo, a wiry little blonde boy, called Y/N fat and ugly and laughed at her. He showed her a picture of a whale in the encyclopedia in their classroom and laughed as he pointed to it.

“That’s you.” He whispered, and all his friends giggled with him silently. 

Y/N tried to ignore him, but at recess she was standing up against the brick wall of the school as usual, and Chester began waddling around in front of her and puffing out his cheeks. “Look everybody, I’m Y/N.” He called out before doubling over with laughter.

He only laughed for a second though, because without warning he was tackled to the ground by Dean, and began shrieking and covering his face as Dean pummeled him.

Dean got detention for three days because of it, and got grounded at home too. Y/N felt terrible, but Dean said it was worth it because now every time he walked past Chester, the bully shrank away or ran inside. 

When they were in the sixth grade, they went to Truman Middle School in Fort Madison, Iowa for a few months and ended up with a teacher who was absolutely terrible - Mrs. Abernathy. 

She was ancient and obviously didn’t really like kids anymore - if she ever had. Her classroom rules were arbitrary and confusing. She was constantly yelling at her students for doing things that had been permissible the day before. She barked orders at them and expected silence from them at all times. 

One afternoon the class was set to dissect a frog and Dean and Y/N were paired up to share one of the hapless amphibians. Mrs. Abernathy gave them their frog, closed inside a glass jar, along with a jar of cotton balls soaked in ether to toss in with the frog to kill him.

As soon as the grouchy old lady had moved on, Dean picked up the container holding the frog and pushed it into Y/N’s face.

“Hey Y/N look! It’s lunch time!” He said quietly, thrusting the frog towards her over and over.

“Stop it!” She said in an angry whisper, turning her head. After a while Dean grinned proudly at his ability to gross her out and set the frog back down.

Y/N looked down at it, and then got closer to the jar as the frog lifted its two front legs to press against the glass, looking for a way to hop out. It hopped around the confined space, rather pathetically trying to get free. Suddenly Y/N felt sick to her stomach and tears came to her eyes. 

She looked at Dean. “I wanna let him go.” She said quietly so only he could hear. 

Dean frowned at her. “What are you talking about? In like two minutes we’re gonna kill it and then look at its guts.” He said, trying to tease Y/N out of her concern for the frog.

But it didn’t work. Y/N shook her head, her tears falling fast now. “No, Dean, don’t kill it. I don’t wanna kill it. Look at him.” She said pointing to the little green creature desperately hopping around as though it could sense its impending doom.

Dean shook his head, trying to reason with her. “Y/N it’s just a frog. It isn’t gonna feel anything, the cotton ball will just make him fall asleep and then he'll die.” 

But Y/N was shaking her head, her eyes slightly frantic as Mrs. Abernathy reached the front of the classroom, having given everyone their frogs. Suddenly Y/N grabbed the jar and yanked it open, allowing the desperate frog to immediately hop away. 

She realized her mistake quickly as the frog simply jumped up onto another table and made the boys there scream and jump back, knocking their own frog to the floor so it smashed open, giving a second frog its freedom. The class erupted into chaos as the two frogs hopped around the classroom. Three more frogs had their jars smashed open as some kids scattered and stood on chairs, and some kids chased after the frogs.

Eventually, when all the frogs were finally rounded up and put back into new jars, (much to Y/N’s dismay) Mrs. Abernathy began looking for a culprit. She stood in front of Y/N’s desk and her always stern face was particularly harsh as she pointed a bony finger at her.

“That frog came from your desk, Miss Y/L/N, do you care to explain yourself?”

Before Y/N could answer, Dean stood up. “It was me. I opened the jar.”

Y/N looked at him, frowning and shaking her head. But Dean waved his hand at her. “Y/N told me not to, but I thought it would be funny if he got out.” He shrugged and gave a wholly unrepentant grin. “And it really was.”

Y/N tried to say something, but Mrs. Abernathy was too busy grabbing ahold of Dean’s arm and manhandling him out of the room. “Principal Yates is going to hear about this, young man.”

Y/N felt her stomach plummet as Dean was yanked out of the classroom. She sat quietly at her desk, guilty and sick feeling, as the other kids took full advantage of the teacherless classroom to discuss the frog escapade - loudly and with many sound effects. 

