#i LOVE numbers. sudoku is a logic puzzle not a number puzzle. i like numbers!!!!

[ryutarotakedown]

okay i'm curious if this is just a me thing, so:

sorry for there not being a "none of these" option, new york times has exactly 10 games apparently. if you don't play any you should try some! only the full crossword (and spelling bee once you reach a certain level) are paywalled iirc, and some of them are really fun

[macfrog]

the sweetest con cowboy like me chapter fifteen

well. this is it. we made it, kids. thank you so, so much for reading for all this time. for all your patience, and kindness, and loyalty. i will carry this pair, their story, and all of your love for them with me forever. love you guys. xx

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: every cowboy deserves his ride off into the sunset.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lotsa guilt from reader, dreamy love sequence & mention of unprotected piv/creampie, more greys anatomy spoilers, reader's dad is either Bald or has a Receding Hairline (you choose), more sex - this time reader and joel sixty-nine, face sitting, oral (f and m receiving), more (inferred) unprotected piv, making dirty, hot love ALLAT, cursing, a little smut n a lotta fluff n a droplet of angst at the end

word count: 10.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

“How the fuck did this take you three minutes? Three?”

“I’m telling you. I’m a genius.”

You snort. “Shut up. You only passed Math ‘cause you were fooling around with that nerd – Thomas? Was it Thomas?”

“Timothy. And you don’t need math to do a sudoku puzzle, loser. You just need brains. Logic.” Anna taps two fingers against her temple, tilting her head.

“Logic,” you murmur, shaking your head.

Sal’s is quiet today. He’s out of town for his father-in-law’s funeral and made the genius decision to leave the two of you in charge. Since opening at nine, you’ve had four customers. The to-do list left for you was completed by ten, and since then, you’ve been hunched over your phone at the cash register, messing around on some puzzle app Anna made you download.

It's a Wednesday. Nothing exciting ever happens on Wednesdays.

Anna’s behind you, tearing apart and flattening the cardboard boxes you spent all morning emptying. “That level,” she clicks her chewing gum wetly between her teeth, scent of mint over your shoulder, “that ain’t even the hardest one. Ooh, no, babe. Three goes –”

“Shh!” You bat her arm away, curving your hand over your phone screen. She snorts and wanders off through the back, wad of cardboard under her arm.

Anna wasn’t your closest friend in high school, and you sure didn’t stay much in touch past the odd Facebook post update when you left. But working with her, and her dad being your dad’s buddy – she’s sort of become one of those people you just can’t shake.

Like a stray puppy. Or…an annoying hangnail.

She’s nice enough – talks a lot of crap sometimes, but she cares for you. You’d go as far as saying you two have grown pretty close since you came home. Still, the acidic sting of resentment sits on your tongue, anytime you think of her involvement in the unravelling of your little lie. Think of your dad calling hers, Hank asking her where you were.

Think of the fact that, if she hadn’t been honest with him – I don’t know where she is, Dad – nothing would’ve gone wrong.

That’s not fair. If you’d never touched Joel in the first place, nothing would’ve gone wrong.

It’s just – she had a hand in pushing the first domino.

The bell above the door jingles and you lift your eyes from tiny numbers and blank squares to meet a familiar pair of hazel. An Alanis Morissette T-shirt under a denim jacket. She tucks her thick, soft hair behind her ears and smiles, then skips around the counter and links her hands at your tummy; her ear flat against the nape of your neck.

“Why so clingy?” you ask, and Sarah straightens up.

“Just excited to spend some time with my favorite person. That allowed?”

Your eyes scan her up and down as she leans against the counter, stealing a gummy from a jar beside the register. “Been staying with you for nearly three weeks now, you ain’t sick of me yet?”

She shakes her head, jaw chewing, cheeks swollen with a grin. “Are you done yet? I wanna make sure we get good seats.”

“We will,” you assure her. “It’s only, like, three p.m.”

“But it’s Barbie,” she says, “and I wanna get some snacks before we head in.” She holds the decapitated gummy worm up, eyebrows high, before pulling it between her teeth until it snaps. She drags the withered red tail over her tongue.

“That thing you just mauled,” you gesture to the masticated shape in her fingers, “candy. Snacks. Just take some of that.”

“You won’t even buy your date movie theater candy? Damn. Mom’s a cheapskate. Wish I could say my dad’s a lucky guy.”

You shove her off, disguising your laugh with a shake of your head. “You are on thin ice, I’m not even kidding.”

Sarah’s laughing, reaching for another worm. “You know what that sounds like?”

“Hm?”

“What you just said.”

“What’s it sound like, Sarah Miller?”

“Something a mom would say.”

“Alright,” you stand, “get out. Get outta my store.”

The door opens when you point to it, Texan heat sweeping in to swarm the one rickety fan you have in here. The brass bell trembles, and beneath it, a man in a tucked shirt and jeans, glum face and tired eyes.

You blink at him and he blinks back, and no words are spoken between you, but your dad understands to move, to keep walking – and you understand to let him.

“Shoot,” Sarah whispers, twisting her gummy around her finger. “That was awkward.”

Three weeks of staying with them – Sarah and Joel – also means three weeks of zero contact with your dad. The most you’ve heard from – or, rather, about him is that, last week, Joel bumped into Hank at the gas station, and the old man mentioned that he and your dad had grabbed a beer the night before.

What’d he say? you asked Joel, dragging a dish towel around the rim of a glass.

He shrugged, flicking his hands dry over the sink. Said the Rangers aren’t doin’ too good. I said, Yeah, that’s cause a’ –

No, Joel. What did he say about me ‘n my dad?

He waited a second to let the offense of your interruption soak in. Took the towel from your hand, replaced the glass on the draining board. Nothing, he said, I don’t think he knows.

It sat with you the entire night. The three of you watched a movie, occupying either side of Joel’s couch, though you’re sure you don’t remember a word of it. The image of him sat center-stage in your mind until you pulled yourself against Joel’s body in bed that night. Sat in his recliner, flicking through TV channels, the only sounds in the house that of Ice Road Truckers, the ticking of the kitchen clock, and his own fucking breathing.

Alone. Not even Hank to talk to about – well.

You’ve done your best not to think about him. And it works, most days, when you’re with Joel. Helps to go do stuff: ride shotgun while he picks up supplies for work or grabs groceries. Helps to play pretend like his house is yours, too. Tidying when he’s not home, lighting candles and sinking into a bubble bath for him to find you in when he finishes. Helps to be at Sal’s, with Anna. Sudoku and her fucking Tinder account to keep you both occupied.

Most days, you forget to consider the lonely shape of your dad at all – but that seems to hurt all the more. Like forgetting to tend to an open wound; instead, letting the infection blister and bubble so that, when you do bump it again, the pain feels sharper. Hissing at you, poison seeping from flesh.

His showing up, waltzing straight into the store – feels less like a bump, and more like a pair of hands diving straight into the gash, tearing it wide open again. Blood and poison gushing all over the checkered floor.

Anna materializes between two aisles, hands on her hips when she stands behind you. “Y’all still not really talkin’?” she asks.

You and Sarah shake your heads. The three of you watch the shape of your dad’s skull over the shelves, bobbing from bay to bay. Door hinges to fence paint. He painted the fence last summer. He doesn’t need fucking fence paint.

“Nope,” you reply. “’s been, what, two and a half weeks now?”

“Yeah,” Anna mutters, the slope of sympathy in her voice. “My dad’s been talkin’ to him about it. They’ve spoken, like, almost every night on the phone.”

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, head falling into your hands. “Are you serious?”

“Not about you and Joel. Just about the fight.”

Your jaw slowly slackens, eyes thinning as your gaze slides over to your friend, a saddened expression on her face.

Sarah nods, like an accessory sat on the dash of a car. Bobbing bobbing bobbing, until her brows drop and she turns to you, finally realizing. “Wait, what?”

Anna blinks between the two of you. “What?” she asks, lips pressing together.

“You know?” Sarah asks, glaring at her.

Anna snorts. Neither of you break. She quickly quietens and clears her throat, bending to stuff more cardboard under her arm. “Well…” She sucks in a deep breath. “At rodeo night, when you left your phone on the table, me ‘n Kara wanted to leave a bunch of selfies for you to find later. But when I went to grab your phone, you had a text from him. Joel. Something about someone winning you over like he did, or something. I can’t remember. But that was the first thing.”

Sarah’s face sours at the mention of her dad’s flirty text, scoffing as she swipes another gummy from the jar. “Real fuckin’ subtle, Dad,” she murmurs.

You sharpen your gaze at Anna, blurring the brown curls and low brows from your peripheral. “Uhuh…?”

“Then, there was the lying to your dad about where you were. That Monday – you said you were at mine. You weren’t. Your dad called my dad to ask, ‘n my dad asked me why the hell you’d lie. I figured, What a weird coincidence, right?”

You slip off your stool, legs feeling more liquid than bone. “Oh, Jesus…”

“But then…then, I saw how you were when he called on the way to Frank’s. In the car. You were…fucking weird. And then Joel punched that dude – that basically confirmed it. I don’t think either of your dads would do that for me. It felt…it felt personal. He took your hand ‘n dragged you outta there, and it felt like…somethin’ else.”

You’re leaning against the counter, head in your hands. Struggling to even listen to her piece it all together. Were you this fucking obvious, the whole time?

Anna answers for you. “Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I didn’t catch two fucking boyfriends cheating on me, and not pick up some detective skills, babe.”

You stand straight, composure slowly building over shame. “And your dad doesn’t know? My –” you flick your head across the store, lowering your voice, “– my dad hasn’t told him?”

A laugh spurts from somewhere deep in her chest. “Hell, no. Are you tryna give him a second heart attack? No. He just thinks you were somewhere you didn’t want your dad to know – a boy’s or something. Which – well, I guess you were.”

You nod, half-appreciation, half-resignation. Alright. Now shut up about it, would you?

“But listen,” Anna says, apparently not as good at mindreading as she is at secret-revealing, “y’all gotta work on being sneaky. You’re, like, really bad at it.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, “thanks, Anna.”

You grip the edge of the counter and try to draw your eye away from your dad; a little angry that he’s here, and yet, a little more thankful that you’ve had at least a tiny glimpse of him. Desperate for him to come over, to acknowledge your mutual existence in the same room, and yet – petrified that he does.

He keeps his back to you, though you notice him turning every so often, looking at you from his peripheral. Nope – your black shirt and blue jeans are still behind the counter. He turns back to the shelf.

“Hi, sweetie.” A woman in a pink blouse approaches the counter. She lays down a couple pairs of plyers and you ring her up, asking if she found everything okay. Choking a little when you inhale the scent of her perfume.

“Beautiful day for you to be in here workin’, huh?” Her rosy cheeks fill as she hands you the cash.

Oh, yeah. It’s a beautiful day to be stuck selling plyers to pink women in pink blouses smelling of pink perfume, while my dad – still reeling from the revelation that I’ve been sleeping with his best friend, by the way – pretends to peruse the store.

“I’m almost done,” you reply, blunt enough to deflate her expression only a little, sliding the paper bag stamped Sal’s back across the counter.

She nods in thanks and slinks off, suffocating aroma following her. And like a magician, when she disappears off to the side, your dad stands in her wake. A few feet from you, keeping his distance, watching carefully before he dares to move. Waiting for your go-ahead.

When you lift your chin, beckoning him forward, Anna takes Sarah’s arm and yanks her away, shoving some shredded boxes into her arms. “You wanna help me?” she asks the nosy Miller, tossing something of an alarmed glance back at you and your dad.

There’s a funny feeling behind your eyes when he steps up, empty hand resting hesitantly on the counter. “She coverin’ up the smell of a dead body or som’?” he asks.

The air pushes from your lungs, a laugh barreling with it. Your hands clasp on the surface opposite his. A scorch of white heat at the nape of your neck. “Very vibrant, huh?”

“Very.” He clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and takes a deep breath. “I figured this might be as good a place as any to find you. I didn’t want you to think I was…cornering you, or anything, if I showed up at Joel’s.”

“I wouldn’t – I mean, maybe. But, y’know…this is fine.” Your arms cross defensively, the baggy material of Joel’s shirt wrapping snug around you.

Your dad seems to know. Evidence being that it’s you, in a shirt all too big – a shirt he’d likely see his best friend in, too. It forces your arms tighter, sucking in the scent of Joel to combat the dizzying feeling of nerves.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he says eventually, fingers drumming awkwardly. “I just wanted to know you were fine.”

“I am fine. I promise. Just – working a lot.”

He nods, looking down to his feet. Twists the toe of his boot into the linoleum.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, too,” you offer, the words fluid and spilling from one to the next – something forceful in their nature.

Your dad’s eyes lift at the same time that his cheeks do. Relief. “Thanks, kiddo. I actually – I was hopin’ that maybe we could talk. If you’re free. I don’t know what time you get off today.”

“I finish in ten minutes,” you say, and hope seems to paint across his face – washing away instantly when you add, “but I’m going to the movies with Sarah.”

He’s nodding again, eyes fixed back on his boots. “Right, right.”

“…But maybe once we’re done I can swing by?”

“Oh, well – I’m workin’ late again. I’ll be out by the time…Yeah. Sorry, hon.”

“That’s okay.”

“Late one again tonight.”

“This, uh – what’s his name again? Kel–?”

“Kelman, yeah. Yeah. How ‘bout I call you tomorrow ‘n we can work somethin’ out? You and Sarah, you enjoy your night.”

You lean back from the counter, slowly more confident in your ability to hold yourself upright. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

His lips press together in a flat attempt at a smile. “I’ll leave you to it. You mind if I…give you a hug?”

And then you’re the one awkwardly, forcedly smiling. Your teeth gritting behind taut lips. “Not at all,” you whisper, and wander carefully around the counter to where he stands.

He opens his arms and pulls you against his chest, your head tilting to rest your ear on his shoulder. You hook your arms under his, feeling his wrists crossing at your spine. Like two statues, two figures of stone fixing their crumbling bodies in an embrace, suddenly disjointed and ill-fitting. Your heart hurts beneath layers of rock, swelling in attempt to reach for his, shrinking back crestfallen when he feels too far.

