#and when sprang was having fun (as it appears he was here)

[cantsayidont]

February 1955. My personal favorite of the various minor recurring characters of the Batman stories of the 1950s is Brane Taylor, the blonde Batman of the 31st Century, who appeared twice: first in a story in BATMAN #67 in 1951, and again in DETECTIVE COMICS #216 in early 1955.

As explained in the above page from the latter story, Brane first traveled back to Batman and Robin's era to enlist Dick Grayson's help after his own Robin (Brane's unnamed redheaded nephew) was injured fighting a space pirate called Yerxa. Robin's recollection above makes it sound a bit more glamorous than that earlier adventure actually ended up being for him — you see, Brane got both of them sent to space-prison!

If that last panel looks familiar, that's because it's a pretty direct swipe from a scene in the film DESTINATION MOON, which came out in 1950, not long before Bill Finger wrote this story. (That image appeared in promotional stills and posters, which I assume penciller Dick Sprang referenced.) In any event, Brane and Robin had to endure a lot of very miserable manual labor "in the mine pits of Vulcan" before they figured out how Yerxa was stealing the Vulcanite (a "new element" that when combined with glass "concentrates the sun's heat to an unbelievable degree!"). Afterward, Dick used Brane's time machine to bring Bruce Wayne to the 31st Century to help thwart Yerxa's attempt to reveal that Brane Taylor was Batman.

Oh, "scientific massage-treatment," huh? Is that what they're calling it now? The "one difference" between them, by the way, is that Brane is slightly taller than Bruce Wayne, something that will indeed become relevant later.

Brane's earlier appearance had implied that he was a bit more of a fop than Bruce Wayne, and during his time in the 20th Century, he keeps flirting with Vicki Vale, something that immediately makes her suspicious:

Brane also comes across as a bit of a doofus, although part of his problem is that he's largely unfamiliar with the 20th Century (which is ancient history for him), and Robin keeps nagging him not to use his various futuristic gadgets, especially around Vicki:

Sometimes, of course, he has no alternative:

By this time, Brane's "scientific massage" has worked wonders, and Bruce Wayne is back in action. However, Vicki is not satisfied:

Honestly, he's lucky Vicki didn't break out the phrenology calipers.

There's a common misconception that the monsters, weird aliens, and strange transformations that began to dominate the Batman strip around 1957 were a huge departure from what had come before, but the truth is that Batman stories had incorporated a fair number of fantastical elements since the very beginning. What changed in the late 1950s and early 1960s was that those elements became too frequent and too rote to really be fun anymore. Earlier stories like the Brane Taylor adventures are also pretty out there, but there's an imagination and energy that editor Jack Schiff (though reportedly much better to work for than tyrannical Superman group editor Mort Weisinger) didn't know how to sustain when this kind of material became the rule rather than the exception for Batman and Robin.

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover 2 - A.H

a/n: had sm fun writing this one yall

im so down bad for him ugh

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

part one here! part three here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader flashes hotch AGAIN, drinking on government property lmao, drunk reader, suggestive comments

wc: 3.2k

You were restless, to put it simply. Every conceivable activity within the BAU had been exhausted, and you had explored every nock and cranny of the office, leaving no corner untouched. At this point they should start paying you for tour guides because you'd be an expert.

You were bored, frankly, and lonely--the team had been on a case all week and you were stuck here. How Garcia managed was beyond you--the walls seemed to close in on you as stir craziness took hold. You kept busy with work, offering as much help as possible while staying put, but it really wasn't the same.

You missed the team, and a particular member's absence you felt just a tad more, though you wouldn't admit it. Thankfully, they were supposed to be back any second now. While Penelope had a special place in your heart, the thought of sitting through another round of her and Kevin's awkward flirting was almost too much to bear. Without Hotch to keep it in check, it was all the more excruciating.

"Bye, Kevin," you chimed in unison, your voices intertwining just as the door clicked shut behind him.

Once you were sure he wasn't coming back, you shot Pen a knowing glance, arching an eyebrow as you pointed one of her fuzzy pens at her.

"Ease up on the death stare, will ya?" Penelope chided, as she wheeled her chair back to her computers, her finger twirling towards you. "You get so broody when the boss man's gone."

You lobbed the pen in Penelope's direction. "No," you replied with a huff. "I get broody when the whole team leaves me behind."

"Gasp," Penelope declared, placing a hand over her heart. "Can you believe it? They're genuinely concerned for your well-being. The audacity!"

"Okay, but seriously, what's the bigger priority here--my life or my sanity? Because it's a fine line," you said with a shrug, pushing your chair back dramatically.

But, before the chair could gain any momentum, you found yourself abruptly against the wall, your head cushioned by an unexpected softness. Without a moment to comprehend, your chair was spun, your eyes growing impossibly wide as Hotch's belt appeared abruptly in your line of sight. You raised your eyes to meet his.

"Your life, I would wager," he said evenly, "but then again, I might be a little biased."

You sprang to your feet, too quickly, your foot catching, sending you lurching forward. Almost instantly, Hotch's hand was securing around your arm, preventing you from landing straight on your face.

"Oh, Hotch, sir, hi," you said, flustered and slightly disoriented. "I didn't realize you guys were back."

"We just got back," he said, his hand falling away from your arm, and you hated yourself for how you felt a subtle coolness that replaced the comforting heat of his touch. "Do you have those reports I asked for?"

"Oh, absolutely, they're ready at my desk," you assure. "I'll bring them to your office in a sec."

As he nods and exits, your scoop up your belongings from Penelope's desk, raising a finger. "Don't even say it, Pen."

You ignored the way she cackled as you left, moving to your desk to grab the needed papers. You attention was captured by Spencer and Emily standing by her desk. Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around them both, pressing them against you.

"Ugh, I missed you guys so much."

They both laugh, their hands taking you in quickly as you lean against them.

Emily grins, ruffling your hair as she nudges you. "A week away and you're this clingy? We'll have the start weaning you off us, huh?"

"Don't tease," Spencer starts, his hand resting on your shoulder, "But out of curiosity, how many times did you check our desks while we were gone?"

"Too many times to count," you admit begrudgingly, a sheepish grin on your face. As you glance up, your eyes catch Hotch's through the glass pane. "Oops, almost forgot why I came down here."

Approaching Hotch's office, you tap on the door frame and enter. "Here ya go, sir." you offer, extending the documents toward him.

Your fingers lightly touch as he takes the papers, and for a moment, you're rooted to the spot, the brief contact sparking a surge of disarray in your senses. God, it's almost beyond belief that one man could have this kind of effect on you.

Hotch nods his acknowledgement. "Thanks," he murmurs. As you pivot to leave, he adds, "Could you sit down for a moment?"

You cast a teasing look over your shoulder. "I hope I'm not in trouble," you say. His expression doesn't change. "Wait, am I? Because that would definitely be enough to push me over the edge, sir."

"No, you're not in trouble," Hotch assures you. "I've received updates concerning your case."

You lowered yourself into the chair, hands perched in your lap, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. "Please tell me it's good news because I'm starting to forget what my own bed feels like."

"You've been here just over a week," Hotch states, matter-of-fact.

You blow out a breath, arms crossed over your chest. "Hotch, it's scary at night."

He clears his throat, "Anyway, it's good news. We've got a lead on the hitman, though it's not the all-clear you're wanting."

"Well, that's something at least," you concede with a nod. "But I don't get why I can't be involved in this investigation."

As Hotch opens his mouth, you jump in, deepening your voice to copy his. "Because you're too close to it."

He regards you steadily, clearly not amused.

"Yup, okay, I'm done, sorry, I'm leaving now," you relent, getting to your feet quickly and striding towards the door, but a hand beats you to it, closing it abruptly and effectively barricading you in.

With a quick turn, you ended up flush against the door, Hotch's hand resting against the wood just above your ear. You felt like you were short-circuiting, your eyes growing wide as they met his. He says your name, but it doesn't quite register--too engrossed in the heady scent of his cologne, the pressing warmth of his body, the nearness of his chest, so close that an inch's movement could mean a soft kiss to his neck. Not like that would be totally inappropriate or anything.

"What?"

"I said, I'm worried about you."

You wanted to kiss him, man, you really wanted to kiss him. You bit the inside of your cheek to refrain from doing so.

"Why?"

It was barely audible, more air than sound, not daring to disturb the space too much, afraid of him suddenly becoming aware of just how close he was.

"You're very quick to make light of things, to make jokes, but I'm asking you to be real with me here. What are you feeling?"

His hand left the door, settling on your shoulder, his thumb hovering just shy of the hollow of your neck. Unconsciously, you found yourself leaning into the gentle pressure.

"That sounded sarcastic, Hotch," you noted, your tongue briefly sweeping across your lips, which seemed to dry out as you talked. "You're not implying my jokes need work, are you?"

His lack of response and narrowing eyes made you cave.

"Okay, fine, Hotch. You want the truth? I'm scared, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I have nightmares every night? That I can't sleep?"

Your breaths came faster, teeth meshing tightly as you stared up at your boss. His hand found your cheek, his thumb sketching a path across your skin that ignited a trail of goosebumps over your whole body, making you hyper-aware of your every pore.

"What can I do to help?"

Stay with you, kiss you, fuck you--numerous thoughts ran raced through your thoughts, but none of them seemed wholly appropriate.

"N-Nothing, Hotch, really, I'm okay. It's not something that can be fixed, which is why I didn't say anything. Plus, everyone on this team has been through worse. I can handle it. I'm tougher than I look."

"I know you are, but I—," his words were cut short, a sudden knock at the door silencing him mid-sentence.

His hands fell away from you, but the sensation lingered, the heat of his touch seeming to brand you, marking where he had been. You ran a hand through your hair in an attempt regain some form of composure, just as he opened the door to reveal JJ.

Her eyes darted between the two of you, finally focusing on Hotch. "Sorry, guys, I have that footage from the press conference--is that what you needed?"

"Yes, right." Hotch nodded, pulling the door open further for her, then returning his attention to you, observing your flushed cheeks and uneven breath. "We'll continue this later, okay?"

"Yeah," you exhaled sharply before ducking out of the room.

You need to get a grip, or maybe a Xanax, probably both.

Once the office had emptied, leaving you alone, you sat pitifully on your bed. It was Friday, but there was not much cause for celebration when you were stuck here, surrounded by stale office air. You sprawled out on the mattress, tracing the patterns of the popcorn ceiling overhead. If someone didn't figure out this hitman situation, you were going to take him out yourself.

Not really, that would definitely be a death wish. Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of muffled shuffling outside your door. Sitting up, you slid into your slippers and stepped out into the hallway.

"There she is!"

You snickered as Penelope extended her arms with jazz hands, while JJ and Emily lifted their arms to show off their wine stash. Gratefully grabbing a glass from Emily, you pulled them all into a group hug. "I can't help but feel like we're about to be the subject of a very specific memo from HR after this."

Giggles from JJ accompanied the wine pouring as you stepped back. "Hotch is surprisingly on board we this—encouraged it even. Can you believe it?"

Warmth dusted over your cheeks at the thought. You wanted to kiss him even more, if that was even possible.

"Trust me," Penelope insisted, shaking her head as she paused for a drink. "I wouldn't dare cross HR again. Once was more than enough."

You wanted to say you were a classy gal, confident in your ability to drink responsibly--it was only wine, after all, not Everclear. But as the night went on, your voice rose a decibel too high, your balance a bit unreliable, and your displays of affection way too unrestrained.

You were already a touchy person, ask any of your team members, but with a few drinks, you're giving high school sweethearts a run for their money in the PDA department.

Your arms were flung around JJ's neck, peppering her cheek with kisses as you sang along to whatever music Pen was playing in between smooches. JJ was laughing, tilting backward on her heels, nearly knocking you both over.

"I love you guys. So so much." you said, each word stretched and muddled as you reached out to Penelope, who happily linked her fingers with yours.

"You are so drunk!" Emily accused, her palms squishing your face as she chuckled.

"'M not," you protested, words stifled by compressed cheeks.

She freed your face to grab more wine, Penelope not far behind, as you situated yourself on your desk chair.

"You know who I also love?" you questioned to no one in particular as you slid your phone out of your back pocket. "Morgan, Reid, Dave, and--,"

You paused, your nose crinkling as you bit down hard on your tongue.

"And?" Penelope pressed, brows raised as she looked at you expectedly.

"Hmm?" You hummed innocently, blowing a kiss her way as you shrugged off her question. "I'm gonna call Morgan."

Your eyes darted down to your phone, only to find the room swirling like a carousel. It took a heartbeat to register--someone's voice was already coming from the speaker.

"Hello? Morgan? How'd you know I was going to call you?"

"It's Hotch."

Your eyes grew comically large, a hand flying over your mouth, smothering the laughter that threatened to fall. "Hotch! It is so late! Why are you calling me?"

You shushed the group with a finger to your lips, the girls' curious eyes on you as JJ practically crawled towards you to eavesdrop.

"You called me." He paused. "Are you okay?"

"Hotch," his name was more of a whine than anything as you tossed your head back. "I'm fine, like, the definition of A-Okay. I'm with my friends and we're all kinds of okay."

You shot Emily a thumbs up.

"Good. Okay." Another pause. "Maybe drink some water, yeah? No more wine."

You gasped. "Agent Hotchner, I am a federal agent of the government. I know when I should be cut off."

"Oh, my god, get her off the phone."

You don't know who said it, but it sent you spiraling into another round of giggles, the phone slipping through your fingers while JJ pounced on it.

"Hey!"

She held up a hand, keeping the device just out of reach.

"Yeah, she's pretty drunk." JJ said, then frowned. "Hotch, listen she's more of a lightweight than we realized." You slumped against the chair. "Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir."

JJ ended the call and placed it back into your hands. "I cannot wait until you remember this in the morning," she sang, before casting a glance to the others. "Also, a heads-up--Will's almost here."

"No!" It came out louder than intended, almost a shout, as you stood, sending Spencer's pens tumbling. "Whoopsie." You latched onto Penelope, murmuring, "Stay here, don't leave me."

Penelope's laughter rang out, her hands cradling your head. "Worry not, I've set the security guy straight--if you get even a scratch, I'll make him regret the day he was born."

"See, this is why you're my favorite," you whispered.

"Heard that."

Will eventually texted JJ, letting her know he had arrived. As the they waited by the elevator, the doors slid open to reveal Hotch standing there. A squeal escaped you, matched by his single raised eyebrow surveying your condition.

Your cheeks were painted a rosy tint, hair in a delightful tangle, and your shirt hanging askew off your shoulder--you were an adorable spectacle of disorder, and he found himself suppressing the small smile that threatened to reveal his amusement as the other girls filed into the elevator.

He had made them promise not to leave until he got there, not keen on the idea of you being left alone like this. It might have been an exaggeration, but when you butt dialed him and he heard the sound of your slurred speech it had him envisioning all sorts of worst-case scenarios. Sure, he had seen you drink during team nights out, but nothing like this.

"Hotch!" You shouted, moving to him with a rapidity that might be, well definitely, was ill-advised.

He stood motionless as you looped your arms around his neck. You smelled so nice--a sweet hint of vanilla instead of the anticipated alcohol. After a brief hesitation, his hands slowly found their way to your waist.

"What are you doing here, silly?" You ask, pulling back just enough to see his face. "Wait a second, please don't say we have a case."

A subtle smile played on his face, his hand not budging from your back. "No, there's no case."

"Oh, good," you murmured, your head bobbing lightly in approval. The light touch of your fingers at the base of his neck spread a warmth through him. "You want a drink? I think there's still some wine left."

"No, I'm fine," he said, clearing his throat and taking a step back. "I think you need to get to bed."

Your hands lingered at his neck, softly exploring his hair as you looked up with a smile that made his pulse race unexpectedly.

"Is that an order as my boss or a suggestion as my friend?"

He raised his brow. "Both?"

