#i tried playing around with new layers and stuff

[porcelainbirdss]

one for luck, one for…

summary: in which your friend Phainon decided to play with your hair just before the bell rings — and by some miracle, your deepest covets became satiated.

cw: fem!reader, fem!Phainon, modern au, fluff, Phainon is kinda a mean girl so probably ooc, she’s crushing hard on reader, possessiveness. || wc: 2.7k

"oh, [name]! do you sit here now?" Phainon inquired, her lips stretched into a wide smile as she took in your form, trying to organize your stuff. the bell would ring in about fifteen minutes — and your teacher was always ever so strict, so you preferred to have your notebooks and pencil-case neatly placed — just in case.

you nodded, trying to form your expression into something cordial — the girl was… well, how do you say this? one of the popular ones, while you were more of a pushover, letting your wits be used by others. however, no matter how Phainon might have appeared, she never once tried to use you — if anything, she would be the one giving you answers during quizzes while you found yourself lacking in information, or helping you when the teacher asked you to answer in front of the whole class.

you didn’t understand the girl — of course, what she was doing was utterly kind, but out of all those people she could have chosen — why you?

"yes, that’s my place now." you answered politely, returning her smile as you fidgeted with your pen. for whatever reason, whenever she lied her blue, bright irises on you, you felt a tingle of something foreign spring up in your gut.

Phainon beamed, immediately taking her seat behind you. "finally, that teach made a good decision for once." she hummed, leaning to talk to you over the clamor, "i don’t know about you, but i honestly don’t like him. he’s so stuck up, isn’t he?"

you nodded along to her words, continuing to spin the pen between your fingers, thinking that perhaps this mere action could take your mind off of the way her lips glistened, coated in a thick layer or lipgloss — or how her eyelashes fluttered so sweetly, obviously painted with mascara. "yeah. he’s a pain." you admitted — or rather lied, because you didn’t truly feel as if mr. Anaxa was all that bad.

your classmate giggled briefly in response, twirling the lock of fair hair around her finger. "totally. see? at least you agree with me." she said, the corners of her lips stretching even further upwards, "ugh, always so much homework, and projects…"

with a barely-audible laugh, you nodded once more, allowing yourself to lean over her desk. you noticed her notebooks — clean, and dainty — and you wondered why she loved complaining about school so much. it’s not as if she was struggling, right?

"i wouldn’t mind if he could cut us some slack for once." you murmured, glancing over to the man busying himself with something on his laptop. if he heard you, you’d surely regret ever saying such words — but mr. Anaxa seemed engrossed in whatever he was doing, his vision keen on the screen.

Phainon tapped her nails on the wooden surface, drawing your attention back in. "maybe he’s not that bad? i mean, the new sitting plan is pretty good.” she mused, gently reaching over to your hair. you felt yourself shudder at the careful touch. "personally, i am happy. how about you?"

"yeah— yeah, me too." you stammered, wincing at how awkward that came out. the girl didn’t seem to mind, raking her fingers through your locks.

when you pulled closer to her, you could smell her perfume — you wouldn’t know exactly, as it was pretty hard to discern, but she smelled of jasmine. "you’ve got such nice hair…" Phainon swiftly changed the topic, her eyes meeting yours before she gave you a little tug, urging to turn your head. you did as she pleased.

"oh, um… you think so?" you huffed out a nervous chuckle, sitting upright in your chair. why was she always so kind to you, while she preferred to snarl at others? honestly, it remained a mystery — how Phainon always doted on you, pleaded to be your pair during group-projects, offered her brand lipsticks (which’s prices you were too afraid to even ask about), sat with you during lunch, and many, many more occurrences.

truth be told — there is no point in trying to guess her intentions. Phainon was your school friend, and for that, you were grateful — the scale of bullying you were experiencing ever since the start definitely lessened, and whenever someone tried to do as much as look at you the wrong way, they’d meet with her tight smile. it was usually enough to chase the bully away — although if they were still feeling feisty, Phainon would… well, verbally obliterate them. you seriously don’t know how she always came up with such brutal remarks on the spot.

"mhm." she hummed beside your ear, her breath tingling your nape. "it’s no wonder he has a crush on you. you’re stunning."

another thing she liked to do — complimenting you to the point where you’d be left stumbling over your words, face flushed.

"ah, don’t… he surely doesn’t." you giggled under your breath, your vision flickering over to the boy standing on the other side of the classroom. it became pretty obvious — even to your oblivious self — that he was somewhat interested in you. sometimes, when you had nothing better to do, you’d try to daydream about how lovely it would be to finally have that school love, and a boyfriend. it was a popular topic in all those movies targeted for teenagers, and so you yearned for the feeling too.

except, whenever you tried to imagine him kissing you, the boy’s image always distorted, shifting into a familiar face of Phainon, gently cupping your cheeks, and smiling at you so, so sweetly. her lips would surely feel good on yours, no? she must take care of them, because they’re smooth, and glistening with those lipglosses she loved using. oh, and her hands too — the slender, long fingers curling around your jaw, freshly smothered in balm, painted nails digging into your flesh. the intoxicating scent of jasmine would encompass all your senses before the girl pulls you into her lap, and then—

wait, what are you even thinking about?

Phainon caressed your hair with her comb, attempting to make a small braid. "don’t be silly. he ogles you all the time, [name]." she snickered lowly, tugging a knot out, "i have to admit, he has taste."

you shifted in your chair, wishing you could look at her face, and see the expression she was making. "you think so?"

"totally." she answered, her long fingernails raking through your scalp, and you had to physically stop yourself from shivering. "i mean, i guess he’s hot, but… he’s not good for you. you deserve someone way better."

your hands clenched around nothing. "why? what’s up with him?" you questioned, wondering why someone as polite as him could be a wrong match for you. the boy never came off as vicious, nor rude — at least to you.

"ah, you know," Phainon began, making another loose braid, "he likes to play nice, and all that, but he’s an asshole in reality. manipulates everyone he can." she explained, and you felt her hands briefly clench around your locks. "what a fucking jerk, trying to make my best friend his another victim."

your shoulders tensed upon her seething tone, and your heart seemed to hammer even harder now, beating at your ribs with fervor. Phainon considered you her best friend? that was… well, you thought of her the same way — maybe because she was the only one you had, but still. truthfully, you didn’t expect it — nor the disdain in her words.

"if you say so, then i’ll just—" you paused, mulling over your sentence, "if he tries to make a move, i’ll tell him to get lost. how’s that?"

that evoked a cheery laugh out of Phainon, and the amount of warmth involuntarily swelling up in your chest caused you to giggle along. "that’s my girl. every single boy can go to hell."

"every single one?" you mused lightheartedly, leaning into her touch.

you didn’t see her face, but could easily discern the smile in her voice. "yeah. we don’t need them, right?" she said, separating the next stand of hair to make yet another small braid.

you nodded, and found yourself pondering — could Phainon also be…? it’s not like you had a crush on her, no, absolutely not! but still, her words made you feel that foolish glimmer of hope, and then you weren’t sure how you truly felt about your friend. aren’t you utterly pathetic, for dreaming of her being with you, and no one else? and gods, aren’t you stupid for wishing that her tender demeanor towards you meant something more?

a short moment of silence passed before Phainon spoke again. "anyway, what are your plans for the weekend?" she asked casually, brushing a part of your hair to the side.

"nothing much." you admitted, shrugging.

"really?" she beamed, and you thought you loved how good happiness looked on the girl (or rather sounded, because you still couldn’t see her face). "well, i got invited to a party, but honestly i don’t feel like going. what do you say we go to the mall together?"

you chuckled quietly, suddenly embarrassed for whatever reason. "we could, but… i ran out of money, and my parents don’t want to give me allowance."

(the reason why you were absolutely broke right now was because Phainon’s birthday was coming up, and you spent a horrendous amount on the gift — but that’s out of the topic).

"don’t worry, [name], i can treat you!" she assured, hovering over the desk to look at your expression. "it’s really no problem for me."

"but—"

"oh, we will go to that new clothing shop they opened recently!" Phainon interrupted, a habit of hers that showed up whenever she got excited, "not to sound rude, or anything, but you definitely need a new outfit. i will choose it for you, okay?"

you craned your neck to look at her face, and almost passed out from the way her bright eyes crinkled in the corners, a wide grin stretching her lips. when Phainon allowed herself to let go of that slightly mean facade, she truly looked like an angel sent from above.

"alright, we can do that." you returned her smile, pushing away the wave of guilt threatening to creep up on you. seriously, you’ll have to beg your parents for another sum of pocket money, because there was no way you’d use her like that.

then, another girl came up to your desks, looming over Phainon. she was one of your classmates — personally, you didn’t like her, but she seemed quite close to your friend, so you decided against voicing your dismay out loud. "hey, Phainon, are you and [name] going to the mall this weekend?"

"yeah, we are." Phainon answered bluntly, still yet to pull away from you.

"can i go with you? i didn’t get invited to that party, unlike you, so frankly i have nothing better to do." she hummed, and you wanted to endlessly berate yourself for the sting of something ugly in your heart. still, it was supposed to be your outing, with no one else! why was she bumping into your business?

Phainon’s eyebrows arched upwards, and her beaming expression fell. "no, you can’t."

"but—" the girl attempted to protest, before your friend quickly glanced at her phone’s screen — three minutes until the bell rings. then, she stood up, grabbing your wrist, and pulled you out of your chair.

"i said what i said.” she barked at the girl, taking wide steps towards the door. as you walked out of the classroom, she leaned into your side, a scornful look adorning her face. "ugh, who does she think she is?" she murmured, her eyebrows narrowing together.

you allowed Phainon to tug you along, trying to keep up with her hasty pace. the amount of relief you felt at that moment was indescribable — and, no matter how awful that might sound, you felt satisfied with how she brutally turned that girl down. "but aren’t you two friends?" you spoke, entering the bathroom.

"well, yeah." Phainon rolled her eyes, opening one of the cabins, and pulling you in. you didn’t question her actions. she then rummaged through her bag, and upon failing to find whatever thing she was searching for, she let out a resigned sigh. "i mean— no, no she’s not. she acts as if we’re close, or something, but she’s a goddamn parasite."

you nodded stiffly. "okay."

"plus,” Phainon continued, taking a single step towards you, "i know you don’t like her. it’s pretty obvious, to be honest." she reached for your palm, giving it a squeeze, and you felt as if the ground opened up, promising to swallow you whole.

your blood pressure immediately spiked, and you wanted to simultaneously bolt out of the bathroom, and render the distance between you both. she was so close — so unbelievably close, you could smell the jasmine, and clearly see how her mouth curled up, smothered in that thick coat of makeup. you loved it, but at the same time wished Phainon would stop wearing it so much. she was a natural beauty, after all.

upon your lack of answer, she spoke again. "anyway, i want to go out just with you. understand? so don’t you dare invite anyone else." she whispered, her blue irises flickering over to your lips. you vividly sensed the girl’s fingers clenching harder around your hand, effectively knocking the words out of your throat.

just what was going on?

"uh, i—"

before you could finish your clumsy trail of thought, Phainon’s lips suddenly met with yours — you breathed in sharply through your nose, squeezing her palm back. the kiss was chaste, and quick, but you were completely sure if not for the grip she had on you, your knees would buckle, making you collapse on the floor.

it felt exactly as you thought it would — maybe even better. she was so soft, yet decisive, and your mind went blank with the contact. you couldn’t believe it was happening, because stuff like that only occurred in your deepest dreams — but your current situation was very much real, and you could fly up with the sheer amount of joy.

then, she pulled away, taking in your breathless form with her half-lidded eyes, snickering lowly. "wh-what was that…?" you found yourself asking dumbly, staring at her with wonder.

Phainon shrugged, her features shifting into something friendlier — and perhaps more coy, if you squinted. "this one was for luck.” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"luck— luck?" you stammered out, still too dazed to think properly.

that evoked another giggle out of her. "don’t tell me you forgot about the quiz we’re going to take now?"

you blinked once, twice, and the cogs in your brain turned, finally catching up — oh no, you really did forget, didn’t you? and at this point, you’re going to be late for class!

"maybe…?" you muttered, your vision flickering between everything, but her.

Phainon clicked her tongue, her free hand moving to grasp your chin. she pulled closer again, her mouth brushing against yours, and you thought your whole body was made out of cotton. perhaps you wouldn’t mind being late.

"one for luck, one for…" she breathed, her lips almost — almost closing around yours, but the irritably loud sound of the ringing bell caused you both to jolt. you bit your tongue in surprise, snapped out of the moment.

the girl let go of you, taking a step back with a sheepish smile, so unlike her. "sorry, [name], i— i think i got carried away." she chuckled, raking her fingers through her hair.

you immediately shook your head, trying to ignore the sting on your cheeks. you really must look like a fool right now. "no, i didn’t mind. actually, i… Phainon, i think i—"

your surge of courage got quickly dimmed by the rather obnoxious knock on the stall’s door. you winced along with your friend, exchanging troubled looks.

"girls, the break’s over! get out of the cabin, and go to class!" a voice on the other side called, and you couldn’t help but sigh in utter defeat.

Phainon leaned to you, opening the door. "we’ll finish later. don’t worry." she winked at you teasingly, a mischievous smirk growing on her lips before she stepped out, muttering some apologies to the cleaning lady.

you gaped at her, dumbfounded — and maybe you’d continue to stand frozen, if not for the woman’s stern words, nagging you to move. with reluctance, you followed in tow, trying your best not to trip over your wobbly legs.

there was no way you will pass that quiz.

[carnatus89]

Shen Qingqiu triple trouble!

So, System Possession AU of @artsarasp is going through, stuff let's say. Angsty stuff. So of course my mind was like.

Let's make shen triplets!

The situation is, Shen Jiu has his fatal Qi deviation, Shen Yuan dies by choking on food and all is normal. But, some error occurs, and both Shen Jiu’s and Shen Yuan’s souls are in danger of disintegrating from the Qi deviation. The System notices this and tries to fix it, forcing the soul to generate a body to occupy from basically thin air. But there’s a problem, since there’s two souls that are now generating a body, meanwhile the original body is still functional, though has been metaphorically dragged through the mud. Thus, both Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan materialize with new bodies while the System is absorbed into the spare body.

So now we have three Shen Qingqius. And the System is Not Happy.

Neither is Shen Jiu to be honest.

Shen Yuan somehow convinces both the System and Shen Jiu that they should pretend to just be brothers, make some bullshit about trapped consciousness to fool the peak lords, while he wacks his brain to try to avoid death or punishment from the enraged System. Which can still give both points and punishments. The problem is that since he got the short end of the stick in the body lottery, he has to be very careful of exerting the body’s limits, so he can’t get agitated. And giving punishments is very agitating. Shen Yuan is basically trying to make the System care. If Wall-E can love, so can the System, wouldn’t it be better for the story if he becomes an active member? It would also be better to leave the story to develop itself organically, think about all the character development! So the protagonist can have a more round support cast! If he read something like that, he wouldn’t have criticized so much the papapa scenes since he could just focus on that! What do you think System-bro?

Meanwhile Shen Jiu is very conflicted, since these, what, fakers? Clones? Some type of demons? Are stealing his face and seem to have some ulterior motive, but both seem eager to ‘help him’ somehow. Granted, the blue eyed freak is creepy as fuck, a fake cherfulness that all his instincts scream to get away from, but he’s mostly… nice. The definition of the word, at least. The other fake is snarky, doesn’t really back down from a verbal dispute, and, while infuriating, it’s more real. Safer, in a way, more honest. Besides, the blue eyed one is useful when trying to find synonyms while writing or finding the name of a song he couldn’t remember well. They can stay, for now.

System is actually scared. They saved the scum villain character, but made a bigger problem while also becoming… vulnerable. How could they make sure the story functions if they have a weak and frail body? They are forced to play along, become a more direct support to the characters to make sure they stay in line. But [User02] seems to have other ideas, and while they must punish him, they really can’t without suffering themselfs. The original scum villain for the most part follows the script, but he also seems perturbed by their presence, which is fine. All is fine, they should be able to fix it.

Somehow.

The three of them are mostly the same in appearance. The major difference that the peaklords catch on is the mark on the forehead (I don’t remember what it is called). Shen Jiu has a lotus flower painted, Shen Yuan has a dot while the System has an empty circle, resembling a zero. Both Shen Jiu and the System have their clothes correctly, while Shen Yuan doesn’t really know how any of his layers of clothes work, so he fastened the belt around everyone, even the outer robe. Finally, the System has their hair tight to their head, Shen Jiu has it a little loose to let it flow but staying neat and clean. Shen Yuan just, tries his best. Finally, the System’s face is kinda cartoonish, they make faces that shouldn't be possible, stretching his smile wide and making their eyes a little too big. Both Shens don’t mention it much, they just say they’re special.

I don’t know what came to me to do this shit, but now’s here, deal with it.

Spanish rambling when this idea just came barreling through my brain.

[weirdsht]

Hii 😞😞

I genuinely can't help myself but request for sweet stuff

Bc I'm lonely

Cale w reader who always wears pants and barely dolls themselves up, but then they decide to wear a dress one day and WOWZA

Something New - Cale/Reader

tags: fluff, a tiny bit of insecure! reader, jealous Cale if you squint, established relationship, reader's gender isn't specified but they are wearing a dress.

