#because Tetris is life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

void-of-unparalled-chaos · 9 months ago

Text

Slap a Bow on It

"Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid. He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end. So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street."

@deadonmayn Day 1: Courting Rituals | Flickering | Dinner is interrupted by a rogue/gang fight | "Are they gone yet?"

TW: Danny is thirsty as hell, mentions/allusions to nsfw but nothing explicit

AO3 Link

Danny blinked.

He could only assume that the crime lord, illuminated purely by the light of the fridge in the otherwise dark apartment, blinked back. The helmet didn't give anything away, red plating and slanted eye whites impassive. Good for being sexy menacing. Not so good for reading emotions.

Danny blinked again, wiping the rheum from his eyes with pinched fingers. He squinted once more at Red Hood, who for some reason was in his apartment at - Danny glanced at the clock - three in the morning. He seemed perfectly content to be digging through Danny’s fridge, if a little sheepish at being caught.

He should probably be more angry that his apartment was broken into. He absolutely was when he first woke to the uncomfortable feeling of an uninvited guest in his lair, but after seeing the vigilante’s arms laden with food his metaphorical hackles relaxed. The apartment was shitty anyway.

If anything, Danny was confused as to why he was here judging his fridge’s contents and playing Tetris with tupperware. It wasn’t like they knew each other.

Danny blinked a third time just to really make sure he was seeing what he was seeing, "...Hi?"

"Hey," Red Hood unfroze, seemingly recovered from being caught, and resumed stuffing what looked like a container of tamales into his fridge.

Danny couldn’t help but feel sullen at the dismissal. He'd woken up only for the admittedly hot trespasser with thick thighs to barely glance at him. Unacceptable.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Danny must have been momentarily possessed by the ghost of Midwestern manners with how urgent the offer seemed.

"Nah," Red Hood stuffed another container into the fridge, turning to look back at Danny, "You don't have any allergies, do you?"

"Nah."

Red Hood nodded, pulling out a bag of rotten lettuce. He held it away from himself like it might try to bite him. In Danny’s experience, it very well could.

“Do you ever clean out your fridge?”

Danny shrugged, “It’s finals week. I’ve got to keep my GPA above 3.5 if I want to keep my scholarship. No chores. Only study.”

Red Hood nodded solemnly as he threw the lettuce into the trash, “No chores. Only study.”

They fell into silence. Danny watched as the crime lord sifted through his fridge, pulling out rotten food as he went. “Is this because I decked that mugger? Cause’ he deserved it.”

Red Hood very pointedly threw the expired milk carton into the trash can.

“Okay then…” Danny yawned, “Well if that's all I’m going back to bed.”

“Kay.”

Danny shrugged, turned on his heel, and left the crime lord to rifle through his kitchen.

___👻___

When Danny awoke the next day, he was greeted by a clean apartment. The absence of crumbs on the freshly swept floor felt odd on his feet, although it was certainly much more pleasant. The trash had been taken out and a new bag had already been installed. He passed by the sink on the way to make coffee, the dishes that had been filling it suspiciously absent.

Danny would deny to the ancients and back that his knees went weak when he found the coffee maker already set and filled with grounds... his sister must never know.

As he waited for the cup to brew, he opened his fridge for creamer only to come face to face with more home cooked food than he’d ever seen in his life. Danny pulled the food out plastic container by plastic container to stare at in disbelief. Tamales, chicken mole, Mexican rice, enchiladas, and carne asada… It was only a handful of containers, but still. It wasn’t as if his parents had done much in the way of cooking with all their time spent in the lab. Jazz could throw together something basic but nothing like this.

The local hot crime lord slash vigilante had broken in at three in the morning to feed him and clean his apartment. Huh.

No time to think about that. He has a final on differential equations in five hours and minimal time to cram. Danny stirs the creamer into his coffee, heats up some Mexican rice, and sits down at the untouched mess of notebooks, paper, and textbooks on his kitchen table.

He studies until he has to leave for the exam, only getting up to refill his coffee and get more food. The tamales are pretty fricken good, but they make it hard to focus on the numbers scribbled across his notebook. It’s like each bite is urging him to go back into the kitchen and cook, which is odd considering that Danny can’t cook and he already has enough food to last him through the next day or two (courtesy of the sexy crime lord).

He leaves the exam room feeling good only for his mood to immediately crumble when he remembers that he has an aerodynamics final at eight the next morning followed by gasdynamics at one. He takes a brief break to faceplant on the table, scream, refill his coffee for the umpteenth time, and eat some more food but inevitably resigns himself to pulling an all-nighter. Time becomes liquid after that. It’s all just a blur of numbers and properties and instructional videos.

At some point, he registers another presence in the apartment. Danny recognizes the ecto signature from the night before so he pays it no mind. Let Hood poke around, Danny has to read more about Newton’s Third Law. What was he going to do? Feed him again?

The answer was apparently yes.

The background noise of shuffling in the fridge and washing empty containers stops and is replaced by soft, mechanical-sounding breaths. Hood is standing next to him, plastic container in hand as he watches Danny run through the Quizlet on his laptop.

Danny’s got around eighty percent of the terms memorized. Just another twenty percent to go. He types in the answer for a new blank.

Red Hood pokes his shoulder.

Danny grumbles. His response came back wrong.

His shoulder is poked again.

Danny ignores it and moves on to the next blank.

He continues unbothered for an uncertain amount of time. The words on the screen are blurry like he is trying to read underwater. His mouth splits into an entirely too wide, jaw-cracking yawn. His uninvited guest coos at him as Danny rubs at his eyes. The next thing he knows, his laptop is shut closed and moved away. It feels like any and all visual processing is delayed. Danny stares blankly at the spot the computer used to sit.

Something slides in front of him to replace the laptop. His core chirps when he realizes it's food. Hood’s answering chirp as he guides a fork into his hand is deep and rumbly with the faint stutterings of a purr. Danny starts to purr in return as he sleepily munches on the casserole.

Before long the empty plate is taken away. Danny slumps down on the newfound table space and tries to fight off sleep.

“I think it's time for you to go to bed.”

“Noooooo! I’v gotta study fr' aero’namics.”

“You’re slurring your words there, handsome.”

Danny’s sleep-deprived brain screeched to a halt. His core chirped to attention, “Flat’ry ain’t gettin’ you nowhere.”

“It was worth a shot.”

Danny smushed his face further into the wood to hide his blush and distracted himself by blindly reaching for his coffee mug. Upon noticing, the vigilante moved it out of reach. Danny whined into the table.

“You can’t overwork yourself like this, Danny,” Red Hood carried the mug to the sink and poured it down the drain. Cruel, cruel man. “I know you’ve got exams but your scores won’t be any good if you go into them like this. You've got to take care of yourself,” He lightly squeezed Danny’s shoulder. Danny hadn’t even heard him move across the kitchen. “Can you do that, darlin’? For me?”

Danny groaned, “F’ne. But only cause’ ur hot.”

The vigilante snorted. It sounded odd through the helmet but not bad. “I’m happy to hear it! Now let's get you to bed.”