"Well, okay," you shrugged as you took a step back. "Wanna see my room? I don't think you've seen it yet. Everyone else has."

Without giving him a chance to object, you dashed down the hallway. He trailed behind with reluctance, knowing just how dangerous this could be for him. He was all too aware that he shouldn't be here, let alone in your room in your current, wine-fueled state.

You fumbled for the light, fingers slipping before finding the switch as you stumbled into the cramped room. It was pink. Very pink. The pullout couch was lost beneath a mountain of pillows, excessive by any standard. Your closet was bursting, and a collection of gadgets and gizmos had overtaken the room, but he liked it, a lot.

Your collapse onto the bed sent pillows scattering to the floor, his mind wandered about the unseen details of your bedroom at home, and even more so, the thought of what a shared space between you two might look like.

A sigh escaped him as he stood over you. "How about changing into your pajamas first, hm?"

"No thank you."

"You're going to hate yourself if you wake up in jeans tomorrow."

"Fine." You pouted, propping yourself up on your elbows. "Top right drawer please."

He shot you a look but obliged anyway. There was something about that puckered out bottom lip that made him think he'd do just about anything you asked, like he was putty in your hands. Pulling out the most conservative pair of pajamas from the sparse selection, he made a mental note to ask about that later.

"Thank you," you said with a smile. He really liked your smile. "You know, you're really such a nice person, Hotch. Or—Can I call you Aaron? Just tonight?"

He felt a sudden emptiness in his chest as the air was knocked out. "You can call me Aaron. Just tonight."

A high-pitched squeal escaped you as you began shedding your clothes. He offered a stifled cough, quickly averting his gaze and nudging the door closed with his free hand.

"Well, Aaron," you said plainly, "I really like you."

The effort it took for him not to pivot on his heel was immense, particularly when your voice sweetened like honey at the mention of his name.

"You're a great boss."

"I like you too, Agent."

"No, you don't, well, I mean—you can turn around now," you said. "You like me, but I really like you. It's not the same."

As he turned to face you, he could sense his cock twitching in his pants, a physical reaction to the sight of you fumbling with your shirt, your tits exposed in full view, as if begging to be touched.

"Christ," he hissed, gripping the ends of your shirt and yanking down. He was sure you were going to hate yourself in the morning. "You're not making sense, and I think you need to sleep it off."

"Yeah," you replied, your eyes warmly meeting his as you gave him a lopsided smile. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you in such casual clothes, Aaron. You look very handsome."

He needed to get you to bed before he did something he'd regret. He softly nudged your shoulders backward, offering no verbal response. You surrendered to the motion with complaint, your remaining strength insufficient for anything else.

Softly, he settled to blankets around you, taking a moment to study you, with the intention of memorizing you completely (even the part of you that was far too drunk).

"Goodnight, Aaron."

He summoned all his restraint to keep from crashing his lips into yours. He smoothed back your hair, allowing himself that as he shot you a tired smile. "Goodnight."

He hadn't even touched the doorknob when your plea reached his ears. "Aaron, I—, will you stay with me?"

And who was he to deny you anything?

next part!

taglist: @chronicallybubbly

[iichfilwypj]

lover | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of hypnos! reader ღ warnings: percy is completely whipped here! maybe he's not very accurate or himself but im a slut for romantic shit yk ღ wc: 1.658 sorry loves dreamy girls masterlist!

After years, New Year's Eve was finally different.

She'd expected the usual—warmth at camp, chatting with the campers—but Percy invited her to spend the week with his family instead.

And Sally’s letter and Estelle’s drawing made it impossible to refuse.

Percy had planned every detail perfectly. His mom made her favorite dish, Estelle eagerly talked about seeing “The Sleeping Princess” again, and Percy patiently explained the day’s events to his family. 

Because, of course, he had something else up his sleeve.

One last surprise.

Just before midnight, Percy sat beside her as Estelle slept in her lap. The adult's conversation around them faded, and she absentmindedly stroked the little girl’s back to keep herself awake.

When she felt Percy nearby, she looked up to find him brushing a strand of hair from her face. A warm smile appeared as their eyes met.

“She’s so lovely,” she murmured.

“Mm-hmm,” Percy replied, leaning against her. “Does she look like me?”

“Just a bit more adorable.” They shared a quiet laugh.

Then Percy, his voice trembling slightly, said, “Hey, dreamy. Wanna get out of here?” His eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and nerves.

She chuckled, unsure if he was serious. It reminded her of a movie they had watched together, where the guy said the same line to  take the girl out of the party and lead her to something more fun.

But before she could protest, he gently lifted Estelle from her lap and took her hand, leading her toward the door.

“Wait, it’s almost midnight—”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes but—”

“Awesome! Mom, we’re leaving!”

If the the living room was beautifully decorated, the terrace was out of this world.

Percy was relieved that no one had claimed her for their celebrations. The lights lit up the place, contrasting with the soft snow falling gently on the city, transforming everything below into a sea of calm and white.

In one corner, a big blanket rested on the floor, surrounded by scattered cushion. It was small perfect escape.

The cool night air couldn’t reach the warm stillness of it, where the candles burned like magic and the sheets hanging above shielded everything from the real world.

Stunned, she observed Percy walk toward the corner, unaware of the trembling in his legs, his shallow breaths, or the tears that threatened to escape his eyes.

Not because of the cold, but because of the weight of emotions—fear, excitement, all tangled.

The old record player, silent until then, sprang to life with a gentle crackle, the music flowing through the place like a whisper of a forgotten memory.

She couldn’t help but smile, feeling reassured by its familiarity.

The melody sank deep into both their hearts on that terrace, softening them just a bit more. Their eyes locked, his green ones asking—or perhaps pleading—for her to come closer, be near him. 

And she did, it was everything she wanted.

They both found their place on the blanket, cozy in each other's warmth. Their legs were tangled like roots, something unbreakable against the world beneath them, which began to roar with the arrival of a new year, a fresh start.

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

“This is lovely,” The daughter of Hypnos rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as the weight of his hand on her back filled her with calm. She couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his skin. “Did you make this?”

This is our place, we make the rules

“Yes. I know this is your first holiday away from camp in a long time, I wanted it to be unforgettable.” He whispered, burying his face into the girl's hair.

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

He heard her nervous laugh and couldn’t help but ask. “What?”

Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

“Why?” she admitted, letting the question escape. She didn’t want to make herself a victim, but she was overwhelmed by all this kindness. “Why so much effort?”

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And he just stared at her. He observed her, took in every part of her.

He studied her face, her expression, her soul. He saw the surprise in her slightly raised eyebrows, the gratitude in the small smile on her lips, the doubt and fear in the way her nose scrunched.

He saw it all.

And ah, take me out, and take me home

And he risked it all.

You're my, my, my, my

“I mean, it's beautiful, and no one's ever done this for me, but—”

Lover.

“I love you.” 

It came out so naturally, so quietly, but with an intensity that made her chest tighten. The world seemed to hold its breath. 

She stared at him, wide-eyed, her mind a blur of thoughts. The snow around them fell heavier now, and as the music swirled, it was his words that rang out loudest.

“I—” She couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to tell him everything she felt. Her mind raced, emotions tangled in a knot she couldn’t untangle.

But he already knew.

A tender smile appeared, and his eyes stayed on hers. The heat of his hand on her back seeped into her cold, flushed face as he watched the tears threatening to fall.

And while he hated seeing her tears, the way her hands gripped desperately his arm made him wish he could cry alongside her.

“I love you,” he repeated. “It's the only thing I can do when I'm near you. And even when I'm not, I find you in everything. In the music I listen, in the words I speak, in what I do. In what I think—for Aphrodite, you live in my mind.”

“Percy—” she breathed, her voice unsteady as she reached for his hand.

“Please, just let me finish,” he murmured, his voice trembling under the weight of his words.

When she nodded, he drew in a deep breath and carried on.

“No one, not a single person, had ever reached my heart. Close? Yes, but you—the moment I saw you, you took it. You took everything I had.”

His girl let out a broken sob, unable to stop as the tears streamed down in torrents, and his gentle hands caught them. His own tears fell, cold and frozen in that moment.

The bells marking the year's final minute started to chime, but they felt like a distant echo, blending with the rhythm of their heartbeat.

Yet, he pressed on.

“And I don’t want it back. Never. It’s yours. Yes, everything is yours. Because—” he interlaced their fingers harder. “Because you’ve made me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. Every emptiness I’ve ever felt disappeared. And every heartbeat that ever meant anything, became you.”

His thumb softly glided over the back of her hand, sending a shiver up her spine. His forehead almost met hers.

She felt his breath on her skin, and she couldn’t help but shut her eyes, letting the sound of his voice and the melody wrap around her like a gentle wave.

But he tapped her nose with his, prompting her to open her eyes. The tears made her vision hazy, but the bright green she saw before her reassured her that everything was fine.

“And now, my life—it's no longer mine. It’s no longer the one I had. It’s the one you’ve built. Every piece of me, every fragment of what I once was, now belongs to you.”

She could feel the fragility in his hands, the quiver in his fingers, and it made her want to hold him even closer, to embrace him until the oxygen was gone, until the birds stopped singing and the universe wiped away everything but them, everything but that moment.

Everything but their love.

“So take it. Take me entirely, all of me, I’m yours." he concluded. "I always have been.”

He was silent, almost still. His eyes were closed, now afraid of what her reaction might reveal.

And the girl smiled, though it turned more into a pout. Her fingers ceased holding onto his hands to lift his chin, something he did constantly to her. He didn’t open his eyes, but let himself be guided.

“Percy,” She gazed at him, and her voice came out in a whisper, as though fearing the magic of the moment would break. 

Without hesitation, they leaned even closer, following the delicate touch of their skin. The gap between them almost completely disappeared.

At last, he opened his eyes. She couldn’t contain what she felt, the urge to tell him everything she had been holding in for so long, though it didn’t measure up to what he had said to her.

The sound of the final five bells echoed, followed by the shouts from the balconies.

"I love you," she said, her heart rising in her throat, her voice quivering.

Five!

“I love you in ways I can’t express with words or gestures. I love you as if my life depended on it—”

Four!

“No, I love you because my life depends on it. Without you, I am nothing.”

Three!

“I once said that you’re the best dream I could wish for—but you're more than that. You're my reality, my light, my existence.”

Two!

“I will take everything from you, if you promise to take everything from me,”

One!

“And keep it forever. Keep me forever, I'll do the same."

Happy New Year!

And finally, she kissed him, their lips meeting in a soft, slow kiss, a kiss brimming with unspoken promises and shared emotions.

It was different than others; it was a start of something more deep. In the delicate pressure of their lips, everything they had ever felt for each other was expressed without a single syllable, their hearts speaking the language that only they understood.

There was no more cold or snow—only the heat of their bodies pressed together, the rhythmic beating of their hearts in sync, and the gentle intertwining of their souls. 

In the end, they pulled away; not because they wanted to, but because the air had become essential, because their hearts needed a moment to calm, despite the urge to stay lost in each other. 

“Happy New Year,” she whispered, as he responded with a smile, his hand reaching up to caress her face again. 

“Happy New Year, my love,” he murmured in return, his voice low, only for her to hear.

“Percy?” she sniffled.

“Yes?”

”Would you be my lover?” 

“I already am,” he leaned forward, pressing a soft peck to her lips. “Since the first day, until the stars fade.”

I CRIED WRITING THIS GOD i think it's so cute. seriously, i want apologize again for disappearing like that, out of nowhere. i feel much better now and wanted to come back with something special. i hope you liked it! also, this doesn’t mean the series is over, they are my babies, and if i have to write about the 70 years they will spend together in my heart, i will do it!

[halfmoonshines]

Sweater Weather

summary; bucky barnes x reader but reader is obsessed with spooky season

fluff fluff fluff

After three years together, Bucky knew when to be prepared for each seasons decorations to make their appearance. November first for Christmas, February first for Valentines day; but the far and above winner was September first for Halloween. And when you decorated for Halloween the house was almost unrecognizable.

This year you'd started a bit early, either because the weather had tipped or Bucky had been gone on a mission for a week. Either way when he stumbled in the door at 2am on the 31st of August, the wall of fake spiderwebs he ran into almost had him screaming.

He was a little jumpy after missions, okay?

He found you still awake in the living room, wrapped up in a blanket that you thought could hide you from the demons in the movie you were watching.

"Bit early isn't it, Doll?"

His voice almost made you jump out of your skin, but that didn't stop your excitement at his arrival home. You were in his arms in the blink of an eye, face burrowed into his shoulder when you replied.

"It's spooky season, Buck."

---

"Can we please grab this? It's a whole different scent."

Falling leaves accompanied shopping for things that smelled like fallen leaves, that was in Bucky's 'Autumn Girlfiend' guide. You were holding an apple-pumpkin candle out to him, the three wicks staring at him tauntingly.

He was sure that you had three candles with the same scent, or a mixture, at home already. But if all it took were some smells to keep that smile on your face he would buy you the whole store. Not that he'd tell you that.

----

He had never seen you this sad on Halloween before, it was like a sacred thing for you. But this was your first year in the new house, and so far it was just passed 8pm and you hadn't received any trick or treaters.

You sat on the couch with a mostly untouched bowl of candy next to you, the only stray wrappers from the ones you'd succumbed and eaten yourself. Bucky stood in the entryway, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

This simply wouldn't do.

He sent off a quick text before coming to join you on the couch, arms pulling you into his chest so you could sit together. "Why don't we watch The Conjuring?"

He could see your spirits lift when you asked. "Really?"

"Of course. Go make us some popcorn, I'll get us set up."

The return text came as you entered the kitchen, his team as quick as he ever needed.

The knock on the door sounded as you were walking back to the couch, popcorn forgotten you quickly set it to the side and grabbed the big bowl of candy. "Trick or treaters, Buck!"

"Trick or treat!" A chorus of decidedly adult voices sprang from the front door when you opened it. It was most of Bucky and yours friends; Steve, Sam, Nat - all dressed up in the most cliche Halloween costumes.

"So, do I get candy?" Sam's Batman outfit definitely called for some candy.

"What are you guys doing here?"

"We couldn't let you not have a fun Halloween." Nat said as she pushed her way in, the boys following behind her.

You glanced at Bucky, sure that it was his diabolical plan. His serene smile met yours and in that moment you remembered every reason you loved the man.

"Happy spooky season, babe. Lets watch that movie."

[adrealucia]

Do you think you could write a fic where sean rides a motorcycle and reader rides w/ him sometimes? fem reader pref but idm :) also I LOVE your fics they're so good it's crazy (specifically new beginnings aha) please and ty!

you guys are feeding me way too much... I love this concept so much! This was fun to write, I feel like it's a lil sad (mentions Sean's past) also tiny mention of a kiss, but still sfw :) also thank you so much, I am so glad you all like my fics <33

Heartbeats and Highways

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the small coastal town. The air was filled with the salty scent of the ocean and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. Sean Diaz stood by his motorcycle, a sleek black machine that seemed to purr with anticipation. He ran a hand through his dark hair, his eyes scanning the horizon, waiting for you.

You appeared a moment later, your hair tousled by the breeze, a smile playing on your lips. "Hey, Sean," you called out, your voice filled with warmth and familiarity.

Sean's face lit up when he saw you. "Hey, you," he replied, his voice soft yet full of affection. He handed you a helmet, the same one you always used when you rode with him. "Ready for an adventure?"

You took the helmet, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment, sending a shiver down your spine. "Always," you said, your heart racing with excitement.

You climbed onto the motorcycle behind Sean, wrapping your arms around his waist. The warmth of his body and the solidness of his frame made you feel safe and secure. You rested your cheek against his back, feeling the vibration of the engine as he started the bike.

With a roar, the motorcycle sprang to life, and you were off, the world blurring around you as Sean expertly navigated the winding roads. The wind whipped through your hair, and you felt a sense of freedom that you only ever experienced on these rides with Sean.