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

It happened on a whim, starting when you saw a lone dress in the closet while trying to spring clean.

You bought the dress impulsively a few months ago, finding it cute at the time. You swore to yourself that you’d find an occasion to wear it, but you never did. 

It’s not because the dress isn’t cute anymore. No, no, it still is, it’s so cute you had to take a few minutes to admire the glory of it after taking it out of the hanger. The design of the frame wasn’t the issue. Rather, it was just the simple fact that it was a dress. Something you don’t usually wear.

And so its elegance didn’t stop the dress from being stashed at the back of your closet.

Well until today that is.

Once you were done sorting your closet you abruptly decided to change into the dress. Wear something different for a change.

You can’t help but feel a tad bit insecure as you look in the mirror. The dress is pretty and it frames your body as though it was made specifically for you. The ruffles of the off-shoulder clings to your skin while its see-through puff sleeves showcase your arm underneath the fabric.

The skirt has three layers; two sheer fabrics at the top and an opaque layer underneath. It sways beautifully alongside the ribbon in the back whenever you twirl, the hem grazing your thighs as you giggle in front of the mirror.

It’s a beautiful dress and you look so good wearing it. However, it doesn’t take away the uncomfortable fact that it’s not something you would usually wear, doesn’t take away the smidge of insecurity you feel as you play with the cut-outs of the dress around your waist area.

Perhaps the dress can’t soothe your mind but Cale’s reaction definitely can.

“Can I hide here for a while? The kids have been bugging me to train and we both know I’d rather drown in lemonade than do that.”

Cale knocks on your door as he asks for solace. Taking pity on him, you opened the door to let him in. Your room is the safest place to get away from the kids’ antics, they actually respect your alone time and wouldn’t go in unless given a go signal.

The redhead stops in his tracks as he sees what you’re wearing. His actions make you gnaw your lips. Did it look bad? It is too unusual? Maybe you shouldn’t have tried it on.

You were about to speak up, ask him if you should change, when he beat you to it.

“Let’s sneak out and go on a date.”

“Is it– wait what? I thought you wanted to sleep today.”

You shot Cale an incredulous look. Just where did that come from? He has always had an impulsive side, no matter how rare it showed itself, but this was something that had never happened.

“Yes, but you look too good right now. It would be a shame to just stay here.”

“Excuse me? Wait! Cale!”

Before you can wrap your head around what your lover said he was already whisking you away with his ancient power. The two of you exited through the window and proceeded to go to town to have an impromptu date.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have gone hear…”

Cale grumbled under his breath a few minutes after roaming around town. The townfolks were kind enough to not bother their young master silver shield today after seeing that he was on a date. Despite that, Cale was still frowning and grumbling under his breath.

“What’s the matter, love?”

You inquired, concerned that perhaps his social battery had run out. Cale was never one to socialise much after all.

“It’s nothing… it’s just that everyone keeps looking at you.”

He frowned before activating his dominating aura. He just let it ooze a little, just enough for people to steer clear of the both of you.

Confused at what he meant, you tilted your head towards him, silently asking him to elaborate.

Finding your gesture cute, Cale kissed the top of your head surprising you once more. He was never one for public shows of affection, preferring to indulge you in his love in private.

“You just look too good okay? That dress looks too good on you and now everyone’s eyes are glued to you. It doesn’t help that this is the first time you wore one.”

He might have murmured something about going on a picnic in the forest instead but you didn’t quite catch it. 

Your mind reels at the accidental compliment. Well, Cale already said you looked beautiful earlier, but still, it didn’t feel real until now.

“You mean it?”

You hesitantly asked making Cale stop in his tracks just outside your favourite restaurant.

“Yes.”

He nonchalantly said before linking your arms with his and entering the establishment.

The two of you spent the entire day having fun. The news will definitely have a field day writing various articles of how Roan Kingdom’s it couple are seen enjoying the day as if they were the only people in the world.

You had so much fun that you almost forgot you left the villa without telling anyone.

Don’t worry though, Ron will make sure you remember and understand the heart attack you accidentally gave everyone.

[caninescreations]

Nine Years, Nine Months, and Nine Days

it's late so i'll edit the post later and make an AO3 link when im not sososo so sleepy. no title BUT i did piggyback this idea off that one anon who proposed cat!stan but back in New Jersey to @dark-lord-of-awesomeness and i was like... "yeah i can take a crack at that"

creative liberties taken with the premise, though, and absolutely NONE of this is beta read. did it all in two late-night sessions. you get spellcheck and that's about it, baybee

1963 Stanford and his brother were nine when it happened. There had been an old woman on the boardwalk, layered in crocheted shawls and cardigans despite the muggy September weather, her snow-white hair pulled tight in a braided bun at the top of her head like a head of cauliflower. She had the sort of puckered face that belonged to people who don't know what smiling is, and probably never did, and she had been parked square on a bench where the sand met the street, tossing breadcrumbs to seagulls that hovered in the air around her but did not seem to want to land. By her side was a carpet bag almost as big as she was, sitting open and overfilling with myriad items. Sheafs of patterned papers, browning flowers, one iridescent beetle that tried to clamber out before her wrinkled hands nudged it back inside.

He thinks it was the beetle, really, that started it. The both of them had been so fixated on its size and color, and so confused as to why an old woman would even have a bug in her bag. Stanford wanted to examine it, to see if it was a species he knew. Stanley just wanted to know how heavy it was, and maybe if it could fly, too.

"If she catches me," Stanley had said with a clever grin, a small crab cradled expertly in his palm, "then I'll just say I saw a crab tryn'a nab her snacks."

Stanford had nodded along, agreed with the logic.

The old woman had been keener than either of them had expected, though. Stanley's arm had only gone elbow-deep into the bag, barely time to root around for the beetle, when her bony fingers had snatched him up and pulled him to front, too fast for Stanford to intervene.

"Thieving little paws best keep to themselves, young man."

"I wasn't thievin' nothing!" Stanley had protested. "I- I saw a crab in your purse. Thought it woulda scared you out of your old-lady skin like a cartoon skeleton if you saw it."

"Well, aren't you sweet?" She'd let him go, then, his wrist red from the force of her grip. "Such a considerate little thing ought to be rewarded as he deserves."

She'd produced from her sleeve then something small and shiny that crinkled. A piece of candy, sort of brownish from what the two of them could see through the white waxed paper wrapping.

"Here," she said.

"Wait, really?" Stanley asked, accepting the candy as any nine-year-old would. "People don't usually thank me for rootin' through their stuff without asking."

"People don't usually keep live animals in their bags, either." She scattered another handful of crumbs along the ground, and the birds continued to not land.

"Fair enough. Say, you don't happen to have an extra, do ya? I got a brother, see, and hard candies don't split easy enough to share."

"This one is just for you," she had smiled. Then her sweet tone dropped. "Now scoot. I've got birds to bait."

And Stanley had.

He didn't end up splitting the candy in the end- one bite had revealed its flavor as toffee, and while Stanford never minded accepting a spit-covered hemisphere of hardball sugar, he hadn't been in the mood for that particular taste that particular day. On top of that, it had been sort of sticky-on-the-outside in the way that only really old candy got, and Stanford hated feeling it on his teeth. So Stanley ate the whole thing, chattering on with it tucked in his cheek as they returned to the beach and played on the wrecked boat they'd found earlier that summer. The mugginess continued late into the afternoon, until the clouds grew heavy with rain and threatened to spill down upon them.

And then, he remembered, something happened. Stanley had curled over onto himself, groaning in discomfort. Lightning flashed above them. Stanford had crouched with his hand on his brother's back, trying to soothe what he thought was a simple stomach-ache. But then his brother was coughing, and retching, and convulsing on all fours on the sand like something was trying to crawl out of him. The sky opened up and began to pour out onto the beach like a vertical tidal wave, and his brother got smaller, smaller, smaller- until sitting under his hand, curly-furred and yowling, was a little kitten.

=== 1964 Stanford was sitting underneath the table on the floor, sulkily poking at his peas and mashed potatoes. In the next room over, Ma and Pa were arguing again. He could hear their muffled voices through the walls. Beside him, on the floor, Stanley sat eating Stanford's portion of the evening's meatloaf. It had been a long time since his transformation, but his brother was still kitten-sized, all doe-eyed and chubby in a way that kept their mom cooing and their father acquiescent to any cat-related shenanigans.

"If I told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Caryn- I'm not letting a cat eat at the table like its a person!"

"Stanford is grieving, Filbrick!"

"He's mental, that's what he is! And you keep feeding into it, letting him convince himself that his brother isn't gone! He needs to accept reality, he needs to move on, and he can't do that if you keep indulging him like this!"

"Move on? Move on-?! Filbrick, Stanley is missing, not dead!"

"It's been a year, Caryn. What do you think happens to little boys who are lost for that long, huh? They don't come strolling in through the front door, that's for sure! We're not gonna let him coast by on false hope."

Stanford tuned them out. His brother finished eating and mewled quietly, crawling into his lap and pawing at his shirt. Stanley couldn't talk, but Stanford had gotten a book from the library about Morse code, and though his teeny kitten body was still a little wobbly, he could get a short and misspelled message or two out. It's how they'd settled on the name currently adorning Stanley's collar, when it became clear that their parents weren't willing to listen. Archer, after the giant lady from his brother's favorite poster.

"No, I'm okay, really," Stanford said. "If Pa won't let you eat at the table, I'll just eat on the floor. You can have half of my dinner, and then you won't have to eat the cat food. I know it must be gross."

The purring he got in response let him know without it needing to be spelled out that he'd said the right thing.

=== 1965 Stanford planted his face in his hands and groaned. "That does it. I've read every book in the public library, and there is nothing about magic curses. I hate it here." From his backpack Stanley crawled, chirping as he swiped at the used stack of books to Stanford's left as if to agree. He was steady now, if still ridiculously small. "We may have to take our research excursion beyond the reaches of Glass Shard Beach. We might even have to take a bus."

Stanley clicked out a short word.

"Well of course I'm gonna hide you. We might not need money for two tickets but they don't let animals on the bus. My backpack's fine, isn't it?"

…A reluctantly-chirped 'yes'.

"We'll figure this out, Stanley. I know it's… been a little while," if two and a half years even counted as such, both the summer and their birthday coming in hot, "but I've got your back."

=== 1966 "If you don't shut up about the cat I'm getting it put down," Filbrick snapped. "It's not Stanley. It's never been Stanley. It is a cat. It eats kibble and shits in a box. Your brother ran off and got himself kidnapped or murdered and now you're imagining things because you can't face the truth like a man. So either cut the crap and get your head screwed on, or Archer gets the boot. Am I understood?"

Stanford took a deep, shuddering breath and gripped the animal in his arms more tightly. It wiggled uncomfortably, but rather than yowl in complaint as it usually liked to, it curled its tail up under itself and pressed into his belly like it was trying to hide there, claws curling into the black suit jacket.

"Stanford Filbrick Pines, look at me when I'm talking to you. Am I understood?"

"…Yes, Pa. I understand."

Filbrick shook his head and grit his teeth, keeping his eyes on the road. "Twelve freakin' years old and still acting like magic is real. You're disrespecting your brother's memory with all this nonsense."

=== 1967 Stanford sat at his desk, staring at the stack of cards wishing him a happy thirteenth birthday. He was a man now, technically, having muddled his way awkwardly through his passage in the torah, wishing Stanley had been there to cut through the thick tension with a quip and a smile. But Stanley wasn't here. It was only him and Archer.

His hand ran along his cat's back, carding out a few knots from its curly fur as his eyes bore holes into the cardstock.

"You're just a cat," he muttered to himself, a repetitive chant he'd forced himself to learn after Pa's outburst at the funeral last year. Anything to keep Archer from being taken away. "A very smart cat, but a cat nonetheless. Magic isn't- magic doesn't happen in Glass Shard Beach. I was a confused little kid who missed his brother too much."

=== 1968 Stanford, fourteen, sat with his homework in the shade of the Stan o' War, its rotting deck letting in beams of hot sunlight through the woodworm-eaten holes in the wood. Archer was lounging beside him, stretched out in the sand with its paws kneading the air contentedly. Its tail flicked back and forth lazily as it rumbled like a car engine, loud and grounding.

"A kitten!" He startled at the girlish squeal, nose lifting from his book to find some vaguely-familiar young woman in a swim skirt and sandals whose name escaped him. "Stanford, I didn't know you were a cat person- is he yours?"

"Er, yes. Though Archer isn't really a kitten. It's just small. I think it might be a breed of munchkin cat."

"That's pretty groovy," she said, crouching down and reaching out for a petting.

"Ah, I wouldn't-" Stanford began, trying to warn her off. But Archer had already rolled to its feet and hissed, shaking the sand off its body in the girl's direction and trotting with a huff to his side. He chuckled nervously as she brushed the sand from her arms, saying, "Sorry about that. It doesn't really like other people- just me and my family. My cat is kind of protective like that."

"Aw, a regular little man of the house, ain't he?" the girl cooed at it, maintaining her distance. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna steal your pet boy. I just thought a cutie like you might appreciate a woman's touch."

"I'm not sure that Archer is interested in interior design," Stanford said.

"I was talking about giving him a good scratch behind the ear," she laughed. "Though if it's interior design we're talking about, that boat could use some. I've seen you hang around this old thing for years, and you ain't ever done anything with it."

"Ah, well. It's a quiet place to think," Stanford mumbled, drawing circles into the ground with his littlest finger and rather wishing to get back to his homework the more the girl made it apparent that he was woefully behind on his half of the social upkeep. "It doesn't need to be anything more than that."

"A quiet place, huh? Was I interrupting your alone time?" she asked, getting back to her feet. Archer meowed indignantly at her, and she amended, "Ah. Right, I'm sorry. Can't be alone if you've got Archer, can you?"

"…No, I suppose I can't," Stanford replied, a small smile warming his expression.

=== 1969 "What do I need a car for, Pa? Everything in this town is close enough to walk to." Stanford followed his father outside to the back lot, Archer close at his heels. His father stopped at the car- not the family car, they never went anywhere that required a vehicle to get to, and Pa seemed only to ever use it to get larger big-ticket items for the pawn shop or to get to those secret society meetings he went to every month- and held out the key.

"Whether or not you get your nose out of those books of yours long enough to actually earn the scratch to get your own car is irrelevant. Driving is a skill no man can do without. Now get behind the driver's seat- you're gonna learn how to drive stick. None of that namby-pamby automatic transmission garbage they're rolling out these days."

"Of course, Pa." Stanford opened the door and unlocked the passenger side as he slipped into the seat. Archer hopped in immediately, hopping nimbly from his lap, to his shoulder, and then out of the way and into the back seat.

"And put that damn cat back inside, I don't want it making a mess in my car."

"Archer has never once urinated or defecated in your car, Pa. It's a smart cat, it knows what it can and can't get away with."

"And it's not gonna start now! It already thinks it owns the house, I'm not letting it ruin my upholstery."

"It doesn't cause any trouble," Stanford tried to say.

"No trouble, eh? No trouble when it won't eat the cat food I shell out for, no trouble when it scratches up your bed posts and the good sheets, no trouble when it keeps getting into the fridge and eating the pastrami!"

"That was one time!"

"I paid good money for that pastrami!"

"And I paid you back for it!"

"It's about the principal of the thing, Stanford. If you don't teach that cat some respect it's gonna walk all over you."

Stanford neglected to mention the multiple occasions during which his napping father could be found with Archer in his lap, one wide hand set on its rumbling side without complaint.

"Can we just start the driving lesson?"

Filbrick shook his head. "Not until that cat is out of this car."

Stanford let his head drop onto the steering wheel and groaned.

=== 1970 When Stanford came home from school that day, Ma had been cradling Archer like a baby and smothering the poor thing's head with kisses. Archer, in contrast to its reactions to other displays of over-affections by strangers, was purring loudly with tightly-shut eyes even with her thick rouge smeared into the fur on its head.

"What's going on here?" asked Stanford, setting his bag down on the coffee table. It thumped with books, but the new straps held their weight well.

"We've got a little hero here," Ma told him, fingers scritching underneath the cat's chin. "I was havin' a client over to do an in-house reading on account of she was willing to pay more, and your cat caught her tryna steal the jewelry from my nightstand while I was in the bathroom. Ran her right outta the house, he did! Ain't that right, Archer?"

It let out a self-satisfied meow, brash and loud, and snuggled more into her arms.

=== 1971, April Stanford did something he hadn't done in years that night, and curled up on the mattress of the bottom bunk. The pamphlet for West Coast Tech was crumpled between his hands, the paper already half-ripped. He kept his eyes trained on the far wall, mind carefully blank as the poster for 'Attack of the Fifty-Foot Tall Woman' stared back at him. Quiet as a church-mouse, Archer leapt onto the bed and crawled under his arm to nestle against his chest. He could feel it rumbling quietly, its thick and curly fur shedding onto his wrinkled clothes.

"I made a fool of myself today," he admitted to it. "Stumbled over my speech to the recruiters and bumped the table. The whole machine broke down, just like that, and then they left. My one ticket out of Glass Shard Beach, gone like dust in the wind because I couldn't properly deliver a formal presentation in front of an audience."