___👻___

Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t stupid.

He had been helping his parents in the lab since he was four, and he was nearly a straight-A student before the accident. He was an aerospace engineering major with a hefty GPA of 3.8, and most importantly, he’s had extensive lessons on ghosts, the Infinite Realms, and their culture.

He could be a bit oblivious, but he always got there in the end.

So when Danny woke up the next morning and realized that last night wasn’t a dream, he had an epiphany. The thought kept running through his head as he stared at the food in the fridge, the clean apartment, and the prepped coffee maker.

He was being courted.

He was being courted by the super hot and apparently undead crime lord who ran the haunt on the other side of the street.

Danny had never been courted before!

Sure, occasionally there was someone who tried to shoot their shot, but it always fell flat in the end. It was an unfortunate side effect of being undead. Every human relationship he had felt… lacking. Like it was missing something.

Val had come pretty close. All the fighting and shooting felt like a mimicry of ghostly courtship behavior. It's what had drawn Danny to her in the first place, but Val wasn’t fighting him in a display of power and capability. She had genuinely wanted to end him.

There was also the incident with Kitty, but she was overshadowing Paulina and mimicking human behaviors. There was never any ghostly courtship involved, and besides, she was only dating him to make Johnny jealous.

This is Danny’s first time being properly courted!

What is he going to do about it?

He decided that the question could wait until after finals.

The next few days pass by much the same as before: a tortuous cycle of studying, caffeine, minimal sleep, screaming, and exams. Red Hood continues to stop by and deliver food. Danny has got to figure out the dude’s actual name or a nickname or something. He refuses to keep calling his potential partner Red Hood. When you take away the scary crime lord persona it just sounds like a condom brand. He could always use a pet name, but it feels wrong given that Danny hasn’t shown much reciprocation outside of allowing Hood into his lair. Instead, Danny settles on greeting him with a trill and a series of chirps.

As soon as he finishes his last final he flops face down into bed. Tomorrow he’ll get to work on reciprocating Red Hood’s efforts. His kitchen is blessedly clean of any ecto contamination. Without the food fighting back, he should be able to whip up something presentable. How hard could following a recipe be?

___👻___

Danny was wrong.

Staring at the stove which was somehow on fire, Danny couldn’t help but finally understand why Jazz had never allowed him in the kitchen. He quickly rushes to turn off the heat. Danny doesn’t have a fire extinguisher. He’s a broke college student with just enough money to live on the outskirts of Crime Alley. Why would he ever be able to afford a fire extinguisher?

Danny slams a lid over the pot to smother the flames erupting from it and wacks the stovetop with a damp towel. As the fire dies down he glares at the somehow burnt gnocchi sitting ever so innocently in boiling water. He probably could have just iced it. The ice would melt into water and put out the fire, right?

He takes another look at the ruined food as the bubbles die down and decides he’s probably just cursed. Not all hope is lost though, Danny reasons as he dumps the ruined gnocchi down the garbage disposal. So Italian cuisine was not his forte. That’s okay! He’ll just try a different recipe!

___👻___

The recipe said quick and easy.

This was neither quick nor easy.

He dumped the carbonized remains of food into the trash with a sigh. It was French toast! How could someone go so wrong with French toast? The kitchen looked like something had exploded in it for ancients’ sake!

Danny thunked his head onto the counter, uncaring of the milk and eggs coating it. An entire loaf of bread gone and not a single edible piece of toast to show for it! He groaned. Maybe he just… wasn’t cut out for this whole courting thing.

Dejectedly, he lifted his head and began to wipe down the counter with paper towels. He really liked Hood.

He was funny! While he mostly left Danny alone during his study sessions, Danny had seen the viral videos. Hood knew how to crack a good death joke, and the compilations of him ragging on Batman were something to aspire to.

He cared for people! The sponsored soup kitchens and homeless programs were an open secret in Crime Alley, and the working girls were paid well. The street kids knew they were safe in the Alley because anyone who tried to touch them would end up with their head in a duffle bag. Red Hood protected them.

And ancients was he hot! Thick thighs for days and strong arms that could probably lift Danny like a couple of grapes. Danny wouldn’t mind being thrown around by a guy like that. He would happily let him pin him to a wall and box him in and then Danny could sink his fangs into his shoulder and then-

Okay! Stop! Too far! That’s awfully ambitious for someone who can’t even cook a proper courting gift. Think, Danny, Think!

Okay… okay. So he can’t cook. That’s fine because Danny can build. He’s been building things since he was practically a toddler. He can make something easy peasy!

What about a gun? Red Hood seemed to like guns. Danny’s core purred at the idea. If he had to guess, the vigilante had a protection obsession of some sort. A gun was something that could protect Red Hood but also be used to protect others in his haunt and directly feed into his obsession. Yes! The gun idea was good.

But then again, Hood had been working with Batman more and more frequently, and with that had been using guns less and less. How often could the gun be used? No, no. This courting gift should be usable in all scenarios.

What about a knife? Yes! A knife could work! As far as Danny knew, Batman didn't have anything against knives. Surely a knife paled in comparison to Robin's katana. A knife was sneaky and quiet, good for stealth missions unlike a gun, and easier to carry for everyday use.

Danny hummed, nodding to himself. He’d do the knife first and save the gun for later. He was going to need supplies.

Danny wiped the dripping egg away from his forehead before it could get into his eyes. But first, he was going to need a shower.

___👻___

So…

It could’ve gone worse.

Despite basically being raised reverse-engineering his parents’ inventions, Danny had never tried to make a knife. He could gut a microwave from the local back alley dumpster and Macgyver it into a functioning weapon, but building a makeshift forge on short notice and hammering steel down into a smooth curve was a whole different ballpark. Luckily the local trade school had a forge, and after some good old-fashioned bribery, they allowed Danny access. That was the first problem out of the way. Unfortunately, the second problem remained. It was fine. Danny was used to thinking on his feet.

After many YouTube videos and failed attempts Danny had a somewhat presentable blade. With a saw edge on the top and a sharp curve similar to a khukuri on the bottom, it certainly didn’t look like a beginner's design.

He probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to a more advanced shape. Danny hadn’t managed to fix the slight warp of the blade, and maybe the practice beforehand would have done him some good. Regardless, it was too late to fix it after the ecto wash, and he didn’t think the warp would affect the performance too negatively. Besides, with the ectoplasm infused into it the knife should cut through ghosts with no problem.

Danny had spent entirely too long trying to find the perfect shade of red leather for the handle, but in the end, he accurately matched it to Red Hood’s helmet. He had wanted to incorporate some protective runes into the leather, but he had no idea how to make a lasting pattern that wouldn’t affect the user’s comfort. Eventually, he decided it was an idea to be saved for another project.

With his courting gift complete, all that was left to do was break into Red Hood’s lair and give it to him…

That sounded wrong. Give the knife to him. It’s not an innuendo! Great. Now he’s thinking about those thick thighs again. Stop! Bad Danny!