As you rode, you couldn't help but think about how much had changed since you first met Sean. He had always been a bit of a loner, burdened by the responsibilities that life had thrown at him too soon. But somehow, the two of you had found each other, and in him, you had found a kindred spirit, someone who understood the complexities of life and still found moments of joy in the simple things.

After a while, Sean pulled over to a secluded spot overlooking the ocean. The sky was painted in shades of pink and orange, the sun dipping below the horizon. He turned off the engine, and the sudden silence was almost deafening.

You both climbed off the bike, and Sean took your hand, leading you to a spot where you could sit and watch the sunset. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Yeah, it is. But not as beautiful as this moment right now."

Sean smiled, his hand gently squeezing yours. "I'm glad you're here with me," he said. "I don't think I could have made it through everything without you."

You turned to look at him, your eyes locking onto his. "I'm always here for you, Sean. No matter what."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. It was a promise, a silent vow that whatever the future held, you would face it together.

As the last light of the sun faded, you sat there in the twilight, wrapped in each other's arms, knowing that no matter where the road took you, you would always have each other. And in that moment, everything felt right in the world.

Sean leaned back, his arm draped around your shoulders as you both gazed out at the horizon. He took a deep breath, his rough exterior melting away in your presence. "You know," he started, his voice a mix of confidence and vulnerability, "I wasn't always like this. Before everything went down, I was just a regular kid, trying to figure things out."

You turned to look at him, curiosity piqued. "What changed?"

He shrugged, his eyes darkening with memories. "Life, I guess. Losing Dad, having to take care of Daniel, running from the cops... It made me harden up. I had to be tough for him, for both of us. But sometimes... it's nice to let my guard down. Especially with you."

You squeezed his hand, your heart aching for all the pain he had endured. "You don't always have to be tough, Sean. It's okay to lean on me, too."

Sean chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "You know, you're probably the only person who gets to see this side of me. The world sees this bad boy, this rebel on a bike. But with you... I'm just Sean."

"And I love you for that," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. "I love all of you, Sean. The tough exterior, the soft heart, the way you care so deeply for the people you love. You're everything to me."

He pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "I love you too. More than I ever thought I could love anyone."

As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, you sat there in Sean's arms, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours. The world might see him as a bad boy, but to you, he was so much more. He was your rock, your protector, your love. And you knew that as long as you had each other, you could face anything that came your way.

"Ready to head back?" Sean asked after a while, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

You nodded, reluctantly standing up and dusting off your jeans. "Yeah, let's go."

You both climbed back onto the motorcycle, and once again, you wrapped your arms around Sean's waist. As the engine roared to life, you felt that familiar thrill of excitement. You knew that wherever the road took you, as long as you were with Sean, it would be an adventure worth taking.

As the motorcycle sped down the winding roads, the wind whipping through your hair, you held onto Sean a little tighter, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. In that moment, with the open road ahead and the man you loved by your side, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

authors note: sean with a little bit of a bad boy image is everything I need. I am always happy to write more of this kind of stuff

[thevondoom62]

Another addition to Batman's rogues gallery so soon? Who could it be? Well, it's the Joker, baby! Mezco's Golden Age Joker, in fact. It's been kinda tough to pick out a Joker, none out there really scratch all the right itches.

The MAFEX Hush one would fit the collection best, being from the same line, but gah I just do not like Jim Lee's take on the character. Too goblin-ish. The Amazing Yamaguchi has better facesculpts, but the body itself is too extreme for what I'd want. So, who else is making good DC figures in 1/12th scale? Enter: Mezco.

This iteration is based specifically on Joker's early appearances, mainly Dick Sprang's depiction. Speaking of, look at that utility belt! Not only is this a deep cut reference, it also reminds me of a different classic issue centering around Joker's bo--

Eh, never mind. He has a fair few accessories, but feels kinda lacking. Would have liked a straight up toothy smile head, maybe some extra hands with trigger fingers, and a cane. Still, what he does have is pretty snazzy. The three heads included are quite nice, the swappable hair and hat being pretty fun additions that give you a lot of options. The hand holding the card, the joy buzzer... some really good stuff in here.

Like many of my Batvillains, this isn't quite my 'ideal' Joker. Perhaps it leans bit too much towards cartoonish, but I'd much rather cartoonish than grotesque. I think it's more striking when the Joker is a comical looking character who performs these horrible actions. Makes for an interesting contrast. He kinda stands out in a collection of MAFEX figures, mainly because Mez proportions are notably different, but it's workable. As far as a more classic Joker goes, this is probably the best on the market. I'd prefer Bronze Age classic over Golden Age, buuuut you can't be too picky. Especially when the figure is this good.

[emyn-arnens]

Word Find WIP Game

Thank you for tagging me @hobbitwrangler! This is always a fun one!

How it works: I search for the words assigned to me by the person who tagged me and share the relevant snippets. I then choose four words for others to search in their own WIP(s). I was assigned: hope, sky, play, and green.

Hope (and a spirit of wrath — Angrod and Aegnor):

It is not the first time Angrod has found Aegnor thus, nor does he think it will be the last. “Come,” Angrod says and takes Aegnor by the arm. Aegnor resists, the muscles in his arm rippling and tensing. “It would be cruel to visit her and then again deny her of thy presence,” Angrod says softly. “Thou hast bidden her farewell forever. Wouldst thou do her greater injury by giving her false hope of thy return?” “But is it crueler still to deny her forever?” Aegnor speaks into the night, his words disappearing into a cloud of mist.  There is no response Angrod could give. Many times Aegnor has asked him, and Angrod has never found a suitable answer to give. It is just as well that Aegnor does not seek an answer.

Sky (Aredhel, Celegorm, Eöl, and the act of mercy):

Her mind felt as if it were a deep mire, even as her thoughts seemed to flit out of her grasp, fleet as leaping hares. Her gaze tilted upward, skittering over the sconces affixed to the walls of the chamber, whose lights wavered like wisps in a mere, beckoning her deeper into darkness, then became the glassy eyes of the hare, fixed forever upon the thin banner of the sky. Aredhel drew her gaze with effort to Idril, still sitting vigil beside her, and reached blindly, passing her fingers over the soft silks of Idril’s gown, until warm fingers clasped her cold ones. “I am here,” Idril said. Aredhel shaped the words with her mind: Turgon must not slay him. But her lips would not obey and no sound came forth but a garbled noise.

Play (blue brooch of the Barrow-downs backstory):

“I will give it to our daughter when she is old enough,” Lothuial said. Tarhadron’s hands slipped over the swell of her stomach. “Son,” he whispered against the curve of her ear, just to rankle her. “A daughter, surely. Women know these things,” she rejoined.  They played this game often. It distracted from the pain of having lost two pregnancies and struggled for many years to conceive. Lothuial was nearing the end of her childbearing years, and they needed an heir. Tarhadron would name a daughter heir, if need be. It was not usually done, but as prince of Cardolan he could change the laws of inheritance, and a daughter’s claim could be reinforced by a strategic marriage to a prince of Arthedain—a second or third son, perhaps, unlikely to inherit his father’s throne but estimable enough to reinforce their daughter’s claim, and lacking in any ambition to overthrow her.

Green (scholar!Celebrían):

Niphredil grows in abundance in Lórinand, growing in the most profusion upon the great hill in the heart of Lórinand, where they grow thickly with the golden elanor beneath the pale, bare arms of the encircling trees. The flowers are small and delicate, the color of snow beneath the light of the full moon (though there is a pale green variety that grows also upon the hill), with small petals tucked beneath of pale green, and they rise on slender stems girded by two sword-like leaves, and they droop as if bending their pale heads to weep. It is said that the niphredil first sprang up like stars in the forest of Neldoreth in Doriath to greet Lúthien upon her birth, and were included in her device (I have included a sketch copied from one of the histories I have previously translated). I can think of no better flower to represent her—beautiful, delicate, and yet possessing a strength and resilience that belies its appearance. The niphredil are the first to spring forth from the frost, the first promise of spring while the earth is still locked in the jaws of winter. Just as Lúthien ventured into the Iron Hell, the very maw of death and despair, and came forth triumphant, so do the niphredil pierce through the darkness of winter, lancing through the frost with the sword-sharp tips of their leaves and bringing with them the promise of spring.

Tagging @dreamingthroughthenoise @melestasflight @sallysavestheday @runawaymun if you'd like to do this! Your words are spring, light, music, and blue.

[citadelofswords]

my prompt generator gave me "just once." as a prompt for shokal and somehow that spawned a scene from an au where al made it back to trish almost immediately after the caboose and now she's hunting down shoka. au sprang fully formed from my brain and this appeared like two hours later. don't ask how. this is probably the second or third time they've seen each other after the caboose, so shoka's already had an "oh shit you're alive" moment.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Al hisses. 

Shoka— because it has to be Shoka, in a high-necked top and miniskirt combo that covers most of the number spanning her upper body and a mask covering the upper half of her face— smirks. “Why,” she purrs, “it almost sounds like you’re worried about little ol’ me.”

Al glances around surreptitiously. The rave is packed, and Shoka’s short enough that she isn’t immediately visible from the outside; but Al also can’t see any of the others. They could be anywhere. Any one of them could pop out from the crowd, and then Shoka would be fucked. 

“Well, I am,” he says, pulling his glass of high-end… something closer to his chest as someone brushes past him. “If I recognized you this quickly, you know Jason and Roxas will recognize you faster, and Trish...” 

“You’re the one who put me in this situation, Golden Boy,” Shoka says, mouth twisting into a pout. “You know her better than any of them. What did you think was going to happen if you told her what I did?” 

“I couldn’t lie to her!” Not when he showed up missing his arm and the train whistle that apparently could have brought him back onto the train even when his number was zero. “I didn’t want this either, you know! I’m working on it!” 

Shoka flicks her hair over her shoulder dismissively. “Do better,” she says. “I’ve been laying low, but it’s so boring to do nothing except go in and out of cars all day.” 

Al should stay on topic, the topic being Shoka will not survive this party if Trish finds out she’s here, but he can’t help his curiosity. “Were any of them any good, at least?” 

Shoka laughs. “Ask Jason to take you to the Regency car sometime,” she says. “He’ll go nuts for it. Not really my scene, but.” 

“Jason? The... Regency car?” Al had to learn fast to never judge a book by its cover, but whatever Regency is it definitely doesn’t sound like something six foot, mostly anti-authority Jason would enjoy. 

“He’s a little nerd deep inside that armor of his,” Shoka says, with a wink. “Get him to catch you up on the literature of our world. You’ll have fun.”

“I’ll do that if you leave.”

Shoka sighs. “You need to lighten up,” she says. “Live a little. You should have a mask— it’s a masquerade, for fuck’s sake, why don’t you have a mask?” 

“It’s not like it’ll help,” Al grumbles. Trish is still working with some mechanics on a prosthetic; it won’t be as good as automail, but he’s not willing to talk to Winry when she’s so much earlier in their story than he is. He doesn’t want to know the ramifications of her knowing he loses his arm in her future. But without a prosthetic, he’s recognizable almost immediately. 

“Boo, you whore,” Shoka says, which makes him startle so badly his drink sloshes over the side of the glass onto his hand. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. Dance with me, just once. Go get a mask— I saw some by the door— and meet me on the floor. The longer you take, the longer I stay, so if you really want me to go you gotta make it quick. Got it?”

Al hesitates. “Just once?” 

“Just once.” Shoka grins. “You wouldn’t deny a dying girl her last wish, right?”

“You’re not dying, Shoka,” Al says, but the way Shoka lights up means she knows she’s won. “Fine. One dance. I’m gonna be bad at it, so don’t use that as an excuse, okay?”

“Oh, I think you’ll be better than you think,” Shoka says, and her laughter follows him all the way to the edge of the crowd.

[rk-tmblr]

[REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS]

��Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss”

🥶🔪🩸💀

When Osamu snuck in through the back door, he didn’t question how much wealthier the house was; that was the whole point of this job—to scrape together a small sum. He crept through the shadows of the dark living room, biting his lip as he glanced at the largest TV screen he had ever seen, surrounded by an L-shaped couch that looked incredibly comfortable. Maybe he should have convinced Atsumu to come along... But his twin was busy fooling around with a raven-haired sniper he’d met recently, and Osamu said he could handle this himself. He sighed, hoping to find something valuable to make up for whatever he couldn't carry alone.

A creak echoed through the quiet house, and Osamu flattened himself against the wall. He recognized the sound—it came from the kitchen. But there wasn't any light to warn him of someone’s presence. Perhaps the owner had decided on a late-night snack. He gulped down the anxiety that made his breath tremble for a moment. He wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation tonight, but he didn’t want to leave empty-handed. Lowering the fox mask from his forehead, he rounded the corner to peer into the kitchen.

A lanky shadow sat at the table, moonlight streaming through the high window making the spoon in their hand gleam. Osamu couldn't see what they were eating, and unconsciously, he placed a hand on his stomach. It growled involuntarily, the sight stirring his hunger. Steeling himself with the thought that a captive might share their meal, Osamu checked his back pocket for the cable ties, then sprang into action.

The unsuspecting person didn’t resist as Osamu slammed him into the table, tying his hands securely—first behind his back, then to the chair for extra safety. Despite his lanky appearance, he had a surprisingly well-built frame.

“Took you a while. I was close to calling you out and offering you a seat,” the man joked as Osamu walked beside him to look at his face.

Green eyes twinkled in the darkness above the sharp lines of his features, challenging him fearlessly, even with his life potentially in Osamu’s hands.

“Thanks for the welcome, sweetheart,” Osamu whispered, glancing at the half-eaten cake on the table. Finally, he could pick up the spoon and taste it himself. Chocolate and coconut.

“Tastes good?”, the man asked.

“Had better, honestly,” Osamu replied, leaving the silverware against the plate, noticing a known brand name.

“It’s from the best pastry shop in town,” the man argued.

“I can do better, tho.”

That made the man chuckle, and Osamu stared at the wrinkles at the side of his closed eyes and the dimple where his smile became a smirk. Pretty rich boy. His thoughts tried to stray him from his goal, but he fought them back and decided to head upstairs, looking for the bedroom. Might he be so basic as to have his safe there?

“Where are you going? I thought we could have some fun...”, the man stopped him in his tracks. “You can’t leave me here all alone.”

“Watch me,” Osamu snapped back because he couldn’t entertain him, even if he would have liked it. It was dangerous, and he needed to clean out anything valuable before leaving.

“I wouldn't do it if I were you.”

This time his tone lose all the playfulness and something cold crept up Osamu's spine leaving goosebumps on its trail. Instinctively, he glanced around to identify the threat. Nothing unsettled him except-

“Kiyo-kun has you in the gunsight.”

-the high window. It explains the curtains absence...

“Why didn't he shot me when I manhandled ya, then?”, he played it cool like Atsumu would have done if he was there. I fucking hate him when he think with his- Osamu squashed down the longing for his stupid twin. He said he could have done it anyway. And he was going to. Just like he promised.

“'Cause he knows I like it when it's a big guy.”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Osamu rounded the table and opened a drawer to look for a rag. When he found it, he walked back to tie the man's mouth shut.

“Kinky,” came the unfortunate comment just before Osamu silenced him.

“Gonna grab a few things. Sit tight, sweetheart,” he left him behind and run up the stairs.

Incredibly, the upstair's rooms were more minimalistic than the other ones below. The long hallway let Osamu choose between three bedrooms -one so tidy that he thought it was unused, another quite empty with only a bed and a wardrobe, and the last might be of a teenager considering the mess inside. All of them with an en-suite bathroom. At the end of the hallway there was another flight of stairs that probably led to a louscious balcony, so he checked the last two doors left: a main bathroom -With a fucking jacuzzi, crazy riches!- and finally, the study.