Archer nosed under his chin, and he let his fingers release the pamphlet in order to card through its pelt. There was no judgement from it- never had been, not since he'd adopted it from the streets in the wake of his brother's disappearance. A strange thing, small as a kitten for ages, growing so slowly that it was only through pictures that anyone in the house had noticed it had grown at all. Nine years, enough for any cat to be considered old, and still as spry as a cat one-ninth of its age. But still just a cat at the end of it all. Long-lived through good caretaking and scraps of meat slipped under the table at dinner time. Loyal as a dog and twice as crafty.

"At least you don't care that I'm a failure," he mumbled. "Not that that will change Pa's reaction when he finds out I blew it."

Archer lifted a paw and smacked his face. There was a lot of force behind it, though the cat had miraculously decided not to use its claws. It meowed directly into his ear, and squirmed from his grip. He didn't move, more confused than anything else, as it jumped to the floor and trotted to his desk, which was currently still covered in papers. He knew it liked to play with his work, but only after he'd been sitting and thinking for hours on his own.

He watched it sniff around, its little paws digging scrap paper and notes onto the floor before it found something that seemed to catch its attention. It nudged the paper to the center of the desk, sat down on its haunches, and yowled at him. Stanford groaned- Archer was a chatty cat at the best of times, but when it yowled it wouldn't stop until he'd come to see what it wanted or his Pa came in to yell about the noise.

Not wanting to face the man this soon after the most humiliating day of his life, Stanford dragged himself out of the bottom bunk with a sigh and shuffled over to see what his cat was fussing over. It was an empty college application, one of many he'd been handed by his guidance counselor to fill out "just in case" his first choice fell through. Just looking at it made his stomach churn, the idea of going through all that effort of applying to somewhere only half as good and still getting a rejection letter swirling around in his mind's eye until he snatched up the page and crumpled it in his hands in a fit of anger.

When it was no more than a tightly-wadded ball in his hands, Stanford dropped it to the ground and sat aggressively at the desk. His elbows hit the table and his fingers found their way into his thick, curly hair to yank and tug his frustrations out. Archer made a little wheezy huff, hitting the floor with a thud and returning back to the desk after just a moment. When he bothered to look up, his cat dropped the paper from its mouth and pawed at it, leaning in close to his face and yowling loudly at him once more.

"What, you think I should keep trying? Do you want me to get on my hands and knees and go campus to campus, getting the door slammed in my face?"

Archer bopped him in the nose with a paw and hissed in displeasure. The clever cat always seemed to be able to tell when he was putting himself down, and refused to indulge him whenever he did. Just like-

He looked back down at the crumpled application and began the process of gently un-crumpling it. With a sigh, he grumbled, "Well. If I fill them out, at least Pa can't get mad that I'm 'not trying hard enough'. What do you think the statistical likelihood of getting a full-ride scholarship is for a freak from a backwater New Jersey town?"

Archer slammed its head into his cheek before it bit him.

=== 1971, June

He was passing his parent's bedroom when, through the open crack in the door, he overheard their conversation. Stanford stood still against the wall, hands still dripping wet from the bathroom.

"Whaddya want me to do, huh, Caryn? It's a cat. I'm not gonna let Stanford ruin his own future just because he can't follow a simple dorm rule!"

Ma sighed, "It's not like he'd have t' hide it forever, Fil. That poor animal's almost ten, it'll probably pass away before too much longer."

"Then we keep it here and get it put down while he's away," Pa replied. "He can cry and moan about it when the semester's over."

"Filbrick!"

"What? You're tellin' me you wanna watch that thing limp around like our last one? We'd be doing it a favor."

Stanford chanced a peek through the door, trying to catch sight of either of them.

"I'm not saying you're wrong, I'm saying our son's been through enough! Let him have the cat. Let him take it to college with him." Caryn gestured as she spoke, the smoke from her cigarette trailing after her hand like a record of the motions. "At the very least let him be around to watch it die. Give him some closure for it? Honestly, Fil, the kid's leaving to start summer classes tomorrow. Summer classes! I didn't even know colleges did that. He'll be workin' himself like a dog, I know he will. At least the cat'll make sure he pulls his head out of his books long enough to eat and sleep."

Her tone was pointed, and Stanford saw Pa grit his teeth and massage his brow with one hand. "Fine. We'll keep the damn thing fed while he's away. But it's not going with him. I'm putting my foot down on that. He'll be eighteen tomorrow, a full-grown man. And full-grown men do not need fluffy little animals to make 'em feel better about their feelings."

Stanford clenched his fists and moved away from the door, the single slice of birthday cake he'd forced himself to eat sitting heavy in his stomach. He wouldn't leave his only friend behind.

…Admittedly, he should've known that trying to hide Archer in his coat when it was mid-June was not one of his smarter ideas.

"Gimme that damn cat, you're not taking it with you-"

There was an odd popping sound, a sparkling flash of light, and then the twelve-pound terror that Pa had been scruffing became instead two-hundred-and-ten. There was a rip, a yelp, and the three remaining members of the Pines family stared down at the fresh heap of limbs on the ground between them. Pa stared, agog, his fist still clenched. Between his fingers was half of a shirt, well-worn, with white and red stripes.

There was a human teenager on the ground, wearing the other half of the shirt and the tatters of an outfit meant for a child about a third his size. This teenager- a doughy-looking white boy wearing Stanford's own face with hair long enough to cover what the clothing scraps couldn't- looked up at the three of them with a sort of blank, uncomprehending confusion. Stanford could relate to that.

"St- Stuhh- St-" he stuttered out through his paling, sweaty face.

"Stanley…?" Ma warbled. The cigarette in her hand dropped to the floor and started to scorch a hole in the worn carpeting. Pa didn't even chide her- he, too, was staring down at the carbon copy on the floor where once was a cat named Archer. No-longer-Archer looked between the three of them, then down to the pair of calloused hands that now belonged to him. He looked back up, locking eyes with Stanford for a brief instant before flicking his gaze away and croaking out a one-worded question.

"M-ma?" His mouth moved like he couldn't quite remember how words worked. His limbs, too, twitched like they were used to a much more restrictive range of motion, pulled in close to the chest like paws.

"My baby boy-!" Caryn collapsed to her knees, her shaking hands reaching out and clutching Not-Archer by the face. Her fingers cradled his cheeks, turning his head this way and that, and he let her, limp like Archer went whenever Ma scooped it up. "You- where'd you come from? How are you-? Why were you-?"

She stopped trying to speak, then, letting out a pained and aching sound when-- Stanley, sweet Moses, his brother! Not a cat, never a cat-- he managed to get his arms around her shoulders and hold her back. She clutched him tight and began to cry.

"I knew it." Stanford's voice was flat. There was a haunted look in his eyes, and his hands came up to clutch at his arms. "I knew it. I knew it the whole time, and I-" he took a sharp breath inward. "I let everyone tell me I was crazy. I let you tell me I was crazy!" His head turned sharp to Pa, then, that haunted look hardening to icy stone.

"I watched my brother get turned into a cat! I asked for help- I begged for it! And you were gonna put him down!"

Pa snapped his jaw shut. "Your cat just turned into a naked hippie and your first thought is pointing fingers at me?"

"His name is Stanley!" Stanford shouted, clutching the air like he wanted to strangle something. His fingers twitched, all twelve of them, and he threw his arms out wide as he laid everything out. "He's my brother! He's your son! You said he went missing! You made us hold a funeral for him! He's here right in front of us but you won't admit that even though you're holding his shirt!"

And Pa looked at the scrap of fabric still held in his hand. When he opened his clenched fingers, he could see the care tag on the inside of the collar. Stitched there in his wife's blocky embroidery with cheap black thread in all capital letters was his missing son's name.

"I-" all at once, the man looked at a loss. The taught line of his shoulders seemed to sag, millimeter by millimeter. Hoarsely, Pa mumbled out something that Stanford, in a million years, would never have bet a cent on hearing. "I don't know what's happening."

"Sixer?" Stanford looked down to the ground, where his brother was wrapped tightly in their mother's arms. "I-is this real? Can you understand me?"

His knees and expression both crumpled. Bruising his tailbone on the ground, he reached out and clutched at one of Stanley's hands, lacing them together and squeezing with all his might just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Stanley squeezed back, strong despite his lack of coordination.

"Stanley…" Stanford murmured. "Stanley, I'm so sorry- All this time you were counting on me, and I- I convinced myself that I imagined everything. I was a fool- I've been a horrible brother-"

"Hey." Stanley was looking at him with a stormy gaze- anger, bitterness from years of being ignored, likely, and why wouldn't he be? Stanford had all but abandoned him in his time of need, left him to languish for years under an unsolvable curse- His brother slapped his face with an open palm. It stung a lot more than the paw did. "Quit bein' a dick to yourself."

Stanford blinked, and then began to laugh. It wasn't a funny laugh- or, rather, it was a laugh that was funny-sounding. Of all the things for Stanley to say to him right off the bat, of anything for which his brother would take advantage of that most precious of human abilities, chiding him for self-flagellation was the least anticipated. And yet, when Stanford remembered Archer, remembered when his brother was last human, he couldn't imagine anything else.

He joined their mother in the hug, arms wrapping around both Stanley and her as he buried his hysterical laughter into his brother's thick, curly hair and sagged in relief.

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 14

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k words

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy woes, anxiety, fluff, angst, poor Dean's out of his element again, nesting (I love the concept so damn much), nerf guns, pup gender reveal

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

“Oh.” Dean looked back at you, finding your eyes lit up and hopeful. He couldn’t help but smirk at the heightened interest in your scent.

“Oh?” 

And your demeanour.

He gripped harder on the cushioned handle and pushed down again, feeling the layers of steel, rubber and plush padding sway beneath his fingers. “The suspension on this thing is awesome.”

“And?” 

He shrugged. You were way too eager, hanging off his every word, and he needed to be tight-lipped.

“And…it might be handy.” Yeah. That would placate you while he thought this through.

Sure, this stroller had more going for it other than just being fire engine red in a sea of white, beige and black. Didn’t mean it was a good thing. The colour had drawn him to it, which meant others would be drawn, too.

Yes, he could pack a lot down the bottom of that basket. Even hide an angel blade somewhere in the handle there if he got his welder out. Engrave a devil’s trap into the chassis, but…no. No, no. You’d said you’d be able to take the pup out for walks when he wasn’t there, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to consider that.

Being there in that nursery store wasn’t something he’d considered either. When he’d said he wanted to take Baby out for a spin to break in the new tires and test his handy work after her incident with old Alice, he never intended you’d end up as far away from the bunker as you had. 

Stupid him. He’d had plans for a simple drive. Get some groceries. Take you out to eat.

But then you’d seen that family in the diner while you were chowing down on his fries. He caught a whiff of jealousy in your scent as you saw that mom playing with her pup. The googly eyes at their fancy stroller, and Dean realised so far you’d bought nothing for your son, aside from the stuffy he’d chosen months ago.

So, what did he do? 

Well, his dumbass suggested it was time you went to a store and looked at stuff for him. He was an awesome mate, after all, and he was excited - at first. 

You’d buy a crib, a stroller. Maybe some essentials like wipes. A book or two. Blankets and pillows to build your nest with, which were all fine. Perfert. Wonderful. Until he stepped foot inside this joint and he was reminded why he’d tried sourcing as many of Baby’s needed parts online as he could.

Where to start? The music with its whiny drone and high-pitched piano? The mish-mash of colour, dominated by rainbows and construction truck yellow? The smell of snotty noses, diapers and Cheez Doodles? Had every kid pooped in here or was there something wrong with the plumbing? 

Alright, a salvage yard would’ve had none of these things (might’ve stank a little), but the pup store had the upper hand for worst, simply on the fact you were there, amongst people he didn’t know. 

He’d slung his arm over your shoulders and directed you around the other shoppers with the widest of gaps possible between you and them, following the signs to the wall of strollers on the left. You passed the conveniently located nesting section right by the cash registers on the way, of course. Full of all things fluff, including stuffed animals. 

Dean may have glared at another alpha who got too close when you stopped. He may have sympathised with another who also found himself stuck while you and his omega eyed one fugly looking cushion, but he said nothing. Neither did the other guy. Though there was an eye roll when your scent peaked in full delight as you ran your fingers through the fur that could’ve passed for a muppet. 

Oh god. His world was going to be full of Elmo and Cookie Monster, wasn’t it? Or that blue thing with the Australian accent he kept seeing as you walked by older pups sitting in the main part of their parents’ carts with eyes glued to their screens. 

Whatever it was, it wasn’t for his little man. Nope. He’d watch Scooby and the gang. Maybe the Jetsons or the Flintstones, but there’d be none of this modern crap. Cartoons, not equipment. He could see the benefit of Wi-Fi connections and GPS. 

He huffed. Tilted his head on the idea. That would definitely be handy, and his eyes travelled the length of the red stroller before him, up and down, side to side. Was there space? If he could make an EMF reader out of a Walkman, he could add a tracking device to the frame of this thing. It was big enough.  

He rocked it. Pushed it back and forth under the large metal racking that housed it and then out into the otherwise empty aisle.

The wheels turned well. The front smaller ones spun around a full three-sixty and into some crumbs on the floor… Those at the back were big and thick. He touched the sole of his boot to the top of the right one and pressed hard against the rubber. Good pressure. Great shock absorption. The brake was a little flimsy, though. 

“This one’s kind of expensive,” you said, taking the little swinging tag hanging off the bright red hood in your fingers and flipping it over for him to see. 

Dean gawked with you at the numbers. How much? For something the kid was gonna grow out of in a year or two, this thing should’ve been made of gold and angel feathers. He stretched over the handle and pushed the padding of the seat down, and his chin into his neck. 

He wouldn’t find it comfortable. Then again, his full-blown adult ass would crush the frame. 

He turned back to the swell of your stomach, though. His little mango wouldn’t. Sammy never had either. He didn’t have one, being carried everywhere until he could walk from what Dean remembered. 

Motel cribs and scratchy blankets that smelled like smoke - and not the good kind. A different room every other week in a shitty town, off the beaten track where they likely never returned to. That was their life. And he couldn’t even remember his mom’s nest because of it.

He’d once said he’d freak out over manicured lawns and an omega who greeted him with a “how was your day?” after some crappy office job. But this stroller with the little stitching and embossed cursive logo under his fingertips. You. The bunker, in its own way. It all represented a stability he could only ever dream of, and now, with the strong chance of it staring him in the face and in his grasp, he wanted it for his pup. 

“Is this something you like?” he asked through another shrug and a slight dig of his toes into the cookie crumbs beneath him. Not sure which answer he was hoping for until it left your mouth.

“I mean. Maybe not so expensive,” you said, still holding the tag. Your face frowned as you read over the numbers again, and though you tried to hide it, he couldn’t miss the twinge of disappointment in your tone. “I’d rather get something…simpler. Especially if you’re not on board with us walking without you.”

Dean studied you a moment longer. It wasn’t safe, but he couldn’t deny you normalcy. He couldn’t deny you anything if your history was anything to go by, and the apple pie lifestyle was something you and the pup deserved.

“Maybe the red is a bit too conspicuous.” He pushed the stroller back under the rack, as if it were the real problem, and took a step over to the next one down the line. 

The handle was just as soft. The suspension, sensitive, easy to move and lighter. “This is nice.”

At least, he thought. If someone had told him a year ago that he’d be standing here in this store with you, shopping for this stuff, he would’ve laughed in their face. Yet, here he was, and it was nice. And brand spanking new. 

He brought it over to you and pulled you to stand in front of him, pushing his chest flush against the warmth of your back. He then leant over you, encompassed you and your bump between him and the display. His head, coming neck and neck with your own, nuzzling your mark, breathing it all in. The apple, the citrus. The odd sweetness of new plastic. 

When your hands ran over the leather, he covered them with his own. Soft on soft. Soft under rough.

“You think you can imagine our little guy, all comfy in here?” he said into your ear.

When you hummed, he knew before you even spoke that you weren’t going to let him get away with it this time, but someone else said something first.

Dean had been so busy focusing on you, the stroller and trying to ignore the stench surrounding yours, he hadn’t noticed the approach. 

Okay. He was overzealous on the safety front, too. He clearly had good reason to be, and his fingers gripped yours tight, squeezing your bones under the skin. Yeah, you were in a store. That didn’t mean his inner alpha wasn’t gauging anyone else as a threat, even if they worked there.

‘Too close,’ it snarled.

‘She’s a beta. Same as Donna,’ he said, and when he turned around, she was.

Yay high. A healthy dose of extra meat to her bones. If her red and white candy striped shirt was blue and donned a silver sheriff’s badge instead. 

“Oh. Didn’t realise I snuck up on ya there,” she said in a voice way too cheery to be in a place like this, exactly as Sheriff Hanscum would have. “Can I help you folks choose a stroller?” 

Before he could even decline, you jumped in, your thumbs gaining his attention with a squeeze of their own to loosen his grip. “We’re just trying to decide if we need one,” you said, and Dean lost a few feet off the top.

“Well, that comes down to preference.” Fake Donna nodded and approached with a casual step. Her open palms pointed to the handle, her eyes at him.

He could take a hint, and before anyone could lower his stature further, he pulled you with him to the side, keeping a hand on your waist at the ready. 