He shook himself to dispel the train of thought. Danny had a different, more pressing problem to deal with: How could he present a knife to a vigilante without it coming across as a threat? He didn’t have a box for it, and the knife didn’t have a sheath yet. He could always make himself the box and store it in his chest, but watching someone pull random items out of their body was apparently gross and disturbing, or so he’d been told. What if he just-

Danny yanked open the kitchen junk drawer and began to root around. After a few seconds of sifting, he pulled out his prize and ever so gently stuck it to the knife. The green gift bow was squished on one end but remained comically large on the blade. He bounced up and down on his toes. It was so stupid that it just might work.

Feeling the cool rush of invisibility, Danny phased through the wall of his apartment to greet the early morning light beginning to peak over the buildings. Floating in the air for a minute, he absently fiddled with the bow on his courting gift. With the city starting to wake, Hood should be returning to his lair.

It didn’t take long for him to fly past the unseen territory lines and into Crime Alley. Danny had crossed through Hood’s haunt before. It had never felt aggressive like some in the Ghost Zone. Red Hood's haunt was more curious, probing with a warning to behave himself. The haunt felt different this time around. Now it felt welcoming rather than wary, warm. If Danny closed his eyes, he could almost imagine being held in a protective embrace. His core hummed in response, seeking out the other’s resonance.

Danny had never been to Hood’s lair. He hadn’t even been given directions, but he didn’t need them. He'd simply follow Hood’s ecto signature to where the haunt’s energy was most concentrated. Like the dead equivalent of a bloodhound.

Danny took his time meandering toward the heart of the haunt. He’d never been this far into Crime Alley before, and he didn’t want to get turned around. That was a lie. Danny was nervous and stalling. Doubts flew unbridled through his head.

What if the knife wasn’t good enough? What if the bow didn’t work? What if Red Hood thought he was threatening him? What if Danny blew his shot? Danny had already screwed up so many other things in his life, he didn’t want to screw this up too!

There was only so long he could stall. Jittery with nerves, Danny floated outside a decrepit apartment building. The entire structure was practically drenched in Red Hood’s ecto signature, but it radiated in waves from a unit on the top floor. Danny took a breath to steady his racing heart and struggled to quiet his core. It was now or never.

He cautiously phased halfway through the wall, chirping in greeting. The apartment was clean and orderly. The fireplace and full bookshelves gave it a homey feel that sharply contrasted with the worn and weathered bricks on the outer wall. The lack of weapons was a surprise. Even if he couldn't see them Danny figured they were still there, well hidden in the otherwise normal apartment.

A surprised sound draws his attention to the man on the couch. He’s built like a quarterback, lounging on one side as he struggles to stitch a laceration across his ribcage with a needle in one hand and a handheld mirror in the other. It's hard not to get distracted by the autopsy scar running cleanly across his collarbone and down to his pelvis. Danny wants to lick it.

Piercing blue eyes search the apartment, arm lowering the mirror. Danny is thankful that he's still invisible. With the heat flooding to his ears, he’s sure he’s as red as a tomato. Danny’s practically drooling at tousled black and white hair and the long scar reaching up from under his jaw to his hairline like a flower stretching for the sun. His crooked nose, clearly broken and healed many times over, only adds to his beauty. Red Hood is truly a modern-day Adonis.

Hood’s wounded side finally registers in Danny’s brain, rearranging his priorities and catapulting his obsession to the front. Immediately he lets his invisibility drop, absently shoving the knife into his chest for safekeeping. Hood makes a distressed sound as he does so which urges Danny forward. His hands hover worriedly over the man as he pushes as much help/comfort/safety/concern into his aura as possible.

He reaches to take the threaded needle from Red Hood’s hand only to be nudged away.

“It’s fine. I can do it myself.”

"Hood, let me help."

"Jason,” he licks his lips, “My name is Jason."

"Jason," Danny gently cups Jason’s face in his hands, "Please let me help, Jason."

Blue eyes gaze into his own. The ever-so-faint hints of green within them are captivating, swirling in a hypnotic dance that leaves Danny in a daze. Finally, Jason looks away and nods, breaking the trance between them and passing the needle over.

Danny allows himself to revert to the mindset of his vigilante days. He stitches the wound with a single-minded focus, practiced hands falling back into a familiar rhythm. Jason watches the entire time, staring intently at his face as he works. Danny struggles to keep his core quiet and pretends not to notice, taping a bandage over the cut. His fingers graze over Jason's body, checking it over for any other injuries. Jason allows it to happen with a distinct feeling of affection/amusement.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Nah. The kevlar usually prevents stuff like this. I was just unlucky.”

“Good.”

Danny runs his fingers through the white tuft in Jason’s hair, pushing the strands out of his face. His core kickstarts like an engine with a vengeance, humming and searching for Jason’s core song in anticipation. Danny squeaks, stumbling backward. He smothers the sound and quiets his core, but with the look on Jason’s face, he hadn’t been quick enough.

“Sorry!” Danny stutters out, flushing.

Jason’s expression shifts to confusion, “Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m being way too forward,” Danny drags his hands down his face in embarrassment, “We haven’t had a spar yet and fuck! I haven’t even given you your courting gift yet, but here I am! Invading your space and trying to harmonize! I’m so sorry.”

“Lucky for you I like forward,” Jason gently grasped his hands, lowering them away from his face. His palms felt warm against Danny’s skin, “Is that what you shoved into your chest earlier? A courting gift?” Jason punctuated the sentence with a gentle kiss to Danny's slow pulse.

Danny nodded, stunned. Tearing his gaze away from Jason’s lips, he reached into his chest and pulled out the knife. Jason chuckles, his eyes crinkling in mirth, “You put a bow on it?”

Danny grinned, his fangs on full display, “Well I had to make it presentable, didn’t I?”

He gets down on one knee, head bowed and knife held upwards in offering as if he were a knight presenting a sword to a king. Jason gingerly lifts it out of his hands, cradling it like a precious gem. Danny watches as his fingers trace the edge.

“It feels like you,” Jason looks to Danny for answers, eyes wide with wonder and a beautiful flush on his face.

“I wanted to make sure it was effective against ghosts, but it's hard to find enough clean ectoplasm around here. I sorta just… used my own?” Danny rubs the back of his neck with a wince, “Do you like it?”

He waits in anxious anticipation as Jason stands from the couch. Jason sets the blade gently down on the coffee table behind Danny before tugging him into his arms, “I love it, baby,” his words vibrate over a purr that Danny can feel in his bones, “Just don’t go hurting yourself for courting gifts anymore.”

Danny groaned, tucking his face under Jason’s chin. “You have no idea how much that narrows my options down.”

Jason laughs.

Danny pulls away to look up at him, lightly batting at Jason’s peck “I’m serious, Jason! I can’t cook for shit! You’re gonna need to wait a long ass time until I can get my hands on more ecto. I hope you’re ready to wait because it’s going to take me months to build that gun now!”

“You wanted to make me a gun?”