Inside this last room, Osamu's blood ran cold. I fucked up, he hissed, licking his teeth. There was an ammunition display as big as an entire wall on his right, but the safe he was looking for was in the very left corner behind the solid wood desk. Osamu clenched his fists a couple of time and tried to think fast about what to do. He was clearly in a shitty situation, alone and also-

“Did you enjoy the house tour?”

He didn't flinched nor moved. Even if his own muscles ordered him to turn, tackle the man down and run away from there. Steadying his breath, Osamu glanced at the display's glass to see the man that he tied in the kitchen's chair, free and on his feet. Grinning like a madman.

"Ow, cat got your tongue, big guy?”, he laughed, walking lazily around Osamu as he had now the upper hand.

“How d'ya free yourself?”

"Don't you want to find out yourself?”, he tempted Osamu, sitting on the desk with skinny, long legs open wide and palms behind.

The man was unarmed. Anyway, Osamu knew better to underestimate him. He did once and now...

"Who are ya?”, he couldn't help but ask.

“Someone you shouldn't mess with,” the man levelled him with a serious look, “You're lucky I found you cute, otherwise...”

He didn't need to finish the sentence, his green eyes trailing the weapons shining inside the display. Osamu didn't have any other chance. It stung, but he didn't really want to die like this. He could probably try to rob another house -maybe below par- on the way home.

"Where are you going?” It was the second time he repeated the question tonight as Osamu started to backtrack.

“'M listenin' yer suggestion, sweetheart. I won't mess with ya.”

“Won't you?”, he pouted, "But I thought we could have some fun! None but a dumb big guy like you would ever try to sneak into my house.”

"Not in the mood, sorry.”

"Such a pity...”, he sighed and jumped from his sit to get closer, “At least, do want me to lead you the way out?”, his tone feigned innocence.

“No need, thank ya,” Osamu was already on the doorstep. The last step and I can-

“Oh please, I insist,” the man stopped, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I'd be a bad kumicho if I don't lead the people I welcome in.”

🥶🔪🩸💀 I know this doesn't exactly fit the prompt, but it was inspired by it and I thought it was right giving it the credit anyway. I hope you had fun reading this little shot I wrote for SunaOsa (with a foreshadowed SakuAtsu) and feel free to ask in the comment's section another prompt of the list with a ship you enjoy, if you like to read more. I'll be happy to write something down for you. <3

[fallenfalin]

lee dohyun. 30. cis man. he/him. ┊┊ YOON TAEJOON “TJ”, better known as agent THOR has been with cerberus corp as an eo since 2018 and is LEVEL III . FALL DUE TO HARNESS MALFUNCTION  has gifted them POWERED FORM, though LACK OF UNDERSTANDING OF THE FORM EXCESSIVE NOSEBLEEDS AND TIREDNESS  has also been noted. when they aren’t protecting the tri-state area, they are fond of FIREFIGHTING & LINE DANCING and are never seen without FIREFIGHTER BADGE WALLET WITH A PICTURE OF HIS FAMILY. civilians think they are HELPFUL  & CHARMING, but some of the other agents see them as STUBBORN & IMPULSIVE. cerberus corp should consider the fact that their last mission status was ALMOST SUCCESSFUL BUT FOCUSED MORE ON THE CIVILIANS RATHER THAN THE CULPRIT when giving out the next one. ┊┊ min. she/her. 28. est.

001.  GENERAL

name  yoon taejun nicknames  TJ (everyone), Captain (by like two people but he thinks its cool), Mullet Man (formally mullet suffered an nde of gum) age  30 date of birth  march 17th, 1993 zodiac  pisces place of birth  seoul, south korea current residence  albany, ny gender  cis man pronouns  he/him sexuality  bisexual occupation  firefighter

faceclaim  lee dohyun height  6'0 tattoos  various personal dates in his life on upper shoulder piercings  one earlobe piercing distinguishing features  prominent bunny lines, positive traits  affable, encouraging, courageous, honest negative traits  gullible, stubborness, tends to jump to conclusions labels / tropes  spoiled sweet, baritone of strength, combat pragmatist, big brother worship, big little brother, jumped at the call, likes  helping others, having fun, country music, potlucks, playing guitars, bon jovi, jared johnson dislikes  liars, greedy people/people who don't share, hypocricy, fears  not being strong enough disappointing anyone hobbies  line dancing, winning it (at combative firefighting not the greys anatomy one), scrap booking, photography habits  hanging upside down to think of an idea, phantom touching his shoulder when he thinks theirs a walkie-talkie there

002.  EXTRA ORDINARY

the questions here for each section are suggestions to get you thinking. as long as the section is appropriately elaborated upon, you’re fine!

near death experience…

Tw: Fire 

“It’s been an honor to serve Station 23.” 

October 13, 2017.

 There was a fire swallowing the apartment building he and his then fiance lived in. Despite the missed calls about not being a hero, TJ sprang into action. It was the love of his life and he couldn’t forgive himself if they died without him there on their side. Up the tenth floor they were approaching the fire escape. TJ grabbed their fiance close and knew their odds were grim. It was hang on to the slowly deteriorating rope or swing onto the fire escape . Choosing the later TJ did what he could to guide his fiance near the escape  but the fire was too strong and the threads holding the harness gave in. He remembered the last few words before his heart stopped from the shock as he fell. 

“Let me live so I can protect others.”

power… 

Powers: Powered Form.

“Holy shit what’s in the sky!”  

The user can enter or leave a powered state of being an advance form where one transforms their physical body into a superpowered version of themselves, having their bodies empowered and changed into superior levels with advance powers, ability and new appearance befitting the nature of their new form with possibly new gear, weapons, costume or armors that their forms inherent in their transformations.

In TJ’s case it is a powered suit which is activated through danger and in cases of courage. TJ doesn’t understand the full scope beyond believing someone is in danger and being a civilian won’t help the circumstances. Also screaming GO! sometimes works but the probability is that it only works with someone he really cares about. His ability harnesses the suit that protects him and a double sided mallet on the side of his coat when he died.

Major different between his and his brothers power is it’s more emotional oriented and the materials spawned. TJ’s brashness fueling his own power

drawbacks / vulnerabilities… 

Weaknesses 

Lack of understanding of the form- To put it simply TJ is still unsure about the ability itself. All he knows is that he was to be very courageous, fall out a window to recreate the adrenaline running through him, or someone he can really care about. What he doesn't understand is the balance of courage and a clear mind to truly utilize his power. Visualizing the mallet, having a strategy that isn’t brute force offense, and essentially anything that perhaps a level 1 cerb agent would know  but does not apply to him. TJ firmly still sees himself as a firefighter who happens to be Thor instead of  as Thor,  someone who protects all regardless of being a firefighter.

Nosebleeds- due to the nature of adrenaline and blood running through his systems post transformation/ power down his nose will bleed a lot. Has to get treated to mild symptoms. Is at risk of having a syncope episode from blood loss.

Tiredness- depending on how long he was morphed, he will be tired for that amount plus an hour post power down. It has affected him to the point he had to switch shifts just to fully recover. He’s now on float/rotating which ends up being him on more backup stuff and more administrative stuff which on one hand works towards his recent promotion as fire captain. But can seem less than appealing to cerberus themselves. 

Vulnerabilities: 

People/Civilians- he tends to have more of a bleeding heart towards civilians then the villains who should be stopped. He believes every life counts first then the culprit. Which discussed above is great if you're a firefighter but sucky for your numbers as an agent. 

His brother- Despite their vast differences, beliefs about civilians and the like. TJ truly looks up to his brother. They grew up together and probably knows deep down he was a burden to his brother but will always cheer for him

The pending decision he has to make- to be a marshall or to be a hero. Lost potential for him or not? He kinda fears of becoming something he’s not and doing nothing

(if applicable)  cerberus corp… 

It was at a low point. He called his brother about the truth that happened the last few months in 2017, telling how his engagement failed and nothing feels the same and this weird power he has. He couldn’t remember his brother’s response beyond the words auditioning for cerberus. He was confused and read about the audition. His video was just him nervously looking around before saying firmly I want to be a hero. That’s all I can do. Before letting himself briefly disappear from the window and appear up again and maybe showing off what he got. His video did accidentally get cut short because his neighbors knocked on the door and he frantically de morphed to get the door. Somehow by some miracle he was accepted and his initiation mission went successfully (saving an elderly man out of harms way from a burning zamboni is child's play for a firefighter). But he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence or something else…for now he just wants to be a hero and a firefighter. Even if both sides say it's impossible to keep both jobs without wearing himself out.

Being level 3 for right now is his best way of putting his feet in both doors and for once trying to make that decision

codename… 

Really awkward talk with a cerb agent and his friends. The guys at the department said please don't pull us into it. And Double Mallet Man was sadly rejected so Thor was the compromise. I guess he kinda sparkles like thor or something

003.  EXTRA

In this video essay I will talk about cart- I mean taejun the technically less spoken about yoon sibling who was like whats the point of riches if it isnt shared and yeah his life calling was firefighter since he get saved once in a drill

obviously the type who keeps his friends close and his enemies at least fifty yeards away

Knows some emergency words in foreign languages because his firefighter exams

Is a newly minted captain because like three retired so the spot was open and theres like....15 people in the department so yeah hes not loosing his job

Likes country music and the simpler things, would love to be a competitive dancer but he already gotta deal with that one decision above

When he parts his hair and at certain angled he kinda looks like his brother but not enough for someone to call him loveshot yet

In fact he hasn't been called thor either the guy's power form looks like this . I I guess you could see him transform because the window jumping but i hope you got a good hd camera and vision insurance

So connections:

Friends

Cerb agents that like him and wish he can around more

People whose cats he might have saved ( which believe me can be a lot)

A civilian, unaffilated, etc who put two and two together and figured out his identity

Someone who secretly likes Thor (the hero form) because Thor saved them one time but scoffs at the idea and hilarity ensues if they met TJ and think he's a nerd. (i want this because he needs something good and funny like this) and just become close or something

[inquisimer]

find the word tag game

tagged by @shivunin to find the words risk, swing, and soft in my WIPs and post the section where they appear. Thank you friend! :3 These are such fun tag games and I always end up distracted re-reading what I've already written lol.

Tagging forward to: @roguelioness | @fadedsweater | @rosella-writes | @plisuu | and @rowanisawriter to find the words flushed, written, and secured

Risk - from my Surana Lavellan backstory fic for Neria

“It is beyond my control now,” he demurred. Such surrender chafed, but already the Wardens had taught him the cost of bucking the status quo. He was not ready to risk more lives for upsetting it. Well—almost ready. He laid one gloved hand on the exit and fixed Greagoir with a cunning look over his shoulder. “Perhaps I might drop by on occasion, Knight Commander. She is not my charge, per se, but her well-being could factor into other decisions, without anyone the wiser.”

Swing - from a oneshot that I started for Zevwarden week and never finished, ft. Ariya Tabris

When they finally reached the gate, Ariya sprang. She dropped from her ledge right onto the half-rotted arch, legs swinging right over the handle they’d been about to grasp. “What—“ “Who—“ They followed the line of her leggings up to her face, confusion quickly melting into anger. It only intensified as they found her nonchalantly flicking dirt from her fingernails with a throwing knife. “Get lost, elf,” one of them spat. “We have business here tonight.” “No you don’t.”

Soft - from my post-DAO Mahariel fic

She elbowed him in the stomach and scowled, but without any bite. In return he brushed a soft kiss at her crown, just behind her ear, and she sighed, leaning into his side. “It would be so much easier if things were like this.” “Things are like this.” Alistair pulled away just far enough to cock an eyebrow at her. “Or do I not seem real to you? I was mostly joking about your head but—“ His foolish rambling made her heart ache. Whatever spirit haunted her tonight, they were doing an excellent job. She pulled him down and silenced him with a kiss, a tiny oomf! as their lips met before he melted into her. His hands stroked light, soothing touches up and down her spine.

[deardudedash]

Dear Dash ,

This is a diary all about my knee. Thrilling I know. Hold on to your seats or eject ... either way , the topic remains the same.

I'm fairly certain it's a mild sprang. Ie annoying , like your common cold that comes with a vengeance but at a joint. That also can happen btw. My son after a stomach bug ended up in hospital with an infection in his joints. A thrilling story for another time.

I write this in my head all day long. Then when I sit down to actually write. The knowone cares mantra plays at very high volumes. Enough to the point it drowns out what I had sat down to write about in the first place.

However ... I've always struggled w this. I've always ignored it, and carried on. In the sense that whether or not I'm heard , understood ,loved or shunned. I have a right to be here. That's from a poem that with out fail enters my mind whenever I struggle. If a life boat could come in the form of a poem. Well I have that poem memorized. Not word for word but the just of it.

I never thought I'd reach a point in life that I'm to exhausted to explain , but here I am. To exhausted to explain. Wishing for ET to appear bc that's what I need. An ET to my Elliot or vis versa. Maybe though emotional exhaustion is a positive but some may say it's disassociating. Who's to say ... apparently white men with degrees, studying the white men that came before them who had enough time to write a book. Enough emotional reserve to write page after page after page... after page of a story lived out. I guess reliving trauma can be fun if it equals millions in book sales. Thanks but no thanks.

I can though offer you a few paragraphs of sarcastic script filled with bitch on the side. If you have an appetite for that. If sauerkraut is your thing, you might be able to stomach the worst of me.

Side note ... My landlord is still a piece of shit. On top of the crazy bullshit bastard he's been the last three years . When you hit the point of understanding why people take the law into their own hands sometimes. Here we are. Although the law in this case remains in the book. Isn't he lucky I'm not truly crazy❤️.

Anyways Dash

Much love

Jess

[officerwhitmore]

Vincent barely caught it, the subtle shift in Tony’s expression as his joke about backstage theater workers being ‘the help’ landed with all the grace of a lead balloon. There was a tightening at the corners of Tony’s mouth, the faintest furrow of his brow, and then the wince—a small, sharp movement that hit Vince like a gut-punch. For a second, he couldn’t understand why Tony looked so uncomfortable, but then it clicked.

He’d made himself sound like an asshole. No, worse than that—like an insensitive, privileged asshole. The words echoed back in his head, painfully loud now that he could see them through Tony’s eyes. It was supposed to be a joke, just a bit of dry humor, but what had it really sounded like to Tony? A man of lesser means. A man who’d likely been overlooked, dismissed, and undervalued more times than Vince could ever comprehend. And Vince, who had grown up comfortably middle-class, who had the luxury of even considering leaving a steady job in pursuit of a doomed dream, had just tossed out a thoughtless quip about people whose entire passion was often reduced to being ‘the help.’

God, he was such an idiot. He cringed inwardly, the weight of his own thoughtlessness settling heavily in his chest. He should’ve known better. Hell, he did know better. And that made it worse. For a fleeting moment, he considered saying something, apologizing outright, but the thought of drawing attention to it—of making Tony dwell on it even more—stopped him cold. Instead, he flashed Tony a quick, small smile, apologetic in its subtlety, and let the conversation move on, though his stomach churned with residual guilt.

When Tony mentioned catching a play sometime, Vince latched onto the idea like a lifeline. His mind flickered to the Renaissance Faire that came to town every autumn. They always had a few lighthearted performances—silly, fun productions designed to amuse the crowd more than anything else. He hadn’t planned on going this year. June would’ve loved it, sure, but Vince? The idea of pushing through throngs of cheerful families and costumed enthusiasts while battling his own depression felt like an insurmountable task. But with Tony? Somehow, without the pressure of being a father, Vincent had a feeling it would be different.