“Some pups prefer to be worn, so you can get away with a carrier, especially when they’re younger, but if it’s a stroller you want, you can’t go wrong with this one.” Her foot pushed down on the brake. 

“She’s sturdy.” She shook the frame. 

‘Already done that.’ His tongue swept over his teeth.

“Great price too.” She patted the hood near the tag. 

Well, he hadn’t looked at that, and he stretched out and grabbed it, flipping it over in his hands as you had done with the other. It was better, but he couldn’t help the deep inhale and the straightening of his spine.

“And as I said, comes with a travel system. Great for more cantankerous pups.”

Travel? Can…travelling? Dean handn’t wanted you walking without him. Screw travelling. There was no way the two of you were coming on cases with him, either. Of course, she didn’t know his ‘job,’ and thankfully, you were just as dumbfounded as he was judging by your scent.  

You exchanged glances, his eyes wide, yours flitting between him and her; but when you opened your mouth to reply, she cut you off before you’d even formed a sound. 

“Oh. Bless your cotton socks.” She clapped, making Dean flinch at the enthusiasm. He may have gripped you tighter. “Don’t worry. All first timers are clueless. Comes with the territory.” She chuckled, but Dean wasn’t laughing. 

It was uncanny. Along with the missing badge, if you just swapped the stroller for a donut and a cup of coffee, that snort was Donna to a T. 

Did she have a twin? A cousin? Was there a mirror around to check her eyes?

‘C’mon man, you’re getting paranoid.’ 

‘She snuck up on us,’ said his inner alpha as she got mighty close to you.

Dean soon realised he wasn’t leaving this place with just you and a stroller. Nope. With the way she was buttering you up like a sacrificial lamb with retail-speak and mentions of how you were glowing like you were old friends, you were walking out with the whole damn travel system. Maybe more.

“They’ll only stay in this for about six months, or until they can sit up, so you’d need to get both, not just the capsule,” she said. How convenient.

“Or you can get the bassinet attachment. It’s much more comfortable for their tiny tushies.” She was taking lines outta his book.

“But the capsule is probably the best choice. Don’t have to wake them if they fall asleep in the car.” Of course, it was the most expensive of the attachments, too. 

“How far along are ya, hun?” 

More like, how the hell did she do that? She’d pulled said capsule out and away from the frame in one fluid motion. The click, the only obvious sign something had gone down.

But then you answered. “Ah, nineteen weeks,” you said, and your smile filled your cheeks and eyes with a warmth he’d never forget. 

Suddenly, he didn’t care how much the thing cost. He didn’t care if his pup was can…tan…whatever. You standing next to it, one hand tracing the cursive lettering on the handle, the other smoothing over your dress and highlighting the slight bump below it, had Dean captivated. 

You made that stroller look good, and he could just picture you pushing your pup in there, all round with another one in your belly. Chuck. He couldn’t help but smirk. The apple pie life was looking mighty fine from where he was, and he closed in on the conversation, now eager to join.

“Do you know what you’re having?” Her eyes flicked to him with a sparkle, welcoming and friendly. She was actually enjoying talking to you. 

“A boy.” He beat you to the punch. He took the capsule she’d picked up out of her hands, hovering it over the empty slot in the frame.

“Dean thinks it’s a boy.” Your gaze narrowed at him, and his tongue receded through a grin in retort, which she chuckled at.

“You’ll find out I’m right on Monday.”

And you would. 

Just not before.

You were shown more of the store by fake Donna though, and soon that leather cushioned handle turned into the plastic rounded one of a shopping cart. A box with the stroller and its matching capsule inside that would transfer in and out of Baby once he got the right parts for her. Again.

But her candy stripe uniform had to leave you mid crib talk, having had a ‘clean up on aisle two’ kind of situation happen - right on her foot. 

“Maybe for the first six weeks, he should stay with us,” Dean said. “Til you’re healed up.”

Okay, some might call researching how soon your mate could have sex after giving birth was a bit of a dick move. Yeah, no, that fit. It was exactly something Dick would do, and Dean felt guilty, even when most parts of him were curious about your healing. Whether he needed to call in a favour with heaven and get you on the mend faster. He couldn’t help if the condition of your vagina came up. 

“I could set up my nest in whichever room we decide.” You were half statement, half question on that line. Your hand once again brushing over a store display.

The white wooden finish would get dusty in a place like the bunker. There had to be a reason the old geezers had chosen all dark furniture, and Dean wondered if he could also pull some strings and actually track down Mrs Butters. 

“You don’t want your nest in our bed?” he said, unknowing he’d just set himself up.

“I wanna keep it free of monster guts and whiskey.” You narrowed your eyes at him and he pulled a grin from somewhere. 

“I can’t help it if I miss ya when I’m gone.”

A brow raised, and he couldn’t help the husk that spiked his voice when he then said, “It was one time.” But though you smiled at his antics, the air surrounding you remained serious. 

You were on the other side of the crib to him. Too far for his liking. It was harder to hear. You were closer to the front, seeming oblivious to the potential threat of the many other alphas, just as cautious as he was nearby. 

Who knew if one of them would turn? He would if someone so much as looked at you the wrong way.

So he watched, helpless to appear collected from his distance as your fingers moved over the pattern of little ducks on the display mattress with an upturned lip. Your palm pressed into the springy foam, much like he’d done with the stroller. “Still have to decide about a nest birth or a hospital one.”

Hence the angels.

Dean clenched his jaw. You seemed wistful, and he wasn’t sure why.

The appointment was in four days, but the doc hadn’t given you a cut off date on anything. He’d just mentioned it last time, so you’d start thinking about it.

And he had.

It’d been on the back of his mind even before Doctor Cameron had brought it up. They couldn’t bring a doctor to the bunker if things went wrong, and your mom was out of the question even before he’d convinced you not to contact her. 

He’d also convinced himself that the decision was yours, though he was hoping you’d choose the Pack Planning clinic. Cameron could be a smartass, but he trusted him to take care of you, especially when he knew he’d be useless.

Beating up Dick for hurting you was one thing. Dean, knowing he was indirectly responsible for causing you pain, was another.

“What do you think?” you asked, looking up when you realised he’d said nothing. 

“You, ah, you’ve still got months to decide,” he tried. Hands darting from the cart to the pockets of his jeans. His bow legs pushed against the slats of the cribs side. The thing was sturdy.

“You mean we have.” 

No. He really didn’t. Not an out loud one, at least. Opinions on taking the pup for a walk? Yeah, he had one on that. You’d just changed it with your doe eyes, and the help of fake Donna and her sales skills, but this? With his ‘I want you to be safe and in a hospital’ mindset? What if you misconstrued him to mean something else?

You were the strongest omega he knew. Granted, you could get emotional at the drop of a hat these days, which was exactly his point.

“I dunno, sweetheart. You’re the one who’s gotta do all the work. I just put him in ya.” 

Your nose creased more in the middle as you circled around back to him. Your head, down and deep in thought, until you stood before him. Slid your hands in between the gap his arms formed next to his waist and gripped his hips. Played with the loops holding his belt as you brought yourself back up to search his gaze.

“You must have some input,” you said. “You get a choice, too.”

If he had a choice, he wouldn’t be in this predicament, but what to say? You were pushing it, and like the mention of hurting the pup in his argument for taking suppressants, he spoke a half truth and focused on his concerns. “I just want you both safe.”

“So do I,” you said. Bit your lip. “It’s why I’m kind of leaning towards the hospital.” 

Halle-freaking-lujah. Though why you couldn’t have said that without giving him the third degree, he’d never know.

“Doctor Cameron did say I could bring some of my own nesting supplies closer to my due date. It won’t be a full nest, but there will be other omegas close by, and—”

“Hey.” Dean’s hands were up and out of his pockets, both palms caressing your cheeks. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m on board with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled you in closer, inhaling your sweet scent. The chocolate and citrus swirling through it had him smirking.

He kissed your head first. Right on the crown. Fingers tracing little circles over your lower back, hips almost swaying, dancing, blocking out the noises and everyone else around you. 

If it wasn’t for the gush of air that mimicked a cracker startling him from behind, he would’ve forgotten where he was. Lost in his own world. 

His arms pulled tighter ‘round you and his head turned over his shoulder like a deer in headlights, finding a small boy holding a bright blue plastic gun, still pointed at him. A grin bigger than any of Dean’s plastered over his face. 

“James!” a fellow customer screeched. “I’m so sorry,” she hissed in your direction before grabbing his hand and scooping something off the floor. “I told you not to shoot that thing inside.”

That thing was a Nerf Gun. Something Dean had never seen before, and damn straight, he went looking for it in the toy aisle the second he’d wrangled you and your shopping cart away from the cribs. 

You’d purchase one another time when he could fit more in Baby’s trunk. The crib. Not the Eaglepoint RD-8 Blaster. 

He bought four of them (and extra ammunition).

So what if they were for eight years and up? He’d just passed forty. He didn’t want to risk them not being around anymore when his pup came of age. 

So what if he opened it to check it out and then waited up for Sam two nights later in the armchair on the landing? In. The. Dark. It was late, and the bunker had switched down into nighttime mode. The lights and buzz from the old machines below gave off just enough glow for him to see his target and keep him company.

It wasn’t his fault he got Eileen in the nose instead. Her and Sammy’s figures blended together as one, thanks to Sam’s giant Sasquatch physique.

“Hey. Woah. I’m sorry! Sammy didn’t say he was bringing anyone home?” He grit through his teeth and a head tilt, forgetting in the heat of the moment that the omega couldn’t hear him.

“Was I supposed to?” Sam scoffed. “How did you not scent her?” He’d raced to the light switch on the wall and turned it on for Eileen to see them, thus illuminating Dean’s bright red skin amongst the freckles. “I’m sorry,” he signed, before scowling at him. “You remember my brother?”

“Hey.” Dean waved his hand, Eaglepoint still in it, like the fool he felt, switching positions with them and scooting to the edge of the staircase. “I’m just gonna leave you two, to ah…see you in the morning.” He thumbed behind him. He’d find the foam bullet then, too.

“Goodnight,” Eileen said. 

Sam was still giving him his best bitchface.  

“Night.” He half bowed, spinning around to descend into the war room and further to room 11. He may have sniffed the air as he did, but it would appear neither Sam nor Eileen’s scents had changed. 

When Dean had last left you, you’d bid him goodnight. A tender kiss. An ass grab. A gaze deep into those brilliant green eyes of his. You were tired, and even though you hadn’t had as big a day as others, you still found yourself ready for bed earlier than usual thanks to your changing body, among other things, keeping you up at night.

No, it wasn’t morning sickness. What little you’d experienced had subsided. Somehow lucky on that front. But things like leg cramps, not being able to get comfortable because of frequent bathroom visits and a bump that stuck out just enough to be in the road of lying on your stomach were causing you grief.

Now you didn’t want to sleep on your side or back. No. Tummy sleeping is what you craved, and the only craving so far. 

You held that pee in as long as possible, disturbing Dean in the process when you caved and shuffled around the bed so as not to trip. Damn balance was already off centre, and as much as you insisted he stay, he still got up to walk with you down the hall or soothe the muscles cramped in your calf from the slightest movement. 

And then you were excited. Anxious. All week. The nerves about deciding where and how you wanted to deliver frequenting your mind the most. 

So even though you’d told Dean you were going to sleep, you hadn’t laid down at first.

No. You’d sat on the floor, legs crossed in front of you, a no longer neat pile of nesting supplies in front of them. They still lay scattered on the floor, and though it should’ve bothered you, they were a drop in the ocean compared to this feeling.

Trying to work out which items you’d take to the clinic seemed important two hours ago, even if they wouldn’t be joining you on the drive tomorrow.

What if Doctor Cameron showed you the birthing suites? Knowing what was here at home would surely help you plan. 

Like Dean needed to be in control of all aspects in his life, you, at the very least, needed to be in control of this. You were an omega after all. Giving birth and nests and pup rearing were something you were meant to be good at, and being good at it required practice and planning.

There was a matter of scents and getting the balance just right on the pieces you’d chosen. As much as Dean hated the cushion with the blue fur, his reluctance when you’d added it to the cart at the store meant your omega wanted his musk all over it. 

You’d picked it up, ran your fingers through each whispy strand. The little hairs tangled ‘round each of them, though bringing it up under your nose had been a mistake. It smelt wonderful, like talcum powder. But it tickled your nostrils and made your eyes water, too.

It’d be perfect under a nursing arm, though. Or resting behind your head, presuming Dean wasn’t there already.

Just another thing you needed to discuss at the appointment. 

You’d leant back, arms stretching out behind you, your palms flat on the cool cement of the floor. But as you’d strained your neck to chase a glance at the clock, you could’ve sworn your stomach did something weird. 

A flip? The kind you got after a small dip in the road or that one time you went on Space Mountain. 

Nah.

Yeah?

Maybe.

You were twenty and two now, and you’d been waiting since week sixteen to feel them. You’d been waiting since your first. 

But was that it? Would you feel it again? Because you hadn’t.

You’d sat on that floor longer than you cared to admit, waiting more, still and…patient. But when nothing seemed to come of it, you’d heaved a heavy sigh and butt-shuffled back to the bed, leaving that pile scattered. Disappointed, as you used the baseboard to prop yourself up into your non-nest.

It had to be your imagination. You were too eager because of tomorrow and the possibility of finding out. Yeah, that was it.

You’d switched off the closest light, screwing the rest. Snuggled under the blankets, lay on your back, then your side, then the other. The crisp sheets, no longer crisp, pulled and remained loose at the sides, twisted half off you in your feeble attempt to relax. 

Only you’d moved back to your back. Wiggled your rear against the mattress. Felt a niggle in your middle. Like a single pop from a piece of popping candy or a throb from blood passing through your veins or Dean’s knot. 

From then on out, you were still again, waiting under the low light of the usual lamp for more. 

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twelve.

You sighed. Nope. It wasn’t happening. Must’ve been your imagination, and you rolled over. Rubbed your head into the fluffy pillow. Pulled your top knee up and leant in on it. A compromise between side and tummy that’d worked the night before. 

But there it was again. A pop, a flip, a throb. Like a little gas bubble deep within your womb…and… Holy shit. You couldn’t put it down to anything else. That was your pup. It had to be. Right there below Dean’s shirt, your skin. Your pup. Alive and healthy, heartbeat, and all.

You sat up, shoved the covers off. Your fingers moved from it to grip the faded black cotton and pull it up over your stomach to see it protruding over your mound and heels, tucked in and not quite under your rear. Your bump wasn’t large enough to cover your toes when you stood, but it stuck out further than your boobs, sitting or no. Soft and pudgy, though, depending on the angle, it was firmer like then. 

“Hey there.” You smiled. A well of wet forming under your eyes. “You gonna do it again? ‘Cause I need to be sure before I tell your dad,” you whispered. 

Was it wrong to poke them? Probably, but it was a little too late to question it.

Your index finger picked up and pushed the pad down close to your navel. Gentle, of course, but hard enough to make a nail shaped dent when you twisted it just right. You, ignoring all the information you’d read that said they couldn’t feel or hear you yet. 

The experts knew nothing when your pup had the stock of an alpha as perceptive as Dean. It was the door in front of you that clicked with his head poking out from behind it soon after. His gaze alight in mischief turned to confusion when he saw you, your exposed stomach, and the mess of nesting supplies.

“You know, saying you’re tired is an excuse for sex, right?” He shut the door and ditched his new toy on the table in the corner. “Not setting up the floor is lava for your unsuspecting mate.” 

“I was going through stuff for tomorrow,” you said in a huff as he toed off his boots. “Don’t you want to know why all this is hanging out?” 

Even though your face was beaming. Dean still scanned the situation with a lick on the edge of his lip. He’d started undoing his belt and fly, but the process stalled as his brain geared up to fight or flight. 

“Is this the real trap?” he asked.

“No. I can feel them.” 

“Yeah?” His grin returned, and your head jiggled with excitement.

“He kicked?” And when you nodded again, it only grew wider.

“He-they’re moving,” you said, but Dean ignored the correction. 

His bow legs darted around the unravelled blanket and the other, still folded with a bow. He then hopped over that cushion you’d decided he’d be sleeping on tonight and flopped onto the mattress next to you, spreading out like a partner in one of those fake family portraits would. 

“My man. Something else to tell the doc, huh?” His arm cradled your swell, fitting snug as he leaned over and kissed your exposed skin first. “Hitting all them milestones. Making his momma crazy already?” His brows wagged as he stretched up to kiss you too before you could retort. 

He’d had a whiskey. The smoky remnants on his tongue, just another reminder of something you couldn’t have, making you savour it, and him, all the more with a greedy foray of extra nips.

“So.” He indulged you again, keeping the tip of his nose on yours when he pulled back. “What’s it feel like?”

You had to think about that. The flip? The candy popping? The throb? He’d appreciate that. 

Your palm slid over his thigh, close enough to his pelvis to bring the point home. “You know when your knot pops and there’s that pulse?”

“When I shoot my load?” 

“Yeah. It’s like that, only stronger.”

He huffed. Part snicker. Eyes, half lidded and lecherous, joined the smirk and twitch of his head. “You mean you’re getting an orgasm in your stomach?”

“It’s not pleasurable.” Wait. That wasn’t right, either. Of course, it felt good. 

This was your pup. 

“I mean, when you feel your blood passing through your veins. I thought you’d get a kick out of the analogy.”