He kisses the side of your head, pulls away, and taps your cheek once. “You know,” he says, letting you withdraw from his grasp, “I really miss you.”

You nod. “Miss you, too.”

“Let’s talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah.”

And then he’s leaving, drifting back out into the summer sun, rock disintegrating as the light catches him again. More human, less monster-under-your-bed. He’s just your dad again, just that swaying, bumbling man who used to sprinkle rainbow flakes over your ice cream and double-knot your laces.

The shadows of Sarah and Anna appear at your elbows, the three of you watching your dad sink into his car. You still feel made of rock, splitting somewhere down the middle as you stare at his figure.

“Well?” Sarah asks.

He turns right out of the parking lot, disappears behind a hedgerow.

“Yeah,” you reply, turning in a daze. “We’re gonna…gonna talk.”

“That’s good, right? That sounds…promising.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, drawing your attention to her kind eyes and infectious smile. “We should probably get goin’,” she says, and you agree.

“What movie are you seeing?” Anna asks, filling your spot behind the counter as you turn, making for the back of the store.

“Barbie,” Sarah tells her.

“Nice. She paying?”

“Obviously. Mom duties.”

You kick the door closed on their giggles.

Two days pass without a word from your dad. No text, no call, no visit to Sal’s when you’re on shift the following day. By Monday, you’ve convinced yourself that the entire thing was a dream, a hallucination conjured up by your imagination in attempt to rid you of some of the guilt still chewing at your heart. Bat it out of your brain, like swatting the rear end of a wild animal let loose indoors.

Guilt which is only remedied, only soothed by Joel. By the feeling which overcomes your chest when you look at him – lungs faltering, heart leaping. The peace of falling asleep in his safe embrace, the heat from his body enough to keep you comfortable all night, and then waking up tangled in his sheets – the smell of bacon and eggs twirling through the house, the distant sound of his humming drawing you downstairs to his side.

Late nights on the porch, watching the sun bleed heavily into the sky. Your ankles in his lap, a guitar over his thigh. Thumb gentle on the strings, soft timbre of song lulling you to some place far from reality: the same rosy, dreamlike state you’ve mostly occupied since he dragged you through his front door, kicked your shoes and all of your worries to the side, and made you forget that anything bad had ever happened.

The most comfortable you’ve ever felt in your life, the most loved – a world where your every word is heard and weighed, rolling around Joel’s palms and slotting carefully into his back pocket. A world where his lips on your neck as you make dinner, where the crook of his arm catching you as you pass by, is all normal. Where I love you and I love you, too become the last words your sleepy ears hear at night, right before you sink into a shared sleep.

All of it becoming as natural as the pale moon switching for her golden sister at dawn. As instinctive as breathing.

“Have you ever made love to anyone?” you ask him one night, the aftershock of an orgasm still soaking into your skin.

Joel pauses, hips slowing between yours. “Yeah,” after a couple beats, “sure.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask, honestly. Combing his dark hair through your fingers. “I’ve never…No one’s ever…”

“Baby,” he says. “We’ve done it. I’ve done it to you.”

Your body tenses and then melts around him. One blink and suddenly the world softens, seems to bow into the background – the only sharp object Joel, the twinkle in his eye piercing through the haze like blinking white stars in thick, dark clouds.

You whisper, “Can you do it again? So I can feel what it’s like?”

He pushes himself up, one elbow planted by your ear, the other hand lifting your thigh. Hooking it over his waist, lowering his arm again to cage you under his body. He nudges your chin with his nose, lifting it to line your lips with his, hold every part of your body as close to his as he can.

Deeper, in every sense of the word. Slow, hard. Eyes on you the entire time, watching the way your face contorts and your jaw slackens, holding the shape of your head in his hands, swallowing his own moans and grunts to make space between you for yours.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” he says, and by instinct, your eyes roll forward, focusing or half-focusing on the slick hair at his forehead, the red flush climbing his neck, seeping into the skin under his beard. “You feel it? Feel where I’m goin’?”

And yeah, you whine, you do feel it. Feel him dragging you further away from this world and into the next – somewhere a plain away, somewhere new and different to anything you’ve ever known before. Where physicality is a language, a fluid conversation between the melding of his body and yours; where there are a million words swirling around his pupils, hypnotizing and entrancing and drawing you in until you’re tumbling headfirst into the inky pools.

Where I love you sounds like the groan Joel can’t hold back, feels like the pulsing flood as he snaps between your legs. Where making love is as simple as the squeeze of his hand around yours; the shove of his plate over the kitchen table, offering you the last bite of grilled cheese or simply admitting that it was yours before he’d even taken the first. That addictive laugh of his when you stall the fucking truck for the fifth time: You asked me to teach you, baby, I’m tryna teach you. Foot on the gas, c’mon. You got it. That’s it – now, slow. Slower. Try to feel it. No, really feel it.

Feel it. Really, try to feel it. Can you feel it? Do you know the difference yet? The difference between everyone who was before, and the one who is now? Do you finally get it?

“I feel it,” you cry out, and his frame holds yours together as you fall apart.

It feels like – you.

How did I ever know anything before I knew you?

“That one’s nice,” Joel says, his voice jumping the short distance between his lips and your ear.

You tilt your head, body moving with his when he lifts his hand to swipe through some more of the images. The spacious living room, newly refurbed kitchen, the view of downtown Los Angeles.

He adjusts the blanket draped over your legs. “Washer dryer, walk-in closet,” and then, leaning in closer, whispers, “a balcony. That’s cool.”

“Hm,” you turn to face him, your body shelled by his in the corner of his couch, “I bet you like the balcony, cowboy.”

He smiles plainly in response, squeezing your nose between two knuckles. Yeah. Lots you can do with a balcony.

A sharp gasp from across the room pierces the sweet moment. You and Joel turn in its direction, its owner wide-eyed and blinking at the TV.

“Wait a second,” Sarah yelps. “George is the John Doe?” She gasps again when Meredith announces the same news to her friends onscreen. “Shut – the fuck – up!”

“Language,” Joel clips, chest rumbling between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, like you didn’t have the exact same reaction. George is the…Oh, that sucks. Are you kidding me?” She fishes her phone from the waves of blanket surrounding her, thumbs rapidly typing, eyes shooting from screen to screen.

You snort, turning back to your own phone in your hand, when a text appears at the top of the screen.

Dad: Hey kiddo. Sorry to keep you waiting, work been hectic. Off the rest of today if you’re free to come over.

Your thumb latches onto the message, holding it for Joel to read, too, before letting it disappear off into your notifications.

He tightens his hold on you, burying his nose into the cotton of his own hoodie over your shoulders. His breath pushes heavy and thoughtful across the material. “Still seems as calm as the other day.”

“Too calm,” you admit, “it’s freaking me out.”

“What can he do, you know? You’re here, he’s there. Your dad ain’t an idiot, baby. He knows stayin’ angry about it’s only gonna push you further away.”

“Sure made ‘im feel like an idiot…”

Joel catches the comment and pockets it before it gathers enough weight to bruise. “Well,” he clears his throat, “it’s up to you. I ain’t letting you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Mhm,” you reply, and wait for more words to fall to your tongue. An answer, a response. A decision that you know you don’t feel equipped or even rightful to make.

“Do you want to go talk to him?” Joel asks.

“I…I want to make things right. I wanna fix it.”

“Okay. And will talking to him do that?”

You turn to face him, frowning. “I don’t fucking know,” you mutter. “Will it?”

He smiles sympathetically. “Wish I knew, darlin’. Would it help if I came? Sat outside in the truck, waited for you? It gets too much, you decide you wanna leave – we leave.”

“You ain’t scared to be near him again?”

He gulps back a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing awkwardly before he allows himself to answer. “Only thing scary about your dad is the sunlight reflectin’ off his damn head. No, I ain’t scared.”

You study him a minute longer, eyes roaming from the lips you could sketch every score of from memory, the beard you’re sure has forever altered your prints from the number of times you’ve run your fingers over the bristles. The eyes which know every secret, every whisper, every thought behind your own.

You sigh, smiling dumbly as he wraps his arms tighter around you. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Joel pulls up by the curb, parking politely at the end of your driveway rather than alongside your dad’s car, like he usually would. Like he used to.

You crane your head, looking past the shape of him to survey the unassuming house. Quiet, still. No sign of hurricane or earthquake, no tremors of rage or words like rocks raining down on the truck roof. Your thumb plunges into the buckle of your seatbelt, the webbing whipping over your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” Joel asks, watching your fingers lift to the door handle.

“Mhm,” you reply, distant. “’s just my dad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

His eyebrows lift, agreeing. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his lips. “Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your fingers, “if it happens, you come straight back out here, you hear? I ain’t moving.”

The urge to stay exactly where you are and let him carry you off back to his place overwhelms you for a brief second. To stay in the safety of the truck cabin, stay within touching distance of Joel. And as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. Overcome by the memory of that stony hug in Sal’s, the vacant, lonely eyes boring into late-night TV.

A sharp chap over your shoulder shocks you back to life. You twist in your seat, looking down at a face wrinkled by curiosity and wisdom, sheen of lipstick curved in a mischievous grin. You roll the window down, mirroring her smile.

“Joel Miller,” Rita calls, lowering her ring-adorned fist and pointing over to her car. “Help me with these groceries.”

“Afternoon to you, too, Rita,” he calls back, and she raises two thin, penciled eyebrows. His sigh trickles into a chuckle as he snaps the door open, leaning into you. “I ain’t moving,” he mutters, swinging out of the truck.

“Sure looks like you’re movin’,” you call back, letting Rita pull on your door to let you out.

“How are you, darlin’?” she asks. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

You hop down beside her, helping her tug the shawl around her arms back over her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve, uh…I’ve been busy.”

She nods, and then her eyes drift to somewhere behind you. “They go in the kitchen, son.” She points to her house. “I’ll come help you unpack ‘em.”

Joel’s face twists, eyes wide, hands outstretched. You swallow back a laugh when he looks to you, an almost teenage expression which asks, You seein’ this? as he turns back to the Nissan.

“I better go,” Rita says then, giving your arms one last squeeze. “You take care, now. Tell your dad I’m askin’ after ‘im.”

“I will, Rita.” You turn on your heel and saunter around Joel’s truck, giving him one last twirl as he hoists two bags under his muscled arms, rolling his eyes as you spin.

You pull the weight of yourself up your drive, passing past versions of yourself as you near the front door. She’s stumbling towards her dad’s car, a bucket of soapy water sloshing around between her knees. She’s sat on the curb, waiting for Joel’s truck to roll up, praying she never hears another Marty Robbins song again.

She’s naïve, still. Knows no better, knows no worse. Chasing a high, chasing the thrill of being caught and the thrill of nobody ever knowing. A relationship built entirely on lies and deceit. A love woven with dark threads of shame and anger, a tattered mess in one corner where the edges fray and loosen.

And you think: you’ve never felt more jealous of anybody your whole life.

The front door clicks open easily, like the building welcomes you home with a relieved sigh. You follow sunlight into the hallway, feeling it easier to walk through than before – less dense, less suffocating. Less guilty. An honest thief, back to return the bleeding heart she dragged out the door with her.

Secrets like shards of broken glass on the floor, debris from that day. And as if he hears the crunch of your footsteps, your dad appears at the bottom of the hall.

“Hi, hon.”

Eyes wide with a misplaced shock, you say, “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“’m good.”

“Good. Come in, come through.” He beckons you forward, a smile only half-forced on his lips. “You want a drink or anything?”

You follow him into the kitchen, politely accepting a glass of water when he offers it.

He turns with two steady palms on the island, watching as you drag a chair free and sit at the table. “How’s Joel?” he asks, swallowing roughly.

The words come delayed, your open mouth lying in wait. Your body selfishly trying to hoard the information, protective the second the image of that six-foot, two-hundred-pound man crosses your mind. “He’s fine. He’s out front.”

It sounds like a warning, though you don’t mean for it to. Just conversation. He’s helping Rita with her groceries. She’s asking after you, by the way. But your dad seems to sense the natural amber tone of it – the sparking of a flame, daring to catch. He’s waiting for this to go south.

He nods, accepting the fact of it. His own failed attempt to separate the two of you only drove you closer together. Only made you want Joel more.

But then he’s nearing you again, pulling out the chair opposite yours. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, settling with a sigh. “Glad we’re…we’re talkin’ again, at least.”

Your head angles. “Are we?”

His body jerks, flinching from the sting of the question. “Well,” his head wobbles, jowls quivering, “I sure hope so. I was takin’ it as a good sign that you’re here.”

“I’m here,” you repeat, “but that doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

“No, I know. I know. Joel’s out front, ‘n all that.” He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Holds his tongue behind his front teeth, waiting for the next turn of conversation.

You lean forward, elbows on the table, softening your voice. “Dad?” you say, and he looks up. “This whole entire thing – I think…I think we oughta try and understand each other, a little better. Hear each other out.”

“I am tryin’, hon. I’m really tryin’. You dealt me an awful lot to hear out ‘n understand.”

You rock back, sinking against the hard chair. Tracing the wood grains in the table, nails digging between. Shame coiling like a snake beneath your tongue, taking up too much space in your mouth. Its venom dripping between your teeth, acrid and sour; tendons in your neck jumping with the bitterness of your dad’s tone.

He sighs. “Be honest with me a second.”

“Huh?”

He waits a beat, watching you carefully. Opens his mouth, pauses, and then speaks. “Who instigated it?”

Your finger pushes harder into the surface. Digging new divots. “Um…kinda both of us. Was sort of a two-way thing from the get-go.”

His lips twist, almost imperceptible. He looks behind you to the patio outside. You can’t read what’s in his eyes. It makes you say more, say things you reckon you’ll regret later – but something to fill the silence between you. Something to let him sink his teeth into.

“There was flirting. Lotta flirting. And then it…it just sort of snowballed.”

“Snowballed.” He looks uncomfortable, lifting his hands to cup over his face. “I just didn’t take him as the type,” he says, muffled into his palms.

“As what type?”