His lips quirked upward at the thought. He could make it work for Tony. He still had parts of his old Puck costume from high school theater tucked away in the back of his closet—the brown pants with their fuzzy goat-like hooves, the small twisted horns that had perched snugly on his head. He’d need some makeup to complete the look, but it wasn’t impossible. And Tony? The image of Tony in Ren Faire garb sprang unbidden to his mind, vivid and detailed. Vincent pictured him in a loose, cream-colored poet’s shirt, the ties at the collar left undone just enough to reveal a hint of his collarbone. Black leather pants clung to his frame, hugging his thighs in a way that felt almost indecent, and a crimson sash cinched his waist, adding a touch of bold color. A simple leather bracelet adorned one wrist, understated but effective. The look was effortless, casual, and impossibly sexy.

Vincent felt a wave of heat crawl up his neck as the fantasy lingered, far too vivid for his comfort. He glanced away quickly, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he muttered, “I think I have something in mind, actually.”

Then Tony’s comment about underwater basket-weaving hit, delivered with such a deadpan tone that Vincent nearly choked on his drink. A laugh burst out of him, unrestrained and warm, filling the air between them. He couldn’t help it. Something fluttered in his chest, light and insistent, as he watched Tony.

"It would appear June isn't the only smartass around here,” Vince said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. There was a teasing lilt to his voice, maybe a little flirtatious, but he covered it with a quick shake of his head and a wry grin, brushing it off as part of the joke.

When Tony started describing the kinds of books he liked, Vince listened closely, intrigued. On the surface, Tony didn’t strike him as the bookish type, but this was a side of him Vince hadn’t seen before. He could almost picture it—Tony hunched over a well-worn paperback, brow furrowed in concentration, his dark eyes scanning the pages with an intensity that matched everything else about him.

The mention of romance novels, though, nearly made Vince snort. He kept his expression neutral, but his mind was racing, piecing together a hilarious suspicion. These books weren’t just romantic—they were probably smutty as hell. He could almost see Tony, his face flushed as he read something particularly risqué, his breathing quickening with every scandalous detail as his cock throbbed against his thigh. It took every ounce of willpower Vince had not to say, ‘What exactly are these vampires and werewolves doing to each other in these stories of yours, Tony?’ Instead, he smirked at Tony like he knew his secret, letting his imagination run rampant as June chimed in.

“Oh, you should read The Wizards of Starlight Hollow!” she said brightly, leaning forward with excitement. “It’s got magic, and this big quest, and the main wizard has this staff that can open portals to other worlds! And there’s a dragon! Well, actually it’s a wyvern, but it’s so cool. And there’s this scene where—”

“Junie,” Vince interrupted gently, his voice laced with amusement. “Maybe let him read it first before you spoil the whole thing?”

June flushed, her grin sheepish, but her enthusiasm didn’t waver. “Okay, but it’s really good. You’ll love it, Toto.”

When Tony launched into his opinions on TV chefs, Vince leaned back slightly, letting himself soak it all in. The disdain for Guy Fieri? Absolutely valid. The admiration for Gordon Ramsay? Predictable, but it made sense. As Tony spoke about cooking, about how the expectations of a dish could shape the way it was prepared, Vince found himself drawn to the passion in his voice, the way his words painted a picture of someone who cared deeply about the craft. Glancing out of the tent, Vince caught sight of Kyle, who was managing the taco stand on his own. The kid looked a little ridiculous, but he was holding his own, flipping tortillas with surprising efficiency. Vince’s lips quirked upward before he turned back to Tony.

“Oh, I completely agree,” Vince said, nodding sagely. “Fieri is absolutely insufferable—but in a good way, y'know?” The statement would make no sense to anyone but Vincent, but he had no intention of elaborating.

When Tony wrinkled his nose at the idea of bear steak, Vince’s brows lifted slightly, though he tried to keep his reaction understated. It struck him as odd—someone who’d supposedly spent decades in Washington, especially a cook with the kind of skill Vince had seen at Drifter's Diner, would almost certainly have tried bear meat at least once. It wasn’t exactly exotic around here; it was practically a staple among hunters and locals who prided themselves on making use of what the land provided. Vince had never been much of an outdoorsman, but even he’d tried it at a neighborhood cookout once, sandwiched between a couple of thick slices of sourdough and smothered in smoky homemade barbecue sauce. And yet, Tony claimed to have worked in Washington kitchens for decades without so much as tasting one of the most commonly hunted meats in the state? It didn’t make sense. Unless… Unless Tony hadn’t been here that long. Unless he’d only recently started this chapter of his life, and everything else he’d said was part of a carefully crafted narrative designed to obscure whatever had come before.

The inconsistency sat uneasily in the back of his mind, one more piece in the growing jigsaw puzzle of Tony’s scattered and suspicious narrative. On its own, it was nothing—a quirk, an oversight, maybe even a personal preference—but when paired with the other oddities Vince had noticed, it added another layer to the quiet dissonance he was beginning to associate with Tony’s life. He didn’t let himself dwell on it long. Instead, he decided to prod, just lightly, the way a kid might test the sturdiness of an old bridge with one cautious step.

“You’ve never had bear meat?” Vince asked, tilting his head in a way he hoped came off as casual curiosity. His tone was light, indifferent, as though the thought had only just occurred to him. But inside, his mind was already working overtime. “Figured someone who’s cooked food in Washington for, what, twenty-five years, would’ve at least had a taste.” He kept his voice neutral, free of smugness or accusation, though he couldn’t quite suppress the subtle edge of curiosity woven into his words—a thread he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to pull.

The question seemed harmless, a simple observation disguised as mild teasing, but Vince had chosen it carefully. He wasn’t just asking; he was watching, listening, testing. How would Tony respond? Would his body language shift, his tone falter? Would he brush it off with ease, or would there be some small tell—another crack in the ‘seamless’ story he seemed to believe he’d been spinning him? Vince didn’t expect to find answers so soon, but he couldn’t help looking for them. And yet, as the words left his mouth, a ripple of doubt crept in. Was he overthinking this? Grasping at something that wasn’t there? Maybe Tony just didn’t like bear meat. Maybe he’d never had the opportunity to try it. Not every detail needed to carry meaning, and Vince hated how quickly his mind leapt to suspicion instead of accepting things at face value. Was he trying to confirm a lie, or was this just his own mistrust testing the waters?

When Tony mentioned never having tried VR, Vince’s thoughts drifted again, this time to the idea of the three of them—him, Tony, and June—exploring some virtual landscape together. He could almost see it: June leading the way, full of excitement, pointing out every detail with the wide-eyed wonder only a child could muster. Tony would follow, a little hesitant at first but gradually easing into it, his curiosity outweighing his reservations. And Vince? He’d watch them both, caught in a dangerous flutter of affection he couldn’t quite name.

He shoved the thought aside quickly, clearing his throat and flashing Tony a quick, teasing smile. “That just might be another thing we have to fix,” he said lightly, and the flutter in his chest settled into a quiet, persistent ache he couldn’t quite shake.

Vincent groaned softly to himself, the sound barely audible, as Tony responded to June’s lightsaber battle request with an enthusiastic yes. Of course, Tony wouldn’t back him up on this—why would he? Vince could see the way June’s eyes lit up at the mere idea, her energy practically doubling as she began to bounce on the balls of her feet. He glanced at Tony, who was finishing off his drink with infuriating nonchalance, a grin tugging at his lips as he stood and started rolling down his sleeves against the cool night air. Vince let his gaze narrow into a playful glare, muttering, “Traitor,” under his breath, though his tone betrayed more amusement than malice.

As Tony teased him further, Vince’s smirk deepened. He tilted his head slightly, crossing his arms in mock defiance. “Oh, I’ve got moves,” he shot back, his voice low, smooth, with a hint of flirtation he couldn’t quite suppress. “If you’re that eager to see them, I’d hate to disappoint.” His words hung in the air just long enough to feel dangerous before June interrupted, too elated to notice the charged undertone.

With a delighted whoop, she reached for the deep pocket of his Obi-Wan robes, her small hands fumbling inside with single-minded determination. “Hey, hold on—” Vince began, but by the time the words were out, she’d already triumphantly pulled out a lightsaber. A quick glance confirmed it was his blue one, not her purple. Vince chuckled, exasperated. “That’s mine, you know.”

She shrugged unapologetically, waving it around like a prize. “I’ll trade you in the parking lot!” she declared before gleefully igniting the saber, the hum of blue light filling the tent.

“It’s a deal,” Vince said, grinning as she swung the blade through the air, the blue light illuminating her face with each exaggerated movement. He turned his attention to packing up their leftovers, carefully placing the extra tacos and jalapeño poppers into a crumpled grocery bag he’d stuffed into his robes on a whim before they left. As he tied it off, he glanced at June, who was already launching into the story of how they’d gotten their lightsabers. Her voice was bright and animated, each word tumbling out with the kind of enthusiasm only a ten-year-old could muster.

“It was at Disney! Galaxy’s Edge!” she began, waving the lightsaber for emphasis. “They had this whole workshop where you could, like, build your own lightsaber. They had all these parts you could pick from—different colors, different hilts. It was so cool. And I made mine purple because, duh, it’s the best color ever.”

“She picked purple because I told her red wasn’t an option,” Vince chimed in, sliding the bag of food toward Tony’s side of the table with a small, amused smile. “Otherwise, she’d be Darth Vader right now.”

“Nuh-uh!” June shot back, though her giggle undercut her attempt at indignation. “Purple is way better than red. And you made yours blue because, duh, you’re Obi-Wan.”

“I made mine blue because I’m a traditionalist,” Vince said lightly, his tone teasing. Sure, it was also objectively the best color in the spectrum, but that was secondary to staying canon-compliant.

“And then,” June continued, undeterred, “we went on the Millennium Falcon ride. Daddy screamed the whole time.”

“Yelled,” Vince cut in, a giggle slipping out as the heat of embarrassment crept up his neck. “I yelled. Big difference.”

June ignored him entirely, her grin widening. “He was so loud! The people in front of us kept looking back like, ‘What is wrong with that guy?’ It was so funny.”

“She didn’t stop talking about it for weeks,” Vince said, rolling his eyes, though a small smile betrayed his amusement as he stood and began gathering the trash from their table. “And by ‘weeks,’ I mean she’s still talking about it.” He handed the tray to June, nodding toward the trash can near the tent’s exit. “Alright, monkey, take this over there if you can handle it.”

She grabbed the tray and marched off with purpose, but when she reached the trash can, she hesitated for a moment, tilting the tray dramatically as if she were performing a delicate maneuver. Vince watched as she tipped the trash in with ease, but not before giving a little theatrical grunt of effort for effect. “See?” she called back, puffing out her chest as she stacked the tray with the others. “Handled it.”

Vince walked over, biting back a laugh. “God, you’re a goober,” he teased, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. “Thanks for being responsible.”

“Of course I’m responsible. I’m almost eleven now,” she replied with a grin, as though that explained everything.

Together, the three of them left the tent, stepping into the crisp, cool autumn air of Fright Fest. The festival buzzed with life, illuminated by the soft glow of string lights draped overhead. The scent of cinnamon and roasted nuts lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of fallen leaves. Vendors called out to passersby, their booths vibrant with caramel apples, handmade jewelry, and cider doughnuts fresh from the fryer. Vince’s eyes swept over the scene, catching flashes of pumpkin decorations and costumed children darting between booths. It was the kind of picturesque fall evening that should’ve felt warm and grounding, but Vince couldn’t quite shake the lingering tightness in his chest.

His gaze flickered to June as she reached for Tony’s hand, her small fingers curling around his without a hint of hesitation. For a second, Vince froze, his pulse stuttering as a pang of alarm shot through him. For all she knew, Tony was just a kind stranger—a friendly face who joked about lightsaber battles and indulged her enthusiasm. Sure, Vince trusted him more than he probably should, but June didn’t know any better. Not yet.

“June,” he called out, his voice sharper than intended. He softened it immediately, though the edge of unease remained. “Hey, monkey—here.” He held out his hand, steady but firm.

She looked up, her expression sheepish as if realizing her mistake, and dropped Tony’s hand with a startled, “Oh!” Skipping over, she slipped her fingers into Vince’s instead, her small hand fitting neatly in his. She fell back into step beside him like nothing had happened, the swing of her lightsaber as carefree as ever. But Vince wasn’t so quick to let it go.

The moment played over in his head as they walked, the knot in his chest tightening. He’d failed to teach her better. Stranger danger should’ve been second nature to her by now, especially as the daughter of a cop. What if it hadn’t been Tony? What if it had been someone else, someone with bad intentions? The thought made his stomach churn. He was supposed to protect her, to prepare her for the kind of world where trust couldn’t come so easily. But how could she know that when he hadn’t done enough to teach her? It left him feeling raw, shaken, the weight of his failure pressing heavy on his shoulders.

She trusted too easily, and it wasn’t her fault—it was his. As her father, and as someone who’d spent years witnessing the worst humanity had to offer, he should have done more. He should have sat her down, drilled it into her: the importance of boundaries, the need for caution, the skill of reading people. But he hadn’t. One small, innocent act was all it took to remind him of how much more he needed to do. As they passed that damn dominatrix again, Vince kept his eyes forward, his grip tightening around June’s hand as if the simple act of holding on could somehow make up for the lapse. He glanced down at her, her voice bubbling with excitement as she chattered about the upcoming lightsaber battle, blissfully unaware of the storm in his head. He held her hand just a little tighter, promising himself that whatever else, she’d go to bed tonight feeling safe—even if he couldn’t quite shake the gnawing feeling that he was falling short.

The parking lot wasn’t far now, and Vince’s eyes landed on Tony’s car—or rather, his van. The light blue Strava Jezebel stood out like a relic from another time, boxy and awkwardly parked, one tire slightly over the line. Even under the muted glow of the streetlights, the grime streaked across its surface was visible, dulling the faded blue paint. Scratches marred the sliding door on the driver’s side, and the faint putter of the motor still echoed in Vince’s memory, a sound that had struck him as oddly endearing during their first encounter.

The van was a strange mix of neglect and care. On the outside, it looked like something that belonged in a museum exhibit about obscure Soviet-era vehicles. But glimpses of the interior—the dark wood flooring, a bolted cabinet, and the unmistakable structure of a bed in the back—hinted at someone putting genuine effort into making it… livable.

That word stuck in Vince’s head as he glanced at the van. Livable.

The sight triggered a flash of memory, vivid and uninvited.

‘Traffic stop. Driftwood Cove, Garrett Road, about two miles east from the Shop ’n’ Save.’ His voice on the radio came back to him with unsettling clarity, steady and professional as he’d stared at this same van through the alternating red and blue strobe of his cruiser’s lights. Back then, he’d been surprised to see it at all—who the hell even drove a Strava Jezebel anymore? The wood-paneled floor and bolted cabinet had been unexpected enough, but the bed frame in the back had stuck with him, its memory quietly gnawing at the back of his mind.

Why the bed?

Vincent frowned slightly, his gaze lingering on the van as they neared it. There were a hundred reasons someone might have a bed in the back of a van, and not all of them were good. He hated how easily his mind went to darker possibilities: Tony living in the van before he’d gotten his current apartment, maybe even sleeping there on and off if things weren’t stable. It wasn’t unheard of for people struggling financially, especially in a place like Washington, where the cost of living was creeping higher every year. The idea of Tony, charming and composed as he was, having to sleep in the back of that van made something twist sharply in Vince’s chest.

But then there were other possibilities. Maybe the bed was a practical choice for long road trips. Or maybe it was for something less innocent, something about which Vince’s mind didn’t need much coaxing to wander. His face flushed slightly, heat creeping up his neck as he shook the thought away. God, he needed to get a grip.

Either way, the van intrigued him. It wasn’t just its rarity or the odd mix of practicality and personality—it was what it said about Tony. The man had clearly put time and effort into it, tearing out the old flooring and installing that polished wood, bolting the cabinet down to the frame. It wasn’t just a vehicle; it was a space. A home, even, if that’s what Tony had needed it to be. That thought softened the sharp twist in Vince’s chest into something quieter, a pang of understanding and sympathy that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

The van had character, Vince admitted, even if it wasn’t anything like the sleek, reliable cars Vince was used to. His own black Nissan Rogue gleamed under the streetlights a small ways away, its polished surface unmarred and radiating dependability. Compared to the Jezebel, it looked clinical, soulless even, like it was designed to fade into the background. The Jezebel, for all its quirks, demanded attention, and Vince found himself unable to look away.