“Oh. I did.” He looked down at your hand still in his lap only to lift again, expression changing the scene as an actor would on stage. “Next question.”

You repeated the phrase.

His chin pointed towards the mess. “What’s with the nest? No offence, sweetheart, but even I could do a better job than that.”

Obviously, it wasn’t one. Half of it wasn’t even out of its packaging and the shape was all wrong. “I told you I was preparing for tomorrow.”

Tags still hung off the corners of the cushions you’d chosen. They’d be scratchy on your skin, let alone the delicate fuzz-lined completion of a newborn, and none of it washed yet. Nothing from a store was going anywhere near your precious pup unless you’d sanitised, then scented it.

“We’re taking all that?” 

“No.” It was three blankets and a few more cushions. Didn’t even fill up half of Baby’s usable trunk. There’d been room with the stroller, its attachments, the Nerf guns and the multiple bags of extra foam ammo. “Not even half.”

How much leeway would you have delivering in a hospital? Rooms you’d seen visiting friends and family were probably about the same size as yours here in the bunker. But as much as the Pack Planning clinic tried to make their space warm and inviting for its patients, a clinic was still a clinic, and nothing like home. 

The walls that could use a lick of fresh paint. Outdated furniture lining them collected dust you dusted every other day. 

Dean’s scent. 

Yours. 

It was all a charm surrounding you that calmed and soothed like no other. It didn’t take an idiot to know that’s what you’d be needing most when the time came. 

“I just want to go in knowing what I have so I can plan for the space,” you said, and Dean swallowed. Nodded. 

“Alright.” 

He sat up, whipped his phone out of his back pocket and dropped to the floor with a groan and a definite crack from overused bones.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, because him picking up and pointing the camera point blank at the unravelled blanket while obvious, hadn’t computed with your brain. Why hadn’t you thought of that?

“Getting rid of the trip hazard. There’s gonna be enough bumps in the night with Eileen here. Don’t need you makin’ more.”

Wait. “She’s here?” You picked yourself up and knee-walked to the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve gone and—”

“Played host? I’m sure she’ll understand why you were sleeping. You can make up for it in the morning.”

Only you couldn’t, because both she and Sam were MIA when you left for Salina. Lost to the depths of his room. Thank god for Dean. With your mind occupied by your nest and your birthing plan, you weren’t too concerned about your territory.

You talked non stop to avoid all of it. Everything and nothing at the same time on the way. The weather. Potential names, Bobby, John and Henry. Dean even humoured you with girls’ ones like Mary and Charlie, while you avoided your moms on purpose. Thankful he had too when he listed every other female who’d been prominent in your lives. Grateful he didn’t bring up the night before or your need to pee.

Of course you couldn’t. Doctor Cameron needed a full bladder for the anatomy scan, and it was hell. 

Well, not the actual one, but you doubted, very much, that he or Dean could hold on for as long as you had. All that pressure in your pelvis, aching like the throes of a heat. If Dean had cracked a joke, you’d have no hope.

Each press of the cool gel into your exposed stomach from the transducer, another jab closer to leakage. No wonder multiple pregnancies drove people with vaginas into incontinence. Your bladder, a punching bag for the doctor and your offspring, could only hold so much — oh shit.

The doc pushed the damn thing into your stomach for the umpteenth time on your left side, where you figured one of your ovaries to be. The blunt head dug into your flesh, firmer on account of the recline of the exam table. Your sensitive skin, wetter where you didn’t want wet to be...

“Have you taken the time to think about your options?” he asked, like he’d done nothing wrong. If it weren’t for his hands occupied by the ultrasound equipment and his keyboard, you’d have considered him bored. It was okay when you were the prodder.

“We’re leaning towards here,” you said. “Presuming there’s time?” Just another thing you wanted to discuss. 

How long did it normally take? Movies made most births seem like your water broke and that was it. Pushing, grunting, groaning in your nest with loved ones, or on the way to the hospital, finding yourself stuck in the back of a car in a snowstorm on Christmas Eve.

No in between and never an estimate. No, ‘three hours later,’ or ten or twenty or thirty, and you had no one to ask how it felt or what to expect. Besides Cameron, a beta, presumably with the wrong bits.

Dean gave you a reaffirming nod. He was at full attention, in awe, and on edge. You could sense it in his scent. 

He’d squeezed your hand in his. Brought your knuckles up to his lips when he’d heard the sharp exhale on yours with the last poke. “No problem with my Baby, sweetheart,” he said, clearly concerned by the drive itself. 

Doctor Cameron nodded too as he typed in another measurement. “So long as things stay low risk and you’re happy to travel the distance.”

“Ah.” Dean cleared his throat. “Low risk?” 

The doc lowered his head and looked at him and then at you, “All medical procedures come with risks.” 

“Right, but, ah, what’s the risk the risk could be higher?” Dean’s feet shuffled beneath him, and this time it was the doc clearing his throat in response.

The pause didn’t help your nerves. That look in Doctor Cameron’s eye, typical. He chose his words carefully. So either there was a risk or it was unknown because you had little history to go on, and your guess was on the latter.

It had to be. The world just worked that way. It was Murphy’s law or some other guy you’d never heard of and theirs.

You didn’t know how long your mom had laboured with you. You didn’t know if she’d needed stitches or lost any blood. When you were asked to fill out that form at your first antenatal appointment with the doc, you couldn’t list any next of kin besides Dean, which was fine. He was your true mate, and you trusted him with every and all decisions if you were ever… incapacitated. 

But it was nothing the doc could go off of now, and he didn’t say it. Not directly, at least. What he did, though, was far more valuable, albeit accidental, leaving you surprised, and Dean insufferable. His grin the widest you’d ever seen it, rosy cheeks of pride contrasting his brilliant green.

“Your mate is in fine health, Dean,” Cameron said. “And so is your son.”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

And there we are! I was honestly really torn on what to give them, me being a boy mum wanted to live vicariously, but I know little boys too damn well, and it will be easier for me to do some timestamps in the future with the nerf guns this way.

I have a name in mind, but if you have an idea, I'd love to hear it! Just know I plan on avoiding Bobby and John.

Chapter 15 - Disappointment 30/05

“Why’re we getting this stuff again? They’re the ones cooking,” he grumbled as he leant over the cart, pushing it forward to let an elderly beta past.

This position was becoming more and more frequent, and he’d become rather skilled at navigating the metal cages. Gold medal material with the way he turned the damn thing. Whether that was good was still up for debate.

“It’s the least we can do,” you said, examining the mound of onions, a piece of vegetable at a time. Turning them over. Inspecting the flaky skin and differences in the colour underneath it. Weighing each piece with your hands.

“No. The least we can do is eat what they cook. You should be taking a load off.” 

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[bennyboyfics]

hey can u make a story about him making sure you’re okay and stuff when they travel together for his tournaments and making sure that the reporters aren’t all over her but also answering questions about her at press conferences!

His safe haven || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: I love this request ty!!

Wc: 930

Warnings: none!

MASTERLIST

-

The chaos of the tennis world was nothing new to Ben, but having you by his side added a different layer to it. When he travelled for tournaments, it used to be just about him—his matches, his training, his press conferences. Now, he had something more precious to think about: you. And he made sure you were okay. Always.

It started the moment you arrived at the airport. Ben’s hand found yours instinctively, fingers threading through yours in a way that felt both protective and grounding. He knew how overwhelming these trips could be—the flashing cameras, the murmurs of reporters who always had something to say.

He wasn’t about to let you feel like you had to navigate it alone. “Stay close to me, baby,” he murmured as you walked through the terminal, his grip tightening slightly as he noticed a few journalists lingering near baggage claim. You weren’t famous, not in the way he was, but that didn’t stop the media from taking an interest in you.

Being Ben Shelton’s girlfriend automatically made you a topic of conversation. And though you did your best to ignore the attention, Ben could see when it got to you—the way your shoulders tensed under their stares, the way you kept your gaze down when a camera flashed too close. So he shielded you. At the tournament, it was the same.

From the second you stepped onto the grounds, his presence became your safeguard. His arm would rest lightly around your waist, his body subtly positioning itself between you and any approaching reporters. If they tried to direct a question your way, he’d step in smoothly, answering for you without hesitation.

“Ben, is your girlfriend travelling with you for the whole season?” one journalist asked as you walked toward the players’ entrance. Ben didn’t break stride, keeping your hand firmly in his. “Yeah, she’s here to support me, just like always,” he replied, his voice even, making it clear that there wasn’t much more to say on the subject.

When the crowd of media got too thick, he’d shift in front of you, using his broad frame as a barrier. You’d feel his fingers squeeze yours as he leaned back slightly, murmuring under his breath, “Just stick with me, I got you.” And he always did. Even during press conferences, when he was seated under the harsh fluorescent lights with microphones pointed at him, he never hesitated to mention you.

“Ben, you’ve been playing incredibly well this tournament. Do you think having your girlfriend here has had an impact on your performance?” He grinned at the question, leaning back in his chair slightly. “For sure,” he admitted, his Southern drawl making the words feel even softer. “She keeps me grounded. Keeps me happy. That’s important, y’know?”

Another reporter jumped in, “She’s been spotted around the tournament a lot. Does she enjoy travelling with you?” Ben nodded, his smile never fading. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I hope so.” He glanced toward the back of the room where you sometimes sat in support, his expression warm. “I try to make it easy for her. It’s a lot, all this, but she handles it like a champ.”

And he meant it. He knew how overwhelming it could be to be in his world, but he made it his mission to make sure you felt safe, comfortable. Between matches, he’d always check in. A gentle, “You good, baby?” whenever you were waiting for him outside the locker room. A reassuring squeeze of your thigh when you sat beside him in the players’ lounge.

A quiet, “You wanna head back to the hotel? You don’t have to stay here all day.” But you did, because you wanted to be there for him. And Ben, in turn, made sure you knew how much that meant to him. At the end of the day, when the cameras were gone and the crowds had faded, it was just the two of you in the quiet of your hotel room.

And that was his favourite part. Just holding you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead, murmuring against your skin, “Thanks for being here, baby. You know I’d go crazy without you.” And you knew—because no matter how intense the world around you got, Ben always made sure you felt safe in it.

[bird-in-the-space]

The Four Harbingers of Unicron in TF One: Rebirth

(Author's note: I was thinking about what if the Four Harbingers happened in the tf one universe. Since the Cybertronians were at war with the Quintessons and the primes perished, I decided to make the Quintessons the ones who imprisoned Unicron's children and used them for their own gain. I also wanted to draw and try something different, so I drew a few pics for this fic. They're a bit messy since I'm trying new stuff. I also played around with layers and learned to make some glowy effects. I also couldn't decide in which timeline I wanted this to happen in the tf one universe because I got ideas for both before and after the tf one events, so I left this a bit ambiguous. Hope you like it.)

Inside an abandoned Quintesson shipwreck, an ancient being is freed from its imprisonment.

------------------------------------------------

Many years ago, during the war between the Quintessons and Cybertronians, there was a ship. According to the old records, it was carrying a weapon that could have secured victory for the Quintessons. The Primes got hold of this intel, tracked down the ship, and after a hard battle, destroyed it along with the weapon. Everyone believed it was the end, and soon it was forgotten.

However, after the death of the Primes and the traitor's rise in power, the Quintessons searched for the ship. The weapon was lost, but the ship possessed something they could not leave behind: the power source that had fueled the weapon.

It was something they needed—leverage against an ancient and far greater power. They also had to find it before the vessel could be broken and the power within it could escape.

The Quintessons searched and searched, but their efforts bore no results. It was as if the ship had never existed.

Unbeknownst to them, the ship had been lost beneath Cybertron’s crust, hidden from their sight and radar. Time had eroded its structure, and even organic flora had begun to grow over its shell. It lay beneath the planet’s surface, resting inside vast caverns where it now hung near a precipice.

Inside its vault—the generator room that once powered the ship and the weapon—stood a glass container at its center. Within the container burned a red spark. The energy lines that had once fed on its power glowed faintly, as the ship was long dead.

The room was dark, save for the light emanating from the spark, which continued to burn within its glass prison like an everlasting sun.

The cavern where the ship lay hidden suddenly shook as an explosion echoed in the distance. The ship trembled, rattling the glass container within the vault. After years of rust and erosion, the container’s safety latches gave way, causing it to fall from its place.

The glass vessel shattered upon hitting the floor, releasing the red spark trapped within.

Freed from its glass prison, the spark radiated with raw energy. The room’s surfaces scorched under its intense heat as it began pulling nearby metal toward itself. The metal burned and melted, orbiting the spark like debris drawn to a star. Slowly, the molten metal began to shape itself around the spark.

Soon, the metal shaped itself into a body resembling a Cybertronian. Once the body was fully formed and the spark sealed itself within it, it released a powerful energy surge, shaking the caverns and everyone who happened to be in its vicinity.

Then, you opened your eyes.

Releasing a gasp, you collapsed to your knees against the floor. After regaining your bearings, you looked around—the room was scorched all around you. Confusion settled in your spark as you didn’t recognize this place.

Where were you?

This wasn’t home.

You froze when you noticed something missing.

Wait...

Where was home?

You tried to think—but nothing. Your mind was blank. When you reached for memories of home, there was only emptiness.

You remembered warmth. A sense of family. You have a family... but where are they? Who are they?

Who are you?

Why can’t you remember?

You stood on unsteady legs, nearly stumbling. Strange—you should be familiar with your own limbs, but it felt as though you were taking your very first steps. The ship trembled beneath you, and in the distance, you heard something echoing outside the ship.

Scared, yet curious, you made your way out of the ship. You hopped down from the vessel—clearly long past its prime—and took in your surroundings. The cavern around you glowed faintly. Metallic fireflies drifted through the air, and in some corners, clusters of blue crystals shimmered in the dim light.

You felt… odd. This world didn’t feel like home, yet it held a strange familiarity, like a half-forgotten dream.

Sounds reached you once more. You looked toward a cave opening that seemed to lead out of the caverns. Your spark pulsed with uncertainty.

But even through the doubt, a longing stirred within you—a need to find your home, your family.

So, you took a breath... and stepped toward the light.

(Author's note: I didn't have a clear design in mind for the harbingers, so reader's character might look a bit messy. But I kinda like how this turned out. I doupt I will make a second one with this many pictures. Do tell me if you liked it, though. )

[b1asho]

Finally, an updated big stupid map of where we are. Now including flags!

Since im not going super hard with this scifi, all the planetary stuff is kinda just stuff that I want to be there+the barest bit of 'accuracy' for flavor. I'll have to work on it more later.

The three moons are all smaller than our moon, but combined they have a similar stabilizing effect. The rings are angled at approx 23 degrees with the planets axial tilt (the moons aren’t tho). The rings are mostly rock, and spread out far into very thin layers for some reason (meaning they don’t block/reflect that much light). Because they still have a lot of metal debris in them, though, they can still be pretty shiny. ( slightly increasing the intensity of winter and summer as they cast shadows/concentrate more light). You can see them from pretty much anywhere on the planet day or night (but at the equator they just look like a line). The rings and debris is (part of) what makes it so hard to keep satellites up there (and makes it much harder to try and leave the planet….).

The moss stuff was only one part of the Old Empire's usual procedure for this, step one basically. There is soil out there, it's just a thin layer since nothing else has been done to speed it up/introduce the other steps. These other steps to build up more complex ecosystems etc were only completed within the more manageable area that they live in, which now includes some Earth-originating species on the DRSS side since they just Had to butt in and put their stuff in with the Old Empire's glorious plans. There's also some invertebrates out there in mossland, but like the moss they've been coded to play out a specific purpose (soil stuff) even when left unattended for long periods of time (to better help the Empire start the other steps without having to worry about new/competing species that they cant control. The "let it loose/outside of our control" step is not this early, but now that its what has happened and no other species have been introduced en-masse like intended, the moss/algae/invertibrate outside may start to speciate soon.)

I still need to figure out where the past borders are, but this is where they’re all at currently. Don’t mind the probably wonky projection map, I tried XD. The section of continent shown is roughly larger than Asia.

After millions of people fell to the planet a couple hundred years ago (and millions more died in the many years of warfare, sickness, and famine afterwards), the planet has a current total population of around 1.5 or 2 billion people (no one knows exactly how many are in the Empire anymore) (idk what the percentage division of each species is either lol)

I think I might finally like how it looks, but at the same time it’s still a work in progress? I think I'm going to keep it this way for a while. It does help with a lot of character/plot stuff, tho, since I can now look at places and figure out who has gone to/from where (for example, the main 6 all live in Berm right now. Maro and Rinshi are from the little yellow island in the Empire, and got to the SEZ by passing through the Wreck, and Zoe and Devin are from the Orbouh Island Nations. )

[py-dreamer]

Macaque is big spoon

Lol the old men be snoozin and snugglin

(I was about to say sleeping but my mind is too dirty for that unfortunately-)

Y'wanna know why he big spoon?

The sun and moon thingy they have going on and...

Ehh, ehh? Y'see what I did there?

I hate fabric so god damn much.

WHY CAN'T YOU BEHAVE AND STAY STILL GODDAMN.

WHY MUST YOU CREASE AND HAVE LAYERS?!!? WHY CAN'T YOU BE SIMPLE AND FLAT

SAME WITH MACACA'S FUR.