“Yeah? I was going to have one ready in the next few weeks but-”

Jason’s smile is dazzling as he leans down to press his lips to Danny’s. Danny forgets to breathe as he melts into the kiss. He’s tugged forward until they are chest-to-chest on the couch, cores close together. Danny’s not sure whose core starts to hum first, but the sound is unmistakable as they waver between pitches. Danny bites at Jason’s lips, making a pleased sound when they part for him.

It’s weird to be doing this before a spar. It’s backward, unconventional. Danny can’t find it in himself to care.

It’s a wondrous thing when their cores synchronize. Something finally clicks, like a lock snapping into place, and suddenly Danny can feel so much. The humming harmony of their cores permeates every single one of Danny’s nerves. The rush of giddy happiness is unlike anything he’s felt before. He can feel Jason, too. The rampant emotions fling between them until it's hard to tell whose is whose. In Jason’s arms with a core bond in place, Danny has never felt so secure in his life.

This. This is what he's been missing.

Danny breaks away from their kiss to nip at Jason’s jawline, paying special attention to the scar. Jason makes a pleased sound, tugging lightly at his hair.

“Your teeth are sharp as fuck.”

“Aren’t yours?”

Jason nuzzles under Danny’s shirt collar and into his shoulder. Danny shudders as he feels canines dig into his skin. They’re sharp, but not as sharp as his.

Danny giggles, pressing a kiss to Jason’s hair. “I want to see how skilled you actually are with those teeth. Once you’ve healed we can have a proper spar.”

“I’ll show you a proper spar,” Jason grumbles.

Suddenly Danny is pinned, lying on the couch with Jason’s weight on top of him. Jason kisses his cheek, tucking his head back into the crook of his neck with a contented sigh. It's like the world's best weighted blanket, Danny thinks as his eyes droop shut in relaxation.

They remain like that in silence, basking in the positive emotions and comfort of their new bond. It’s about ten minutes later that Danny finally breaks it.

“Why me?”

“Hmm?”

“Just… why court me? I know I pass through your haunt now and then but we’ve only actually seen each other like… once. What could I have possibly done to catch your attention?”

“You punched a mugger.”

“Yeah… so?”

“You knocked the fucker out in one blow before I could even lift a finger.”

“And?”

Jason lifted his head to give him a pointed look.

Danny stared back.

Oh…

Oh!

“Do you have a competency kink!?”

Jason flushed, ducking his head back down with a groan.

#Danny: You have a competence kink!#Jason: I do not have a competency kink.#Jason a few weeks later after watching Danny shoot a man with a Macgyver-ed microwave: Fuck... do I have a competency kink?#I'm not actually sure if this leans more toward a T rating or an M rating and I would appreciate input #Slap a Bow on It #deadonmayn24 #my writing #dpxdc #dead on main #dom24d1

959 notes · View notes

dangerphd · 30 days ago

Text

holy guacamole, y'all. this is gonna be a long post, because my life has been significantly altered.

me: makes him a hand-dyed, handspun, hand knit hat.

him: 🤯🤩 hmmm

brief time passage

him: hey babe, I made you this.

hands me a controller plugged into a tiny but not quite handheld custom gaming system with my favs (tetris and dr mario) already loaded.

me: 🤯🥳🤓🥰

me, loving the personal system but muttering to myself: man, levels seven and eight are just the fuckin worst colorschemes. thirty years of this eyeball torture. blergh. I wish it could just be the level one colorscheme forever.

him: hmmmm

one day later... gaming system has new tetris game loaded "danger tetris"...

ALL THE LEVELS HAVE BEEN ALTERED TO BE THE LEVEL ONE COLORSCHEME

him: if you want, we can make those be, like, whatever. 🌈

me: wut?!?!?!?

so we go into the office and he opens up the hex editor for the ROM and we fuck around for twenty minutes, inventing "gum drop tetris" and "blueberry ice cream tetris" and "sunrise tetris" until we perfect the colors for both contrast and value and the blocks don't buzz my eyeballs in any way

AND NOW I HAVE A CUSTOM COLOR PALLETTE TETRIS GAMING SYSTEM.

🤯

#tetris #gaming

236 notes · View notes

arminsumi · 1 year ago

Text

THE SPRING I MET YOU

GOJO さとる

He hates spring because of "allergies"; he blames his sniffly nose and red eyes on the season.

Warnings : angst (heartbreak)

Playme : First Love/Late Spring

SPRING 2006

You had met Gojo Satoru through a common friend — Geto Suguru.

Oh how many times had you heard him say, like a broken record;

"You really have to meet this guy, you're gonna click with him I just know it. You're like the same person."

You're like the same person.

Suguru'd nag you to meet Satoru ever since he entered Jujutsu High, because he thought he was... you know, just the kinda guy you'd fall in love with. And he hated to see you moping around, lonely and hopelessly seeking a lover that was certainly not "coming to you on a summer breeze" like your mother insisted.

So you met Satoru, by Suguru's demand.

And your first impression of him was: oh no; he's an idiot.

A loud-mouthed, obnoxious idiot. Inappropriate. Overconfident. Irresponsible.

And his first impression of you was: eh, she's too shy.

A put-together, attractive woman. Too proper. Too shy. Too responsible.

If you and him were words, then you were antonyms to each other.

But that didn't matter, it was just the peripheral view you had of each other; something still drew you into each other. Like the universe was drawing up a constellation especially for you and him.

What did you have in common? Nothing. What did you like about his personality? Nothing. But Satoru was always nobody but himself and you liked that. That's the thing about him that saved you from viewing him as an unworthy madman.

And you? He thought you were always trying too hard to be somebody else, someone you were not, someone you could never be — and he wanted to change that. To see what was beneath the diffidence, beneath the plastic sheet that you covered over the image of your self.

He wanted to provoke you more than anyone else, not for the purpose of eliciting a cheap reaction and feeling fleeting amusement, but because he wanted to get you out of your shell.

His heart was on his sleeve, and yours was wrapped up in winter layers even though it was a warm spring. Satoru peeled off the layers one by one, until finally he found his gold; your sweet, tender, loving heart. And once he found it he grabbed it in a way that showed he intended for no one else to steal it from him; his love, all his.

It was just beautiful from then on. You and him. Satoru and you. The two stars in the constellation that the universe specifically designed just for you and him. Only you and him.

How did the first date happen? It just happened. How did the first kiss happen? It just happened. How did the first slow dance happen? It just happened. How did the boyfriend girlfriend thing happen? It just happened.

Everything between you and him always just happened. Like Tetris blocks falling perfectly into place. Like puzzle pieces perfectly connecting. Like clockwork.

No friction, no tediousness, no miscommunication between your stars. You and him shared your minds, bodies and souls with each other.

Like you were the same person.

SPRING 2009

Satoru's face trembled and nose reddened as tiny tears rolled out of his eyes.

This was the first time he had cried in three years. And it was a first for having an emotional breakdown in public, in the middle of a busy train station.

"Satoru, I'm sorry." you said to him. "I have to start my life."

"But we've already started a life here, together!" he yelled with a broken voice, in the middle of that busy train station. People looked.

It was Spring of 2009; you were breaking up with a 20 yr old Gojo Satoru as sensibly and sensitively as you could, but he still acted like a child.