He drops his hands, hitting his thighs with a slap, and looks you dead in the eye. Sad, almost. “Arthur Kennedy type.”

“He’s not.”

You say it instinctively. Your ears hear it at the same time your dad does. He looks at you blankly.

“He’s not,” you repeat, a little looser. Less hasty. “Look,” you sigh, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but…everything that we ever did, I wanted to do. I already told you. There ain’t nothing we did that I didn’t ask him to. I swear to you.”

You think back to the cookout, how angry Joel was at the thought of Arthur Kennedy hanging over you. How pissed he’d be, hearing your dad line him up against that old leather boot of a man. Comparing, contrasting. Here’s how you measure up, son. How much of a phantom Arthur Kennedy has been, your whole life, and how much of a sanctuary Joel is in comparison.

Your stomach twists at the thought. A tight knot, wound by a desperation to clear the name of a man whose worst offense was doing exactly what your dad would’ve told him to: leave.

“This whole thing,” you go on, “it’s a mess, alright? It’s – totally fucked. And we shouldn’t’ve lied, shouldn’t’ve been keeping things from you, but then…what did you expect?”

Your dad cuts in like a bullet: “I expect the two of you not to do what you were doin’.”

“No, I know that. But we did it, right? It’s done now. I meant, did you really want us to sit you down in the living room ‘n say, Hey, Dad – guess what?”

He grimaces at the thought.

“Didn’t think so. We didn’t even know what it was. We had no idea what it’d turn into. But you gotta hear me out: it wasn’t just…some fling, or whatever you’re thinkin’. I swear, Dad, it wasn’t.”

He still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t lift his stare from the table. You feel like a little kid, desperate to make him love you again. Desperate to make him listen. The space between you fills with the bored tick tick tick of the kitchen clock. Each second hurting a little more than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I let you down, but…I’m not sorry that I did it. If I could go back, knowing everything I know – I’d do it all over again.”

The words roll across the table to him like billiards. You lean back again, watching them as they rattle from his side to yours – your sentence delivered back into your ears. You nod, a sure thought in your mind.

I’d do it all over again. All the covering, all the hiding. The aching, the wishing and wanting. Staring at Joel’s empty hand, dying to slot yours into it. Dying to put any part of yourself near him; your head under his chin, your arms linked around his waist. Knowing you two would feel, knowing everyone else would see, just how perfectly you fit together.

The chasing your own tails: Did you lie well enough? Do they suspect anything? Did we leave any evidence? Disturbed sheets, a collar still upturned. Can they hear us? Have they noticed we’re missing? We’re always fucking missing.

You’d do it all over again. You know what it cost, now, sat directly opposite the price. His polite smiles like veneers over rotten teeth. The tremble in his lip when he opens his mouth to speak.

And it was worth it. Joel. He was worth it all, in the end.

All over again.

“Do you know that every time I look at you, there are…probably four versions that I see?”

You frown. Did he hear what you just said? All ov–? “What?”

Your dad laughs to himself. “When you walk outta that door, I see a little pink backpack over your shoulders. Gym bag in your hand, maybe. I see missin’ front teeth, I see those little clip-on earrings you used to love so much.

“And – and when you’re mad at me, when we fight, I see you at fourteen. Growing pains, y’know? I still remember you slamming your bedroom door in my face, all ‘cause I wouldn’t let you go to that girl Molly’s birthday party.” He looks up, smiling at your perplexed expression.

“I don’t even…remember that, hardly.”

“Long time ago now. My point is,” he continues, “you’re twenty-three. You’re grown. And I just can’t figure out how to make those other versions…grow with you. You still feel like my kid. Still that little girl with the pink backpack.”

“But,” you clear your throat, trying to swipe her from your own memory, “I’m not. I’m not her anymore, Dad. And I think maybe you gotta give me the space to be someone different, now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding. “I know, I know. I just didn’t think this new version of you would…y’know. Be with Joel, ‘n all. That is something I did not see comin’.”

“You think I did?” You spit a laugh. “If you told me when I came home that this is what was waiting for me…that I was gonna fall…”

Your teeth close around the sentence, dropping your dad’s eye. But it’s too late.

He stares back at you like the sun. “…Fall in love with ‘im?”

And you cower. You wince, almost. The last secret. The last thing he doesn’t know. “I don’t…I don’t know, I –”

“You love him. You do, don’t you?”

Your thumbs run circles around one another, fingers locking until your knuckles hurt. “I don’t know,” you mumble, wishing for the tenth time since you sat down that Joel was beside you, in front of you, around you.

“’s what Anna seems to reckon.”

Your eyes flit up. “Anna?”

He hums. “She is her father’s daughter. A damn meddler. She called here, last night.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan, head falling into your hands. “Ignore her, please. Ignore all of it. She doesn’t –”

He holds a palm up. “Now, hold on. You don’t even know what it was she said.”

You huff a sigh, twisting your hand in the air. Go on.

“She reckons you do love him. Reckons he loves you back. More, if that’s even possible, she said. Told me all about the way he stepped in front a’ that boy at Frank’s. About your face when he picked you up from rodeo night, how ecstatic you were. The difference she sees in you.”

“Difference,” you scoff, glancing out to the backyard. “What difference?”

“Same difference I see, probably. Same difference Bill said he saw, too: you’re happier. Even I can’t deny it, hon. It’s damn hard – you never make nothin’ easy on your old man – but…but I am willing to try.”

The hurt begins to slowly fizzle away. Cooling, washing from your skin like foamy waves. Curiosity left to shine through.

“You may not understand this ‘til you have kids of your own – if you have kids of your own – but there ain’t a thing in this world that I love more than I love you. And when you love somethin’ that much, you’ll do anything to stop it from getting hurt. Anything. That’s all I want you to know.”

A silence falls between you, thoughtful and waiting. The clock’s ticking grows sharper again. It seems to consider the same as you: there should be more to this. More to be said, to be convinced. More yelling, even.

But you arrive at the same conclusion, at near enough the same time: there is nothing more. Cards flat on the table, eyes pouring all over them. To question it, to second-guess any of it, would be to tempt fate.

“Anyway,” your dad sits forward, clasping his hands on the table, “tell me what’s goin’ on. What’s been happening in your world?”

You shrug. A little, shy thing. “Work. Been hanging with Sarah a lot. And I, uh, I had a job interview last week.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

You shift awkwardly in your chair. “For, uh…that one in LA. They called to offer it a couple days ago.”

A smile pulls across his lips. Growing, growing, growing until he’s grinning back at you. Pride, little bit of surprise. Whole lot of amusement and joy. “You take it?” he asks, figuring he knows the answer already.

“Not yet,” you reply. “Think I’m going to, though. ‘s too good to say no.”

He lifts his eyebrows in agreement, looking down at his hands. Shoulders lurch some under the weight of your news. “There goes that little backpack,” he mutters to himself, and you smirk.

“Can’t hold her back forever.”

“I never had a hold on her in the first place. You were walkin’ on outta that door the minute you found your own two feet.”

You snort. “Good! Good for me. Let me go out into the big ol’ world; let me go fuck it all up ‘n come home for dinner once I’m done.”

“I intend to,” your dad says, nodding along to every passionate word you say. And then he asks, “How’s Joel feelin’ about it all? About LA?”

Your shoulder jerks in a half-shrug. “He’s fine, I guess. Says he’ll miss me, but then – we haven’t exactly had the most typical relationship up until now. Survived a lot I reckon would break any normal couple…”

It’s the first time you think you’ve ever said it. Couple. You’ve thought of it – flicked through the words you might use to describe him. Your boyfriend, your partner. None of them seem to fit exactly who he is to you. None of them strong enough to carry the weight of what’s shared between you. He’s Joel. He’s your Joel. Nothing will ever come close.

Your dad hears it, too. The newness of it. The crisp shape of the word, not yet thawed to this new world. Your tongue still learning how to pronounce it, how to pair it with the image of Joel.

“Guess he can fly out ‘n visit whenever, right?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, “and I’ll be back here, too. Christmas ‘n all.”

Your dad smiles. Relieved, assured. Light slowly returning to his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” your chest swells, “so Joel says. I trust ‘im.”

You both quieten, sitting back in your chairs. What once felt like a room ablaze, flames tearing the skin from your body as you dragged your heels through it – now feels like a gentle warmth. Waves wrought with enough power and force to destroy you, now seeping off with the change of the tide. Bumps on the horizon.

“Speaking of,” you say, making to stand, “I should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hon.” Your dad follows, arm on your shoulder as he walks you down the hall.

The sun intrudes, tosses herself into your arms as you pull the front door open. In her golden-rayed wake sits that dark truck, same as always. The same dark tee, the same dark-speckled-gray hair. Arms folded, stood against the body, waiting. Eyes on the house, on your figure as you step down onto the doormat. Joel straightens when your dad follows you out, chest sucking in a ragged breath.

They look at one another, and that’s about it. Something of a nod from Joel – not quite returned by your dad. You figure that might take some time to come back around. And that’s okay. You can make peace with it.

You turn back. Your dad’s looking down at you, hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“You know,” you take a deep breath, “the only times he’s ever hurt me, are the times he’s left. The times I haven’t had him around.”

And then you step back, the magnet in your chest telling you it’s time to return to its partner.

In high school, your English teacher tasked the class with writing a short story. Any genre you wanted, any word count up to two thousand. The boys mostly dicked around, wrote action-packed, blood-and-guts garbage. One girl wrote something you’re sure you’d seen in a Hallmark movie before.

But you – you spent two weeks straight, writing. Awake until all hours of the night, hunched over your laptop, sunbathing in the blue hue of an open document. Fingers hammering rapidly into your keyboard.

A man and a woman meet in Central Park. She – hair the color of rust, spilling down her shoulders and lifting at the ends, twisting around the fingers of the blustery wind. A red glow around her third finger where gold once lived. Sat on a bench, alone. Hiding, perhaps. And he – sharp suit and tie, clean-shaven, a steel-blue gaze that might cut glass. Missing the city traffic by taking a walk through the park on his way home. Fleeing, perhaps.

He notices her trench coat first. Bright red, a poppy swaying in the breeze. A little hopeless, a solemn wilt to it. The quickly dampening fire of her hair in the rain, the opaque sheen of polish chipping from her nails. And he thinks he recognizes the constellation of freckles painted across her cheeks. Thinks he might’ve mapped them, once, in some kind of past-life.

She looks up and realizes she recognizes the cut of his gaze. Piercing through her, splitting her in two. Thinks she might’ve felt it before, the opening of her soul to someone who looked just like him – a little more baby-faced, a little more spirited. In some kind of past-life, too.

She stands, and he slows, and they meet somewhere in the middle. Words exchanged; body heat transferred through hugs. Is that really you? You look so different. It’s been years. He doesn’t ask about the lack of jewelry on her third finger. She doesn’t ask about the gray circles beneath his eyes. Just, You wanna grab a coffee? and, Yeah. Yeah, I do.

They sit at the window, watch the yellow taxis and the black umbrellas and the trembling traffic lights. They talk about life then, life now, and silently agree to forget about the part in the middle. They look at each other the same way they must have before they lost one another, before life and love and everything else got between them.

They agree to meet again in a week. They swear that they will not fall back in love.

They know as well as each other that they’re really promising to do just that.

Love – twisted and turned over and over, until it’s a different shape altogether. We started as one thing, and we watched it shift into something completely different. Clay in the potter’s hands. Didn’t you think it might fall apart? There was a moment I thought the heat of the kiln might break us. I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad we’re made of tough stuff.

I’m glad I found you again, in that park. The pissing rain and the wind so strong I felt it lifting the sense from my mind. In that hardware store, in that bar filled with weed and bad intentions. I’m glad you split me open, glad you could see the good that was still inside. I thought I’d lost her for a minute. Thought she’d forgotten her way home.

Let’s go get a coffee. Let’s pretend it’s always been this way.

Let’s fall in love. The rest will take care of itself.

It takes three weeks in total to properly pack up your things. Two days after you accepted the job, you bought boxes and tape, and began to dismantle the identity you’d spent twenty-three years creating for yourself, a little bit at a time. Taking apart the pink-walled museum of your life, artefact by artefact.

Joel has helped as much as you’ve let him. Laid back on your bed when you’ve dismissed him one too many times, raised his eyebrows and laughed with you whenever you come across some old, forgotten piece of memorabilia. Something ceremonial to it, something innocent and fun. Like a little graduation for all the parts of yourself.

Soon, as the last of the summer sun dampens outside, your room lies vacant. Empty of any real evidence of your being here. Bedsheets and pillows folded, packed away; framed photos and posters unpinned from the wall and wrapped up safely. Drawers and closets barren, left with a selection of your less-loved, less-worn clothes. A wardrobe built from stuff you’ll only ever wear when you come back home to visit, if even then.

Joel’s sat on the bare mattress, looking around your room. You’re stood opposite, leaning against your half-empty dresser. The sun filters feebly through your turned shades, averting her eyes.

You look over at him. Golden, like the sunlight outside. Warm, like the breeze through the trees. Yours. Yours yours yours.

“What?” Joel asks, his eyes having finally found their way back to you. He smiles at your focused expression.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just…”

“Talk to me. Tell me.”

“You are – this is…” You sigh. “This is good. I think it’s good. Not just all the stuff we did. But you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “You’re good for me.” You grip the wooden lip tighter, swaying nervously when you add, “But I think it was always gonna go this way, wasn’t it?”

He sniffs. Shoulders jerk in a weak shrug. “Yeah, I think so, baby.”

Your eyelashes flutter, soothing the prickling feeling of tears forming. “I don’t – I don’t know if I want it to.”

“Yeah,” Joel says through a groan, pushing himself up, “you do.”

You shake your head as he approaches, and his hands cup your cheeks.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling your body tight against his. Your face buries in his chest; your tears wet on his shirt. He shushes you, rocks you gently back and forth with a hand on the back of your head. “Listen to me.”

“Joel –”

“Listen to me.” He pulls you back, swipes the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they fall. “We’re fine. We are going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you –”

“I know, I know. But you want to go do this. And that’s okay. Both of ‘em, at once.”