WHY ARE YOU BLACK?!! HOW DO I RENDER YOU

TO QUOTE MY PAST SELF: "his true evil power is how hard he can be to draw"

LIKE MY DUDE. HOWWWWW.

Regardless, I'm still really happy with how the drawing came out like the lighting and stuff (just don't look at the fabric-)

Wukong couldn't give less than a flying f*ck if his pajamas matched. Like he's at home, let him be as much of a fashion disaster as he wants!

Heck, back in his day, he was prancing with a leaf skirt and that was acceptable, let the monkey be damnit.

But he would own something very funky like those peach shorts but specifically wear them on break days or in private

(Mac definitely made an inappropriate joke bout it; he has a mark you could read the king's fortune off of, on his right cheek-)

Mac loves his clouds cloudy king so sure, slap them on his pants I think he'd have those long fluffy or silky pajama pants and he like has a couple he switches out for every now and them.

Wukong struck me as a big shirt, short shorts guy

and Mac'doodles as a small shirt, big pants

On a more angsty note, after death I think he'd be a lot colder like its harder to generate body heat naturally so he'd be a lot more cuddly with his toasted marshmallow king cause he was literally toasty fried for 49 days in heaven (49 earth years if 1 year in heaven is a year belief is true)

I was really debating if they'd be in a tree like normal monkeys or in the stone palace cause like that's a whole thing.

Wukong is not only a king in name, he's got riches and a whole ass stone mansion, I want my boi to one day overcome his guilt and indesire for self care and move into the big boi house with his husbando...one day.

But until then, a girl can dream.

Cause come on, that'd be cool. I understand it'd feel real lonely without the stalwart generals and brotherhood but like he has new company and rekindling with his warrior might help with that.

I also think they'd rather sleep in a cozy lil alclove or like the beds in historical c-dramas that are kinda built in and they build a mini nest of sorts.

I was going to draw the monkeys but tbh, just wasn't feelin it...

Also wanted their tails to make a heart but the lil pointy bit always bugs me so I tried to make it into a more plausible scenario

And irl updates, I have been like formally rehearsing for a performance all week (as in a play) and practicing all day, just watched the 1st cast do it and its my turn tomorrow so wish me luck!

(btw I'm working with young kids, like 8-12 young and they all congregated around me when they saw me drawing like I was a glorified babysitter

And the amount of times I had to put the message on Mac's shirt on a different layer and hide it like bruh. The kids are lovely and all and I'd be happy to show my work but as you can see...not all of my works are...100% PG)

(pls reblog and feedback and stuff, I worked hard on this plss I beg...)

[glowsticknfriends]

lil headcanons i have abt sans undertale because i like him so much forever

☆彡 he smells like fast food (fries + ketchup mostly of course) and snow and cigarette smoke

☆彡 he discovers smoking 🚬 after moving to the surface and takes it up as a bit of a self soothing habit. i think he tries it probably either with asgore (who i think would like cigars) or undyne (who wouldn’t like the taste but does it cause it makes her look so cool) or maybe toriel (she has potential to be a shame smoker but it’s up in the air). i def think the underground had something like cigarettes but i think (being magic) it was more like what humans would consider a blunt and sans just never got around to trying em. so he gives human ones a try and though their effect is diluted since he’s a monster he still likes how they calm him down, plus it’s something to do w his hands when he’s anxious. plus, no lungs, so no lung cancer. fuckin score

bonus abt the smoking: pap doesn’t like it (thinks it smells stinky) so sans doesn’t do it around him

☆彡 i subscribe to the very popular idea that sans undertale fucking loves space 🌌 … he is a huge astronomy/astrophysics nerd and goes absolutely ham when he gets to the surface and has unrestrained access to the night sky for the first time ever. if you got him a telescope he’d propose

☆彡 doesn’t listen to music all that much but he likes slow indie stuff (like ethel cain maybe). other than that he listens to exclusively weird al

☆彡 he’s humanphobic (with good reason) but you wouldn’t know unless u paid attention. sometimes i see him characterized as being openly hostile/cold towards new humans he meets and ive never felt like that was really accurate cause sans is so good at making people feel at ease, his primary strategy for risk reduction is getting people to like/trust him by playing up his silly charming jokester persona while simultaneously keeping them at arms length. he’s not blatantly rude or distrustful towards humans but he has an innate paranoia that i think would take him years to truly quell. it takes a really long time for him to trust someone deeply

☆彡 naps constantly but he is constantly exhausted and i think it’s because those naps are basically the only real sleep he gets

☆彡 as much as i love putting him in little outfits realistically he has like. 2 pairs of basketball shorts 4 pairs of socks and a dozen tshirts w different pun based phrases printed on them. i also think he has 3 pairs of shoes (his slippers, some worn out sneakers, and crocs)

☆彡 he snores. not crazy loud or anything but he definitely snores

☆彡 prefers baths to showers cause they take less effort on his part. i also think he bathes like once a month but luckily he’s mostly magic so he manages to not reek too bad

☆彡 actually speaking of magic, since sans’ bones aren’t actually made of bone like a humans would be, i think they actually have a slight bit of give. not like a lot but a little bit, like a particularly firm memory foam pillow almost. i also think he has a layer of transparent magic on top of his bones that gives him his signature roundness

☆彡 he blushes blue because of course he does of COURSE he does. also his eye lights reflect his emotions (gone when he’s angry, widening when he’s happy/excited, turning into hearts when he sees something/someone he really loves)

☆彡 i think monsters can eat human food just not too much of it and they don’t really require nutrients to survive like we do. sans likes the way human food tastes tho so he eats it a lot (sorta like amethyst from SU)

bonus in that same vein: i think sans can manifest a tongue from his magic when he wants to but it takes effort/energy so he doesn’t do it often

☆彡 this isn’t a headcanon but i needed to talk abt it. i have no idea what sans’ teeth look like because every single concept of what they could be is amazing and perfect and i love them all. i want him to have fangs and a tooth gap and weird round bone teeth all at the same time

☆彡 his favorite season is winter bc he gets to wear all his hoodies/jackets, everyone stays inside all day, & the snow/cold reminds him on snowdin

☆彡 just like in the underground he has tons of side gigs/jobs on the surface. he def keeps up the hot dog stand, but i think he also works at like, the grocery store near his and pap’s apartment, runs an exhibit at his local planetarium/museum, picks up trash/collects cans n stuff, lots of part time jobs like that. i also think he does stand up in clubs/bars/grillby’s surface location but thats more of a fun/passion thing

bonus related to his part times: papyrus is super focused on his own passions/aspirations and tho he def gets a job himself to help pay rent, i think sans hides the fact that he’s working so much and is actually paying most of the bills/saving up to eventually move them out of their shitty little apartment. monsters definitely are sequestered off into housing communities and largely isolated from human society for at least a couple years after returning to the surface but i think papyrus would want to live more near society so thats mainly what sans is saving up for

☆彡 calls everyone ‘kid’ or ‘kiddo’. this is basically canon at this point. but i also think he’s partial to ‘bud’ for casual friends/acquaintances

☆彡 his magic has a cooling effect to it which makes him run cold most of the time

☆彡 is really really smart (i love the headcanon that he worked w alphys for a while and has a science background) but doesn’t like revealing the fact that he’s so smart because he prefers it when people underestimate him

☆彡 is good with kids. he has zero qualms about being silly/embarrassing himself which makes it super easy for him to bond and have fun with little kids, esp like. 3rd grade and younger

☆彡 kisses by pressing his teeth/face against whoever he’s trying to kiss (like when a cat headbutts you out of affection) since he doesn’t have lips. also he audibly makes the ‘mwah’ sound

☆彡 uhh i think he has the ability to sleep w his eyes open and does it to freak people out

[nicoscheer]

Steely Dons

Photos: Ed Miles

From Sheffield to the desert, and then to LA, Arctic Monkeys have been on a journey — and as NME Editor Krissi Murison discovers, the result is a band that's more confident and determined than ever. Now they're back in Britain with a brand new record, and they're doing exactly what they've always done best

I think," begins Alex Turner, uncharacteristically forthright for a frontman who's spent most of his interview career "hiding me face in me trackie top", "I think I wanted to have a crack at writing a bit more in a major key on this one. Because that was something I kind of left to the last minute on the last record and, yeah, I'd been copping out with the minor for too long. So I tried to..."

"Open the curtains a bit," Nick O'Malley offers.

"Yeah," grins Alex. "Exactly."

Sound the sirens: Arctic Monkeys are back. Back on form, back with tunes and, most tellingly of all, back with razorblades. On June 6 they will release their finely chiselled fourth album, 'Suck It And See. Right now we're a few minutes' drive from Alex Turner's east London flat, sat around a table in the hotel that the three other newly shaven Monkeys (Jamie Cook, in particular, is almost unrecognisable from the hairy shots doing the rounds a few weeks ago) are staying while they're down from Sheffield for official band duties. It's the first time Arctic Monkeys have got together to discuss this new album with anyone outside their inner circle and they are in good spirits, with good reason. While 'Suck It And See' might not succeed in getting "the 'Mardy Bum' crowd back in…..well, we can keep hoping", as Matt Helders happily jokes, it's likely it will be welcomed with more warmth than the last one. For starters, it's immediately easier on the ear than 'Humbug’. Where that album took Arctic Monkeys on a sonic adventure that challenged them almost as much as it has challenged festival crowds trying to sing along to the Josh Homme-produced results ever since, 'Suck It And See' finds them safely back on terra firma.

At its heart, it's a record of reassuringly familiar British psych-pop inspired by the classic melodic craftsmanship of The Beach Boys, Leonard Cohen and John Cale. Within its 12 tracks you'll find love songs, nonsense poems and a few bits that sound a lot like The Stone Roses. Peel back the layers further and you might also hear Alex's newfound respect for country music and Jamie Cook's continued infatuation with Black Sabbath. Yes, it's poppy, yes, it's destined to be labelled 'a return to form' and yes — as you'll be sick of hearing by now — teaser 'Brick By Brick' is most definitely a red herring. But while that track's glam-stomp might not sound much like the rest of the record, it did drop one big clue about one major development: Arctic Monkeys have got their sense of humour back.

"Putting that out first was us, for once, not trying not to be contrary," grins Alex. "Like, us playing Red Right Hand' first at Reading is definitely us being contrary, but 'Brick By Brick' just felt like the right thing to do. It's just fun and everyone we played it to really liked it, so we just thought, 'Fuck it.' And it's like new ground for us, we've not sort of had a tune like that before."

'Humbug' was a fairly heavy-going listen in places. So is this album a direct reaction to that?

"There were times in the lyrics on 'Humbug' where, yeah, I went into some corners that I didn't need to," concedes Alex. "But, y'know, I went there and I think there's still some humour in that [album], but it's definitely more prominent on this. There's a few more gags. Not just in the words but in some of the guitar solos and that as well - a bit of humour in the fuzz." And how do you rate 'Humbug' now?

Alex: "I really love it."

Nick: "There's always kids you bump into in the street who say that's their favourite and stuff." Helders: "To try and reassure you!"

Alex: "Yeah, like, 'Alex! I actually like 'Humbug!'

There's definitely a general lightness of being on this new one that makes it a more accessible album, though.

"Yeah," says Alex. "I think one thing we all wanted [this time round] was to make it a bit simpler. We put quite a lot on 'Humbug' in terms of overdubs... which is right for that, I've got no regrets about anything to do with that record, really. But, as you do with every record, you think where do you go from here?"

In mid-2009 his girlfriend's burgeoning US television career took Alex Turner to New York, where he set up home for just over a year in the city's arty-hipster capital of Williamsburg. It was there in his fourth floor apartment, while looking out of the window into New York's stifling sunshine and raging storms last summer, that he composed the majority of 'Suck It And See. "I realised yesterday it's the first time I've been, like, elevated," he points out. "It's the first time I haven't written on the ground floor." Once Alex had cracked how to make writing in major keys "not sound cheesy - y'know, like how the Velvets did it really well: poppy tunes but with a weird darkness" he invited Jamie Cook over for a long weekend where they worked out different ways of playing the songs.

"We had Transformers on telly on mute and started playing all this, like, chimey guitar," remembers Alex.

"How I describe it to people is that in them couple of days we found out how to play the other three strings. We stumbled across open strings and it was like, 'Oh wow, you can do this', and that's kind of given the guitars on this record a fresh twist."

"I think it were Transformers in HD," clarifies Jamie.

"Yeah, I'd love to tell you we were watching some French new wave cinema," says Alex. "But no, we were watching Transformers."

From there they brought the songs back to the UK and "back to the boys, who put it through this kinda mill where loads of other stuff they've been listening to a bit more comes into it," says Alex. Stuff — Matt, Jamie and Nick explain — like The Cramps, The Stooges' 'Raw Power', Pixies, The Stone Roses and Nirvana. In fact, their decision to record the album in LA with long-term producer James Ford was based less on the city and more on the impressive credentials of the studio they found there. "We wanted to try and record pretty live, and the drum room there is where they did 'Nevermind'. So that was a big draw," explains Alex. "But also, whereas with 'Humbug' Josh said, 'Come out and we'll go to the desert' and it was very much about that adventure, this time, it wasn't the same."

No losing your minds in the desert?

"Exactly."

So did you ever consider going back into the studio with Josh?

"I think we... I wanted to do this one with James definitely, yeah. But that's not saying we wouldn't do something with Josh again. He actually came and sang backing vocals on one of the tunes, 'All My Own Stunts’  Came down one night and did his very masculine falsetto that he manages to do somehow."

"Yeah," sighs Helders, "stole my harmony..."

If, as a group, Arctic Monkeys seem more relaxed and open to discussing themselves and their music than ever before, then nowhere is this transformation more pronounced than in their singer. "Yeah, certainly we're a lot more comfortable than perhaps we were talking to you a few years ago," he agrees. "We've had a great time these last few months making this record and, yeah, maybe I understand it [why people are interested in him and his band] all a little more now. But never...I still don't think I've cracked it."

To set the scene: it's an hour later and our conversation with Alex is continuing away from the rest of the band, because experience has taught us that he tends to open up a bit more when he's by himself. During the course of it we will leave the hotel bar and Alex will drive us to the location of the NME photoshoot (a moored houseboat in London's industrial docklands) in his vintage Mini Cooper, with Matt Helders sat texting in the backseat and Radio 2 babbling away on the stereo.

At one point during the drive, Helders will stick his head through the two front seats to interrupt. "Alex! This is that Take That song that you love, 'Kidz.’ Turn it up!" Then Alex and Helders will sing along louder and louder, filling in for Gary Barlow as the car goes into a tunnel and we lose all radio reception.

"Did you watch that Take That documentary that were on?" Alex asks once it's all over. "It were right good that. We love Gary Barlow. I think I really offended him a few years ago, though, which I'm, er, sorry about [he called Take That "a load of old bollocks" at an awards ceremony in 2006]. I didn't understand it then! Didn't know what were going on! Trying to ruffle some feathers. Anyway... back to us."

NME: Are there any themes in the lyrics you wrote for this album? In the same way that 'the weekend' was a loose theme on 'Whatever People Say I Am…’?

Alex: "Not intentionally, but I think there's quite a bit of weather and time going on in it. I don't know why. I mean I can put a sort of theory on that but I'm not sure I want to. They're not the most exciting themes you'd want to tell someone, are they? Time and weather is probably going to put everybody off it."

Some of the songs, though, like 'Library Pictures', seem deliberately opaque, almost nonsense poems...

Alex: "Yeah, that song is definitely like that. Something I've discovered as I've gone on is that it's cool to let the words sometimes take more of a back seat. I think there's like two types of songs [that I write] where some of them I want people to, like, understand where it is and almost be right there with you. So that would be something like 'Cornerstone’, where I feel the person listening is right there with you (gestures to right shoulder). Then there's other things that are more like 'Black Treacle' (on 'Suck It And See') or 'Crying Lightning' from the last one, where it's much more vague, and I kind of want to keep it that way. I always think of some Bowie tunes that do that, things like 'Five Years' you're right there with him, and other things like that tune 'Lady Grinning Soul', it's sort of describing this woman, obviously, but you don't know where you are with it."

Something that's noticeable on this record is how much your voice has changed. On the first album it's full of spike and now you're a proper crooner.

Alex: "Yeah, spike is the word! Maybe that's good or bad, but it's certainly happened. Jamie and I, when he came out to New York, I got our first record and we sat through and played it and I noticed that."

It makes what you're saying sound less angry. Are you?

Alex: "Yeah, probably yeah. I think the sound of us trying to do that now would be awful. But we had a great time listening to it! I'd not played it for years. It used to be very uncomfortable when you'd kind of hear it coming on somewhere, but now it's come round where we could enjoy it. We just kept laughing. There's loads of bits we'd sort of forgotten, and lines even in some of the tunes that I'd forgotten about. There's a bit where, like, a fucking bongo comes in! And bits where it gets groovy and all that. Because we always wanted to try stuff out, like suck it and see, y'know. So whether it's a bongo or not, it's good to go down those roads."

Oh yes, that album title. "In America people will probably interpret it as quite rude, which is funny," is how Helders explained it to NME last month. The Americans should consider themselves lucky. 'The Rain-Shaped Shimmer Trap', 'The Thunder-Suckle Fuzz Canyon' and 'The Blondo-Sonic Rape Alarm' were — NME can exclusively reveal — early contenders.