Tony deserved better than a van with scratches on its doors and a motor that sounded like it was running on prayers. But at the same time, Vince couldn’t help but admire the stubborn resourcefulness it took to turn something so worn into something… functional. The Jezebel was an oddity, much like its owner, and Vince found that thought sticking to him like a burr.

Blinking back to the present, Vince turned his focus to June, who was swinging her lightsaber with giddy excitement as they walked. Her chatter filled the air, bright and unbothered, but Vince couldn’t quite shake the weight pressing down on his chest. Even as he listened to her talk, the image of Tony’s van lingered, heavy and unrelenting—a symbol of resilience, mystery, and, perhaps, struggle.

They stopped in a small grassy area just before the parking lot, where a bench sat beneath a cluster of evergreen trees. The stars above shimmered like scattered diamonds, their cold brilliance mirrored in the dew clinging to the grass and the dark, reflective surfaces of their cars. June twirled in place, her lightsaber casting arcs of blue light against the night, her laughter cutting through the quiet like a spark. “This is perfect!” she declared, practically glowing with excitement.

Vince crouched slightly, and waved her over, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Want me to let you win?” he asked, glancing down as she sheathed her saber. “Y’know, to impress Toto?”

June puffed up her chest, her expression a mix of exaggerated pride and theatrical indignation. “I would’ve won anyway!” But a beat later, her façade cracked, and she giggled, a sheepish grin tugging at her lips. “Yes, please.”

Vince chuckled, his hand tightening gently around hers as he leaned in to kiss her nose. He drew back slowly, but instead of standing, he lingered, his gaze locking onto hers. Her eyes, so bright and so Stella’s, pierced him in a way that made his chest tighten painfully. Guilt crept in like a slow, suffocating fog, the memory of Stella’s voice and laughter tangled with the echo of her hurt. The weight of everything—his betrayal, his lies, Tony standing only a few feet away—pressed down on him, sharp and relentless. Looking at June felt like being judged, as if Stella’s presence lived on in her daughter’s unwavering gaze, quietly asking: What the hell are you doing?

The thought dug deep, and Vince’s throat tightened. The air felt too thin.

“Daddy? Are you sad again?” June’s voice was soft, steady, and disarmingly perceptive. Her brow furrowed as she studied him, her wide eyes filled with curiosity, worry just barely flickering beneath the surface. “I thought today was a happy day.”

The words struck Vince harder than he wanted to admit, jolting him out of his spiraling thoughts with a sharp pang. Kids weren’t supposed to notice things like this. They weren’t supposed to track their parents’ moods like tally marks or worry about the shifting tides of their emotions. But June wasn't like most kids. She saw too much, understood too much, her innocent questions piercing in ways she couldn’t possibly realize. A result of living in her environment, probably, where every word between Vincent and Stella bore the potential of becoming a fight. Vincent blinked, his gaze flickering briefly toward Tony before returning to her, exhaling sharply as if he could force the weight from his chest.

He forced a smile, gentle but thin, and patted her cheek with a tenderness that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine, monkey. Really.”

June tilted her head slightly, her skepticism written plainly across her small face. It twisted into an expression that hit Vince like a gut punch—so much like Stella’s when she caught him in a lie. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper, her words meant just for him. “It’s okay if you’re sad,” she murmured, her tone soft but steady, like she was letting him in on something important. “You get sad sometimes, like… those sad days.” Her brow furrowed slightly as she searched for the right words, her gaze flickering briefly toward Tony before settling back on Vince. “But you said the sad days go away. And this morning was happy, so I thought today was gonna stay happy.”

Her voice carried no judgment, just the kind of quiet, matter-of-fact understanding only a child could have. Vince felt a lump rise in his throat, guilt tightening around his chest. She didn’t know the right terms, didn’t know why his moods shifted the way they did, but she noticed. She noticed everything. He squeezed her hand gently, trying to ground himself, his voice softening as he met her gaze. “Today’s a good day,” he said, the words carrying a deliberate steadiness. “Promise.”

She lingered for a moment, her small fingers tightening around his hand, her gaze searching his face for cracks in the story he’d pieced together. Finally, she nodded, though the shadow of doubt lingered in her eyes. “Okay,” she said softly, the word carrying a fragile trust he didn’t feel like he deserved.

Vince hesitated, then pushed past the tightness in his throat, forcing a grin that felt more real with each second. “Are you ready, Princess Leia?” he asked, his tone laced with playful bravado.

June’s face lit up instantly, the shadows vanishing as a mischievous grin spread across her lips. “I was born ready, Obi-Wan.”

Straightening, Vince reached for his lightsaber and ignited it with a dramatic flourish, the purple glow casting sharp, dynamic lines across his face. It illuminated the gleam in his eyes, the edges of his cheekbones catching the light as his lips quirked into a smirk. June powered hers on a beat later, the blue glow lighting her small, determined face. Her stance was hilariously menacing, her knees bent slightly as she raised the saber high, her space buns framing her features like a tiny warrior plucked straight from the galaxy.

Without a word, they tossed their sabers to each other in perfect sync, catching them midair before dropping into exaggerated fighting poses. June raised her blade, narrowing her eyes. “Are you watching, Toto?” she called out, her voice loud and confident.

Vince turned to Tony, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You’re not gonna believe your eyes, Tony,” he said, his tone warm and full of excitement, though it carried an unintended echo of that hookup, Vincent between Tony’s knees, mouth sinking down on his hard thick cock ‘till Tony was busied inside him completely. “Check it out.”

Vince struck first, his blue saber cutting through the night in a sweeping arc as he stepped forward, his posture dramatic, shoulders squared. June met him head-on, her purple blade flashing brilliantly as it collided with his. The sharp plastic hum of the lightsabers’ clash sent vibrations rippling through the cool autumn air. June’s face was fierce, determined, her small frame a bundle of focused energy. Vince smirked, stepping back to give her room to advance.

“Not bad, Princess Leia,” he teased, his voice carrying a lightness that belied the tension of their mock battle. He parried her next strike with practiced ease, spinning away with a theatrical flair. “But don’t think for a second you can take down Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

June narrowed her eyes, her purple blade twirling as she adopted a fighting stance. “Obi-Wan’s been slacking,” she declared, voice full of mock gravitas. “Leia’s been training in secret with Yoda on Dagobah. You don’t stand a chance.”

Vince raised a brow, his smirk widening. “Yoda, huh?” He lunged forward, their sabers meeting with a crackling impact. “Didn’t think he’d have the patience for royalty.”

June darted to the side, spinning with surprising agility and swinging low. Vince barely dodged the strike, laughing as he jumped back. “He said I was his best student ever,” she shot back, her voice tinged with pride. “Unlike you, Obi-Wan. He said you’re the reason he went into hiding!”

“That’s outrageous slander,” Vince countered, his tone dripping with mock indignation. He lunged again, their blades thudding as they clashed midair. “Obi-Wan didn’t send Yoda into hiding—he was too busy saving the galaxy while Leia was… what? Negotiating with senators over tea?”

June gasped, her expression an exaggerated mixture of shock and outrage. “Excuse me?!” She leapt into the air, twisting mid-jump and landing in a perfect side flip that took her out of range of Vince’s blade. The landing was so smooth, Vince paused for a split second, genuinely impressed, before she came at him with a quick, precise strike aimed at his shoulder.

He evaded with a somersault that miraculously didn’t hurt his back, popping up to his feet with a dramatic flourish. “Alright, I’ll give you that one,” he said, grinning as they circled each other. “But don’t think you’re the only one with tricks up your sleeve.”

June pointed her saber at him, her expression full of fire. “Leia doesn’t need tricks. She’s stronger in the Force than you’ll ever be.” Their sabers collided again, the hums and flashes creating an almost hypnotic rhythm as they struck and parried. Laughter bubbled up between them, mingling with their playful jabs.

“Why are we even fighting, Leia?” Vince asked between strikes, his tone light but curious. “Aren’t we supposed to be on the same side?”

June narrowed her eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Leia found out Obi-Wan hid the Death Star plans from her because he didn’t trust her,” she said, her voice dripping with mock betrayal. “And now she’s here to make him pay.”

Vince snorted, stepping into a spin that sent their sabers clashing in a bright burst of light. “Death Star plans? That’s ancient history,” he retorted, his voice tinged with amusement. “Besides, I didn’t trust you because you were spending too much time with Han Solo.”

June let out a gasp so dramatic, it could have earned her an Oscar. “Don’t bring Han into this!” she cried, charging at him with a flurry of strikes that forced Vince to retreat. “You’re just jealous because he’s cooler than you!”

“Cooler?” Vince parried her strikes with a sharp grin, twirling his saber with an unnecessary flourish. “Han’s just a space cowboy with commitment issues. Obi-Wan is a Jedi Master. That’s the definition of cool.”

“Yeah, cool for an old man!” June quipped, her laughter ringing out as she pressed her advantage, her strikes coming fast and relentless.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Vince shot back, sidestepping her swing with theatrical flair. “This ‘old man’ is about to mop the floor with a wannabe space princess.”

The duel raged on, their sabers flashing and thudding in the dark. June’s focus was razor-sharp, her moves fluid and precise despite the obvious playfulness of the moment. Vince couldn’t help but marvel at her determination, the way she threw herself into the fight with everything she had. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and her space buns bobbed with every movement, making her look both fierce and hilariously adorable.

Vince’s heart swelled with pride, almost to the point of aching, as he watched her move with unrestrained determination. This was their thing—something sacred, forged in the easy joy of countless afternoons spent in the backyard. Underneath the surface silliness of glowing plastic sabers and dramatic flips lay a bond that was uniquely theirs, a language spoken only between father and daughter. Every giggle, every exaggerated clash of sabers, was a reminder that this was something no one could take from them.

For a brief, golden moment, everything else—guilt, embarrassment, the weight of Tony’s presence—faded into the background. There was only June, her face illuminated by the flickering purple of her lightsaber, her breath puffing in small clouds against the cool night air. Vince mirrored her movements, giving her just enough challenge to keep her grinning but not enough to frustrate her. He wanted her to feel invincible.

And she did. With a quick feint and a burst of speed that Vince hadn’t seen coming, June darted to his side, twisting her wrist to deliver a clean, decisive strike against his chest. The tip of her saber hovered just over his heart, the hum of it buzzing faintly as she froze in her triumphant pose. Vince staggered backward, clutching at the ‘wound’ like it had really felled him, his expression a perfect mask of pain.

“You’ve… bested me, Princess Leia,” he gasped, his voice cracking with exaggerated gravitas. He fell to his knees, one hand bracing him against the damp grass as his other clutched his chest. His face twisted in mock agony, every movement larger than life. “The galaxy… is yours…”

June didn’t miss a beat. Stepping forward with regal confidence, she powered down her saber with a sharp flick, the blade disappearing with a clack. The purple glow faded, but her triumphant expression remained, her space buns gleaming faintly in the starlight. She crossed her arms over her chest, her stance straight and commanding, and peered down at him like a benevolent queen. “The galaxy will be in better hands now,” she declared, her voice steady and filled with the authority of someone far older. Then, after a perfect beat of silence, she added solemnly, “May your soul find peace among the stars, Obi-Wan. The Force will remember your sacrifice.”

Vince let out a long, dramatic groan, pitching himself backward as though the blow had finally claimed him. His body hit the grass with an audible thud, and he sprawled out beneath the stars, arms splayed wide, his face slack with an exaggerated death grimace. For a moment, he lay completely still, letting the quiet settle around them, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves overhead and the distant murmur of voices from the festival.

The silence hung in the air like the final chord of a symphony. And then, June burst into laughter, the sound bubbling out of her in bright, unrestrained peals that echoed into the night. It started small—just a giggle—but quickly grew into a full-throated laugh, so infectious that Vince couldn’t hold back his own any longer.

A low chuckle escaped him first, breaking through his ‘dead’ composure, and within seconds, he was laughing outright. He sat up, clutching his stomach as the force of it overtook him, his shoulders shaking with every breath. It wasn’t just the silliness of the moment or June’s infectious joy—it was everything. The weight of the evening lifted, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in weeks. June, still giggling, turned to Tony, her face flushed with triumph. “Did you see that, Toto? I got him! I actually got him!”

Vince’s laughter faltered slightly as she spoke, and for the first time since their duel began, he was reminded of Tony’s presence. He glanced up at him, still grinning, his cheeks warm and his chest heaving slightly from exertion and laughter. For a split second, Vince saw himself through Tony’s eyes: a grown man sprawled on the grass in the aftermath of a mock duel, still clutching a plastic lightsaber like a total dork. But instead of embarrassment creeping back in, all Vince felt was a strange, unnamable fondness—a sense that this moment, ridiculous as it was, mattered. It mattered in a way he couldn’t yet put into words.

‘I can dig it.’ Those four words, goofy as they were but utterly Vince-like, made it feel like a door had just been unlocked and opened for him. At least to Tony, it felt like what Vince meant was not just that he was cool with not having jalapenos, but he was open to the idea of seeing Tony around more. In what capacity (and to do what) he didn’t know. But, it was sure a step up from being blocked and ghosted.

He gently hooked his pinky finger around June’s, still grinning. His little finger might have been several times bigger than her’s, but the weight and power of a little kid’s pinky-swear could not be underestimated. It was surprising how easy she was to get along with - she had interests and a personality and all that, but wasn’t at that age where she had developed an attitude or lost that childlike interest in the world yet. He didn’t have kids of his own (that he knew of anyway) and whatever extended family or kids of friends he’d met hadn’t been enough to develop any kind of relationship with. Usually those kids were either too old and well into their teenage asshole angst years, or too young to be little more than an accessory in their mother’s arm or lap. Not that he could fault the older ones for being angsty. God knows he sure was, back then.

Tony snorted a laugh as June helpfully pointed out he is really old, and again when she asked if commenting on her father’s age was a trap. What a little shit - in a good way. The similarities between Vince and June were so obvious it was downright adorable. It made him wonder if anyone had ever thought he and his father were ever alike - or maybe he and his mother? He’d never really noticed.

The stage-whispered secret did work wonderfully in finding out how old Vince was, which was a little bit of a hope he had (beyond just rolling with June being silly). It wasn’t really a surprise - he figured Vince was anywhere in his late thirties and thirty-five was close enough to that mark to make sense. He had assumed all along he was the older one between them. Something about that was hot in a way he couldn’t really explain. It made him think of a very porn-worthy phrase: ‘Young hot cop fucked by…’ whatever he was supposed to be these days. Cook? Wage slave? Criminal in hiding?

He glanced Vince’s way, about to say something about how he just let her off the hook from answering, when he noticed the other man’s smile had faded away. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him uneasy. Had he said something wrong? How in the hell was he ever going to figure out what was the right and wrong thing to say when Vince never bothered to speak up about it? Not that he expected him to do it here and now, in front of his kid, but would he ever? Or was he always just going to remain a mystery? Because clearly he kept having a habit of saying the wrong thing… he just couldn’t figure out how.

The Help. The very phrase made him wince a little. How many damn times had he heard someone in his family, neighborhood, or circle of old friends be referred to as ‘the help’? Too often - and usually by someone with way more money but far less sense than they had. Just because it was true - a fact backed up by all the service uniforms and name-tags he’d seen people wearing over the years, whether they be holding a mop or a rake or a serving platter - didn’t make it any less good to hear. He could have called Vince out on it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it in front of June. It was a life lesson she’d hopefully get someday - but not from him. That was her parent’s job, not his.