Your head shakes again. Like an instinctive reaction to the thought of being separated from him.

Joel smiles softly. “I am going to miss you like hell. You got no idea. But,” he pulls your head back to face his, tucks your hair behind your ear, “I want you to go. You gotta go after this. Right?”

“I know,” you whisper, lungs lurching for breath. “I just – wish it didn’t mean leavin’ you.”

“Darlin’…” Joel coos, pulling you in again. “You know how much I love you? What do I keep tellin’ you? We’ll be alright. It’s you ‘n me, right?”

You nod, salty tears slipping between your lips onto your tongue. When you look up, you notice the same expression on Joel’s face. He blinks his own away before they fall.

“’s you ‘n me,” you repeat, and he pulls your lips together.

You roll your tongue onto his, letting him taste you – all of you. Your mouth, and your thoughts, and your tears, and your pain. You let him take it all, let him hold it for this moment as you breathe him in, let his body fill yours in every way.

Your hands are in his hair, your chest pressed against his; he’s every thought on your mind and every beat in your heart. He’s the blood thrumming through your veins, he’s the oxygen filling your lungs; he’s the words between your teeth and the flesh around your bones.

And he pulls you, and you follow, his shirt in your fist, over to the bed where he lays you gently and falls on top.

“When’s he get back?” he asks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Later,” you mumble, your fingers picking at the hem of his shirt.

He pushes back, letting you tug it up up up over his shoulders at the same rate he peels your tee from yours, both tossing each other’s clothes to somewhere else in the room. Jeans undone, shorts dragged from your hips, underwear discarded until you’re naked under him, and he’s naked over you, and there’s nothing and no one between.

Joel cradles you, holds you close as he presses a palm roughly against the underside of your thigh, opening your body to him in a way only he’s mastered. In a way you only would, for him.

His hand cups your sex, fingers nudging between your folds, pushing in when your jaw slackens and a wanton moan echoes from your throat across Joel’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he coos, wrist jacking between your legs, “’s my girl. Gotta get you warmed up, huh? Get you nice ‘n wet.”

Your back arches, arms linking around his neck to pull him closer, pull him deeper. Hold him tight enough to you that your bodies feel one, feel connected at the meeting of Joel’s hand and the most intimate part of you; the meeting of your tongues between teeth.

And you gasp, the nudging of his fingers against the deepest part of your body, the messy circles of his thumb on your clit. The shape of him, solid and warm against the seam of your thigh.

You reach down for him, wrapping your fingers around his cock, and his breath hitches. Teeth bump into yours. You’re fucking irresistible to him.

“Darlin’,” his voice is low, daring you to keep going, “you wanna cut this short ‘fore we’re even started?”

You breathe a laugh into his jaw, hot and needy. “You get to play with me,” you whine, “I wanna play with you, too.��

Joel growls, seizing his movements, leaning back in what you take as him granting full access to his body. But then he says, “Turn around,” in a strict voice you’ve come to know as meaning one thing, and you pause.

You peel your eyes from his dick to blink up at him. “Turn –?”

“– around, now.” He takes your waist, hoisting you up until you’re straddling him, holding you inches above his body. “Turn.”

“What the fuck are you –?”

“Many times do I gotta tell you? You said you wanted to play.” He twists your waist until you follow his movements, swinging one leg over the other. He grabs your hips, tugging you back towards his face. “So, play,” he mutters, lowering your cunt down to his lips.

You gasp, falling forward and hitting the mattress between his legs. “J– fuck me. Are you s-serious?” You moan, hips rocking against the feeling of his bearded chin at your clit. “You’re like – a fucking – horny teenager. Oh, fuck.”

Your head falls forward, hands splaying out over his thighs, before your eyes refocus and you notice the hardened shape of him, tip oozing precome all over the hair-spattered plain of his groin. Your hand lifts, shakily taking hold of him again, and you lean down.

Elbows hooked over his thighs, you bring his tip to your lips, letting a thick bead of saliva fall and drip down the length of him, meeting your closed fist to be dragged up and down.

Joel’s hips almost buck. He holds it, manages to catch it, but you spot it. You’ve done this too many fucking times not to notice the reaction you draw from him.

“’s good,” you whisper, circling your hips on his face, tongue slipping across his cherry-red tip. “Feels so good.”

He responds in the form of a deep groan, rattling from his chest through your clit, shocking like lightning up your spine until the very same noise is thrown from your lips. You push down, tongue molding around every vein and the slow curve of his cock until your lips meet the thick brush of hair at his base, his tip kissing the very back of your throat.

Your throat which jumps, jolts at the feeling of something intruding – before you’re retreating again, pulling him from your body, warm, wet spit linking the two of you when you come up for air. And then you sink back down, head moving up down up down up down as his stomach tenses beneath your chest.

Joel’s palms keep a heavy hold on your ass, his tongue lapping between your folds like they’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted – like he might die if he doesn’t get his fix of you. And you think, they are, and he might, as your cheeks hollow and you bow down over him again.

You establish a rhythm, two waves swirling between one another: your hips rocking, Joel’s lifting ever so slightly as you suckle on one another. Your hand fisting the parts of him you can’t quite reach, not without choking; Joel holding you fixed to his jaw, letting the tip of his tongue hook around your swollen clit, then dragging it down until he’s letting you ride the wet muscle.

The approach of your first orgasm, a tiny spark catching to life in the pit of your belly, incites you with a need to open up further for him. Your throat taking more of him, your thighs slackening as you drive your cunt harder against his mouth.

“’m so close,” you whimper, lips curving around his cock. “So – fucking – ah, keep doin’ that. Right th-there.”

His hands hook around your thighs, tongue darting across your clit. His nose nudges somewhere between your folds, quickly becoming coated in the slick you’re leaking all over him.

“Joel,” you say, fists pumping his cock. Your voice a warning: it’s coming. You’re gonna – Fuck, you’re gonna come.

His voice is looser, more of a shrug of the shoulders when he pulls away from you. He inserts two fingers, curls them like before, like he knows drives you fucking insane. “Let go, babygirl,” he murmurs, lips immediately returning to position. And then, muffled and rough: “Come all over me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, hands squeezing around his cock, feeling that same spark ignite into flame, your entire body bursting with heat.

Your high rips through you, battering through each vein in your system, each nerve electrified. You collapse between his legs, his rough pubic hair sticking to the sweat on your chest, hips rutting wildly against the sharp cut of his jaw.

The mattress absorbs most of the desperate moan which streaks across your tongue, nails digging hard into the flesh of Joel’s thighs. And you hear the deep sound of his voice, the thud thud thud of a chuckle against your clit: the cocky fucker laughing to himself as he unravels you for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Alright,” Joel says, more to himself than to the fucked-out shape of you between his legs. He sits up and shifts you carefully down the bed, settling you face-down on the mattress and lifting your ass to meet his hips. “Okay?” he asks, kneeling behind you.

You feel his tip between your legs, slotting happily somewhere in your opening. Waiting for your response. A response you don’t feel able to give, as much as you’d like to; your lips puffy and confused, words jumbling behind them in a tangle of bliss and love.

“Baby,” Joel says, hand slinking down your back, pressing gentle circles into the nape of your neck. “You okay?”

Your head lifts, glancing over your shoulder to see his hairy torso, his thick arms caging over you. He lifts your chin with two fingers, cranes your neck up until you’re looking into his eyes, heavy lids blinking dumbly.

“Just fuck me,” you whisper, and Joel slips his tongue into your mouth.

You used to dream of coming back home. A few years away, doing whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted. Dreaming things up and then chasing them until they happened. Tiring yourself out, lungs gasping for breath and eyes always searching, always looking for a new target to pin up. But always coming back.

Austin, Texas. Its jagged skyline, the streets lined with a vibrant glow and star-spangled bunting. The river like a silver-bellied snake slithering through. Home.

You dreamt of living out your days here, once your blood had slowed and your mind settled. A quiet life in the country, a big wooden house with a wraparound porch. Two little rocking chairs, so you and whoever your husband turned out to be could sit and watch the sky fade from red into orange into white and then dull gray into deep blue.

Breeze kissing your cheek, his lips kissing your knuckles.

Joel.

Home.

You tell him, and he smirks. “That so?” he asks, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your naked body.

You nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex sitting in the air. “Mhm. You could play guitar until the stars come out.”

He hums in agreement. “Sounds like a pretty good dream. Tell you what: you go to LA, do what you gotta do. By the time you come back, there’ll be a big ol’ farmhouse, wraparound porch, rollin’ fields for the dogs. Coffee ‘n sunsets. How’s that sound?”

“And you’ll be there?”

He smiles. Scoops you in one arm and rolls you onto your front, chest to chest with him. His fingers ghost down the curve of your shoulder. “Baby,” he whispers, “I built the damn thing.”

It forces a laugh from your chest, something you’ve gotten used to by now. Joel and his ability to steal a giggle from you, the dumbest moments seeming the funniest. “You’re gonna build me a damn house?” you ask, chin resting between his pecs.

“That what you want?”

Your head rocks left to right, considering. “I just want you. That’s all.”

“Then you got me. I’m all yours.”

In his hazel eyes lives every moment you’ve ever shared. Every conversation, every kiss, every fight. Every minute he’s spent looking for you or at you, every minute you’ve spent looking back at him. It’s all in there. You see it like a movie reel, frame by frame.

It lands like a slot machine on that first night. Cleaning up after pizza. Shoulder to shoulder by your kitchen sink. You wish you’d just kissed him. Even with your dad right there. Wish you’d lifted your heels and put your lips on his, just for the fucking hell of it. Just to condense all of it, every second of longing and hurt and pain into one fleeting moment.

Wish you’d pulled him into you, against you, the weight of his body like an old friend. Welcomed it with open arms, like you’d spent your entire life missing it, waiting for it to come back to you. Let yourself feel your own heart, peeling between the cage of your ribs, reaching out for his. Always reaching for him.

Wish you’d looked him in the eye, tears softening the tufts of graying hair, vignetting the smirk only you can tell is there. Looked at him in that knowing way, that language only you two know; the glint in your eyes translating a thousand messy words into three. Just three – the simplest, lightest words you’ve ever known.

I love you. Let’s skip to the good part.

[twig-tea]

Get To Know Me Tag

Tagged by @telomeke @lurkingshan @my-rose-tinted-glasses @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle and @hyeoni-comb thank you all! 💕

Do you make your bed?

I like a messy bed, it feels more welcoming to me somehow. The only time I make my bed is when I'm without heat and it's winter, then you gotta do it to keep in any residual warmth! But normally I'd rather keep everything loose.

What’s your favorite number?

I....don't think I have one? Is this a thing people have, how do you choose?

What is your job?

I manage a team of Product Owners in the Operations division of a multinational company. In other words, I go to a lot of meetings.

If you could go back to school, would you?

Absolutely not. Beyond the fact that I was formerly a substantive editor of university textbooks, which included both editing the textbook content and sometimes writing their ancillaries (tests, powerpoint slides, etc.) so it feels like I took first-year Sociology at least ten times, I just don't love formalized education. I love learning but on my own terms and at my own pace.

Can you parallel park?

I can't drive at all! Technically I learned how, took lessons and everything, but never got my license.

A job you had that would surprise people?

Hmm. I was a call center person for half a day, it was terrible and I left without getting paid for the work I did because I was so eager to get out of there I didn't want to fight them for my pay (even though I needed the money which is why I was there in the first place). I hate phone calls, I can't hear well on the phone, and it was clear the call center script was designed to be exploitative. It was one of the worst jobs for me I could have taken lol

Do you think aliens are real?

I think it's extremely likely!

Can you drive a manual car?

Nope, even when I learned, it was only on an automatic.

What’s your guilty pleasure?

I'm not guilty about it but I can decimate an entire family size mac and cheese when I'm feeling down.

Tattoos?

I have 3 tattoos; one on each foot and one on the back of my neck. They form a rainbow.

Favorite color?

Blue-green! The shade of preference for any given moment varies, but anything in the region from mint to aqua to teal to turquoise will do; I love them all.

Favorite type of music?

My music taste varies widely but the common denominators are 1) fast tempo or upbeat, 2) solid harmonies, and 3) if there's a tempo or key change I am doubly sold.

Do you like puzzles?

Love puzzles of all kinds. I have a collection of jigsaw puzzles I do regularly, and word puzzles, logic puzzles, sudoku type stuff is all very fun. I don't make a lot of time for them but I do them occasionally and always enjoy it.

Any phobias?

I am afraid of falling. Not heights, but falling. The difference is: I can lean over the railing at the top of a 20-storey building or walk on a glass floor over a big drop and just feel a minor thrill, but am terrified to the point of maybe crying if I have to balance on a single step of a ladder or walk across a patch of ice. I had several brushes with death related to falling when I was a kid, and a few bad falls that caused injury as an adult, so it makes sense. Luckily I am pretty tall so I rarely have to do any kind of ladder-ing!

Favorite childhood sport?

American-style tackle football. We used to play at lunch on the pavement because the soccer kids got the field; we played in all seasons including snow, and we did it for love of the sport. I loved it a lot.

Do you talk to yourself?

Occasionally I'll provide a little commentary on what's happening aloud to myself; but I don't really have fully conversations.

What movies do you adore?

I have loved a lot of movies in my time! A few random ones that come to mind right now because I've been thinking about them for whatever reason are Saving Face (2004), Monster (2023), Practical Magic (1998), Moonlight (2016), and Clue (1985).

Coffee or tea?

Despite my username being a type of tea, in this as in all things I am a perfect Kinsey 3. Love both equally and drink a ton of both (coffee more regularly, tea in greater volume).

First thing you wanted to be growing up?

Lifeguard, I think! And then when I was in elementary school I wanted to edit textbooks (I was that kid who got annoyed whenever there were mistakes), so I did actually get to do my childhood dream job.

No pressure tags just going with vibes based on who I've interacted with recently (if you've done this already tag me in the comments!): @rocketturtle4 @visualtaehyun @sollucets @troubled-mind @jimmysea @ginnymoonbeam

[unusuallysubtext]

If you're still doing the Sherlock life thing, I'd love it if you could sort me :D

I'd prefer to be in a romantic relationship with a man

My love language is mainly physical touch and words of affirmation. I usually wear comfy clothes that have a funky pattern or something I just find cool (kinda like street style). I have short brown hair that I usually just leave messy because I can't be bothered to sort it out lmao.