"We were trying to think of like album titles all the time when we were in LA," starts Alex. "As a sort of exercise to try and stumble across something we thought we'd try and name something else and then steal that as our album title. So you know fuzz pedals for guitars? They usually have quite colourful names. So we were trying to think of fuzz pedal names in the hope it would lead us to an album title. So we got a load of them like the 'The Thunder-Suckle Fuzz Canyon', which is a lyric that did finally get in there [on 'Library Pictures']. It's right before I play a guitar solo. It goes, 'We're going riding through the Thunder-Suckle Fuzz Canyon' and then does a countdown to lift-off."

It seems apt then, as we approach the end of our journey with him, that we ask Alex Turner, while his head is full of guitar god poses, for his thoughts on the future of the genre. Much has been made in numerous newspaper articles in recent months about the so-called 'death of rock', after one commentator looked at the lack of rock songs in 2010's singles chart and declared the era over "in the same way the jazz era is over".

It's certainly true we haven't seen a guitar band galvanise a nation of music fans since that first Arctic Monkeys album was released five years ago. Will it happen again?

"I hope so. It's hard to tell because there's loads going on, but it has been a while since something like that happened now. It would be nice, though, wouldn't it? Who's good? What else is going on?" We talk about the new stuff dominating the NME stereo, with Alex naming Smith Westerns, Girls and Lykke Li as the things he's been getting into recently. Interestingly, despite growing up on a mix of indie rock and hip-hop, he says that — apart from Odd Future — his listening habits are guitar-based these days.

We say that's surprising, in a time when everyone else's playlists seem to be getting more diverse.

"Perhaps that's the problem," he says, jumping back to the earlier point. "Everyone thinks the next big thing has got to sound really modern and new, but to get something that sounds fresh, it can just be three kids with guitars and not a lot else. There's enough username-and-password music already, know what I mean? I hope it does happen again, though."

That another Arctic Monkeys come along and kickstart a grassroots indie-rock revolution?

"Yeah, because we'll never get that initial naivety back. You can't, like, fake that thing, like what's on that first record. It's just a time and a place," acknowledges Alex as we arrive at the boat for the photoshoot. "But it can sort of work both ways [getting older, getting a bigger record collection, he means] because you get turned on to stuff that opens other doors. But yeah, I'd love for a band to come through and turn the charts upside down for a couple of weeks."

He means it too. This is the Arctic Monkeys with their mojo back, and while the ship won't be sailing back towards the desert any time soon, there's still plenty of uncharted water to explore on their ever-evolving sonic odyssey.

EVOLUTION OF THE MONKEYS

The Arctic adventures, album by album

THE ALL-CONQUERING 'CONCEPT' ONE

Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not (2006)

The band's huge-selling debut could be viewed (by Alex Turner's own admission) as a quasi-concept album about a weekend in the life of a young English clubber. The tunes, along with Turner's razor-sharp lyricism, certainly struck a chord, and encapsulated the band's extraordinary promise.

THE LOUDER, FASTER ONE

Favourite Worst Nightmare (2007)

Released just over a year after their debut, the Monkeys' first record with James Ford on production duties was a more aggressive beast than its predecessor, full of bone-crunching riffs and a much funkier rhythm section. Also notable for the first glimpse of Turner in crooner mode on the likes of 'Only Ones Who Know'.

THE DESERT ONE

Humbug (2009)

The band decamped to Josh Homme's studio in Joshua Tree, California to conjure up their loosest, least immediate record to date, one whose charms take a while to reveal themselves. The influences are broader — there are elements of heavy metal, prog and spaghetti western soundtracks — and Turner's words are more obtuse, but it's the album's most straightforward song, 'Cornerstone' (produced by Ford), that's the highlight.

-

Via Reddit thanks to @sophaeros for the article

[ladykailitha]

Around the World Part 5

Hey guys!! Welcome back to the Spooky World Tour. Where we finally leave the USA and head across the Pond.

First stop! The British Isles. Where Robin gets giddy about Titanic stuff. They do run afoul some fans as they leave Boston, but nothing seasoned vet Eddie Munson can't handle. Eddie tries out new looks as disguises that make Steve very happy and Robin and Chrissy get teased.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

~

“Oh shit.”

Eddie had checked his phone for their flight number because they were getting ready to check out of one of the hotels they stayed in. It was supposed to have been haunted but considering their previous experiences, it was pretty sure bet that it actually wasn’t.

So yeah, anyway. They had a problem. Well, closer to roughly fifty problems and all of them outside the hotel waiting for Eddie Munson to come out.

Steve looked up from his last minute search of the room to make sure they got everything. “What’s up?”

“Someone fucking told TMZ I’m in Boston,” Eddie hissed, “and which hotel I’m staying at.”

“Shit.”

They shared a glance and both took off at a run straight for the girls’ room.

Eddie raised his hand to knock, but Chrissy was already opening the door.

“How did they find out?” Steve asked, nervously twisting his fingers together.

“Vickie’s looking into it,” she said, gently. “I’ve hired two cars exactly the same to show up at the back of the hotel. We will get in one and four actors will get into the other and we’ll play the fucking shell game with these people.” She got angrier as she spoke.

Robin came up behind her. “That was Vickie,” she said solemnly, “she thinks she’s found the leak.”

Steve and Eddie shared a concerned glance.

Chrissy pulled them into the room and closed the door behind her. She stood in front of the door and crossed her arms. “Who do I have to kill?”

“Nancy fucking Wheeler,” Robin huffed. “By way of probably Mike and Dustin. Mike figures she got home early when Dustin was talking about how Steve and I must like having friends in high places that could take us on world tours.”

Steve sank to the floor in a crouch. He had told Dustin that as a trial run to see how well he could keep a secret now that he was older. And apparently the answer was not well at all.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” she continued. “Nancy must have decided that since she couldn’t blab about Steve and Eddie’s relationship without breaking the NDA she decided to chose violence instead.”

Eddie put one hand on his hip and lifted his shirt a little as he looked around the room. Then he spotted the potted plant. A real one for how posh the place was. He grabbed a baggie from Chrissy’s makeup bag and started filling it.

Robin frowned in confusion, but Steve and Chrissy grinned.

“His little camouflage technique,” Chrissy explained.

Then the light bulb above Robin’s head went off. “Like that night you came to the concert!”

Eddie and Steve grinned at her.

“We can’t doing it leaving the hotel,” he said with a grin, “because the shell game wouldn’t sell. But once we’re in the car, we dirty up our clothes and luggage to get through to the airport. Then we can use the airport lounge to shower and change.”

“So we leave now?” Robin asked, looking at her watch.

“We leave now.”

~

Robin knew how to change up her look. She took out makeup from Chrissy’s bag and did her makeup completely different to ‘Robin’. She didn’t have any of her designer clothes that she wore as Celeste Baptiste, but she knew how to glam up what she already had. Chrissy and Eddie did the homeless look, multiple layers and dirt smeared into their skin and hair.

Steve was a little harder to disguise because of his perfect cheek bones and distinct profile. Which is when Chrissy got the idea to glam Steve up too. She contoured his face and added cat-eye wingtips and glitter.

Standing next Robin, they looked like a pair of fashion models on their way to Milan, London, or even Paris.

Eddie and Chrissy split up, while Robin and Steve walked and talked like Abbadon and Celeste.

Soon they were at the airport lounge and Eddie and Chrissy made quick work of their disguises in the lounge showers.

Steve had his makeup removed, but Robin kept hers on.

“I will feel safer it being on until after the flight takes off,” she said once Eddie and Chrissy had rejoined them.

Chrissy gave her hand a squeeze. “That’s okay. I talked to the airline representative and the pilot and they both assured me that the flight is nearly empty and we are the only ones in first class.”

Robin nodded and Steve pulled her close for a hug. He never had to experience that before. But with them traveling with Eddie, it was insane.

~

Steve had long since fallen asleep on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie looked over across the aisle to Robin.

“When you guys fly is first class or...?” he asked quietly, careful to not wake either of their partners. Chrissy was on the other side of Robin, curled up into a little ball with a Hello Kitty sleep mask over her eyes as she snored softly.

Robin shook her head. “We don’t want to let people on that we might be anything other peons. Shane suggested a private jet once. But...”

“How do you explain that the five little peons,” Eddie said with a chuckle, “Shane, Simon, Steve, Spence, and Robin aren’t on the same flight as the other roadies and peons?”

Robin snorted. “Yeah, pretty much. Spence suggested telling people we just were all getting on a separate flight than everyone else.” She cocked her head to the side. “Steve wasn’t convinced.”

Eddie winced. Steve could be really stubborn about that sort of thing. He was also the one that stood to lose the most if this shit went south, so... Eddie supposed a little bit of grace could be given.

“You do know what the solution is, don’t you?” he said with a grin. “You hire a charter jet for everyone.”

Robin blinked at him for a moment and then grinned back. “Eddie Munson, I love your brain.”

“Well that’s all you get,” he huffed, looking down at the still sleeping Steve. He brushed a strand of hair out of Steve’s face.

“Sap!” she huffed and pulled down her witchy sleep mask she got in Salem, MA and settled into her seat to sleep the rest of the flight.

Eddie pulled out the blanket they had been given and covered them both. Then under the covers linked their hands together.

Slowly he too drifted off to sleep.

~

Steve awoke with a start as the flight attendants announced that they were coming into Cobh and to please put all tray tables in an upright and locked position. He looked around and saw that everyone else was awake. Chrissy and Robin were playing games on their phones while Eddie read a book.

Steve peered around at the title. “The Dead Zone” by Stephen King. He snorted. Of course his boyfriend would be reading horror on this trip. He just wasn’t sure that was the right book to read considering the current political climate, but he wasn’t about to police Eddie’s reading.

He stretched and then buckled his seatbelt. He carefully folded the blanket and handed it to the flight attendant as they passed, making sure everyone was buckled in.

“The Titanic Museum in Vegas was pretty impressive,” Robin said excitedly. “I really hope this place delivers.”

Steve chuckled at his best friend. By the nature of their trip they had to sometimes visit things in the bright light of day and it wasn’t always very spooky.

Personally he thought that was a good thing. The bones in his hands needed some relief from all the grinding and squeezing the other three had been doing. Because yes, while it began as just Eddie and Robin grabbing a hold of him when he got scared, Chrissy was supposed to be there as his “girlfriend” there was some hand holding to be expected from her as well.

Robin was not disappointed. The Titanic stuff was everywhere. The walking tour, the pier in which the ill-fated ship embarked from, the memorial. Robin was talking a mile a minute and even their tour guide seemed impressed by her wealth of knowledge.

Eddie, Steve, and Chrissy stood in the back of the group, arms crossed, watching their friend in amusement as she gestured wildly.

“She’s cute,” Chrissy said warmly.

“Well,” Steve said with a huff, “if your plan pans out, you can make all the kissy faces at her all you want.”

She tried to hide her giggle behind her hand, but failed miserably. “If that’s why I was doing it, I’d agree with you. But after what happened in Boston, disguising Eddie means we all become anonymous.”

Steve sighed. He had been thiissss close to telling Dustin about his secret band or hell just that he was dating Eddie in general, but then he had to go bragging to Mike about how cool it was for him to have friends that would take him on world trips and have the media catch wind of that?

Getting to Logan airport had been a nightmare.

Thankfully Eddie’s camouflage trick worked and they were able to get on their flight with minimal fuss.

So now Eddie was currently dressed in clothes that would have made people think he raided Abbadon’s closet. He wore a white button up over a white tank top, large white jeans. His hair had been braided by Chrissy and Robin to look like almost dreadlocks and huge glasses that covered his eyes. He had also refrained from shaving so that further covered up his face.

He looked like a fucking runway model and Steve was absolutely going to eat him when they got back to their hotel, he looked that good.

When Robin finally paused for breath they went to lunch and took in some of the other sites, Cohb offered.

Steve nearly burst out laughing when Robin grabbed Chrissy hand to show her something and then ‘forgot’ to let go. Chrissy might not being taking advantage of Eddie incognito, but Robin sure the hell was.

When they finally got to the hotel, Steve grinned at Robin and whispered, “I recommend dental dams and socks to muffle the noise.” He winked and walked away as she sputtered and squawked in outrage.

About five minutes later he came back out holding a small box. He knocked on their door and when Chrissy opened it, Steve tossed her the box.

“Always use protection, ladies,” he teased, wagging his eyebrows suggestively and then turned and walked back to the room he shared with Eddie.

Chrissy looked at the box in her hand and saw it was dental dams. “Steve, why do you even have these? Steve? Steve!” But he merely closed the door behind him.

Eddie was unbraiding the last of his braids when Steve came back. “That better have not had been our last box, lover boy.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “Like I would do such a thing!” he cried, mock scandalized. “We have three other boxes. I told the TSA agent I was going to a dental convention in Dublin.”

Eddie cackled. “Because of course you did.” He got up and pulled Steve toward the bed. “Come on, I believe you’ve been wanting to ravish me all day.”

Steve grinned, sliding his arms around his waist. “Oh yeah. I get that it’s not your style, baby, but I’m about to have a really good time peeling it off of you.”

Eddie grinned and flopped on the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows and wagged his eyebrows at Steve. Steve hurried to remove his own clothes and then crawled up on the bed.

“So this style really does it for you, baby?” Eddie purred. “I think I could be persuaded to wear it more often.” He cocked his head to the side. “At least on this trip.”

Steve yanked off the belt and undid the jeans, pulling out both shirts. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s make a deal. I get to dress you however I want for this trip and you have full reign in the bedroom. All under the guise of keeping you under the radar.”

“Sounds good, Stevie,” he said sitting up to allow Steve to remove his shirts. “I just have one caveat.”

“What’s that?” he asked absentmindedly, working to get Eddie’s pants off.

“That we take pictures of all the times we managed to fool people and post a montage on social media, as ‘back at you bitch’ to Nancy.”

Steve stopped what he was doing and looked Eddie dead in the eye. “God, I love you.” He ripped off the rest of Eddie’s clothes and kissed him deeply. “Hell yeah, babe. I love the way you think.”

And then he proceeded to ravish Eddie as planned.

~

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @garden-of-gay

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 7 - Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with their tail between their legs?

TW: Angst, Intersex reader, reader has some... not so great coping habits, sexual tension

Word Count: 2.3K

Read Pt. 1 HERE Read Pt. 2 HERE Read Pt. 3 HERE Read Pt. 4 HERE Read Pt. 5 HERE Read Pt. 6 HERE

You Say You Want Me, But You Know I'm Not What You Need

Pietro's words weighed heavy on you throughout your work week as you buried yourself in your latest projects. Every time you thought about Wanda, which was more than you cared to admit, the conversation with her brother- and your best friend echoed in your mind. It was like he had peeled back the layers of your defenses and seen right through to the fear that was holding you back. You knew he was right, that you couldn't live your life in fear, but the thought of hurting her was paralyzing.

Friday evening finally rolled around, and with it, the promise of the weekend. You decided to visit the local bar, hoping the noise and the company of strangers would help distract you from your tumultuous thoughts. As you sipped your beer, you watched the crowd, their laughter, and chatter creating a wall of white noise that you wished could drown out the voice in your head. A voice that had been echoing in the depths of your mind since that night you had shared with her.

As you were lost in thought, the door of the bar swung open, and Wanda walked in, looking radiant despite the sadness that still lingered in her eyes. You felt your heart drop as she scanned the room, and when she saw you, she paused, her gaze lingering for a moment before she turned away. You knew you couldn't avoid her forever. You downed the rest of your drink and approached her, your steps feeling heavier with each inch that brought you closer.

"Hey," you said softly, trying to keep your voice from cracking. She turned to face you, her eyes wary but open. "Can we talk?"

Wanda nodded, and you led her to a quieter corner of the bar, the neon lights casting a soft glow on her features. You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Pietro came to talk to me," you began, watching the way her expression tightened. "He's worried about you."

Wanda looked down at her drink, her fingers playing with the condensation on the glass. "I know," she murmured. "I've been avoiding him too." You tried to ignore the pang in your chest, feeling like you had caused this. She was avoiding you, which made sense. But she was also avoiding her brother.

"Wanda," you started, "I need to tell you something." She met your gaze, her eyes searching for something you weren't sure you could provide. "I've been thinking about that night. And what happened between us." She nodded slightly, her expression unreadable. "I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm just...scared."

She looked up, the sadness in her eyes shimmering with a hint of anger. "Scared of what, Y/N?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to find the right words. "Scared of losing you," you admitted. "Scared of hurting you. Scared of not being enough." You looked down at the table, finding the rough texture suddenly interesting. "My last relationship, it…it was a mess. And it isn't fair to you," you took a deep breath, feeling her hands slide into your nervous ones. "I don't want it to feel like I am taking my issues out on you."

Wanda's grip tightened, giving you a gentle squeeze. "Y/N, I'm not just anyone," she said, her voice firm. "I know you're going through stuff, but so am I. And I know we can work through it together." She paused, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. "But if you don't want to, if you think we can't, then I'll respect that."

You swallowed hard, looking into her eyes and seeing the hurt you had caused. "It's not that," you said, your voice cracking. "It's just that I've hurt so many people before. And I don't know if I can handle it if I hurt you too."