When you and him had gotten together in 2006, both of you were just simple-minded, carefree teenagers who had yet to be shaped by the hurt of life.

Oh him and his prismatic feelings, they spill out the edge at the right angle and show a display of everything you never thought he felt.

"Things have changed. I've changed, and so have you. We have to move on from each other." you said, and he shook his head and looked at you like he was falling to pieces.

"I haven't changed! I'm still your boy. C-can't we talk about this at the cafe—

"—Satoru, my train is here."

SPRING 2018

"—Sensei, the train is here!"

He was interrupted back then just like he's been interrupted now from his daydream of you.

"What's the matter?"

Gojo-sensei's blindfold soaks up his tears, but it can't muffle his sniffling or reddened cheeks and ears. His nose wrinkles up and wiggles to the side as he sniffles and runs the back of his hand under his nostrils.

"Allergies. This is why I hate spring." he chuckles.

"Aw, get allergy medicine."

"Yeah yeah, I will. You rascals catch your train before it runs off without you." Gojo

「じゃあ！」 Yuji raises a hand of goodbye to his teacher and boards the train with Megumi and Nobara.

He waves goodbye to his students, lifting his blindfold to catch a peek before the train carries them out of sight. His smile drops when they can no longer see him at all.

He stares for a long moment at the place where you once stood, and remembers two memories;

One late spring you were on your tip-toes kisssing him for the first time.

And one late spring you were waiting for your train, breaking his heart with goodbye.

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

#tw: angst #angst #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo angst #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x fem reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x fem reader #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

1K notes · View notes

psshaw · 4 months ago

Text

I think [friendships are becoming more transactional] for two reasons. The first is because few people have the skills to be supportive to each other. I don't mean the social skills but the literal skills. It used to be that some people could work on cars and get them going, and some people do simple house repairs like replacing panes of glass and patching plaster, and some people could do simple tailoring, like taking in a dress and shortening pants, and some people could do an at home perm, and some people could tell you which hobby store in town had the best supply of cotton yarn, and some people could tell you the process you needed to apply for community college and get in. Odds were you had the chance to be grateful because there were so many people who could do things for you that you couldn't reasonably to do for yourself. Most people belonged to a social group that had a range of useful skills and information. But now most people do not have a variety of life skills that they can share with other people. If you need cotton yarn, or application forms for the community college, you look it up on the internet. And if your toaster doesn't work, you throw it out because you don't have a friend who can replace the cord. You go to a hairdresser or a mechanic or pick a random contractor to call to fix the hole in the wall so you don't lose your damage deposit. This is not to say that people no skills they can share - you maybe have a go to person who will help you with your excel formulas, and one favourite friend who is the Tetris expert you call to help you when you need to load your car for a move. But there are far fewer ways we can do each other favours now. That means money may be the only thing we have to even the score.

Jane the Brown on Metafilter

252 notes · View notes

sirfrogsworth · 5 months ago

Text

Meeting my longtime artist and good friend, Chris, IN REAL LIFE!

So, I hadn't been to a restaurant in over a decade. I can't even remember which restaurant since it was so long ago. But in the past few weeks I've now been to TWO restaurants.

I am becoming a social butterfly.

And it is exhausting.

But also good.

First I reconnected with my high school best friend, John.

And that went great.

But then the opportunity to see my friend Chris (a.k.a @whosthewhatnow ) came up only a few days later. And this close proximity of social events scared me a bit, but I have been feeling much better since they figured out my heart thing, so I decided to try and do both things even though they were only a few days apart.

The key to this was strategic resting. As soon as I got home from seeing John, I got in bed and I didn't get out of it until it was time to see Chris. And that was just enough recovery time to pull this off. Typically a short outing requires 2-3 days of rest after.

I had never met Chris in real life. He has done nearly all of the artwork for my website and comics over the past decade. And he was a main character in my CRAPPRnauts series.

We know each other so well and it is crazy that we've never seen each other with our very own eyeballs.

He is such an amazing artist. He works fast and he adds so many cool extra details that you can stare at his comic panels multiple times and catch a new joke or easter egg each time. He is a dream to work with and my Corg Life series was only successful because he did such a wonderful job bringing Otis to life in comic form.

So we decided to meet up at a restaurant with his friend Michael and then I was going to take a nice portrait of him after dinner. Chris had never had a professional photo taken of himself and I decided to fix that.

I told him I had a mobile photography setup. Which, in reality, is a trunk full of lights and stands and other various camera gear that I definitely won't need, but bring anyway. It's "mobile" in that it all fits in my car if you are good at Tetris (which I am).

The restaurant was downtown and I had visions of St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch in the background of Chris's portrait. I thought that would be such a cool shot. I could see it in my head and I even dreamed about it.

So I got in my car and headed downtown and my GPS told me to exit at 249B. But I kept looking and I couldn't see the sign for 249B.

This is how much road I had left when I finally was able to see the exit for 249B.

So I ended up taking 249A and going straight to East St. Louis.

Which, if you believe the headlines, is not a place you ever want to be.

Google Maps and I have been having issues lately. They also tried to get me to take the spooky way home that night, but thankfully I actually knew the non-spooky way back from when I used to go to Cardinal games with my parents as a kid.

My short term memory was trashed by shock therapy. And so was a lot of my long term memory. But it finally came through in a pinch and remembered something useful.

I only had to loop around and cross a bridge so I didn't really do anything but touch the edge of East St. Louis. I was mostly concerned about being late for dinner more than its scary reputation. Usually those news stories about a place being "dangerous" are actually just racist and hurtful to people stuck in poverty. I mean, technically my house is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, and we do have trouble with petty crime in some spots, but aside from a few dinged-up mailboxes, I've never felt unsafe in my home.

On the way back to regular St. Louis I could see the Arch on the horizon at sunset and it was kind of magical. And I wasn't able to get a good shot of it, but it sure looked pretty from my point of view.

My photos kind of remind me of the beginning of movies like Training Day where they are trying to show you gritty, dutch angle shots of the city out of the car window to give you a sense of the location.

As I approached the restaurant I invented a new genre I call "stoplight photography." The sky was orange and the streets of St. Louis were just asking to be photographed. But I wasn't willing to die to get neat photos, so I just took them at every red light.

The big trick was trying to edit the dark area at the top of my windshield out of the photos to make it look like I didn't take these pictures from my car.

After a 15 minute detour through Illinois I arrived at my destination—a Mexican place called Rosalita's. It had a beautiful sign, so I took that literal sign as a metaphorical sign it was a nice place to get a quesadilla.

Dinner was great. Both signs were right and their quesadilla was very tasty. Chris and I both got one, so we are quesadilla twins. The waitress was one of those "I can remember your order without writing anything down" types. And I am one of those, "I get anxiety when things aren't written down" types. And, to her credit, she did not forget our orders. But she did forget to give us silverware and napkins. So I still feel like my anxiety was valid.