When Mrs. Abernathy returned, Dean wasn’t with her. Y/N tried to talk to her and explain the truth, but the teacher wouldn’t listen.

“Enough!” She shouted angrily. “There has been more than enough disruption in this classroom for today. Sit down and take out your math textbook.” Y/N opened her mouth and the old lady sliced her hand through the air. “Now!” She barked loudly, making all the other students pull their textbooks out as well.

Y/N didn’t see Dean again until the end of school. He was walking down the side road that led to the motel they were all staying in.

“Dean, wait up!” She called to him and he slowed his long stride. When she reached him she shook her head. “What were you thinking? Why did you say you did it?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. I just like to see Abernathy go berserk.” He said with a lazy smile.

Y/N frowned. “You got in trouble. Did you get detention again, or -” She stopped still and gasped. “Were you suspended?”

Dean just shook his head and kept walking. “No, it’s fine.”

Y/N ran after him. “What do you mean? What did Mr. Yates do?” When Dean just sped up and kept walking Y/N reached out and grabbed his hand, trying to force him to stop.

Dean winced and inhaled sharply, his face contorting in pain. He tried to pull his hand away, but Y/N had already seen the huge red welts that were spread over his palm and fingers. Tears immediately flooded her eyes and fell down her cheeks as she stepped closer and cradled his hand in hers.

“He gave you the strap?” She whispered, horrified at the image of Dean’s hands being struck over and over with the thick leather strap the principal kept hanging just outside his office.

Dean shrugged as Y/N lifted his other hand and looked at the damage there too. “Yep, five licks for each hand. Said it was supposed to make me remember to not let the devil use my idle hands for mischief.” He rolled his eyes. “I can’t wait till we're out of this bible-thumping, piece of shit town.”

Despite the life they led, Y/N was still sheltered enough that hearing Dean swear felt rebellious and she blushed a little. Then she sniffled and looked at Dean with remorse suffusing her face. “I’m so sorry. I never should have done it. And I really wish you hadn’t said it was you. I should have been the one getting strapped.”

Dean frowned darkly. “No, that would have been so much worse.” He said quickly. 

Y/N’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Dean’s face flushed and he just shrugged and pulled his hands away from her. “No, I mean - I just mean, you know I’m a hunter, I’m used to it. I mean the last hunt I went out on, I took down a werewolf.” He bragged. “You and Sammy, you’re still soft.”

Y/N scoffed at that, running to keep up with him as he walked on. “Whatever, oh great Winchester. ‘Took down a werewolf’? I feel like you probably had some help from your dad and mine.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Doesn’t matter! I still fought him.” He argued, and the fight was back on. 

***

Within a few years though, Sam and Y/N did begin to join the hunts. They started slowly, hunting ghouls and wraiths, and other easier-to-hunt monsters.

However, in Y/N and Dean's Junior year, the end of middle school for Sam, their Dads began asking more of them, claiming that they needed to concentrate on learning to hunt. They told the two of them that they were needed for more important things than algebra. That was when Dean dropped out of high school, going to work with them and hunting full time. 

He told Y/N that he was just sick of school, and he’d never need it anyway. But Y/N knew he’d done it to give their Dads the help they wanted while giving her and Sam more time to be students.

By the time they were sixteen Y/N had figured Dean out. He still teased her mercilessly, constantly trying to annoy her with his hard rock, making fun of the boy bands she listened to. When she scored a ninety-five on her chemistry test, he’d called her poindexter for two weeks straight. 

But he was also fiercely protective, and he would bloody the nose of anyone who tried to hurt either her or Sam.

And she knew she was right about why he dropped out of school. Sometimes, when she and Sam were sitting around the motel room doing homework together, discussing the novel one of them was reading, or trying to make sense of trigonometry, she’d look up and catch Dean watching them with a look of longing on his face as he was cleaning weapons.