Wanda leaned in closer, her voice soft but firm. "But what if we don't let fear dictate our future? What if we take a chance, and maybe, just maybe, it's the best thing for both of us? We can also help each other, Y/N."

You felt your resolve wavering, the warmth of her touch and the sincerity in her words reaching deep within you. "I want that," you whispered, "but I'm so scared."

"So am I," she started, gripping your hands tighter to help reassure you. "Your reputation proceeds you, Y/N. Pietro definitely told me a lot about you before you moved here." She took a deep breath, looking into your eyes. "But I've seen a different side of you. One that is kind, caring, and...scared." She gave a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm taking a risk, too, you know. I've never felt this way before."

Her confession hit you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly, the bar didn't seem so crowded anymore. It was just you and Wanda, in your own little bubble. "Wanda," you whispered, leaning closer to her, "I can't explain what it is. There is this pull, I just want to be around you. I think about you constantly."

Wanda's smile was faint but genuine. "Then why are we fighting it?" she asked, her voice filled with hope.

You took a deep breath, feeling your chest tighten. "Because I don't know if I can give you what you need," you confessed. "I don't know if I can be the person you deserve."

"Let me decide that, Y/N." Wanda's voice was steady, her eyes unwavering. "You can't live your life assuming the worst."

You searched her eyes, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all you found was a determination that mirrored your own. "I know," you began, leaning back into the booth you were seated in. "I can't help but think the worst. I've been told, over and over that I am the worst. I don't want to find out what will happen if you were to think that too."

Wanda reached out and placed a hand on your cheek, her touch tender and reassuring. "Y/N, I'm not everyone else. I know you better than you think, and I know that you're trying."

You couldn't deny the warmth that spread through you at her touch, or the way your heart skipped a beat when she said she knew you. You leaned into her hand, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly. "But what if I'm not good enough?" you murmured, your voice filled with doubt.

Wanda leaned closer, her thumb brushing gently against your cheekbone. "I wouldn't have kissed you in the first place if you weren't, Y/N. You're more than enough," she said, her eyes searching yours. "And if you ever doubt that, I'll be here to remind you."

The bar was a blur around you, the noise fading away as you focused on her. You felt the weight of your decision lighten slightly, the fear of losing her still there but tempered by the hope of what could be. You took a deep breath and nodded. "Promise?"

Wanda leaned in, her breath warm against your cheek. "I promise," she whispered, and with that, she kissed you. It was soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the passion of that night under the stars. But it was filled with something else—something deeper, something more profound. It was a promise of understanding and support, of patience and growth.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed her back, feeling the tension in your body melt away. The world around you disappeared, leaving only the two of you in the quiet corner of the bar. The kiss grew more urgent, as you slid your way around the corner booth so your hands could find their way to her waist, pulling her closer. It felt right like you were finally letting go of the fear that had been holding you back.

She pulled away, resting her forehead against yours. "That night," you began, looking into her darkened gaze. "It took everything in me to not walk back over and just kiss you."

Wanda's eyes searched yours, the unspoken words hanging in the air between you. "What stopped you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"My own crippling fear?" you let out a soft chuckle, feeling the warmth of her breath on your skin. "I didn't want to mess up what we had," you admitted. "And I didn't know if I was ready to deal with the fallout."

Wanda leaned back, her eyes searching yours. "But you are now?" she asked, hopeful.

You took a deep breath, the warmth of her body pressing against yours. "I don't think I ever will be," you said, feeling a newfound sense of determination. "But, I'm ready to try."

Wanda's eyes searched yours, a spark of hope igniting in them. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's take this one step at a time." she winked, "But maybe don't run away from me anymore, yeah?"

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. "Deal," you said, smiling. The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and stolen glances, a tentative dance of flirty banter and comforting touches. It was like the universe had taken a deep breath and finally allowed you to move forward.

"Dance?" she asked, standing as the floor began to get more crowded.

You nodded, feeling a rush of excitement. You had seen how she danced before, and the thought of dancing with her had your heart racing. You slid out of the booth, taking her hand in yours and leading her to the dance floor. The music was loud, but it didn't matter. You wrapped your arms around her waist, and she placed her hands on your shoulders, looking into your eyes as you began to move together. It was as if the world had stopped turning, and the only thing that mattered was the way she felt in your arms.

The rhythm of the music was infectious, and before you knew it, you were lost in the moment, your bodies moving in sync. You could feel the chemistry between you, the same spark that had been there the night of your first kiss. But this time, it didn't feel forbidden or wrong. It felt right. As you spun her around, her back now to your front. You leaned down and whispered into her ear. "I'm sorry for pushing you away, for being such a coward."

Wanda leaned back into you, her hands resting on your chest. "You're not a coward," she murmured. "You're just scared."

You pulled her closer, her back pressing against you. "I don't want to be scared anymore," you confessed. "I want to be with you." She ran her hands up your neck, carding through your hair and raking her nails on your scalp. The feeling sent goosebumps across your body.

Wanda leaned her head back against your shoulder, looking up at you. "Then let's not be," she whispered, and you felt the final piece of your wall crumble. The bar's lights flickered and danced in her eyes, casting an otherworldly glow. You bent down and kissed her again, the music swelling around you like a crescendo. It was a kiss that spoke of all the unspoken words, of the fears you had both been holding onto.

You both continued swaying to the music, your bodies fitting together perfectly as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The bar patrons around you melted away, leaving only the pulsing beat and the sound of each other's breaths. Wanda's hand snaked around your neck, her touch sending a warm jolt through your body, and you tightened your hold around her waist. You felt alive, more alive than you had in a long time. She turned around in your grasp, pressing herself up against you.

The music changed, the tempo slowing down, and you two matched it, moving in a sensual rhythm that had your heart racing. Wanda's eyes searched yours, and you knew she could see the conflict within you, the fear and hope battling it out. But she didn't push, she didn't ask for more than you could give. She just danced with you, her body a silent reassurance that you weren't alone.

The night grew later, the crowd thinner, and you found yourselves leaning against the bar, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Her laughter was music to your ears, and the way she leaned into you made your heart swell with something you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in a long time—happiness.

"Want to get out of here?" Wanda's question was barely audible over the music, but you heard the hope in her voice.

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "Yeah," you said, taking a step back to let her lead the way. As you followed her through the crowded bar, you couldn't help but feel like you were being reborn. The night air was cool against your skin as you stepped outside, and you took a deep breath, feeling it fill your lungs with a newfound sense of freedom.

"I guess I'll see you at home?" you asked, knowing you both brought your own cars. Wanda nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, unless you want to come over?" The question hung in the air, filled with a tentative hope that had your heart skipping a beat.

"Sure," you laughed. "I'll be over once I change out of this," you motioned towards your work attire, wiggling your eyebrows.

"Actually," she started, biting her lip as she pulled you into her with your disheveled tie. "I was hoping I could help with that..." The look in her eyes was hopeful, tinged with lust. "Unless you want to wait, that is."

You felt your heart thud in your chest, the warmth of her body making your head swim with desire. "No," you murmured, your voice thick with want. "I don't want to wait. I think we've done enough of that.”

[chaoslibra]

♪ ༘⋆ ᴅʀᴀᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ — t.todoroki smau

//

♪ ༘⋆ character aesthetics - the boys

⋆ touya todoroki

⋆ okay so i have yapped about touya's aesthetic a lot already, but i am never done yapping about this man. ever.

⋆ dty touya specifically is very high school teenage dirtbag but evolved (he has two compression shirts now next to his bajillion old band shirts)

⋆ baggy shirts, even baggier pants; HOWEVER his slutty ass would totally wear like slightly cropped, tighter shirts during shows and have the tiniest, sluttiest amount of stomach showing

⋆ thick ass jackets, especially when he is on his bike

⋆ other than that basically never covers his arms though, tattoos are always on full display

⋆ is unfairly good at doing eyeliner, he smudges it on purpose, but he gets it straight and sharp on the first try. hair is always black (not one white root in sight) and always messy but in that pretty boy way

⋆ paints his nails which for some reason he also is flawless at, they're always black but sometimes lets himiko put stickers on his pinky

⋆ more on touya: here and here

⋆ tomura shigaraki

⋆ similar-ish vibes to touya, but he religiously wears hoodies and sweaters

⋆ you cannot convince me that he wouldn't pull up in the summer with a fucking hoodie over his head

⋆ i kind of also like the idea that y/n modelled her wearing so many layers after seeing it from him as a kid and it stuck around till now

⋆ does not fw accessories at all, especially around the neck. he doesn't like feeling that there's anything hanging off of it and his skin's too sensitive for most jewelry anyhow

⋆ for that same reason he is also not huge on make up, but does some for shows sometimes

⋆ speaking of, zip up hoodies are his best friend during shows, though he takes em off halfway through most of the time

⋆ on stream he's donning hoodies and sweats, one time while y/n was over he accidentally put on her hello kitty pajama pants (he was tired from a show in his defense) and his chat went wild -> they still make fun of him for it to this day

⋆ shuichi iguchi

⋆ spinner is a bit less of an aesthetic than the other two, he cannot be assed to think about what to wear (he has three adults to parent), so it's mostly just whatever is in his hands first in the mornings

⋆ his closet consists of mainly washed out band shirts and washed out baggy jeans, colors include and are mostly limited to blacks, greys and browns

⋆ does not have any special show outfits (though toga has tried getting him to buy new stuff)

⋆ also not the biggest on jewelry, the only thing he has is tomura's first ever guitar pick on a necklace that he tucks under his shirt, he's had it there since tomura stopped playing with it (in turn his first ever drum stick is hanging on display next to tomura's guitars on his wall)

⋆ the only colorful item in his closet is actually a red sweater he wore under his favorite band shirt for lov's first ever gig and he is very emotionally attached to it to this day

⋆ also not at all a make up guy, lets toga do his eyeshadow on rare occasions

⋆ keigo takami

⋆ i feel like keigo is the type of guy who just looks effortlessly good no matter what he wears

⋆ due to the nature of his job he mainly wears plain black shirts and pants (especially since he basically works 7 days a week)

⋆ dresses up whenever he doesn't work, so whenever he goes out with friends or his partner

⋆ no jewelry, just one expensive watch that was passed down to him and the promise ring that matches with the one his partner has

⋆ he's also the type of guy to roll up the sleeves of any dressier shirt he wears

⋆ not huge on outerwear, but he owns one jacket, that he loves. he doesn't know why, but if it's cold out he will not wear any other jacket

[the girls aesthetics]

[ taglist open ]

tags: @fictionalcharactersownmyheart @hktfbuo @commonmisery @lsunncy @kyiyoko @seijuroww @themultifandomgirl @samm1e13 @kalulakunundrum @porusuniverse @oddball08 @starseclipsing @jlly1 @softasshadows @peachesvault @starzzworld @starrmage @letsgolulu @cristy-101 @brixmeeler @skeletonmoths @togeswrld @personally4runa @sunolls @chiara-hotel @bakugouswh0r3 @rueclfer @bangersplusmash @defnotriri @oliveoil422 @ravencrow1995 @stanstraykidsskz @smelliottle @mistpx @mysticalhills @ressyshi @hachicals707 @undermypersuasion @greenmanshoe @hanmastattoos @dirty-ho3 @koznme @d4rlinxs @hawkwithsocks @tapiocakisses @luvv1anime @n3r0-5352 @haysgarden @makaroni-and-chez @kitkat13001

header made by @koznme ily

[lokorum]

Your art so surreal, did you take inspiration from African masks it’s amazing. You have probably gotten this question before but what’s your process and how do plan these beautiful pieces out. I am a beginner artist and would like some advice on how start doing digital painting.

thank you for bringing me back from the dead with your kindness, (i was so sad today ughhhh i think watching vampire diaries starting to affect me hjkhjk), i really, really deeply thankful that you spend your time to write something so sweet (also sorry it took me literally ages to reply phphp THE USUAL)

yeah, in buryatia shamanism like the big thing, so when i went to search what's out there in the masks department - google's mess of the results for once was helpful and showed this massive collection of beautiful african masks. the one that was inspo for tiisha lived in my head rent free for weeks before the character was even born phphph now i cant even imagine her without it 

(here is little tiisha for you before i'll proceed to be not helpfull phphphph)

oof advices are not my strong side , like..........my process mostly is just sleep through the whole thing i guess..........................i very rarely do sketches, i hate study anatomy and perspective, drawing cubes makes me physically sick etc etc my approach to drawing were "fuck around and find out", always about chill and fun and barely ever about learning. imho thats why im so shitty at drawing simple things but not bad at coloring. so yeah, my biggest advice always and forever will be - be gentle to yourself, please

digital or traditional or whatever else is out there, dont forget you make it for yourself and for yourself only okay? it supposed to be fun, not sad tiring and competitive 

advices for digital specifically tho - very objective, apply with caution

learn all the keyboard shortcuts, ideally to press them without thinking 

explore more instruments than just brush. it will be tedious and sometimes feel like a chore so mb pick one victim once a month and browse youtube for a stuff like SECRET ULTIMATE TIPS ABOUT MAGIC WAND TOOL THAT WILL SAVE YOUR LIFE (they indeed will save your life) 

check if your drawing program has artboards - turning it on will give you more freedom over canvas positioning  and your refs will always be there and not in the separate window 

idk about others but using auto tone, auto contrast and auto color often gives me well needed perspective on what im doing 

in 99% cases be sure that you can reanimate even the most messiest artpiece you ever did. working in digital gives you the chance to mess with shapes, colors and perspective at any time so if you dont want to gave up on something - you absolutely didnt have to

from time to time while you are still learning - go out there in the wilds and search for the new brushes. tweak with them if you want. i have like ~500 and i use 6 max, but those 6 i found by at some point trying to draw with all of the 500

MADE. BACK UPS. and i mean not like save layers just in case before merging them (tho that's too will help) no, i mean click SAVE AS once an hour and create A NEW FILE. PLEASE. i lost so much stuff to sudden power outage. its never pretty and you loosing will to work for days

watch at least one tutorial about the whole rgb srgb and cmyk thing - i did, understood not a thing, but at least im not playing dora the explorer with my colors after the export now 

uh idk think thats it? tried to think about those that id hope i knew when i started so hopefully something will help 

have fun with your drawings!! 

[misojunnie]

can i request this?

https://www.tumblr.com/misojunnie/728375539407159296/i-find-the-vampire-and-werewolf-rivalry-dynamic

but instead of vampires it's witch/warlock/wizard please?

☆ &team as your werewolf bf! w/ a witch (or warlock) partner :)

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

byun eui joo - ej

is very unserious about you being a witch

when you finally confessed his first question was to ask if you could cast a spell on him that gave him super strength

he's so easy going n sweet :( got very quickly acclimated to the magical door slamming, floating pots and pans, etc

"honey, next time you summon a goetic demon, can you please make sure he's gone by dinnertime?"

murata fuma - fuma

quite surprised you were a witch; probably made an awful pun to cover up his shock

will easily lay his life down to protect you from the people who are prejudiced against you, even if its a fellow werewolf

you love your man <3 someone tried to jump him once and you cursed them for all of eternity

"can you do the dishes tonight? and please don't bring them to life on accident again."

koga yudai- k

tried to scare you away with garlic when he found out, and you had to tell him that only works on vampires

despite his initial shock, he quickly got accustomed to your habits

read the entire wikipedia page on witches so he'd be "well informed of all your needs"

makes an awful witch themed pun at least once a week, ex: "witch, please."

wang yixiang- nicholas

found out you were a witch like a week before you broke the news

^ secretly peeked into your bedroom one time and saw you curling your hair with a levitating curling iron, but decided to say nothing until you were ready

hates it when you put spells on him, eg; "I'm leaving, and if you even try to immobilize me, y/n, I swear to god-"

has asked you to curse ta-ki more than once or twice

nakakita yuma - yuma

he thinks it's hot

asks you to put spells on him so he can walk on the ceiling, which you continually tell him don't exist

tried to prank you once and you used magic to throw him through six layers of drywall on instinct

safe to say he hasn't tried to prank you since

asakura jo - jo

didn't even believe you at first, his first reply was "oh, really? then where's your big hat?"

it took you a week to convince him that it wasn't a prank, and he only believed you after you sent him through space and time

always takes care of you after you exhaust yourself from casting too many spells

found out you were ironically terrified of the conjuring and still makes fun of you for it

shigeta harua - harua

was shocked at first, but quickly came around when he realized how wonderful your magic could be

always wants to hear witch lore and all the stories about your covens and history

was suspicious you put a love spell on him but eventually realized that he just loves you a lot. damn.

hates when you make him clean because he knows you could easily do it with magic

ta-ki

poor baby went into actual shock when you told him you were a witch, but he had no complaints

genuinely had no idea that witches existed

"wait, so do you have warts and stuff? no judgement."

is still amazed every time you do a spell, even years later

hirota riki - maki

his only knowledge of witches comes from playing minecraft

"so wait, you don't live in a hut? not even a swamp?"

when he gets too hyper you cast a spell on him that glues him to the wall or something (comes in handy when you need to study)

asks you to summon demons just to do his homework

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

a/n: sorry for this super late reply! I have very little knowledge of witches so I hope I did this request justice ;-; this was sooo fun