We told sad stories of the pups we lost. But we also had a lot of fun and laughed and I got to meet Michael who turned out to be an absolute mensch. I sometimes have trouble meeting new people with my social anxiety, but he was very affable and made me feel comfortable with his presence almost right away. He was a fan of Otis and mentioned he still has a Super Otis shirt. I always get choked up hearing that Otis is still loved. Hopefully we get to meet again.

Dinner ended and it was picture time.

I asked Chris if he wanted the high effort photo or the low effort photo. Either we figure out how to get to the Arch or we find a spot near the restaurant and just take his portrait there. Chris and Michael had a driver because they were coming from a big conference and getting to the Arch would have been complicated. So we decided to go with the low effort option.

I found a cool shop nearby that had an LED wall that changed to all sorts of different colors. And I thought that would make a neat background and give a colorful edge light on Chris's face. I pulled my car near that spot and started unloading my trunk full of photo gear.

I think Chris and Michael were a little overwhelmed when I started pulling camera gear out of my trunk like a clown pulling an endless handkerchief out of his mouth. But as far as photo setups go, it was actually pretty minimal.

Light, giant battery, light stand, umbrella, tripod, camera, rolling walker with seat.

My dad's old rollator came in clutch because I wanted to shoot from a low angle and it is hard for me to bend down. In fact, I think I'm going to look into getting an all terrain version so I can do more outdoor photoshoots.

I started shooting in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. And I was super anxious. I could not focus (my brain, not my camera). I was very distracted with all of the people walking by and staring. I was not sure if any of the photos were turning out. I wasn't even sure if they were in focus (my camera, not my brain) because I had not yet had my lens calibrated. But down the street there was a guy with an old school boombox playing random music. His music helped to drown out the ambient noise and gave me some comfort.

I had no clue if the photos were any good, but when I got home and checked them on my computer, I realized I have 12 years of experience and muscle memory built up. I probably should have just trusted myself because the photos all turned out great.

I think Chris can now officially say he has had a professional portrait taken of himself.

This photo has been officially loved by Chris's girlfriend and mother.

There is no greater seal of approval and I am honored.

I was able to comp in any of the colors the wall displayed from other shots in case Chris is feeling a little more green in the future.

A literal rainbow of options.

I also liked this one, though it is a little more "environmental portrait" than regular portrait.

And I got some nice photos of our little group to help us remember the night.

And I got a bunch of photos of Chris making silly faces like Calvin at his school photoshoot.

I love this woman's reaction to our little impromptu sidewalk photo shenanigans.

After we said our goodbyes and I gave my friend a hug, I was a little bummed I didn't get to photograph him at the Arch like I had dreamed.

But then I realized I had my own car and it was capable of taking me places. (I actually haven't gotten used to that after not driving for nearly 15 years.)

So I decided to drive a few blocks over to Kiener Plaza—a park with a view of the Arch.

TO BE CONTINUED...

#long post #whosthewhatnow #dinner with chris #photography

236 notes · View notes

lanadoeswriting · 2 months ago

Text

TRAVELING HCS

if its a 7 hour flight or a 45 minute drive

pairings: charlie slimecicle x reader

tw: fluff.

a/n: help i got this idea while being bored on a roadtrip, wifi is kinda bad so ignore the horrid spelling/text mistakes plz.

if you guys are in any form of transportation, you better believe that hes gonna have your head on his shoulder.

not because he thinks it cute- ofc he does, but also bc he just wants to rest his head on top of yours when its on his shoulder

literally just asks you to put your head there just for that, or else he will just put his head on your shoulder if he's tired enough

he wont let you lay a FINGER PRINT on your baggage, he knows that you can do it but he's still gonna do it for you

he becomes your personal photographer and makes sure he gets the absolute best angles and lighting in every photo of you

one of your friends took a photo of you two together on a train and he uses the side of the photo that has your face as his wallpaper and vise versa with you so when your phones are placed together, the photo comes together

cannot for the life of him figure out how to use packing cubes, so you obvi have to help him with it (he calls them tetris cubes)

if you guys are in the backseat of a car for a road trip, hes so gonna just crawl on top of you and become a full ass teddy bear and stay there on your chest

packs you anything you need but does it so naturally so if you mutter something about being nauseas, he just absentmindedly hands you meds or scented oils to help you without even thinking

tries to bring you along for any trip that he has with other friends and creators + you def came along for the japan trip

both of you have little to no sense or direction and are not to be trusted with paper maps

and he so looks like a lost puppy when he loses you in a crowd or any other place

⤷ he is THE golden retriever bf

tries to sync your movies on the plane so you guys can watch together

#charlie slimecicle #charlie slimesicle x reader #slimecicle #hcs #headcanon #writing #<3 #x reader

101 notes · View notes

power-handmaiden · 3 months ago

Text

Day 308: The Long Tetromino Piece Falls Into My Butt Just In Time

As a fan who knows about Dr. Tingle's struggle with the stress that comes from perfectionism, I see it so clearly in this tingler. Playing tetris and losing the game because you let the pieces all pile up while you were waiting for that long one to maximize points... it's a recognizable bit of self-sabotage for most people familiar with the game. Such a perfect metaphor for anyone who lets their problems in life pile up to an untenable place because they insist on perfection to the point that they can't just get things done at a reasonable pace.

The protagonist clearly already has a bit of this tendency at the start of the tingler when gaming is just a hobby for him, but it doesn't keep him from excelling at his favorite game. If anything, his insistence on high-scoring moves is something that makes him so good at it. It's the added pressure of trying to turn this hobby into something more, though, that turns it into a real problem for him. The pressure of an audience, and potential financial gain. In addition to battling with perfectionism, this tingler is also about the potential of a bad outcome from monetizing one's hobbies, and putting pressure on something that used to be an outlet for stress, not a cause of it.

This isn't one of the many tinglers that's overtly about art or creativity... but I have a feeling that there's something deeply personal about Dr. Tingle's experience as a creator that he's put into this story. It fits perfectly next to all the other blocks he has stacked every time he has described his experience of writing tinglers. That makes this one feel special to me. It's one I'm defintely going to re-visit after the year is over.

#chuck tingle #2024 tingles my butt

131 notes · View notes

cherry-smokes · 13 days ago

Text

My Strange Lady

Life has thrown many curveballs at Steve, so he shouldn't be so surprised when he begins to grow fond of a very peculiar librarian. Paring: Single dad!Steve Harrington x oddball!reader Word Count: 3.1K Note: this is a reader insert, I just don't really use y/n in my work so instead the reader goes by the nickname Birdie here.

─────────── · 𓅫 · ───────────

Steve always wanted to be a father. He had a plan, fall head over heels in love and have a big wedding. While his big house always gave him the creeps as a kid because of how empty it was, Steve wanted to fill his own with kids and a dog if they wanted one. The halls wouldn’t feel haunted, they would be full of memories. Crawling with proof of life there. Crayon marks on the walls, stains on the carpets, baby gates and everything. While he didn’t get the wedding, or the big house, he did get the crayons and the stains. He got Robbie.