It was always gone in an instant when he noticed her watching, and he’d usually crack some kind of joke about what nerds they were, but Y/N knew what she saw. She would usually suggest that they stop their homework and watch a movie. Or she’d beg Dean to take them for a ride in the Impala that he’d inherited when he turned sixteen and his dad bought a truck. He’d always act like it was a huge pain, but she knew he loved it when they all piled into the car, rolled the windows down, and pretended to be carefree teens for a while.

She knew him and he couldn't get anything past her.

What did sneak up on Y/N, however, was how much she actually liked Dean. Like…like-liked him.

It became clear to her one day when she was seventeen, and in her senior year. Dean swung by one afternoon to pick up her and Sam after school. He was standing outside, leaning against his beloved car, waiting for them to show. She rounded the corner with a few girls she was doing a group project with; they were trying to iron out details of when they were going to meet to collaborate. 

When she saw Dean waiting there, she raised her hand to let him know she saw him and she was coming. Sam bolted past her and ran to the car. “Tell him I’m coming!” Y/N yelled after him.

She turned back to the discussion wanting to hurry up so she didn’t miss her chance at a ride. But all of the girls were just staring at her like she’d grown a second head.

“What?” She asked, self consciously covering her face slightly, worried she had something in her teeth.

The short girl to her right, Tracy she thought her name was, sputtered slightly and then looked pointedly at Dean. “Are you kidding me? What? Who?” She asked, flipping her hand quickly in Dean’s direction. “Who the hell is that?”

“Oh,” Y/N responded slightly confused, “that’s just Dean.”

“Dean?” The red-headed girl across from her asked. “Is he your brother?”

“What? Ew! No.” Y/N denied vehemently, and it took her a moment to figure out why that idea grossed her out so much. When the girl with braces (Sheila?) spoke though, the reason hit Y/N like a Mac truck.

“He’s so ridiculously hot!” Sheila exclaimed and all the other girls agreed quickly, giving giggly little moans and being incredibly obvious about staring at Dean.

At first Y/N’s mind wanted to mock that idea, remnants of their childhood rivalries and bickering jumping forward. But then she looked back at him where he still stood, talking to Sam. 

Holy crap, she realized with a bolt of lightning kind of realization, he really is ridiculously hot.

He wore black jeans and his black Metallica t-shirt which stretched tightly across his newly broadened shoulders. His hair was thick and perpetually looked like he’d carelessly run his fingers through it. His smile was bright and blinding even across the schoolyard, and though none of them could see it, she knew his eyes would be twinkling in that mischievous way they did when he was bent on getting into trouble.

She could see that he was noticing all the attention he was getting, and he patted Sam on the shoulder and started to walk towards them. Sam gave a full-body eye roll and got into the back seat.

The girls all turned shrill as he approached, laughing like dying hyenas. Y/N felt anger start to burn in her stomach and it confused her. But when Dean stopped in front of them and smiled charmingly at each of them, Y/N recognized that it was jealousy turning her heart green and she was shocked. 

“Hello, ladies.” Dean said in a would-be suave kind of way. It made Y/N roll her eyes, but her classmates practically swooned. 

A chorus of dreamy hellos followed and Y/N grabbed on to Dean to pull him away. But Dean resisted and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So I’ve, uh, got my car over there.” He said, thumbing towards the Impala, his face full of teenage boy pride. “Anyone need a lift?”

All of them began nodding and squealing, but Y/N shouted over them. “No, it’s fine, Dean, let’s just go. They’re good.” She succeeded in dragging him off but when they were a few yards away from them, Y/N ran back quickly to warn her temporary classmates, using a paraphrased version of she and Dean’s childhood refrain.

“Stay away from him. He’s mine and you can’t have him.”

***

Once Y/N realized her feelings for Dean, things became very awkward for her. All the things that used to be simple, sitting beside him to watch a movie, training with him for hunts, simply sitting across the room from him and looking at him - they all became unbearable situations that she didn’t know how to deal with.

When she sat beside him now she could feel the way he radiated warmth, she could feel her heart skip a beat when he’d shift his leg so his thigh pressed against hers. When they were training, simple holds that she had only ever cared about breaking out of before, now left her breathing heavy. When his big hand would wrap around her wrist or whenever he'd reach his strong arms around her waist from behind, it was everything she could do not to just sink into his arms like putty. 