I spend my days usually just hanging out with people I care about, or playing games on my phone. I enjoy logic puzzles and I'm good with numbers (I have a streak of over 1200 on sudoku). I study History and Philosophy because I've always been interested in those sorts of topics and I love discussing these things with people and seeing their different points of views and opinions on topics.

I love doing crafts in my spare time as well, I crochet, I draw, I can paint decently well, and I love sewing. I usually make little trinkets, sew clothes or draw bugs or skeletons or smth, anything I like the look of tbh.

I hope this is enough information, thank you do much :D

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock first saw you when you were being escorted far away from the scene of a presumed murder

You protested and explained that you were simply trying to draw a replica of the skeleton found seatbelted inside a Prius, but to no avail

On his way out of the crime scene, Sherlock approached you as you sat on the curb kicking rocks, drawing what you could from memory

It was at that point that you accompanied Sherlock Holmes and John Watson to every single case, working on sketches

Your eye could capture details that a camera couldn't, defining characteristics that Sherlock could later read on

One night, late after a case, you sat on the sofa of 221b with a progressing crochet project when Sherlock flopped down next to you, legs outstretched over your lap

Although you were caught by surprise, the two of you spent the next few hours simply hanging out

You spoke of various philosophers and history, knowledge of which Sherlock possessed none

He listened intently to you, understanding why your sketches were so much more lively and telling than a clean shot of photography

Together, you made a great team, seeing things from one another's logic

You were chill, automatically rubbing off on Sherlock and keeping him in check, and soon enough, simply chatting on the sofa late at night turned to laying next to each other and even falling asleep

The first time John came down and saw Sherlock asleep at nine-thirty in the morning, he was jumping with joy (silently), ever grateful the detective had found someone willing to match his freak, as the young people say

He secretly enjoys your comfortable, baggy street-style clothing, a fresh change in his everyday dark block colour polyester/cotton blend button-ups that hug his figure, whether it's (trying to) try it on or simply keeping it with him

And if you're with him, there is no doubt he will hold you close, arms wrapped around you at night, or simply sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the sofa ❤️

-

hope you liked it, anon! tagging @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @that-ace-idiot @the-girl-who-simps-too-much

Your Sherlock Life asks are still open!

[a-crow-with-rights-and-anxiety]

Today on Heron rambles about her interests.

So what am I talking about?

A puzzle hunt is a collection of puzzles where the goal of each puzzle is to get a word or phrase as an answer. The actual content of the puzzle can be anything, from normal stuff like crosswords or sudokus, to ridiculous stuff like IMO Papers, AO3 fics or a picture of a herring. Often no explicit instructions are given for how to get the answer, figuring them out is part of the puzzle itself (often through noticing patterns in what you're given or through recognition of common puzzle hunt components).

Here's an example (Recursion from the 2021 MIT Mystery Hunt):

There's not much information here to go on but we can presume that we need to fill in the blanks somehow. Although the number of phases matches the number of blank lines, there's no way to logically match them up one-to-one. We'll need to find something else.

After some quick searching (or music knowledge) we can find that all of the phrases at the top are song titles. From there we can other things like lyrics or the albums they're in, but still nothing fits. We'll have also found the artists to these songs.

Ain't That Peculiar is by Marvin Gaye

Like Flies on Sherbert is by Alex Chilton

Live Like You Were Dying is by Tim McGraw

Love and Mercy is by Brian Wilson

Peggy Sue is by Buddy Holly

When I Sing About You is by Clint Eastwood

Woman in Love is by Barbra Streisand

While the artists can't be matched up to the blanks, we may notice something:

The title being "Recursion" suggests repeating an action

Barbra Streisand is also a song by Duck Sauce

Duck Sauce fits in one of the blanks

It turns out that each artist of the listed songs is also the name of another song and that the artists of those songs fit in the blanks. Finding the artists to these songs gets us this:

Ain't That Peculiar / Marvin Gaye / Charlie Puth

Like Flies on Sherbert / Alex Chilton / The Replacements

Live Like You Were Dying / Tim McGraw / Taylor Swift

Love and Mercy / Brian Wilson / Barenaked Ladies

Peggy Sue / Buddy Holly / Weezer

When I Sing About You / Clint Eastwood / Gorillaz

Woman in Love / Barbra Streisand / Duck Sauce

And the final artists fit in the blanks like so:

CHARLIE [P]UTH

B[A]RENAKED LADIES

GOR[I]LLAZ

DUCK [S]AUCE

THE REP[L]ACEMENTS

W[E]EZER

TA[Y]LOR SWIFT

Taking the boxed letters gets us the answer of "PAISLEY"

That's the basic outline of how a puzzle hunt puzzle works, but the contents of a puzzle can be extremely varied. I haven't even talked about meta puzzles (I may talk about that in a follow up if people are interested). These hunts are full of creativity and interesting surprises and I hope that I have demonstrated at least some of that in this post.

If you want another puzzle to try out, I think tumblr will enjoy this one.

[victoriouscabaret]

I was tagged by the forever lovely @chaeza! Thank you friend! <3

Do you make your bed? When I remember to/feel like it. Mornings are usually chaos for me, so getting dressed and making myself look presentable usually takes priority over making the bed.

Favorite number? 9

What's your job? Office Manager. I’m happy with it. Definitely not burnt out like I was when I did funerals. I do really miss being a mortician though. Helping people and taking care of them during a tremendously hard time was so fulfilling, and I don’t think I’ll ever not be fascinated by death from a psychological, cultural, and medical perspective. Alas…

Can you parallel park? With a good deal of swearing and asking myself why I’m even doing this.

Do you think aliens are real? It would be stranger if they weren’t.

Can you drive a manual car? Better than a few, worse than most.

What's your guilty pleasure? Hmmm… I don’t really like sweets or candy, but I could absolutely devastate a package of dark chocolate covered orange peels. Those little things are unfairly tasty.

Tattoos? A teeeeeeny tiny Tolkien illustration of Smaug above the crook of my left arm, a hand holding a candle and a flower with the solar system around it (the universe I guess according to the artist? That’s what she called it at least. Its dope and I love it) on my right thigh, a tribal-esque snake that I drew when I was 19 and decided I needed it on me permanently, so it’s between my shoulder blades and has aged terribly. Going to get that covered up with a Big Ass Panther or something probably. Aaaaand a tragic stick n poke on the inside of my left ankle that I did when I was 17 and thought I was edgy. It looks like nothing. Just a bunch of faded dots of ink in the suggestion of a circle. I love tattoos and held off getting any after my snake for so long because I was worried about family and society judging me, but I’ve recently realized how absolutely fucking ridiculous that is, so I’ve already got my next three planned out lol.

Favorite color? Green

Favorite types of music? Any and all. If it’s got a danceable groove or great lyrics, it’s for me.

Do you like puzzles? Hyperfocusing on jigsaw puzzles is one of my favourite pastimes, but I have two cats, and one of them especially likes to “help” so I just don’t bother these days lol. Some brain puzzles stress me out, and numbers don’t work properly in my brain so stuff like Sudoku isn’t for me. I really enjoy riddles and logic puzzles.

Any phobias? Spiders, enclosed spaces, and heights.

Favorite childhood sport? I really enjoyed most sports as a kid and am a naturally athletic person. I really wanted to do hockey, but certain people thought that dancing was more appropriate for a girl, so into ballet I went for years. I did enjoy dancing a lot, and after I quit ballet and jazz, I started ballroom dancing and competed in country ballroom and swing until I turned 18.

Do you talk to yourself? I think my head would literally explode if I didn’t.

What movies do you adore? Oh man… so many. Comfort ones that I’ll always be happy to watch are: The Princess Bride, Kill Bill Vol. 1&2, Only Lovers Left Alive, the lotr trilogy, Moulin Rouge, and Wristcutters: A Love Story

Coffee or Tea? Coffee, but have ventured more into tea over the past year or so. My caffeine sensitivity went bananas when I still did funerals - I think because the funeral coffee I drank all day, every day was so strong my body was eventually just like “nope” so I can have like… max one coffee a day now otherwise I’m just anxious AND tired but can’t fall asleep at bedtime.

First thing you wanted to be growing up? An acrobat lol.

Non-obligatory tags: @thefallenangelsgang, @preciouslittlebhaalbae, @allofthebarks, @myheartismadeofstars, @inkymoonbunny

[oneefin]

screw that sudoku puzzle i was talking about last week - THIS is the sudoku puzzle premise of all time

it's called "foggy on the details" and it's by "karl the fog!". on the surface it looks like an ordinary fog-of-war sudoku variant, it's got some lines and some cages nothing crazy, but you begin solving it and crazy shit happens

i want to break down what it's like to solve this actually because it's so crazy and illustrates the level of shock and insanity that i only ever really see in puzzle hunts. you can choose to experience this for yourself first by checking the solver here: https://sudokupad.app/e3dz5lytps or if you're not up for that, you can just watch simon from cracking the cryptic solve it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KxugQBUi-A

otherwise, spoilers ahead!

okay, so the rules have a lot of caveats that i internalize pretty quick:

cages can't overlap

lines can't overlap

cage totals are always written in the top left

digits can't repeat in a cage

lines always move orthogonally

using these ideas, i end up figuring out that the first number to place is a 6 in this cell, forced there because of the geometry of the cage in the upper right. this is all sort of standard if you've done enough variant sudoku before:

as soon as you lock in the digit though, this shows up:

oh god wtf!

so the rules of the sudoku are getting updated as we go in ways that make the previous logic not work anymore. suddenly the red cage doesn't actually look like that anymore - now i figured it has to be something like this:

the puzzle continues in this way, where i put in a digit and then something i thought i knew about the puzzle shatters the logic i just used to get there.

i start by connecting these blue lines and writing a 6 in the other end. but it turns out the lines don't connect after all

the new lines revealed by this lead to t a 3 in the second box, with some decently intricate logic to get there:

now we're saying the top-right corner has the cage total? if true, this would have very interesting implications for the cage on the left... guess it looks like this? no. of course not.

the next digit was spicy! i figured that this blue line must extend exactly like this, and that manages to poke the far left column and force a digit in the corner, far into the fog.

(this is the sort of far-reaching, surprising logic that fog-of-war puzzles are great at pulling off - the fact that this puzzle makes you do something like it is a sign that the premise isn't just for a novelty, it's extremely well executed

putting that number there reveals a red line (almost forgot we had those!) - with some quick deductions afterward. the grid is about halfway filled, so i'm imagining the momentum of the puzzle will slow down, but then i get hit by a bombshell:

what. no fucking way.

basically for the entire puzzle i had been doing logic to the blue lines as if they had the blue line's rules - but now i have to swap them for an entirely different rule? but when i look back at all the stuff i wrote on them... it just works. that's absolutely wild.

so that mega-long blue line that led to this moment? turns out it doesn't even exist. oh, and the green cage is hecking massive as well - just a little bonus to get the whole thing finished.

yay 🎉

honestly this whole thing was equal parts diabolical, clever, and amazing. it's not only insanely creative to have imagined this idea, but very brilliant to craft it into an unambiguous, linear solve path that's just as gorgeous as it is bonkers. it's the kind of nerdy insanity that makes me love solving and talking about these

[sofarfarout]

experiment start

Full Name: Clockwise the Artificer

Goes by: Clockwise

Nicknames/Aliases: old man(by Cold Steel), Rustbucket(by Cold Steel)

Gender: male

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: asexual

Marital status: single, not interested

Age: 53

Birthday: April 14th

Species: born an earth pony, mechanical augmentation makes him functionally an alicorn

Occupation: artificer

Past occupations: horologist and clockmaker

Alignment: Lawful Good

Family: Greasemonkey(father, deceased at age 49), Chug-a-long(mother, deceased at age 74), Nitty Gritty(younger sibling, age 48), Mila Minute(younger sister, age 41)

Relationship with family

Greasemonkey: died when Clockwise was a young adult in an accident at work, they were close and enjoyed messing around with machines and trinkets together

C: "Father was always a busy stallion. Always working, whether it was in his shop or at the factory. He saw beauty in machinery and I'm always grateful to him for sharing that with me."

Chug-a-long: was close with his mother and especially liked riding the train with her, had a shared love for mathematics

C: "Mother and I often enjoyed doing puzzles together. She was very adept at sudoku and while I wasn't bad myself, I was never as fast as her. She told me that numbers simply made sense to her. They were absolutes and did not change. That stick with me for whatever reason."

Nitty Gritty: were never that close but don't really have bad blood either, just went about their lives separately, envy each other's abilities

C: "My sibling and I are near polar opposites. They are a wonderful artist, seeing the world in all these...fantastical hues. Their work is something to behold. I, on the other hoof, seem to lack that color."

Mila Minute: was once very close with his sister but has grown increasingly distant over time, Mila no longer associates with him

C: "..."

Other relationships

Cold Steel: former student that grew disillusioned with his mentor's ideals, believed his views to be naive and childish

CS: "Holier-than-thou? No. But I am holier than you, old man."