“Maybe sometime I’ll catch a play around here, if that ever happens in this town. Otherwise, one on the mainland, right? You’ll have to keep an eye on your insider theater tips and let me know if there is ever something good in town, Vince. I may need your expert opinion about the quality of the production though, so you might end up coming along with me.” He was not oblivious to Vince’s use of ’we’ in his comment about fixing it, so he didn’t want to just gloss right over it.

The comment about ’doing it for the rest of his life’, albeit on the surface about his career and talents, hung heavy in the air. There were a number of ways to take it. Maybe they really were just talking about career choices. Maybe not. Maybe Vince was hitting the innuendo-ball back over the net, serving it up hot and fast for Tony to catch on to if he wanted. The idea of having the rest of his life to spend leaving his mark on Vince was tantalizing - in a terrifying way. And that subtle emphasis on how he’d considered it for hours?

Unless he was imagining it, Vince could have just confessed to spending hours thinking about, or possibly even jerking off over, him. Tony suddenly wished they were in a motel or a car or the middle of the woods or literally anywhere with some privacy and where June wasn’t around so he could test what exactly that meant.

June’s question about whether they were mad at each other made the air feel thick and heavy, and it made him tense. He sat there, frozen and silent, letting Vince answer. One hell of a deep hole to stumble in, but also terrifying to think she could pick up on the fact there was something between them. Not anger, at least not from his side, just a lot of things going unsaid because words failed to live up to expectations. Did this kid have a sixth sense?

“Joke’s on you, underwater basket-weaving didn’t have National Championships until 1957.” Tony commented lightly, grinning before he took a sip of his drink. He said it completely deadpan and serious, like he was spouting real facts. Watching June and Vince trade jabs was like watching a comedy routine, and he had to chuckle when Vince called her a smartass. His own father had called him a dumbass usually. This seemed a whole lot better than what he had growing up.

Truthfully he hadn’t expected to be asked what kind of books he liked to read, but after thinking about it for a split second he realized he was a moron and definitely made a mis-step in saying that. Not because it was untrue - but because his preferred reading material was… more of an adult nature. Or at least more mature, definitely something June shouldn’t be allowed to read until well after she turned eighteen. Maybe even not until she moved away and married or something. And then, to make matters even worse, Vince called him out correctly with his very first comment.

“Okay, you can’t call me a nerd for this, Obi-Wan and Princess, but… usually fantasy or supernatural stuff. You know, magic, dragons, castles, vampires, werewolves, cryptids, that kind of thing. Adventure, horror, and…. Yeah, romance.” He held both his hands up a little ways, pleadingly. Not that he’d ever go into detail about those books, and definitely glossed over a few other categories and tropes.

The idea of being set up for a Guy Fieri reality television show made Tony snort and shake his head. “Is it bad I can’t stand that guy? He’s annoying. I’m more of a Gordon Ramsay fan. It's so easy for him to come up with these witty comments and biting remarks, it's amazing and hilarious. Admittedly he’s on the mean and dramatic side, but it does make me think about my cooking more - about what people expect out of a dish, and how the way I cook things might be different than what others expected when they ordered something. But if I don’t want to feel like I’m getting eviscerated, I’d go with Jamie Oliver. Way more laid back. I could listen to him talk about food for hours and not want to stick a fork in my ear like I do with Fieri.” Tony shrugged a little. Frankly, the idea of a camera crew busting into Drifter's to air all his cooking skills’ dirty laundry and shortcomings was terrifying.

“Bear steak sounds like a hard pass.” He wrinkled his nose, picking up the last bit of his second taco to finish off. “Never met this weird tinfoil-hat park ranger. He from town?” Tony asked before popping the last bite into his mouth.

Tony had anticipated all kinds of silly answers from June about what she wanted to be when she grew up, and maybe a handful of decent if not unoriginal thoughts. Doctor, nurse, actress, teacher, the usual. But her actual answer - professional astronaut, which apparently meant a video game designer - was entirely and completely a surprise. He couldn’t think of any women or girls he knew that were into games and computers like that, or into space. Maybe that was a shortcoming of his generation - and a strength of her own cohort.

“That really is impressive, June. I didn’t expect that to be the answer.” He commented thoughtfully, nodding in agreement with Vince. “I look forward to playing your game someday. You might need to show me how to use VR though - I’ve never done that.”

’We have to show Toto a lightsaber battle!’ was not a phrase he expected to hear tonight, especially since he started this whole encounter presuming Vince would tell him to leave him alone and never contact him again. Somehow, he went from blocked to lightsaber shows. He was more than okay with this.

“Of course I want to see it. C’mon Vince, you can’t hold out on me. Let’s see some moves. Not afraid the Princess here is going to win, are you, Kenobi?” He challenged Vince with a grin, already swinging one leg over the bench seat as he prepared to stand.

“If I gotta be out here dolled up like a werewolf, the very least you can do is show off your lightsaber skills and let June trounce you.” He definitely saw that pleading face Vince was giving him, no doubt because he was embarrassed at the very idea of what June suggested. He was not going to be a lifeline - not this time, no sir. Maybe this was payback for blocking his number and ghosting him, but if asked he’d just claim that June asked very nicely and you can’t disappoint a kid like that.

Tony stood, rolling down his sleeves against the cool night air and finishing off the last of his drink. “Alright, come on June, you’ll have to show me the color of your lightsaber, and you can tell me where you got something so cool, too.”

[talaok]

hello! So, Joe mentioned in an interview that he bought a guitar and practiced a lot for his scene. Could you write about him going to buy a guitar and asking the reader who works at the store about 80's rock for his investigation? Something fluffy and flirty. thank you ✨💕

Pairing: Joseph Quinn x fem!reader

Warnings: None

a/n: ngl I had to do some research for this one but I absolutely LOVED writing it and loved the idea (I probably got a bit too carried away in the first part). Also, If anyone who knows their shit about guitars reads this, I'm sorry, I tried, I swear.

Btw funny story I was writing this on the bus and I completely forgot I had to get off and I arrived late at the cinema.

Part 2

A GOOD DEED

Today had been slow, it was 4 o clock and only two customers had come into the shop since you opened this morning, and only one of them actually bought something. It was a miracle this place was still standing and hadn't gone bankrupt yet. The shop wasn't yours but it felt like it. You were basically the only employee. There was another one, this very unusual,overly-enthusiastic, and jittery 19-year-old who had just finished high school and perpetually arrived late or not arrived at all, but he would only do a few shifts because he claimed to be a "free soul" and that working here "killed his vibe", so, practically, it was just you. Your boss, Luke, was a 56-year-old man who had inherited the shop from his father and he was probably the coolest person you knew. he knew everything about music and he could play every single instrument in the shop. He once told you that there was no point in telling people to buy an instrument if you didn't know what it felt like to play it. At first, you thought he was just being dramatic, but as time went by you started realizing how right he was, and noticed how it was much easier for you to sell guitars than anything else.  You had been working here for 1 year and a half and in that year and a half, he had become your hero. I mean, the man had a rock band, him, a 56-year-old, had a band with other 50-something-year-olds, and the best part was that they sounded amazing. You loved when he came into the shop because after you would beg him desperately, bugging him all day, he would always play something for you and you just adored watching his expert fingers dance on the guitar's strings effortlessly while you lost yourself in melody. Unfortunately, he wasn't coming today and you were really starting to lose your mind because of how bored you were. You looked outside the windows to see if anyone was coming, but the street was deserted except for two women walking by on the opposite sidewalk who seemed to be having a really fun conversation. Lucky them, you thought. You grumbled and looked around you. all the electric guitars were perfectly placed on your right, some on the wall and some on their designated supports on the ground. As you scanned through them, mesmerized by how cool they all looked, one caught your eye. Fuck, You had forgotten about her. How was that possible? Luke had bought her a month ago and the moment you saw her you fell in love. She was a Gibson Les Paul, but not the usual kind, he had customized her, so she was covered in silver glitters with blue flames coming down from the top. You had never seen something so sexy in your life. You sprang to your feet and dashed across the counter. "you are a real beauty" you whispered to the guitar as you cautiously took her from the wall. You weren't allowed to do this, if your boss were to enter now you would probably get fired. The guitar costed more than all of your belongings put together, but you couldn't resist, you just couldn't. She was too beautiful and you needed to know how she sounded in your hands. You peeped at the windows one more time to make sure Luke hadn't magically appeared to beat your ass and was relieved when you didn't see a single soul.  the shop had a little aisle where people could try playing an electric guitar put there on purpose and you made your way there. you attentively placed the Les Paul on the ground, unplugged the guitar from the amplifier, and plugged in instead the one you had just taken. You sat on the stool and took a deep breath. You could hear your heart pounding in your chest "calm down Y/N, it's just a guitar" you murmured to yourself. You exhaled deeply "Ok babe, what shall we play?" you asked the inanimate object "Oh, who am I kidding" you laughed at yourself as you positioned your fingers on the strings. There was only one song you wanted to play. You took one last deep breath before you started playing Sweet child O' Mine, your go-to song since forever. You learned to play it at 15, your dad always used to make you listen to it in his car and after he passed away you promised yourself you would learn it for him, as a tribute, and to this day, even if it's one very difficult piece to play is the one you know how to do better. You closed your eyes and started swinging your head to the melody, you had played this song millions of times before, but this guitar somehow made it sound even better. You started humming to the beat as you felt the deep and resonant sound's vibrations in your whole body. this was heaven, you thought as your fingers continued dancing on the strings. Your favorite part of the song was coming and you almost wanted to rush to it just to know how it sounded on that beauty, but you didn't, you continued and as the part started you bit your lower lip, shut your eyes, and smiled widely. It was like hearing angels sing, that is, of course, if angels sounded like 80's rock music. You began rocking your head to the music while rhythmically tapping your foot on the floor. "You're really good" you heard a voice in front of you. You jumped in your seat and widened your eyes. "Woh woh woh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you" The man in front of you apologized holding his hands in front of himself. You exhaled deeply relieved and, peered up at the person who was talking to you. he was a tall young man, wearing jeans and a very colorful t-shirt. his wavy and brown hairs were somewhat messy, as if he had just woken up. You thought that was cute. his lips were turned into a nice and genuine smile and his big, brown, and gentle eyes were looking straight at you.  Oh shit, You realized you were basically checking him out and you widened your eyes and cleared your throat to try and salvage the situation "Oh, I'm sorry I thought you were my boss" you spat out. he gave you a reassuring smile "Oh, is he an asshole?"  You laughed softly to yourself "No, not at all actually. but I'm kinda not supposed to be playing that guitar" you said, standing up, propping the guitar on the wall, and turning to look at him. "Well don't worry, your secret is safe with me" he joked and you smiled at him gratefully. You were about to say something when he licked his lips. Any sound you wanted to produce got stuck in your throat as your brain blanked for a moment. He noticed your reaction and his lips twitched into a smirk as his eyes traveled down your body ad up again quickly. His eyes found yours again and you swallowed thickly, hoping for your brain to start working again soon.  "Uh- Wha-What do you want?" you spat out and immediately regretted it. he frowned at you and chuckled softly "is that how you treat all your customers? because then it's no wonder you don't have many" he joked waving his hands generally at the store. You smiled at him "No, you are right, I'm sorry. Can we start over?"  "with pleasure" he grinned. "Ok. Hi, my name is Y/N. what do you need help with?" you asked with your nicest tone, offering him a wide smile. "Hello Y/N, nice to meet you, you have a really beautiful name. I'm Joseph" he introduced himself "And to answer your question, I need to buy a guitar" he explained. "Well, then you are in the right place, Joseph. What kind of guitar did you have in mind?" He laughed softly "Well, see that's the thing. I haven't played guitar in a long time and... well, all I know is that I need an electric guitar" he confessed a bit shily. "Oh, that's totally fine. You know, I actually think it's really cool that you want to get back into it"  "Thanks, I'm actually doing it for a role" he explained " a role?" you asked, intrigued "Yes, well, I got cast in this show and they just told me yesterday that I'm gonna have to play the guitar in a scene, so...here I am" he finished with a contagious smile. "Cool, I am allowed to ask what show or is it like a secret?"  "I actually have no idea" he laughed "but" he bit his lip "you know what, It's only right for you to also have to keep a secret of mine" You tilted your head to the side and frowned, confused. He nodded to the guitar next to you and your lips formed an o in realization "You're right. come on, spill the beans, Joseph"  "ok, it's stranger things" "Oh" you said, a bit disappointed He chuckled "Well, that's not the reaction I was expecting" You widened your eyes, mortified "Oh, no sorry. I'm very happy for you and I have heard it's great, but I've just never watched it"  He laughed "no worries, if I have to be honest I had only watched season 1 before getting the role, so it's not like I'm a huge fan myself. But don't tell people that" He joked and you mimicked zipping your lips. "My mouth is sealed" you smiled " Now, let's talk guitars" you said intertwining your hands. He nodded "So would you say you are like a beginner or do you remember some stuff?"  He paused a moment to think "No, I think I can still play, I just need a refresher" "Ok, well in that case I recommend you to buy a Yamaha Pacifica 112V which has very high levels of playability and build quality even though she doesn't cost too much. But... if you happen to have a bigger budget then I definitely suggest this Squier Classic Vibe ‘50s Stratocaster." you said, walking towards the guitar "she's very well-made, well set-up and overall she just sounds great" You looked up at him and noticed a sly smile on his face. "She?" he asked obviously amused You felt your cheeks redden. Usually, you didn't care when people found out you liked to treat guitars like people but for some reason he intimidated you. You cleared your throat "Yes, guitars are females, Joseph. Honestly, I expected you to know that" you answered sarcastically. He chuckled"You're right, I'm sorry. I should know better" he pretended to apologize. He looked at the guitar you were pointing out to him and then at you again. "you really know a lot about guitars" he commented "Yeah, well, as surprising as it sounds I wasn't hired just for my pretty face"  "Oh, so that's just a plus," he said with a smirk. You swallowed. As much as you pretended to be confident and not at all affected by him your heart hadn't stopped racing since you saw him. "E-Exactly"  There was a moment of silence as he admired the guitars around him. "the song you were playing before, Sweet- sweet something" "Sweet child o' mine" you helped him "Yeah, that one. When was it released?" he asked, finding your eyes again. " '88" you answered " Wow, that was quick" he chortled  " Well, you asked" "Yeah, you're right. so you know a lot about 80's music, don't you?" "I'm more of a 90's gal myself, but I think I know the basics. Why?" you asked "Well, the show is set in the '80s and chances are I'm gonna have to play a song from that time, so Y'know, I should probably learn more about that decade and you seem like someone that could help me with that" "So you want like a list of famous songs" "Rock songs, yeah" "rock?" "My character is kind of a metalhead" You smiled "Sure, I would love to help " He widened his eyes and beamed "Oh, thank you so much" "Ok well, first the classics so obviously: crazy train by Ozzy Osborne, Wrathchild by the Iron Maiden, Welcome to the Jungle by Guns 'n Roses, Photograph by Def Leppard "You stopped as you noticed his face, he was staring at you, frozen "You may want to write them down"You laughed softly, bringing him back to earth. He cleared his throat "Yes, you're right, I'm sorry" he said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket."Ok, I'm ready" he informed you after a few moments. "Ok, then of course Jump by Van Halen, Dr. Feelgood by Motley Crue, Ace of spades by Motorhead.. and then basically everything by AC/DC and Metallica" you finished your list "Wow" he whispered, stunned  "That's all?" "Well, these are the basics but there's a whole world out there" you smiled "What's your favorite one?" he asked intrigued You bit your lip and caught his eyes dropping to your mouth  “Is that part of your research?” his eyes came back up to yours. “I was just wondering” he smirked You smiled “ well, other than Sweet Child o’ mine, I know it's basic, but I absolutely love back in black” you answered truthfully, suddenly feeling shy. “Oh well of course, who doesn’t?” “Right? It’s THE classic. It didn't even take me too long to learn” He looked at you shocked, his eyes basically out of his skull “you know how to play it?” “Well yes, I mean, I’m not exactly Angus Young, but I’m decent” He grinned widely “ oh, now I need to hear it”. You bit the inside of your right cheek nervously. This guy... “Come on, it's for research purposes” he gave you his best puppy eyes and you swore you got butterflies in your stomach. Get a grip Y/N, what are you, 13? You scolded yourself. “Ok, I’ll play you the beginning if you promise to buy a guitar after. This place could really use the money” you gave in. “Deal” he said immediately, making you smile. You walked to the stool and sat down again, carefully taking the guitar propped against the wall. “You’re not allowed to make fun of me, ok?” you threatened and he smiled genuinely “I’m sure It’s not even gonna be a passing thought” You fished your pick from your pocket and took a deep breath, shutting your eyes. You positioned your fingers on the guitar and with a decisive strum, started playing. God, you loved the beginning, so iconic and yet never boring. Your fingers were moving swiftly on the strings as you were biting your lip to concentrate better while closing your eyes. That's how you liked to play.No distractions. Just you and the music. You kept going, putting all your passion into the movements as you started rocking your head and tapping your foot on the floor following the rhythm. You had forgotten all about where you were and what you were doing until you heard a faint "wow" coming from Joseph. You opened your eyes and looked at him. He was staring at you,him mouth slacked open while his eyes kept darting between your face and your fingers. You finished playing the first part as you promised and stopped to look at him. He was immobilized, you laughed softly "Are you still here Joe?" you asked waving your hands in his direction. He shook his head as if waking from a dream, "Y-Yes, I'm sorry" he chuckled to himself "it's just that, that's gotta be the hottest thing I've ever seen" he confessed with an incredulous smile. You blushed as you felt your heart skip a beat at the compliment. "Uhh, well" you swallowed "thank you" you smiled timidly at him as he reciprocated. You peeked at each other smiling for a few moments before a car passing by brought you back to reality. You exhaled deeply "now it's your turn to keep your part of the promise" you stated getting up and placing the guitar against the wall. he licked his lips "You're right,I think I'm gonna go for the most expensive one" he decided You laughed "Are you trying to impress me?" He tilted his head to the side and smirked "Is it working?" you narrowed your eyes and smiled subtly "kinda"