About a week and a half after her epiphany hit, she and Dean were alone in the motel room, sparring, and he pushed her up against a wall, pinning her there and expecting she'd try to get out. But he was breathing softly across her cheek, his face inches from hers and her whole body started tingling, making her lose her grip on the knife she held. It fell from her grasp and ended up slicing his calf on the way down.

“Aah! Jesus!” Dean shouted as he let her go and hobbled away from her. “What the hell, Y/N? What’s wrong with you?”

He sat down on the bed and Y/N ran over to pull up his slashed jeans, gasping at the long wound that bled down the side of his calf.

“Oh my god, Dean!” She said, jumping up and quickly grabbing the first aid kit. She got back on her knees beside the bed and pressed pads of gauze against his leg to stop the bleeding. She looked up into his face and saw his eyes closed in pain. “I’m so sorry! I just…”

Tears hit the backs of her eyes and she shook her head, looking back at his leg. “God, I’m so sorry.” She repeated in a teary voice.

“Hey.” Dean said as he lifted her chin so she was looking at him again. His thumb brushed away a tear that fell down her cheek. “Sweetheart, it's fine. No need for tears. I’ve survived worse.”

Y/N’s breath stilled in her chest and she whispered quietly. “You’ve never called me that before…sweetheart.”

Dean immediately tried to act casual, but he wasn’t a very good actor. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t, like, freak out about it.”

Y/N nodded and went back to caring for his wound. Once she got the bleeding stopped, she could see it wasn’t very deep. As she cleaned it, she could feel the tension between them rising, like something thick and palpable. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Did you, uh…I mean do you want me to call you that? Or, I mean…did you like it?”

Y/N felt her cheeks turn a burning red and she shrugged as she taped a big piece of gauze over the long cut. “I dunno.” Was her only response.

She was finished taking care of him, so she stood up and started to walk away. But Dean’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the back of her t-shirt. He let go as she turned back to face him. 

“Why have you been so weird lately?”

Y/N laughed nervously. “What are you talking about?”

Dean stood up and pressed closer to her, slipping his hand around her so that it laid against the small of her back. Her blood pumped hard in her veins and she licked her lips. Dean’s jaw clenched and his eyes fell to her mouth.

“I mean that you’ve been weird with me all week. Ever since I picked you up at school and you got all jealous.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped open before she slammed it shut and spluttered. “Whatever! You wish! Like I care about the dozens of girls you riffle through in every town we stay in.”

Dean moved closer to her and brought his other hand up to cup her cheek and trail his fingers along her jawbone. “I mean…it does actually seem like you care a little bit.” 

He walked her backwards a few more steps so that she was pressed up against the wardrobe that sat in the corner of the room. His eyes roamed over her face and then he looked deeply into her eyes, and his green-eyed gaze made her feel exposed, like he could see into her soul so there was no point in lying to him. He’d always known how she felt. He knew when she was scared, knew when she was annoyed, and when she was furious; he knew her sadness and the loneliness that seized her sometimes. 

He always knew, and he always knew just how to make things better for her. She’d already realized that she was actually incredibly attracted to him, but now she realized that he was also her best friend. She felt incredibly stupid for not realizing that sooner. She’d always thought of him as this annoying gnat that wouldn’t leave her alone. But really he was the person who knew her the best, the one she was never afraid to go to for anything, the one she knew would always have her back.

Dean’s breath was soft against her lips as he hovered there. “So, do you care, Y/N? Even a little?”

She could do nothing but nod, and then close the distance between them, pressing her lips against his briefly before pulling back, terrified to see his reaction. 

But a wide, slightly goofy smile spread across his face and it made her smile in return. “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” He said before he planted his mouth over hers and kissed her for real. 

She’d never been kissed before, but she’d imagined it many times. This was nothing like she’d imagined. It was much wetter, much hotter, and much more all-consuming than she’d imagined it would be. Her head was swimming, and she felt like she might pass out. He swept his tongue into her mouth and she moaned. 

The thought of “french kissing” had always weirded her out a little. Who wanted someone else’s tongue in their mouth? But Dean’s tongue was silky and skillful as he trailed it along the roof of her mouth. It felt possessive and that feeling made her stomach clench in a pleasant and shaky kind of way. 