Distinguishing physical features

-gangly build, mostly legs with a slim torso

-about half his body is composed of brass augmentations

-very large ears, comparable to a donkey or mule

-tears in left ear

-straight profile, face is neither dished nor aquiline

-eyes are sharp, almost diamond shaped

Cutie Mark: a large gear shaped clock with a smaller gear to the side

Special talent: tinkering, specializes in industrial revolution era technology

How he got it: repaired his family's most prized heirloom, a 17th century pendulum clock, got his mark later than most at age 14

Personality: brilliant, cautious, contemplative, eloquent, empathetic, enigmatic, gentle, idealistic, indecisive, kind, logical, mawkish, meticulous, nervous, passionate, passive, private, reclusive, selfless, unassertive, warm-hearted, wise

Greatest Strength: sensitivity and kindness

Fatal Flaw: difficulty opening up about his own struggles, prone to isolating himself and dealing with his troubles alone

Likes: meditation, math, crabapple jam, antiques, birds(especially owls), tidying up his workshop, hot chocolate, foals, harps, tinkering, whistling

Dislikes: public speaking, being rushed, the smell of gasoline, smartphones, being called a robot, arguing/debate, gardening, sports, heavy metal music, thunderstorms, dirty jokes

Fears: death, clowns, failure

Clockwise is a brilliant artificer working selflessly to unify flesh, metal and the arcane to improve the lives of all creatures in Equestria. He's very passionate about his life's work and spends most of his days tinkering away in his underground workshop. Being rather shy and a workaholic, Clockwise doesn't get out much and is prone to isolating himself and unintentionally pushing others out. Despite this, he's quite sensitive to the plight of others and will not hesitate to use his inventions to help another. He's something of a bleeding heart despite what his metallic body may suggest. This has come back to bite him more than once, most notably with his former apprentice, Cold Steel. A young Cold Steel had come across the fantastic brass pony one day and begged to be taken under his wing, though Clockwise didn't need much convincing after assessing the colt's talent. For years, Steel studied dutifully under Clockwise, eager to learn as much as he could, until Steel's bitterness and anger overtook him. Cold Steel believed his mentor had gone soft and grew to find his ideals and beliefs antiquated. After a heated, though one-sided argument, Steel left his mentor behind, never to return.

Any questions or additional information you want me to add? Don't hesitate to comment!

Bases- box-of-ideas on dA

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

Questions about me!

Thanks for the tag, @sleketon666 ! 😄 won’t tag anyone else as this briefly veers into somewhat personal mental health territory (and is under the cut for mentions of that.) This was fun!

Do you make your bed?

Yes. Not super perfectly but I just kinda automatically tweak the covers on a morning.

What’s your favourite number?

Don’t think I have one. Numbers are more useful and interesting in aggregate haha.

What is your job? // A job you had that would surprise people?

Hmmm well not to go into too much detail, but my real-life work is in science. I guess that might surprise people who know me for my creative side over here! (But also problem-solving inherently requires creativity, and a good plot a good dose of planning and internal logic. Perhaps they aren’t so dissimilar after all ;) )

If you could go back to school would you?

What? Primary school? Secondary school? Non. Secondary was rough until sixth form. I was so fucking bored a lot of the time, and harassment in my school was rife. Although I would love to do lessons with my art teacher again; she was wonderful!

University-wise: already did. Horrible undergrad, in a very high-pressure place, that completely destroyed my sense of worth and all my plans for the future. Took a few years out, went somewhere less horrible, and crushed it. Ta-da! (I mean I’ll forever have a lot of lingering self-doubt but you know. I did the thing. And proved to myself I both love it and am good at it).

Can you parallel park? // Can you drive a manual car?

I hate cars (on both an experience level and an environmental/political level) and will avoid learning to drive for as long as I possibly can. Luckily I love big-city life, which makes that easier!

Do you think aliens are real?

For sure, in a balance-of-probabilities way. The universe is vast. Will we ever find them? Again, the universe is vast. At the very least though, there’s some alien microbes wiggling away out there. That’s fucking cool.

(And watch the science on this, bc we FINALLY have telescopes capable of surveying the spectra of some exoplanets. Exciting discoveries about other planets’ atmospheres to come, and their reflected light, which can provide indirect evidence of life!)

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Oh boy. Bad reality TV. It’s a guilty pleasure because I know it’s a) completely engineered and b) exploitative. (And c) complete brainrotting rubbish). But then someone says “the new series of Too Hot to Handle is out!” and OOPS I am THERE.

Tattoos?

Nope. I’m not a tattoo person. I think some people carry them off but I wear a lot of different clothing silhuoettes and don’t enjoy tattoos half-peeking out of cut-outs. (I just like a “neat” personal style I guess?)

Favourite Colour?

Mmm midnight blue-purple. Some colours are contextual: that one is always perfect. (But I love colour full stop!)

Any phobias?

WASPS holy shit wasps. I know it’s irrational as fuck, and I know they’re important to the ecosystem. That is, in fact, one of the few things I cling on to when they’re really freaking me out. But suffice to say, you’ll never catch me sitting outside a pub in September.

As a kid I was terrified of hand dryers and air conditioning vents. To the point I spent every supermarket trip looking up to see whether I was standing under a vent or not. It is perhaps not surprising I ended up with OCD lol.

Favourite type of music?

Late 70s/Early 80s new wave. Talking Heads and Blondie my beloveds. 80s alternative generally.

Do you talk to yourself?

Unfortunately mostly when I’m struggling with OCD. I’ll curse myself out and say horrible things to myself aloud as effectively emotional self-harm. It’s not nice. (Don’t worry, I’m ok ATM. And have had therapy).

I will muse to myself a little sometimes, on a more fun note.

Do you like puzzles?

Yes! I go through occasional phases of being seriously puzzle-obsessed. Love a good overly-complicated Sudoku variant.

What did you want to be as a child?

Palaeontologist, all the way. I LOVED dinosaurs and would read my dinosaur books constantly. I think my faves were T-rexes (OBVIOUSLY) and Parasauralophus (probably not how you spell that and I suspect my ten-year-old self would have done a better job!)

Coffee or Tea?

Love them both. I drink more coffee atm but tea is great too (Lapsang Souchong being my absolute favourite. I need to order more!) I am 100% a caffeine addict but I find it so soothing. Even when I’m anxious, I want a cup of tea (yeah, yeah, sensible it is not. But ahhhhhh so relaxing).

Favourite Movies?

Star Trek: The Voyage Home. Just everything good about TOS Trek. Wonderful.

The Sure Thing: Underrated 80s romcom gem about an uptight, studious girl and a slacker-but-sweetheart boy getting stuck on a road trip together. It’s got a lot of humour and a lot of heart. Plus a great instance of the “confession via essay read in class” trope, which I love. The gif below is from this movie!

It’s a Wonderful Life//A Muppet Christmas Carol - I adore a good Christmas movie, and these are the best. I’m an atheist, but I adore Christmas; to me, it’s about kindness, family and community, which is why these films have me bawling my fucking heart out every year. (Yes, I cry when muppet Tiny Tim says “god bless us, every one”. Fucking come at me. Sniffle).

[c7thetumbler]

Quick Game Reviews March 2024

3 month combo hell yeah

I'm reusing last months banner because I got super lazy

Image taken from my switch. We fist bumped.

Splatoon 3 [Revisited] (Switch)

I previously "reviewed" this in 2022, and here were my thoughts on that:

While it doesn't break much ground in comparison to the previous game, it's definitely worth a go if you've enjoyed the first 2 entries.

Now that the DLC and a number of updates are out, I went ahead and revisited this for about a whole months worth of eveneings just to see how far it's come.

And it's doing pretty well! I"m still utter trash at pvp, but that's not stopped me from enjoying it. Additionally all of the new Salmon Run content, including Big Run, is really fun to continue grinding away at for hours on end. The level of customization the game has is great as well, and the badges being hidden is a solid way of doing achievements. Again, It's a very solid Splatoon experience and I'd recommend it to anyone interested in it, though you've probably gotten it already if you are.

That being said, it + the expansion pack are a little pricey for what you're getting, at least so far. Nintendo hasn't announced a 3rd wave of DLC, but the 1st wave consisted of just some more cosmetics and an optional hub world, which wasn't a whole lot to go off of, and the 2nd, Side Order (reviewed last month) is great but not $30 great. The game seems to be getting gameplay and Splatfest updates still at least, so I'll probably be sticking with it for a while cuz it's just a fun romp while listening to podcasts and chillin with the cat in the lap.

Image from the B3313 fandom wiki

B3313 (N64 Rom hack)

B3313 is a Mario 64 Rom Hack that thrives off of your previous experiences with SM64 and SM64DS and twists it with dream-like surreal changes and a vast degree of inception-like complexity. It is near impossible to map out its worlds, and around every corner, death, door, or even successful star you will often find yourself thrown into a completely new, slightly twisted version of somewhere you may recognize.

I had a really good time at first divng straight into it and navigating my way through the worlds, trying to maker cohesive sense of it, and managed to get ~40 stars before I got bored of it. I know there's a whole lot more there, but its fatal flaw is when you get this complex, your levels really have to be engaging or interesting in and of themselves, and most of the time they just aren't. You'll spend a lot of time running around big, empty levels looking for a silver star or red coinv, or in a lot of cases replaying the same start of a level to get to a sub area within a sub area that your previously died at only to get thrown off by the game's camera and miss a jump and then thrown back out into Peach's castle as imagine by MC Escher.

It's a fun romhack, and a lot of love was thrown into it, but as a "game" or for-fun experience it doesn't really hold up there. I would more recommend it just to see if it's something you enjoy, but prepare for some frustration and backtracking.

Image from Dreamsweeper's steam page

Dreamsweeper (Steam Demo)

I saw GirlDM (wholesome catgirl vtuber) playing this on my feed once and decided to give it a go. It's basically like if Crypt of the Necrodancer replace the music mechanics with Minesweeper instead, which I'm down for.

The core loop is good; I had a lot of fun applying Minesweeper logic in a new way, as well as the aesthetics really bringing out the comfy, lofi dream look they were really going for, so that's a huge plus. That being said, it's still got some growing to do. I'm a little confused as to how you would expand this into a full game, and sometimes the generation can just make it impossible to logic out some areas. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing; the difference between Minesweeper and a logic complete puzzle game like Sudoku is occasionally you do run into guesses. It's like dealing with real mines!

Additionally, the combat is a bit out of place. That's not to say the DDR-esque (or like Undyne from Undertale) minigame isn't good, but it doesn't really fit with the minesweeper or even dream look in and of itself, and just serves to take you out of it rather than add to it. I would've preferred something like a logic puzzle, or even another variation or callback to a different old windows pc minigame everyone had just to kinda keep it cohesive.

That being said, I enjoyed my time time with and am looking forward to seeing how they expand on it in the future!

Image from the steam page

Megaman X Dive Offline (Steam)

You get mad props in my book for turning your mobile game from a F2P gacha game to a cohesive, single-purchase experience. Even more so, when you take the servers down you release that as its own offline game so that it's accessible to anyone who may have missed out.

This was an impulse purchase alongside the Battle Network Legacy collections, and honestly? Kind of regret it. Not because the game is bad exactly, but because I realized that I don't actually like Mega Man X that much to begin with so me getting the whole deal didn't make a lot of sense. The levels are fine and the gameplay is too, however I can already tell that because of how the Gacha works it's a grindfest to get any character up to par, and there's as a result a bunch of inventory management between levels to ensure your stuff remains good. I'm glad they did it, but it exemplifies why adding mechanics that meld with microtransactions inherently makes the core experience worse and the game's not for me.

Image taken from the Sonic Triple Trouble 16 bit website

Sonic Triple Trouble 16-bit (Fan game)

I saw an article that the Noah Copeland was hopping off of the Sonic Drift 16-bit project to make his own game with his own characters. His reasoning was he had two goals: Make a Sonic fan game and make his own games, and now that he had done the former with Sonic Triple Trouble 16-bit, he wanted to start on the latter. That's completely fair and understandable, and I wish him the best and hope the Sonic Drift 16-bit project continues with the current devs because it looks really good!

I'd be lying if my initial reaction wasn't actually me being like "Wait, there's a really good remake of Sonic Triple Trouble?" Though.

And it is really good! It remakes Sonic Triple Trouble into a "modern" classic Sonic game w3hile adding new levels, playable characters, and layouts and expanding on the story to make it cohesive and fun. Sonic's drop dash returns from Mania, and again it really brings his moveset together and makes him the most fun character to play in my opinion. Tails is also playable at the same time as Sonic, and you can swap to him on the fly with a single button press, which is a welcome change over just having him be around. In Free play mode you can unlock 3 more characters as well, which is always fun.

Overall this is, like Mania, peak classic Sonic gameplay. This is what Sonic Superstars should've been, and its quality is higher than a lot of official Sonic releases as of late (looking at you, Origins and Forces). If you're a fan of Classic Sonic, this is a well designed and excellent experience you need to give a try! And it won't cost you a cent!

Image taken from the steam store page

Insaniquarium Deluxe (Steam)

This was a fun revisit. I Hadn't played this since way back in the day when they had the original, much more pixelated version and it was nice to revisit.

Just some quick notes on this one: PvZ definitely aged a lot better. While I appreciate that large amount of modes and variety in levels, the gameplay itself is very one note. It's addictive fore sure, but as soon as you get into the habit of it there really isn't much variety between the different tanks other than figuring out how to ramp up production.

Additionally the game has you clicking a lot, and the speed at which you can click is very much ingrained into its core mechanics. If this were made today, that would not go well given how utterly painful play sessions can get. I opted to use a mouse clicker, because I wanted to have fun and also be able to work tomorrow without dying.

All that being said, it's still a fantastic game in its own right! Sure, it's not the deepest gameplay you've ever seen, but not all games have to have deep, complex interweaving mechanics to be a grand old time. It's a great time to play for an hour or so while you're listening to a video or podcast, and honestly I recommend it for just being a fun, nostalgic clicker game. But wait for a sale.

And it's more enjoyable than cookie clicker, imo

Image from my switch

Princess Peach: Showtime!

As of the time of this writing I haven't beaten it yet, so my story & gameplay assessment may change by that time. If that does, I'll update this in my reviews next month, but I think I'm still pretty on point.

I'll go into this saying I had pretty high hopes for this one. Nintendo has a great track record when it comes to making spin-offs based off of other Mario characters; Yoshi games offer a different but still engaging platforming experience to the basic Mario platformers. Wario Land games are for the most part all great, ranging from platformers that test your wits and abilities to the iconic WL4/Shake it gameplay that would give rise to Pizza Tower. Luigi's mansion took a character whose only feature was being Green Mario and made it into a successful franchise with completely unique gameplay.

And sure, Peach has had a platformer before with Super Princess Peach. I haven't played it, but I heard it was fun. But when this game was announced I will say I was excited to see another Mario spin-off but with Peach as the leading lady.