"she's all yours" you spoke, handing him the guitar he had chosen. Your hands touched as he took her from you and you felt a sparkle ignite from the touch, starting from your fingers and spreading through your whole body. Holy hell. You were pretty certain he felt it too as he stopped his movement and glanced at you briefly. You swallowed thickly and took a step back "If you have any problems with her or just need some help, don't hesitate to come back" "Will I find you?" "Probably yes, as I said, this place isn't exactly not-bankrupt " you joked "Well then I'm gonna come back for sure" "I'll count on it" you said as he walked towards the door and turned to look at you one last time before walking out.

You went back behind the counter and placed your hands on it. That was intense you, thought as you huffed closing your eyes. "So I was thinking"  You jumped out of your shink and widened your eyes It was him again. What was he a ninja? "You gotta stop doing that" He laughed "You're right, I'm sorry" "That was fast” you joked “How did you manage to already break the guitar?” He smiled and bit his lip” No, that’s actually not why I’m here. She’s fine, don’t worry” he said patting the guitar. “No, see. I was thinking…since I have to learn everything about playing guitar back again I might need some help” he explained “And you look like the perfect teacher” he said looking at you hopefully. You smiled at him “And what do I get back?” “You get to hang out with me” You rolled your eyes playfully ”fine, I felt in need to do a good deed today anyway.”

[clickbait-official]

Hi, I’m obsessed with your Morpheus content and I was wondering if you could do something angsty where they argue? If you’re comfortable with it ❤️

omg anon?? i love you <3 je t’aime

also what POV do you guys like best? second person? First? pls tell me i’m never sure which one to go with

masterlist

~~~

A strange book caught my eye as I meandered through the library. I grabbed at the reddish-orange cover, pulling it into my hands. I flip to the first page.

“Try as he might, the god cannot love the mortal in his entirety. He burns far too bright, too endlessly - and no mortal can withstand that intensity. So the god becomes so dreadfully alone - as there is no one who can return his love in the way he needs.”

I remembered then that I was meant to meet with Morpheus in Fiddler’s Green. He had asked me - quite formally, might I add - to meet him there so that we might talk, as friends do.

I won’t tell you how my heart leapt. I’m sure you already know it.

I rushed over quickly, hoping I wasn’t late. The grassy path led me to my favorite spot in all of the Dreaming - the pond.

Waterfalls cascaded down, splashing delightfully with the water below. Birds and butterflies and bees flew and fluttered, buzzed and sang.

It felt like home, almost.

And just the thought of this being home made my heart sing. Though, not as much as the prospect of him wanting to talk to me did.

But as I looked around, peering through the shades of green and brown, I saw no Morpheus.

Maybe I was early?

I’ve got all the time in the world. Might as well wait for him.

I sit down in shade, just watching the world go by. The grass below me was soft, tickling my legs not unlike how it would in the real world. A white tulip sprang up from the ground, alerting me that Fiddler’s Green himself as coming to me.

And there he was, walking from the woods. He dipped his head in greeting as he sat beside me.

“Hello, dreamer,” he said, tone like the gentle waterfall near us. “What brings you to my meadow today?”

“Hello Fiddler's Green,” I said, a small grin appearing on my lips. “It’s nice to see you. Dream asked me here today. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

His brow furrowed in concentration.

“No,” he said with an unsure tone. “No, he never mentioned anything like that today. Perhaps he forgot to tell me?”

It was an easy excuse. Both of us knew that Morpheus never forgot these sorts of things: he always remembered everything, as any Endless would. So it was rather strange to hear Fiddler's Green talk about him in such a manner. It was …strange.

"The god loves so fiercely, burns so brightly. And like the sands of time, he will fall in love over and over.

He doesn't like to think about it. So instead, he chooses to forget."

Birds still chirped and bees still buzzed. Butterflies flew and waterfalls - well, they fell. The world continued on even though my heart was racing. 

“He has been rather busy recently,” said the man beside me. “Maybe it’s just the busyness of it all.” We simmer in silence for a moment before-

"No matter,” he says, cheering up. His demeanor instantly shifts. “We can have plenty of fun together - even without Dream.”

Despite his offer, I respectfully declined. I wanted to know what Morpheus was doing and why he stood me up. 

He nodded his agreement but warned me: "Be careful: My lord tends to get antagonistic when stressed."

I said my goodbyes to him and walked back the way I came.  The view was just as beautiful, just as sublime. It felt like home in a sense.

And as I walked my way back to the castle, I pondered my relation to the Dreaming and all who inhabit it. I adored Lucienne and Fiddler's Green and Mervyn and especially Matthew. I especially liked his little quips.

Before I knew it I was already inside, right in front of the throne. He flipped through pages of a book, before sighing and setting it aside. There were books and pages and articles everywhere. Perhaps he was looking for something?

"The loneliness has birthed violence in his heart. It has made him cold, colder than the loneliness he knows now as a friend. It is the curse of becoming a god."

"Why do you seek to interrupt my work?" His voice seemed to echo and bounce off the walls of the castle.

Stars seemed to reflect from his eyes, and he was beautiful. I almost didn't hear his question.

"Oh! Um, you said that you'd go with me to Fiddler's Green today, and I was wondering...if you'd like to go now?" My voice betrayed my anxiety asking him that question. Suddenly he seemed so intimidating, so terrifying.

It was easy to see why he was King of Nightmares, too.

He leveled me with a flat stare. His face pinched, curling into a snarl. "Why would I make an effort for you?"

The words sent me reeling.

I took an unsteady step back unconsciously, swallowing hard.

"Oh...Oh. Ok, I'll go!" I squeak, turning around, shakingly making my way out of the room.

"You better." He muttered, turning back to his work.

He never heard my teardrops hit the floor.

"Love is something premeditated. It is something beautiful and something horrific. Love is a home.

The god does not know what home feels like. Now, perhaps he never will."

~~~

Matthew caws, and makes his landing right before the Endless.

"Hey, boss! Aren't you supposed to be with the dreamer?"

A simple question, but one that makes the King of Dreams pause.

"...What are you referring to?"

The raven caws again, shifting from foot to foot. "Yeah, they came in the other night practically glowing. Said you'd invited them to Fiddler's Green. Almost looked like love, if you ask me."

Matthew looks up, noticing how his lord has gone deathly still.

"...love?" Morpheus looks lost in thought, which is not a sight Matthew is used to.

"Yeah, but they were running out of here crying 'fore waking up. Couldn't you have let 'em down easy?"

Dream of the Endless stands up abruptly, towering over his raven. He strides towards the door, ignoring Matthew's caws to stop.

Could someone as perfect as you really love him? Did he ruin it all? He stops, peering around. The palace is silent - per Morpheus's request.

And his dreamer is nowhere in the Dreaming.

Oh. Oh no.

What have I done?

~~~

requests and asks are open!

(request here)

[imtheiliad]

i feel my heart saying hi [1.3k |character study| Eddie in suits] {ao3} a/n: this started as 5 times Eddie had a panic attack in a suit, but idk that it ended up being that? *shrugs* you'll notice i did not include The Panic Attack in a Suit™️and i just didnt feel like including it cause i wanted to explore things that haven't happened on screen (yet). this is a weird mish mash of spec, my interpretation of canon, and just plain storytelling ig. title inspired by ring of keys from fun home. (iykyk) spoilers for 5b!

July 1995, El Paso

Eddie is 8 years old the first time he remembers wearing a suit. How his mother tightened his tie around his neck is not the reason he feels like he can’t breathe as he sits in the sweltering summer heat in a house of God. He isn’t sure why it feels that way. But his chest is tight and a tear escapes as he grips the arm of the pew. Maybe it was the overwhelming heat. Maybe it was the thought that he had lost his greatest confidant in his family. His namesake. Even christened him with the nickname Eddie on the day he was born. He had told Eddie that story a million times over. How small he’d been. How he was crying until the moment he was in his Abuelo’s arms. He was going to miss the man he would wait at the window for and run down the driveway to hug just ten seconds sooner. And knowing he would miss that for the rest of his life, hurt.

May 2005, El Paso He’s 18 and Zoey Clearwater is laughing as she pins a boutonniere to his suit after he had slipped an elastic band around her wrist with flowers that matched her dress and his tie and pocket square. She’s a sweet girl but they weren’t dating. She was quiet, read books in the cacophonous cafeteria during lunch, and she was on tech crew for the theatre productions. They had been talking backstage during the spring production of The Wizard of Oz when they both admitted to not having dates for prom. And then she’d kissed him. 30 seconds before he had to go on and sing “If I only had a Heart”. He just smiles and darts to the wings after checking that his makeup hadn’t gotten smeared in the process. They dance and have fun, slow dance too. But throughout the night his chest feels tight. And it culminates as he stares at the stage when it’s announced that Alex Higgins (of course) is Prom King and his perfect cheerleader girlfriend, Julie Standford, as Prom Queen. And he can’t breathe because he should want that with Zoey, and maybe what if he wants it with Alex. Well not Alex cause he’s an asshole but someone like Alex. And he’s not even sure what that means. So he swallows and focuses on trying to dance with Zoey. And he’s so focused on doing that, he doesn’t notice Zoey staring at Julie.

October 2010, El Paso He’s 23 with a baby on the way and 1 week out from shipping out to bootcamp. And he’s standing in a side room of a church in an ill-fitting tuxedo. It had been the best they could do on short notice. He’s fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, making sure they are sticking out just right. Funnily enough it’s the same church as 15 years ago. His eyes water remembering the 8 year old boy, scared of the rest of his life without his grandfather. At the time he thought that would be the scariest thing he would ever face. But here is, 15 years later, 8 months away from being a father, just over 2 months away from being shipped off to a war that started when he was 14 that he didn’t believe needed to be fought. But he loves Shannon. He does. He’s sure of it. And he loves their kid. So he walks out of the little room and stands at the altar, the priest greeting him. And his heart stutters when Shannon appears at the end of the aisle and smiles at him from underneath her veil. But it’s not the way he thinks it should. Tears sprang to his eyes, because she’s beautiful, because it’s too late to run.

May 2019, Los Angeles He’s 32 at a rooftop restaurant, “I’m not pregnant.” and “I think we should get a divorce.” Ringing in his ears. His hand shaking around his glass and the burn of alcohol running down his throat. And he can’t move as Shannon gets up, squeezes his arm as she leaves. He’d lost everything he was supposed to want. What he had. And his heart is hammering in his chest because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to find it again.

May 2022, Los Angeles He looks up over the dance floor and sees Buck, who has Jee balanced on his hip and is holding Chris’ hand on the other side. He’s smiling. Looking free. His tie still comfortably around his neck, and his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. And Hen and Karen, perfectly dressed in white, basking in the love of their family, in their love for each other. And again his heart stutters in his chest, and he’s not sure why. A lump forms in his throat. Oh. he thinks. And it isn’t the realization that he’s in love with Buck. He knew that. Had known that. Since last May, the heat of the LA asphalt mixing with the warmth of the fresh blood radiating up hitting his cheek. Since he sat on a hospital bed, not able to look him in the eye, swallowing the meaning behind “You think you’re expendable, but you’re wrong.” because Buck didn’t need to hear “I love you.” not with Ana and Taylor waiting in his living room. It’s not Oh, “I’m queer as all get out.” Because that surprisingly came after “I’m in love with Buck.” in the green papered walls of Frank’s office. He’d never done things in the conventional order anyway. And this Oh, wasn’t helping that consensus. Because this is Oh “he’s my partner” It’s oh, “you’re a miracle worker” “I had to do it” “I know you did” “I misunderstood the assignment” “And that started with you”. It’s oh “I was never going to find it again, because I made it right here with you.” It’s oh, “I could have this”. And it's so much, he can’t breathe. “Eddie? Are you okay?” May asks him where she’s settled down next to him, her shirley temple glass balanced perfectly in her hands. He just looks at her, eyebrows raised a little. “You’re crying,” she states, explaining her question. He was? He brings a hand to his cheek, and sure enough his fingertips come back wet. He swallows and smiles at May, “Did you ever figure out who you wanted to be?” She asks him. And he lets his eyes travel back to Buck and Chris, “I realized I was already that person. I was just too repressed to know it,” he smiles, and May looks at him eyes wide, “Did you figure it out for yourself?” He just asks her, letting his words speak for themselves. He knew she would understand. “I think so.” “I’ll miss your voice on the radio,” he says, pulling her into a side hug. “I didn’t even say anything!” “Eh, I knew both our days were numbered at dispatch since that day. It burning down only confirmed that.” “So, are you going to tell him?” She asks, taking a sip of her drink. “I think so,” he smiles. His heart hammering in his chest.

September 2025, Los Angeles He’s 38 and standing on a small patch of grass outside a wedding venue. His suit perfectly tailored, sleeves sticking out just right. “Hi,” He hears Buck say behind him, “you can turn around now.” And his heart stutters, but he turns around and he’s breathless as he takes in his future husband. Buck’s suit perfectly compliments his. He takes Buck’s hand and spins him around and Buck returns the favor. They end up with their foreheads touching and just looking at each other. Taking a moment for themselves. “Hi,” he breathes “Hi,” Buck smiles back, “I have something for you.” “Does it have to do with the little basket with flowers in it that’s right there?” Eddie laughs as Buck picks up the boutonniere and pins it to his lapel. And his heart settles as he places a peck on his fiance’s lips.

bonus a/n: if you are curious, yes zoey is queer af too. Eddie runs into them a few months after the wedding and they become friends again, them and their wife become Buck and Eddie's couple friends and they go on double dates <3 (i may one day write about them all but i do not need another wip atm)