When she reciprocated, slowly allowing her tongue to trail along his, Dean groaned and slipped both his hands down over her hips to press her closer to him. She gasped as she felt his hard on through his jeans, pressing against her lower belly. 

Dean pulled his mouth away from her and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, before turning his head and pressing soft kisses along her neck.

“Sorry.” He said gruffly. “It’s just…I mean, fuck you’re crazy hot. Sorry.” He said again, but Y/N giggled, more thrilled than she could say at his reaction to her and to their kisses.

“But,” Dean continued, “there’s no rush or anything, no rush to, you know, do anything.”  He raised his head to look her in the eye. “I’m just so glad that you're, uh…that you like me, you know…like that. I’ve liked you for so long.”

He brushed his lips across hers. “Been wanting to kiss you since we were about eleven years old.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Seriously? I just realized last week that I wanted to kiss you. How have you known this long, and not tried to kiss me even once?”

Dean shrugged sheepishly. “Never thought you’d want me to, and I wasn't about to try something and weird you out…or make you stay away from me. But then, you seemed so jealous the other day, and the daggers you were shooting at those other chicks gave me some reason to hope. Then you’ve been so weird ever since.”

Y/N snorted. “Whatever, I wasn’t shooting any daggers. I’ve been very cool and collected this whole time.” She lied.

Dean laughed. “Yeah, the gaping wound on my leg says otherwise.”

“Hey, don’t blame me because you lost focus and got yourself hurt.” Y/N said haughtily. 

“Lost focus? I did not lose focus. You got all swoony and dropped the damn knife.”

“That’s totally not true. You know you always - “

Suddenly Dean cut her off with another kiss, one that was deep and probing and left Y/N completely senseless.

Dean’s breathing was harsh and shallow too as he rested his forehead on hers and spoke against her lips.

“God, I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Kiss me?” Y/N asked, her eyes still closed.

“No. Shut you up.”

It took Y/N a moment to register his words and then her eyes popped open and she saw his wide, mischievous grin and punched his upper arm lightly. “You’re an asshole.”

Dean nodded and yanked her tight against him. “Yeah, but I’m your asshole.”

Y/N laughed. “Yes.” She nodded. “But let’s just remember who kissed who first.”

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu @jackles010378

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26 @slut-for-evans-stan

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous @k-slla @stoneyggirl2

[bleedingcrownkel]

"Heal and Build"

I don’t just want to love you,

I want to heal with you.

Piece by piece, brick by brick,

Let’s rebuild what the world tried to break.

Let’s lay the foundation on trust,

Not just the fleeting kind, but one that won’t rust.

Let’s anchor it deep with truth and care,

A bond unshaken by life’s wear and tear.

Your wounds, my wounds—we’ll tend to them all,

Catch each other when we start to fall.

No judgment, no rush, no keeping score,

Just two hearts mending, stronger than before.

Let’s plant seeds in the garden of us,

Water them daily with love and trust.

Let the sunlight of patience help them grow,

Until beauty blooms in the places we sow.

I want to build something that stands the test,

A home for our souls, a place to rest.

No cracks, no leaks, no fragile seams,

Just a fortress built on shared dreams.

Together, we’ll rise above the pain,

Through every storm, through every rain.

Because healing with you feels like coming alive,

And building with you is where love will thrive.

[suzukiblu]

disappointed missing fearless

Cut for weird alien biology kinky porn but mostly just for length. Also, I don't know if there's an actual established ship name for Slobo/Kon but this is technically from a YJ polyam fic either way, so idk if it actually matters right now, hah.

Pretty sure I posted at least some of this excerpt before, but this SHOULD be the extended edition.

"The Boy Wonder just had to be our token straight," Kon grumbles, folding his arms. Which is whatever, fine, preferences are preferences and the dude's still his friend and he would still very literally die either for him or on his say-so, but is the idea of letting Kon go down on him every now and then and maybe also making out a little somewhere in there really that unappealing? Like, seriously? 

Bats are the freaking worst. 