His sweet baby. Who came out with the same head of hair as his daddy and an even bigger heart. Steve made sure to let him feel as deeply as he wanted to. He knows how long it can take a person to come out of that cold shell when they’ve been conditioned to think that feelings are a sign of weakness.

Steve wouldn’t trade their little life for the world. Of course he still spends endless hours at night fretting over whether or not he’s good enough to fill both roles in Robbie’s life. Dad guilt. You can’t escape it, but Robbie is healthy and happy and so very loved.

When Robbie started sleeping in his own room Steve struggled with it more than he did. He would wait for him to fall asleep and lay on the floor next to his small bed with a pillow and a blanket. He did this until his shoulder started perpetually aching and then he realized maybe it was time to stop.

Steve has tried to devote every waking moment of his life for the past five years to Robbie. He’s on his own here, so as much as he wanted to be a stay at home dad Steve took up a job at the hospital working the front desk. It paid well enough and gave them both good health insurance. So he braved through putting Robbie in daycare and tried his best not to spend his day worrying about how he was doing. If kids were being nice to him, if he was being nice to others. If he was eating his lunch and if the adults at the daycare center were being sweet to him. It’s a little easier now that he’s in kindergarten. Steve’s more used to the dynamic of Robbie being away for a few hours a day. Steve's met his teacher, a nice older lady with glasses that make her eyes look buggy and a kind soul. Robbie adores her, he makes her drawings with messy handwriting misspelling his appreciation for her. He’s good like that. He loves sharing, sharing his feelings and his snacks. He gives out compliments like they’re nothing but the best part about it is that he really means them.

He’s such a kind kid. That’s probably why he almost cried when he told Steve he forgot to return some books he got at the library and now they’re overdue. It’s four thirty in the afternoon and the library closes at five. While Steve tried convincing him that it would be okay if they returned them tomorrow morning before school, Robbie wouldn’t budge.

The poor guy just felt so guilty.

So now Steve’s rushing into the library hand in hand with Robbie ten minutes before they close, praying to whoever will listen that the cranky librarian Debby isn’t cruel enough to turn them away. He prays even harder that she won’t scold Robbie for an overdue return. Instead of Debby he spots a much younger woman standing at the desk stacking books neatly into a big leather bag. It’s bulky and she pulls things out and puts them back in as if she’s playing Tetris with her books, glasses cases, hand sanitizers, and various other miscellaneous objects. She has a deadpanned look. She kind of reminds him of a younger, much prettier version of Debby.

Her hair is in a messy updo. She’s in all black, in an off the shoulder sweater with some frilly lacy shorts and tights. He catches a glimpse of her shoes from under the desk, bright red ballet flats. The amount of rings she wears make clinking sounds against each other as she sorts out her bag.

“Excuse me?”

Her head snaps up. He gets a good look at her finally, and she really is much prettier than Debby.

“Returning books?”

Steve snaps out of his daze and nods his head.

“Yeah, sorry we’re so late I know you guys are about to close but my boy just really wanted to return his books.”

The woman shrugs as she moves to sit down by the boxy dated computer on the desk. “We don’t close until five. It’s four fifty two, you’re allowed to come in until five. I’m getting paid regardless of if people come in or not.”

He expects her to smile, or give him any inclination that she’s trying to make them feel better about the situation. Instead she just has the same somewhat bored look on her face and he realizes she’s just saying it because it’s true.

He hopes his confusion isn’t visible on his face as he hands over the books along with Robbie’s library card. She grabs them and begins logging them into the system. She looks at the card and then to Robbie.

“Are you Robert?”

The boy nods.

“These books were due yesterday.”

The boy tucks into his father’s side in shame.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve’s about to tell her off. Scold her for making a kid feel bad about something that was an honest mistake but she speaks up before he can.

“Thank you. Deadlines are probably only implemented on kids your age to try to build up a routine of responsibility and time management. It’s probably a good sign you found it so important to turn them in before the end of the day today. Most kids wait at least a week before they bother coming in here.”

Robbie looks just as confused as Steve. The woman looks between the two of them. Something lights up in her eyes as she notices that their eyebrows scrunch the same way. She’s not made of stone. It’s sweet, and she decides to just explain what she meant.

“This was very responsible of you Robert.”

He eases up, and suddenly he isn’t hiding into his father’s side out of shame but instead out of shyness.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She finishes logging the books in and stacks the books on the return cart next to her. She spends a second organizing them from thickest to thinnest, which isn’t a huge difference since they’re children’s books but it’s curious to Steve that she takes the time to do it. When she turns around she holds out the library card to Robbie.

“Robert.”

He reaches out to grab it before speaking up. “My name is Robbie.”

“It says Robert on the card.”

“It’s a nickname.”

“Would you like me to change it in the system?”

Robbie shrugs, then you shrug and as Steve’s about to thank you to walk away but Robbie speaks up once more.

“You’re nicer than Miss Debby.”

You think about this for a moment.

“Deborah’s old. People get mean when they’re old.”

“Why aren’t you mean?”

Steve thinks you might turn mean at his son’s insinuation that you’re old. But for what seems to be the tenth time in the span of the last few minutes, you surprise him again.

“I’m not as old as Deborah. Maybe I’ll get mean when I’m her age. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Robby finally seems at peace with this answer and says his thank you’s once more. Your rings clink again as you wave to him. Steve says goodbye and thank you quickly as Robby starts rushing out with a tight grip on his hand.

“We have to go fast, she's closing!”

He looks behind him and he swears for a second, he almost sees your lips quirk up. Maybe it was the light or his lack of sleep catching up to him that made it seem that way. As they walk to the car Steve can’t help but realize he never got your name.

─────────── · 𓅫 · ───────────

Steve loved when weekends came around. He always asked for time off, wanting to spend them with Robbie. On days where he has to go into work he’ll usually have Robbie stay with whoever’s available. Usually Robin or Hopper. To Steve’s surprise Hopper fights for his Robbie time like he’s fighting for his life. He loves that kid almost as much as Steve does. Almost.

Luckily, this was a free weekend for Steve. He savored getting to sleep in a little. He always wakes up feeling like he could use a few more minutes of sleep. He’s restless, wakes up multiple times in a night and tosses and turns too much, for multiple reasons. One of them is that his bed just feels too big. He’s been thinking about getting a smaller one but they’re expensive, he’d rather save the money for when Robbie grows and needs a bigger bed himself. His extra few minutes of sleep are interrupted by a sudden weight next to him.

He feels him before he sees him. Small digits poking at his face and whispering. “Daaaad. Wake up. Rise and…and uh…”

“And shine?”

Steve’s voice is rough with sleep. He peeks an eye open to look at his son. His hair is wild, sticking up in different directions and his pajamas are askew, one pant leg higher than the other. Steve’s heart swells as he opens his arm to bring Robbie in for a morning cuddle.

“Mornin’ buddy”

Robbie tries to mimic his fathers gruff voice, but it comes out a little warbled when he replies. “Morning buddy.”

Steve can’t help but chuckle. He ruffles up his son’s hair before asking what he wants for breakfast. Robbie hums, and makes a big show out of thinking about it as if Steve doesn’t already know the answer.