And it's definitely not bad! I want to make sure that's clear; I don't dislike the game. It's difficult to describe the gameplay in a way that encompasses everything though. The best comparison would be a puzzle platformer but with a large amount of minigames interspersed, along with hidden collectibles all throughout the levels. To go with probably the worst possible game mashup I can think of, It's like Wario: Master of Disguise mixed with Luigi's Mansion 2 and a Spin-off Kirby game.

I will also say that I'm not the target audience for it, for sure, so I'm keeping that in mind when I say this. It's just, I'm kind of disappointed in it myself. It's not challenging, kinda like how Yoshi's Crafted World and most modern Kirby's aren't, but the gameplay isn't really engaging me enough to want to progress that frequently. Additionally most of the challenge seems to be from collecting the green sparkles scattered throughout the level, and for the most part it's not so much a skill challenge as a "Oh did you find the right part of the screen to stand on and pose" sort of thing.

The setting and story kind of irks me as well. The theatre aesthetic isn't foreign to Mario games, with Paper Mario and SMB3 even embracing it, but it feels inconsistent here. Peach is put through a variety of different plays where she assumes the main role in order to complete the stage and overcome the main antagonist: Grape and the Sour Bunch, and bring order back to the play. But it feels like they couldn't decide whether the game was trying to be like "Hey this is you actually helping people in need" and "This is all an act for your amusement", and bouncing back between those constantly and clumsily does it a disservice.

Performance wise the game's not doing so hot either. I know it's on switch, but with how smooth Mario Kart 8 DX and Splatoon 3 run, the game doesn't really have an excuse to be dropping frames. Most of the game is a fixed perspective with models made to look like theater props, but I find it's actually pretty common to see things operating at a lower framerate or stuttering. They also didn't even stick 100% with the theater aesthetic, with a lot of transitions looking almost voxel and digital in nature rather than actively moving set pieces like a performance, which is a shame because if they went all in on it it would've been cool to see them nail it like modern Paper Mario hits the paper aesthetic really well.

All in all, I'd say this a fairly decent game that has some issues finding what it's supposed to be. There's definitely fun to have here, but the variety of costumes and performances which for the most part don't mix together make the game feel like a mini-game collection more than a cohesive experience. So, it's alright, but in my opinion I'd wait for a big sale before picking it up. If you're looking for a challenge, consider this to be like a Kirby game before you buy

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

anyone have any puzzle recs

or alternatively whats ur favourite puzzle type if you have one

for me when it comes to apps I love nonograms the most but I also like minesweeper. Then when it comes to paper (or apps still) I like logic grid puzzles, kenken, sudoku, word/number fill ins, & kakuro off the top of my head.

sometimes I encounter a new puzzle and I’m like !!!! I love this how did I never know about this before !!! so I am reaching out to expand my puzzle list and also just want to hear what anyone reading this likes

[lyra-brie]

What are isfj and 9w1?

Would you tell me about those?

Ello Antman! Welcome to my inbox lol

Be very careful asking me about typology lol I barely know what I'm talking about and it's so complicated and I will ramble about it and not make sense for hours.

I'm also going on memory from the last time I hyperfixated on this stuff so anyone feel free to correct stuff I completely forgot

So the enneagram can be explained a lot more easily and you have the option of just not getting as deep into it whereas mbti the only "simple" version of it is taking a test and I test would absolutely never give me ISFJ because I dont fit the stereotypes.

So we'll start with enneagram. It's a personality typing system with 9 numbered types. I'm an enneagram 9, commonly known as the peacemaker or as I refer to us the chameleons. I'll send you the sleeping at last enneagram songs later, they're really good and help you get a grasp on the types. 9 is a gut type (along with 8 and 1) and the struggle emotion of gut types is anger. The way the 9 reacts to anger is by hiding and suppressing it. You can get a lot more in depth with that, with growth and how it works unhealthily, tritypes, etc, but the only more complicated thing I'll explain is my wing since it's also in my bio. Wings are the two types on either side of your main type, so in the instance of 9, they're 8 and 1. A lot of the time you'll display your main type with your dominant wing that is more prominent, which in my case is 1, often refered to as the perfectionist or the reformer.

Mbti I will explain as simple as I can for you lol. I'll tell you more in our messages if you want. So every mbti type has 4 functions (there are 8 total). ISFJ is Si-Fe-Ti-Ne (the order is important).

My dominant function, Si is introverted sensing, which is incredibly difficult for me to explain lol. But basically the sensing functions are based on concrete information, which is taken in by your senses, and it's introverted so you're using it subjectively and comparing it with the information you already know. Which probably makes no sense. But it's a stereotypically close minded super organized responsible function. Which immediately makes sense why I would never get it as my dom function on a test lol. But that's because I have ADHD override. Si wants to be organized and it loves the familiar and routines and concrete things that we already know and sticking to them. All of which I love despite sucking at them lol.

My auxiliary function, Fe, is extraverted feeling. The feeling functions are all about your morals and values and it's extraverted so it comes from the environment and people around you, meaning Fe gets it's morals and values from the people and environment around it. Si-Fe is a really interesting dom-aux pair in my opinion because where Si is generally seen as closed minded, Fe basically counteracts it depending on who you're around. It's often associated with being very empathetic but once again it depends on people and environment more than anything else. Fe can be selfish because that's what the people around them are and Fe often adapts to that. It also means that you don't really have a lot of intrinsic values that come from *you* (which would be Fi).

My tertiary function, Ti, is introverted thinking. The thinking functions are all about logic and that sort of stuff and its introverted so it likes the familiar and subjective things you already think you know. Your tertiary function is often more underdeveloped but you have a lot of fun using it. So often hobbies and things will gravitate toward it. Ti often loves logic puzzles and sudoku and overanalyzing things and you know. Psychoanalyzing people and typology lol. I suck at these things but have fun with them anyways. And you'll see me build the same exact prison on prison architect or play lots of games from the beginning but almost the exact same way everytime because of my Si-Ti combo just wanting the familiar.

My inferior function (aka the Annoying one that sucks but I require it for so many things), Ne, is extraverted intuition. This is the exact opposite of Si, its actually the stereotypical ADHD function, it's all about abstract ideas from the outside world since its extraverted. Ne is where lots of new abstract ideas come from, it's incredibly important for writing, and mine hates me lol (it has gotten better though! It still normally takes me using it intentionally for it to cooperate). You and @chainsaw-raven seem to actually have decent Ne-in fact I think last time Etty and I talked about this we came to the conclusion that she's probably a Ne-dom, which makes yall excellent writing buddies, btw. Ne is also very impulsive and seeks lots of new experiences.

So yeah that's the overview of the ISFJ type and how it presents for me. There's so much more that I barely understand, gripping (how the functions react to stress), shadow stacks, looping (how the stacks react to trauma), etc. But that's a topic for later.

Hope you enjoyed my typology rant that made 0 sense lol.

[unhingedwomandiaries]

There's this blonde woman who used to constantly pop up in my YouTube recommendations back in the early 2010s. I have no clue who she is or why the algorithm was so obsessed with her content. From what I could gather, she was some kind of family vlogger, but I never subscribed or anything. To be perfectly honest, I found her completely unremarkable. She wasn't unattractive by conventional standards, I suppose, but there was nothing especially interesting or captivating about her online presence. Just another face on the internet, you know?

Well, this week it was announced that this random YouTube mom is getting divorced after eight years of marriage to a dude she's known since elementary school. She's only 28 years old, by the way, and she dropped this divorce bombshell on the very same day she announced the birth of her third kid. Naturally, the Reddit hive mind is absolutely losing its mind over this news, dissecting every minute detail of her personal life like it's the Zapruder film or something.

It's moments like these that make me grateful x went under back in the day, because I saw firsthand how vicious the online commentary could get when I was working in social media. I'd have these kids - literal children - telling me they'd lost all faith in love after x dumped me. They were devastated over the breakup of two people they'd never met in real life. It's insane how easily personas can be fabricated online. Internet me might be a Sudoku savant who can conquer the most diabolical New York Times puzzles in under three minutes, but in reality, my husband is over here telling me I've been playing the game completely wrong this entire time.

One Redditor chimed in saying they weren't surprised this YouTuber's marriage imploded since she and her husband had gotten hitched at 19. My response? "So what?" I know plenty of couples who married young and stayed together for decades. My own parents tied the knot around that age and made it almost 30 years before my dad passed away. Hell, one of my uncles just celebrated his 50th wedding anniversary down in Cabo. Age ain't nothing but a number, folks. There could be a million different reasons why this internet rando's marriage crapped out - why are total strangers speculatively scrutinizing her life choices based on some dumb statistic?

And this woman has the audacity to come at me saying something along the lines of "Okay, maybe that was normal for your parents generation, but it's really common for young married couples to simply outgrow each other these days. And let's be real - a lot of parents stayed together because women had basically no rights back then." Just laying it on thick with the condescending faux-historian feminist analysis while simultaneously insulting my own family's legacy. As if she's some kind of expert on the dynamics of my parents marriage. So I fired back because hey, I'm not just going to let some rando insult me and mine. Her genius response? "Peace, I'm not reading that." Then she downvoted me for no logical reason whatsoever. Get fucked, lady.

[kazumyluv]

Masquerade Kiss Yuzuru Headcanons

1. Yuzuru's earring isn't just an accessory. It probably has some sort of technology behind it. I personally think this because of MC's bracelet. Yuzu made her that so she could use it to defend herself in situations. I think Yuzuru's earring serves as a recorder - could be only audio or both audio and video. And probably one can communicate with it too.

2. Yuzuru likes classical music/ piano or violin based instrumentals. Idk why I think this.

3. Yuzuru probably has some really cute habit like counting numbers in his head or something similar to deal with anxiety. He probably solves math problems/ a crossword puzzle/sudoku/ Rubik's cubes everyday too. To both enhance his mind and to calm his anxiety if he has any. (As a person similar to him, I do this)

4. He prefers cardio over muscle training. (He apparently seems to love this one special form of cardio with MC a lot 😩💦)

5. He's secretly pretty disturbed when people assume he's aromantic. He doesn't have anything against aromantic people, he respects everyone's identity. He just doesn't like that people assume things about him that are far from the truth.

6. He has a sex toy stash and pleasures himself often.

7. He never had a pet. (I'm really sorry if he did and I didn't know) HE JUST DOESN'T SEEM LIKE SOMEONE TO HAVE A PET 😭 He'd be one of those dads.

"Dad can I have a pet kitty pls?"

"No pets in the house."

*Dad and pet snuggling and sleeping 3 days later*

Yep that's definitely our Yuzu right there 😁

8. He supports body neutrality. It seems logical. He cares about the body's functionality more than it's appearance.

9. He has had fantasies about Mc wearing his tee after a night together and it to be very oversized making her look adorable.

10. He agrees with the statement, "I love you. I want us both to eat well."

There, that's the end. Thank you for reading my random thoughts. I'M SORRY IF IT IS WEIRD- Bye bye. Love Yuzuru. Should I do a Kaz or Kei ver?

[ulv-bie]

Alrighty (headcanons below)

+ firstly note: I headcanon them as silly roommates who sit 4 feet apart or less

Starting with the basics, SCC.

Sweet:

- Real/Full Name : Bitmap Byte Rorator

- He/They

- 16

- 4’2

- Has an older brother named Modem, hasn’t seen him or their parents in years

Sweet is a hide and seek champion. They used to hide in small places as a kid just for the fun of it.

He’s friends with the Addisons. He and his brother used to volunteer in their shops during school breaks

Sweet likes to take walks and cook, but they also enjoy making things. Little gadgets, full on machines, anything that can assist their day to day life.

As a kid, his house wasn’t fully functional. The lights barely worked and there were loose wires everywhere. He and the Blue Addison worked together to fix it one day, and that’s how they discovered his interest with electronics.

They met Cap’n one day in the trash dump. Cap had tripped over some boxes that he didn’t notice, and Sweet helped him up. They immediately became best friends, and Sweet helped them navigate the city.

The two met K_K after he fell through their roof. They were hiding from Queen and the Swatchlings, so Sweet and Cap’n let them stay.

Sweet’s favorite food is cookies. His favorite colors are orange and purple

Born and raised in Cyber City

Cap’n:

- Real/Full Name: Captain Ykate-Bridge

- He/They/It

- 15

- 4’10

- He doesn’t have ‘parents’, but the people who raised them are named Kat and Chell-See.

Cap’n isn’t good at typical games. Most board games, card games, etc. He always manages to get unlucky, and has never won a game against Sweet or K_K. They are good at logic puzzles, however. They’re great with numbers and riddles. Trivia games, sudoku, scrabble, and more. K_K and Sweet dread the days Cap’n gets to pick what game they play.

They aren’t that social with the citizens of Cyber City. It’s less a fear of socialization than it is ‘what if they tell my parents I’m here?’. It would probably be friends with Ambyu-Lance if they tried to hold a conversation.

Cap’n likes to write. Sometimes he’ll spend all day writing short stories and poetry, and sometimes they’ll even share them with Sweet. Other than that, they enjoy fixing things. He knows how to sew and use tools properly, which is useful for a clumsy trio.

With two scientist ‘parents’, he was often left alone. Out of boredom, Cap decided to learn how to fix various things around the house (door hinges, floorboards, etc.) through trial and error. It had a natural talent when dealing with wires, thankfully.

[Edit: forgot to add this in before!] Cap, new to the city, was looking around for a place to stay. With blurred eyes he saw someone. Whoever this was, they were intent on meeting them. It tripped over boxes that it couldn’t see, but still managed to make a friend.

K_K saved Cap’n from losing Go-Fish against Sweet. It was a small thing, but Cap is extremely thankful. (Don’t tell the others, but sometimes cap gets a bit jealous of k_k.)

Cap doesn’t have a favorite food, but he has a favorite color. (It’s blue. They’ll write an essay on why, they’ll even bring up old history about the color just to convince you it’s the best.)

Born and raised in Techno Town, moved to Cyber City at age 14

K_K:

- Real/Full Name: Cakes Pop-Swatch

- They/He

- 16

- 6’0

- Made by Queen, but raised by Swatch and the Swatchlings.