"What's it matter?" Slobo asks, wrinkling his nose at him. 

"I mean, it doesn't matter-matter," Kon says with an exasperated sigh. "But also I just want to finally score some dick for once, man, and I still can't actually keep up with Bart's and Suzie only has one when she's in the right mood and Rob's isn't even into me, and I don't wanna go knock over a civilian for it, that's just–" 

"And that'd be all the options for dick currently available to your picky ass, yeah," Slobo cuts in dryly, leaning in towards him with a pointed look. Kon turns red. 

"Actually I kinda figured you were straight too," he says, glancing sidelong at the guy. "And very solidly monogamous, given all the time that you and Anita spend ignoring the rest of us in favor of rooms with doors that lock." 

"We ain't monogamous, she just don't like gettin' interrupted when she's in the mood. Though yeah, you're right about the straight thing," Slobo agrees with a dismissive shrug. "But also, look, I'm Czarnian. Which literally none of you bastiches are. And gonna be frank here, you and Anita got a lot more biological similarities to each other than Anita and a Czarnian chick would, so at this point I don't really give a shit what kind of hole I'm fraggin' so long as whoever it belongs to's got somethin' interestin' to say about the process." 

"Huh," Kon says, frowning to himself. "That literally never occurred to me as a thing that might be a thing, actually." 

"I mean, what, are you attracted to Branx and Bolovax Vikians and Karnans and Martians?" Slobo snorts dubiously. "Or frell, even Czarnians?" 

"Well, just the ones I like, but yeah," Kon says, a little puzzled by the question. They're all sentient species with free will and also he would absolutely let that one very specific Green Lantern just fucking step on him whenever the guy felt like it, so yeah, why wouldn't he be attracted to them? And . . . Kilowog, he's pretty sure said Green Lantern's name is? Kilowog's built like what a brick house wishes it could grow up and be. So Kon would definitely let him step on him. "Is that like . . . weird or something?" 

"Galactically speakin', yeah," Slobo says wryly. "Though I guess you're already a hybrid so I probably shoulda expected you to be less discriminatin' than the rest of the universe tends to." 

"So what, are you calling me a slut?" Kon snorts. "Like on a genetic level?" 

"Depends how many people you've screwed, galactically speakin'," Slobo says. 

"Not enough," Kon replies frankly. 

"Then yeah, pretty sure you're a slut," Slobo says with another shrug. "Especially if you miss dick bad enough to get in a snit on the couch over it." 

". . . I mean, okay, I haven't actually socialized with another dude's dick before," Kon admits grudgingly, making a face. "Unless watching gay porn counts, and to be honest I usually get bored if there's only one style of genitals onscreen so I don't do much of that. Just I just finally figured out that I fucking want dick and my options for getting it are frustratingly limited right now." 

"Then wanna actually socialize with mine?" Slobo suggests, which is an approach that Kon appreciates the straightforwardness of. "Seein' as it don't belong to a picky control freak or a hyperactive speedster or someone with a real fraggin' inconvenient tendency to turn intangible when they come." 

"Suzie does that?" Kon asks. 

"Accordin' to Anita," Slobo replies with a shrug. "And since I trust her with my literal fraggin' life at this point, I'm assumin' this ain't the thing she's picked to lie to me over." 

"Huh," Kon says. "Weird, but noted for future reference. And yeah, fuck it, let's socialize. Room with a lock, or . . . ?" 

"Naw, give Wonder Girl the chance to walk in on us, she wants to see your indestructible ass get wrecked real bad," Slobo says with a smirk, then sticks with that straightforward approach that Kon so rightly appreciates and immediately yanks his belt open and whips his dick out right there on the couch. It is not remotely proportionate to his build, and Kon definitely means that as a compliment. 

"Oh, is that the plan here?" Kon says, as someone whose mouth just went dry and who would also admittedly like to see his indestructible ass get wrecked for once. Like, that's a thing he'd like to get to do before he dies, that's all. 

"Damn right it is," Slobo says, smirking wider at him and giving his cock a meaningful squeeze. Kon glances down at it speculatively, wondering exactly how Czarnians fuck. Said cock is currently actively rising to the occasion, and also getting increasingly disproportionate to Slobo's build. 