Weekdays mean quick breakfasts. Eggs, toast and jam, pre-cut fruits, things that can get them both fed and out the door. Weekends mean pancakes. Steve makes them extra special for his kid. Uses fruits to make little faces in an attempt to convince him that eating healthy can be fun. It works like a charm, Steve feels pretty smart for that.

Robbie eats like his dad. He just about inhales his food and Steve, like a hypocrite, has to ask him to slow down through a mouthful of pancakes himself. Robbie, being the angel he is, starts chewing slowly. Probably too slow, but Steve has learned to pick his battles. Robbie waits until he’s done chewing to speak up.

“Can we go to the book house today?”

Steve loves the terms his son uses for things. He gets the point across so Steve’s never really felt the need to correct him. Not yet at least, he just wants him to be a kid a little longer. Before he starts wanting to spend more time with his friends than his old man. So naturally Steve agrees to take him to the book house.

They walk in and browse the shelves for a bit, Robbie picks up some children’s books and then Steve walks him over to the ‘grown up’ shelves so he can find something somewhat interesting to read. He’s never been a big fan of reading for fun, but lately he finds it’s better to read in bed than stare at the ceiling thinking about every past, present, or future thing in his life.

He looked away for a second. Just one second. He was reading the inside cover of Frankenstein, when he turned to make a joke to Robbie about how it would be too scary for himself, he was gone. Everyone talks about how your stomach drops when you lose sight of your kid. Steve’s didn’t just drop, he felt like he was about to throw up all of those smiley pancakes he ate this morning.

He rushes out of the isle they were in and turns the corner. Just before he was about to start screaming like a madman he spots two familiar heads of hair over by the check-out desk. Steve can’t even find it within himself to be mad at him for roaming off, he’s just happy he didn’t get lost. Or worse.

He starts walking towards the pair, seemingly in a very intense conversation with each other. He wants to interrupt and beg Robbie to never scare him like that. Maybe give him a quick lesson about the importance of not running off, but he’s derailed when he gets close enough to hear the conversation.

“-it’s my auntie Robin’s name, but-but with different letters at the end because I’m a boy and she’s a girl.”

“Robin can be a gender neutral name. It’s a type of bird, not all Robin’s are girls.”

“What kind of bird is that?”

“It’s a Robin. They have a red-well kind of red, kind of orange. Like a brick colored chest. They sound like this-“ she then proceeds to whistle in a way that really did sound like a Robin. “You’ve probably seen them around, or heard them. They’re pretty common.”

Robbie’s jaw drops. “You can speak bird?!”

Steve finally walks up, drawing your attention away from his carbon copy of a son and to the original model instead. He tries to find something casual to say. Or clever. Anything really, but your hair is styled differently than it had been the other day and you’re wearing a pretty blue cardigan. He gets distracted and you beat him to the punch.

“Hi Steve.”

He waves and before he realizes he never told you his name.

“Uh- hi. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself properly the other day but at least Robbie did it for me.”

“He didn’t. I looked you up in the system. There’s only two Harrington’s on there so I assumed the second one was you.”

Steve feels something warm crawl up his neck. Something he probably hasn’t felt in the last five years. “You looked me up?”

“I got curious.”

You’re so…honest. Like you could really care less about niceties and ‘polite’ manners like introducing yourself to people. Not in a rude way, just in a sort of…odd way. To him at least. Maybe some people wouldn’t find it all that strange. People who didn’t have parents like his, maybe that’s why Robbie didn’t seem to mind.

“Dad-dad the lady speaks bird!”

“Bud you should call her by her name-“ “I don’t speak with birds, I just mimic them.”

You speak over each other, except you finish your sentence and Steve cuts himself off. He reaches a hand out to shake yours. “Sorry, we didn’t catch your name?”

Your hand reaches out to him, and he feels a spark shoot up his arm. An actual spark, static probably. You both flinch away and you give the softest laugh while gesturing to your sleeve. “Sorry. Wool.”

He laughs, a breathless thing and he and Robbie stand patiently waiting for an answer to his, kind of, question.

You stare back at them for a moment before coming to your senses. “Oh right!” You give them your name and it dances around Steve’s head for a moment. His son saves him any embarrassment of looking like a total doofus.

“Is it a nickname like Robbie?”

You shake your head no. “Nope. Just my full government name. People usually acquire nicknames from loved ones or in honor of something meaningful they did.”

“Meanful?”

“It means something special buddy.”

His son makes an ‘ooooooh’ sound before dramatically gasping and throwing his arms on your desk. Steve watches you freeze suddenly, like you were finally caught off guard. For some reason you can’t figure out what to do other than place your arms on the table as well, parallel to his own. “You just did something me-meanf-ugh! Special! We can call you uh…uhhh-“

Steve decides to take the reins on this one.

“Birdie?”

“YES!”

Robbie dramatically throws himself at Steve and starts shaking him. He realizes now maybe chocolate syrup wasn’t a smart choice on the pancakes. “You’re so smarty pants!”

Steve pats his son on the head endearingly as he thanks him for his compliment.

“Do you know a lot about birds?”

You look at him when you realize he’s talking to you and nod.

“They’re really fascinating creatures. For being so small they’re actually quite smart. Some Bowerbird’s actually build nests that are reminiscent of auditoriums to make their calls reverberate off the walls. They also decorate their nests in very meticulous ways to attract partners. It really begs the question of whether birds are able to have aesthetic opinions.”

"Huh, strange."

"Yeah. I have a bird watching club here but it's usually just me. Sometimes Deborah joins, but I think it's just to avoid telling people where to find the self-help section. They usually end up telling her their life story. I think people assume librarians are close enough to therapists but Deborah is the last person I would go to."

Steve can't help but let out a real laugh. It comes from deep in his chest and escapes him before he can stop it. You smile, or at least you begin to before you stop it promptly.

"Can we be in your club?"

Robbie's never shown any interest in birds. Steve is thankful he suddenly is, because a full smile actually breaks through from you. Steve isn't sure if it's the air conditioning in the library, like the static from your cardigan, or if it's just you. Regardless, your smile is followed by shivers up Steve's spine.

"Sure, it's a public library. So it's technically also a public club, anyone can join. It might be boring but the garden is nice." You lean down towards your bag and pull out a crumpled flyer. It's not colorful. Plain white paper with plain black lettering that states "Bird Watch Club, Sunday mornings" along with the library's address and what looks like a hand drawn sketch of a bird. He couldn't say which one but it was pretty. He thinks the flyer looks a little off-putting. Kind of like it's a trap to lure someone in. When he sees a much softer, kind of happy look on your face, the flyer doesn't seem so scary. You're like the Mona Lisa, not frowning but not quite smiling.

"We'll see you tomorrow morning then."

─────────── · 𓅫 · ───────────

a/n: this ended up wayyyyyy longer than I planned. I'll probably have more parts to come. I've gotten attached to Robbie.

#single dad!steve #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #dad!steve harrington #steve harrington fluff

88 notes · View notes