K_K is great at card games specifically. They’re decent at board games, but an absolute legend with cards. They end up with the best hand, the best luck, and they always have the best strategy. He’s no longer allowed to play War.

K_K gets along very well with Tasques. Sweet and Cap’n are still trying to figure out how and why.

As their name suggests, yes, they like baking. Cookies, cake, bagels, and sometimes even pie. They also bake jello. You’re not supposed to put it in the oven, but they do. Other than that, they love making short tunes.

Among the many skills the Swatchlings taught him, cooking had to be the most useful. Mostly since no one really needs to know how to make a Jenga tower out of shoes..

One night, K_K gathered up all of their courage. They hopped out of a window and ran as far as they could. They were determined not to let the following Swatchlings catch up. K_K hid on a bridge type thing a bit above ground, but slipped and ended up gaining two best friends.

K_K likes any baked food, but they also enjoy food that Cap n Sweet make. It doesn’t have to be good, but they’ll eat it anyway. His favorite colors are red, yellow, and blue.

Born and raised in Queen’s Mansion, Cyber City.

Various Headcanons:

Cap’s hat and bandana were both gifts from Sweet. In return, Cap’n have him a hat as well. Now they match.

K_K is the one who made the basic design for Cap’n’s glasses, but Sweet is the one who made it (with the help of the Addisons)

They live in Sweet’s house, their shop is a separate building. That being said, the house has very small door frames. Poor K_K.

K_K has a slight British accent, but it changed which specific part it’s from constantly.

Cap’n has a heavy country accent. When he was introducing himself to Sweet, they said the simple “My name is Cap’n.” Sweet, confused, went “..Captain?” (It actually is Captain, but they’ve never been around anyone who pronounced it fully.)

There’s.. a lot of secret crushing going on between these guys. Cap’n is the most obvious. Sweet is the most oblivious. K_K is the complete opposite of both.

Handwriting and Drawing analysis section:

Sweet’s handwriting is very curled/loopy and ‘sweet’. It copies a few letters from cursive handwriting, and the ‘i’s are inconsistent. Sweet doesn’t write a lot, nor do they try to. They’re more of a ‘think, then do’ than ‘think, plan out, then do’ guy.

He does not know how to draw. It’s all stick figures. A single square box with a line.

Cap’n copies a lot of letters from K_K and Sweet. They like the curled letters from Sweet, he thinks it makes him sound fancy. The bold letters are taken from K_K because he wants to stand out a bit. It also writes letters close together and just almost curls their ‘g’s. (Also note: Cap writes large to make people think he writes a lot.)

He can only draw headshots. He’s tried bodies, but they always look wonky. He always draws themself with a smug smile.

K_K has very bold and ‘silly’ handwriting. Bold, bouncy letters, circle ‘lollipop’ ‘i’s, smiles in the loops and circles, etc. K_K writes a lot, they just have a lot to say! And they want people to read it, so he spaces the letters out a bit.

K_K is very expressive with his way of drawing. Adding little emotes to their sentences and inside their letters is a habit of theirs. He draws himself with eyelashes (..which he does not have.).

[fangirlshrewt97]

The Old Guard Fanfic - 5,472,730,538 Possibilities

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Pairing: Joe/Nicky, Nicky & Nile

Characters: Nile Freeman, Nicolo di Genova, Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Andromache of Scythia 

Rating: General 

Warnings: None 

Additional Tags:  Team as Family, Family Bonding, Brother-Sister Relationships, Fluff, Basically Nile is missing home, And Nicky is a cinnamon roll who finds a way to lessen the ache, and they find a new thing to bond over that does not involve blood, Sudoku

Summary: 

He reached for his pocket and pulled out a pen, tossing it to Nile. “Why not do it now?” “It doesn’t- It’s not the same.” Nile argued, biting her lip. “But you want to do it no? So do it.” Nicky said, gesturing to the paper. Was it really so easy? She put the pen to the paper but stopped. “Yeah no, it feels weird to do it alone.” Nicky hummed, sitting back up in his chair, leaning on his elbows in the table. “I’ll do it with you then.”

Basically, Nile comes across something that makes her think of home, Nicky sees this, and tries his best to help her not feel as lonely. And is also a little bit of a shit about it.

Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553461

                                                     ///

They were in Malaysia, having finished an easy takedown of a small ring of human traffickers. They were due to fly out that night, so Nicky and Nile had been charged with buying the necessary supplies while Joe handled clean up at the scene, and Andy ensured the children would find good homes.

They had stopped at a bakery inside of a mall, Nicky insisting that they had some choice sweets that Andy loved. So Nile had been waiting outside the store while Nicky went to make his purchases when the small bookstore window display across the bakery caught her eye. Biting her lip, she peered to see Nicky was still busy perusing the wares, so she hefted her bags and made her way into the bookstore.

It was a small shop, barely large enough for four people at a time. There was a small kid looking at some comics and a bored cashier scrolling through his phone. Setting her bags down, Nile reached to grab what had caught her eye.

“What is that?” Nicky asked suddenly, startling Nile into dropping the book.

“Shit. Sorry.” Nile mumbled in the direction of the annoyed looking cashier. When she turned, she saw Nicky holding the book.

“101 Sudoku puzzles?” Nicky asked, brows furrowed.

Nile was thankful her skin color meant he couldn’t notice the embarrassed flush overtaking her.

“It is stupid!” Nile said as she snatched the book and put it back on the display, wincing as she realized it would have been more believable if she hadn’t acted like she had something to hide. Nicky had a raised eyebrow, clearly not buying her lie.

Nile sighed. “Seriously, Nicky. It is nothing, can we go? Are you done looking at the bread?”

Nicky gave her a once over, but thankfully let it go, holding up a bag that honestly smelled incredible. Feeling her stomach clench in hunger, she nodded.

“Cool. Let’s go!” Nile said, leading them out of the bookshop into the sweltering Malaysian sun. She definitely did not run. She just… walked fast.

She forgot the incident soon after, Copley sent them on another mission hours after they reached their next safe house, sending them all the way to Brazil, where they had to take down a drug ring and free a brothel filled with women who were being forced to pay back their debts with their bodies.

She was reminded of the incident when something was placed next to her head where it was currently resting on a table’s edge at their São Paulo safe house. It was a small apartment, two bedroom and bathrooms, but it fit their needs. Andy was currently on the phone with Copley, and Joe had gone into the kitchen to make dinner.

When she looked up, she saw a newspaper, and Nicky’s hand covering part of the page. At her questioning look, he just smiled and moved his hand.

Sitting back slowly, she looked at the Sudoku in the newspaper. She raised her own eyebrows at Nicky. The man just smiled wider and sat down. “This is what you were looking at in the bookshop. In Malaysia. A book about these.”

“Um… yeah.” Nile said, surprised the man had remembered. But then again, Nicky seemed to remember everything when it came to stuff that caused his family to have any kind of reaction.

“What about it?” Nicky asked.

“What?”

“Your eyes, they became a little sad when you saw it. What about them makes you sad?” Nicky prodded gently. And Nile couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed at this man who was trying to hard.

She sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing, it wouldn’t make you sigh.”

And that was the thing wasn’t it. “It’s just. Jamal, my brother? We used to play with these.”

Nicky’s brows furrowed in confusion. For a 1000-year old man, he was remarkably expressive at times. “Play these?”

Nile hummed. She picked up the paper, and ran her fingers lightly on the puzzle. “After school, we would take the paper, copy out the puzzle into a notebook and then we would start the clock, seeing who could solve it faster.”

Nile felt a smile start to form on her own face at the thought. She had missed doing these, missed doing them with her brother. Her smile faded when she realized she’d never get to do their Sudoku races together again. Nile placed the paper back down.

When she looked up, Nicky was looking at her intensely. “What?”

Giving a big exhale, he leaned back in his own chair. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a pen, tossing it to Nile. “Why not do it now?”

“It doesn’t- It’s not the same.” Nile argued, biting her lip.

“But you want to do it no? So do it.” Nicky said, gesturing to the paper.

Was it really so easy? She put the pen to the paper but stopped. “Yeah no, it feels weird to do it alone.”

Nicky hummed, sitting back up in his chair, leaning on his elbows in the table. “I’ll do it with you then.”

Nile blinked, but twisted her mouth into a wry grin. “Sure. Ok, here is how you do it. You see how this divided into 9 boxes? The objective of the game is to fill all the boxes in such a way that each box, row, and column has 1 through 9 written on them, with no repeating in them. Like here for example,” she showed one box, “see these four 3’s? That means a 3 can only come here, because it is the only box where it won’t overlap. Got it?”

Nicky hummed concomitantly, his eyes amused. “Yes.”

“Alright, let’s do it then.” Nile said. She shifted her chair so she was next to Nicky, and the pair of them leaned over the puzzle to do it together, Nicky pointing out a few numbers as Nile finished it.

“That was fun.” Nicky said when they completed it. “We should do this again.”

And to Nile’s surprise, she found herself in agreement. She felt a pang of sadness at not doing it with Nicky, but it was still fun. “Yes we should.”

They got another job the next day and were whizzing off again, this time to South Africa. Their safe house in Cape Town was a beach front apartment, bought by Andy back in the 80’s. It was an old building, quiet and creaking, but served its purpose.

Andy was on cooking duty this time, and Nile was given first turn with the shower, when Joe and Nicky returned from their shopping trip for new clothes. Nile did not think she had ever bought this many clothes so quickly in her life, but honestly, she had also not had a habit of constantly getting shot and covering them in blood and bullet holes.

By the time Nile came out, Joe was sitting in front of the TV, flipping channels, probably trying to find a soccer match. Andy had a plate of food and was sitting beside him, more focused on her dinner than the match. When Nicky spotted Nile, he made a happy noise and gestured for her to join him at the dining table.

“I saw these on our way back, and thought that if you did not mind, we could continue that tradition you told me about?” he asked, eyes betraying his excitement, even as his voice remained steady.

“Tradition?” Nile asked.

Nicky nodded and reached for a small brown bag she hadn’t noticed. He pulled out two identical books and a packet of pens, and slid one of each to Nile. Nile bit her lip at the time. 400 Sudoku Puzzles.

“Nicky…” Nile whispered, even as she clutched the book in a white-knuckled grip.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to Nile.” Nicky assured her when he saw her tear up, worry coloring his expression.

And oh, Nile could not stand to see that concern when all this man had tried to do was give her a piece of home back to her.

“No. Thank you. I had fun last time.” she said, giving him a watery smile. He responded in kind. “Are you sure about races though?”

His eyes took on a wicked glint. “Absolutely. It is tradition no?”

Nile chuckled. “Yes.”

“Joe!” Nicky called out, and Joe turned to see him, getting up to come to them when Nicky beckoned. He pressed a quick kiss to Nicky’s hair when he was within reach. “I need you to time us.”

“Time you?”

“Nicky and I are going to complete Sudoku’s and we are going to see who can finish faster.”

For some reason that made Joe bark a laugh. “You and Nicky?”

Nile frowned. “Yes? Why, you have a problem?”

“No, no, dearest Nile, I would be honored to keep time.” he said as he continued to wear a wide grin, pulling up his phone.

Nile squinted at him before turning to Nicky. “Should we just do the first puzzle?”

“Seems logical.” Nicky said as he flipped to the appropriate page.

Both of them uncapped their pens and got ready before glancing at Joe. Andy had turned around in the sofa, watching the two of them instead of the TV.

“Are you ready?” Joe asked, and their nods, “1, 2, 3, GO!”

Nile focused on the puzzle, going by each square methodically, crossing off the possibilities mentally in her head. It was an easy puzzle, so she did not have to write down all the potential numbers. And yet, she was startled when Nicky slammed his book down with a “Done!” when she was only halfway through hers

“Wait what?” Nile asked, reaching to grab the older man’s book while Joe leaned back in his chair, laughing.

“1 minute 15 seconds Nicky! Good job!”

Nile gaped as she looked at the puzzled solved perfectly. She placed the book down and glared at the Italian man, who now at least had the wherewithal to look sheepish. “Explain.”

It wasn’t quite a growl but close enough.

Nicky blushed, and Joe answered for him. “Nile, uhkt sageera, Nicky and I have lived for a thousand years now. Not to mention that Nicky has been doing the New York Times crossword puzzle since it was first published, in what? 1940? 1945? He tended to do the other puzzles too. I believe the first Sudoku puzzle was in the UK? I remember him being excited about it.”

Nile stared at him, jaw open while Andy started to cackle in the background. She spun in her seat, half furious, half indignant. “You cheater!”

Nicky put up both hands in surrender. “I didn’t exactly cheat Nile!”

“I thought you had never done Sudokus before! I thought you were humoring me!”

“Well-”

“Oh my god, I explained how to solve a Sudoku to you in São Paulo, why didn’t you say anything?”

“You seemed very passionate…”

“Nicky…” she growled only to sit back heavily in her chair, definitely not pouting, no matter how fond Joe looked at her.

Nicky’s own sheepish look was slowly transforming into a playful grin and she rolled her eyes in exasperation before laughing. “Alright, fine, this was on me.”

“I had a lot of fun Nile. I would enjoy doing this again.”

Nile groaned, tilting her head back and covering her face, exaggerating the dramatics because it drew more laughs from her family, and she was coming to treasure these laughs as much as those of her mother and brother.

She sat back when the laughter died down, taking the Sudoku book in hand. “I would like that too Nicky. Guess there is another aspect of the tradition we are going to be repeating too now though.”

When Nicky looked at her confused, her wry look transformed into a fond grin. “I am fated to always lose at Sudoku races to my big brother apparently.”

“Nile…” Nicky breathed her voice as though it was something delicate. Precious. And then he got up and came around the table to pull her into a hug she returned with all her strength. “Non riesco a immaginare un onore più grande dell'essere tuo fratello, sorellina.”

Even if she didn’t understand the words, she understood the meaning, and a small part of the hole created by her family was filled in.

“I love you too, Nicky.”

And she did, this man who was willing to die for her, to kill to protect her.

Even if it meant an eternity losing Sudoku races to him.