Like. Very increasingly. 

Damn. 

"What'dya think? Wanna come on it, bastich?" Slobo asks with a leering grin and a very unsubtle tug. Kon flicks his eyes back to his face and just eyes him. 

. . . then he eyes his dick. 

It's actually, like, a very appealing dick. It might be a little smaller than Kon's own is, he thinks, but it's definitely comparable and still plenty damn big either way, all long and thick and heavy-looking, and it's got, like . . . ridges. Bumps. Textures. Like, Bad Dragon wishes it could design such a dick. 

. . . Jesus, actually, is that a knot at the base? And–

Oh. Okay. 

"Is your dick prehensile," Kon asks, officially just staring at it. 

It waves at him. 

"Is it?" Slobo asks with a smirk. 

"Fuck," Kon says as a downright vicious stab of arousal goes through his gut, and then he very suddenly feels very weird. Slobo cocks his head, looking surprised. 

Kon looks down at himself, because again, he feels weird. "Himself" is not there to be looked at. 

Well, like, it is. Just not in very . . . "him"-type fashion. 

"Huh," Kon says to the very nice pair of tits currently sitting all cute and perky under his S-shield. He blinks in absolute bemusement, and Slobo's expression lights up hungrily. 

"Shit, you really do like me, huh," he says, letting go of himself and reaching out to put his hands around Kon's suddenly very, very narrow waist. Like . . . way too far around, actually. That's . . . an experience. Wow. "Never had Kryptonian pussy before." 

Yeah, well, you're not the only one, Kon thinks only slightly hysterically.

"You can't get knocked up 'til you go through a full cycle, right, so can I stick it in raw?" Slobo asks like this is all just perfectly normal, which admittedly for all Kon knows about Slobo's life experience and alien biology in general it could in fact be. He thinks of several thousand reasons to say no, but given both who he is as a person and also how bad he really, really wants to finally score some dick for once . . .

"Yeah," he says, then half-reflexively flicks his eyes back down to Slobo's cock and licks his lips. Slobo grins. 

"Nice," he says. 

Anyway, Kon's suit lasts about five seconds after that. Which–it doesn't fit him quite right at the moment anyway, so it's whatever. It's very weird to see tits and ass and a statistically improbable amount of curves when he looks down at himself, but it's weirder feeling Slobo's hands and mouth roaming greedily all over said statistical improbabilities as the other pushes him down against the cushions. The prick hasn't even kissed him, which: rude much? 

Not that Kon's really complaining, because if he wanted "polite" that bad he wouldn't be socializing with Slobo at all, much less his dick, and Slobo is currently making his way down his body and clearly on a mission to kiss him somewhere. 

So yeah, the "weird" feelings are very rapidly losing out to the "holy shit, do that again" feelings. 

"Holy shit, do that again," Kon says. Slobo grins sharply up at him and then Kon meets his clit and his clit meets Slobo's very eager tongue and anyway Kon now officially and intimately understands why people who've got one bitch so damn much when a partner ignores it. Like wow, does he ever. "Ohhhhh my god. Oh my god oh my god oh my god–!" 

So that's pretty distracting, for at least a couple minutes there. 

Not that Kon's brain is in any condition to be noticing the passage of time right now. 

"Frag, you're already dripping. Wanna get off on my tongue a few times or just get straight to the main attraction?" Slobo asks as he hooks his hands around Kon's currently statistically improbable and also badly shaking thighs and licks his own very slick and shiny lips. Kon remembers the sight of the guy's big fat disproportionate dick very, very vividly, then immediately spreads his thighs as far as he can without the back of the couch interfering. 

Possibly he damages said back of the couch just a little bit in the process. 

Like, just barely. 

"Main attraction," he says firmly. Slobo grins at him again. 

"Damn, rolling out the red carpet here, ain't we," he says. "Gonna make a guy feel downright appreciated like this." 

"Put your dick in me right the fuck now or I will put you through the fucking wall, asshole," Kon threatens, and of course it's Slobo, so he just grins all the wider. 

"Fraggin' flirt," he says with obvious approval. 

Then he puts his dick in him. 

Kon's vision very literally whites out at the way Slobo feels sliding into him so big and hard and big and deep and big and good and he jerks up instinctively underneath him and makes some really, really undignified noises as his body seizes up. The couch might suffer a little more damage. Kon doesn't give the slightest bit of a fuck. 

"Holy shit, did you just fraggin' come?" Slobo asks in obvious delight. 

"Shut the fuck up," Kon barely gets out past the aftershocks making his whole damn body twitch and tremble under Slobo's, and Slobo laughs and sort of . . . rolls his hips, kind of, and Kon moans. 

"Shit, you're tight," Slobo says, sounding approving again, and this time in a way that makes Kon shudder even harder than he already is. "And soaked. Feels like I just stuck it in somebody's sloppy seconds. What do you think, bastich, want the whole thing in your snatch? Think you can take it?" 

"Yes," Kon chokes desperately, and Slobo does the only gentlemanly thing that Kon has ever seen him do, which is immediately just thrust into him balls deep. 

That is definitely a knot, yeah, Kon notes. 

And definitely Slobo's dick is prehensile. 

The literal only reason that Kon doesn't fucking scream is because they're in a building full of active superheroes and god fucking forbid somebody come and "save" him right now. Like, Cassie can watch if she really is into that, but if anybody in any way tries to fucking interrupt he is gonna straight up just become a supervillain. 

Unless it's a supervillain interrupting, he guesses, in which case he's just gonna take a page out of Wonder Woman's book and give them the Maxwell Lord special. 

Either way, he emphasizes deeply with Anita and her locked doors. 

Real deeply.

[gabessquishytum]

This is not a justification or a place to talk about it with excuses -- but well Dream is very much in trouble.

He was forced to marry someone he didn’t even like, let alone love, but his parents and circumstances forced his hand. His husband/wife is fine, whatever, they both went into it knowing the score.

The trouble started when Dream took what he knew was shit advice from Desire on how to make the best of it --- go out have meaningless hookups/one night stands to get the even half way decent sex he's been missing in his loveless marriage. According to Desire is wasn't about falling in love or catching feelings it was about Dream getting his dick wet, and taking back some control over his life.

Dream knew, knew, he was not built for serial cheating. And if he was being honest, Dream guesses it kinda worked for a little while......then Dream met Hob Gadling and all bets were off.

It not even like he lied to Hob, Dream fell so hard, so fast, that he seemingly couldn't be anything but honest with Hob. AND HOB. WAS. JUST. AS. BAD!!

Hob had taken, after only a few meetings,,,, DAYS,, to sucking marks all over Dream's visible skin. Dream thinks Hob is following him; Dream knows that he's seen Hob standing on the street corner across from Dream's office. Dream isn't even scared,,,,because he would do the same -- follow Hob around if people didn’t look for him in his office.

It is getting harder for Dream to leave Hob and go home, because Hob is home. The other day - listen Dream has taken to having long lunches at Hob's apartment - Dream caught (which implies "hiding," which Hob was NOT) Hob looking at plane tickets for two to the states. Dream might have started stock piling bricks of cash at Hob's apartment, in response.

Oh. God. They're going to run!

IDIOTS!! THEYRE IDIOTS!!! and I love them. They literally cannot be normal about anything else and i am so here for that.

Cause like. The point has come where Dream could totally just get a divorce. His parents wouldn't be thrilled, but they already lived through 3 of Desire's messy divorces. They'll survive. The reason they wanted Dream to marry in the first place is now long gone and forgotten.

But... these idiots are enjoying the drama, ok. The secrecy, the illicit phone calls, the mild level of stalking... its all a fucking turn on. They're INTO IT. Nothing gets Dream hard like knowing that Hob is watching him at work from the cafe across the street with a pair of binoculars. They have a fucking code so they can sext each other. They write love letters in cypher.

Dream's spouse checked out of the marriage years ago at this point. But Hob and Dream are just having such a good time with their elaborate affair roleplay, you know? And the only saving grace of the whole thing is that they are genuinely (and quite adorably) head over heels in love.

The sooner they leave the country the better tbh. For the sanity of everyone who knows them!