#i've been thinking about this AU for a long time now

[your-reference-here]

Okay, I know I already reblogged this, but my brain has been absolutely gnawing on this AU's possibilities so I had to write some of my ideas down.

Boq is definitely the DM. He seems like the kind of guy who would have gotten into the game back home and then brought it to Shiz. He tries for weeks to get Galinda to play, but it's not until he mentions it to Nessa, who then mentions it to Elphaba, who THEN mentions it to Galinda that a game comes together. Fiyero tags along too because he's curious...or at least that's what he says. It's not until they actually arrive at their session zero character creation that he rolls up with a fully prepared character sheet and they all realize "oh this guy knows this game."

Here's what I think everyone decides to play:

Galinda = College of Glamour Bard. I put this in my original reblog and I'm sticking with that. The whole subclass just feels like it was made for her.

Elphaba = Wild Magic Sorcerer. I was torn on whether Wild Magic or Divine Soul would be her subclass, but thinking it over more I've decided to say fuck it, give her the Wild Magic Sorcerer build because it fits thematically and because its shenanigans are fun. In universe, my excuse is Boq suggested choosing options that they could relate to as a first time player, so there you go.

Nessa = Order Domain Cleric. In my head, Boq mentions that cleric is his favorite class, so Nessa decides to explore those options. Something about the Order Domain just speaks to her...maybe it's the desire for some control over her own life, maybe it's a dark foreshadow of who she will become later. But who's looking into it that deeply?

Fiyero = Cavalier Fighter. He just wants to kick ass on a horse. It's also a nice way to uphold a "knight in shining armor" appearance for his peers. Galinda loves it, while Elphaba just rolls her eyes and calls him out for being a horse boy.

The first game is a simple fetch quest that quickly goes off the rails. This isn't unusual as far as D&D goes, but it does escalate to a loud enough volume that the crew gets kicked out of the library and has to find another spot to play. This could be a number of places, but I like to think Doctor Dillamond is kind enough to allow them access to his classroom, mostly to keep them all out of trouble and because of his soft spot for Elphaba (he's happy to see her making friends and joining in whatever this strange social club is). His only request is that whatever mess they make is cleaned up before the first class the following day. It's very close once or twice.

Now, in terms of how our cast actually are as players...

Galinda is the confused enthusiast who has no idea what she's doing but is going to do everything with an air of exaggerated flair. This results in her being the unintentional button pusher/trap trigger-er/the one the party is constantly yelling "NO!" at a second too late. Somehow, she always manages to pull through whatever mess she is in or has gotten the entire party in, mostly because she's able to gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss everyone else, including the DM, on a whim.

Elphaba is a born rules lawyer who comes to the game having memorized all her spells and abilities, only to find herself consistently exasperated by Galinda's choices and/or fighting with Fiyero who knows the game so well that he's found countless loopholes to exploit. She does end up having fun but hoo boy does she come close to magically throwing a book at someone's head on multiple occasions.

Fiyero is just vibing and, though he won't admit it out loud, is genuinely having a good time with these people and it's the happiest he's been in a long time.

Nessa is the only one trying to keep the party on track with the plot for Boq's sake, who is beginning to question bringing this particular group of people together.

UPDATE: I just saw the spellbook again in the artwork and was like "shit that's really a wizard thing to have a spellbook" and then I remembered the beauty of the multi-class, so my solution is that Elphaba decides to multi-class later on into a School of Transmutation Wizard.

dnd au request

[14dayswithyou]

I literally have the most amazing and wonderful community in the entire world???? T_T In this essay, I will—

This is going to be raw and unedited because I want to get my initial thoughts out there before I forget n go back to crying /pos, but?? Yawl.... I can't even begin to find the words to express how appreciative and grateful I am for each and every one of you!! ;v;

I've spent the past few hours reading through everyone's personally written messages, then rereading them all again to let it all fully sink in. I'm being genuine when I say that I've never felt this loved or appreciated in any community before in my life.

Those in the Discord server might know about this already, but since the start of this year, I haven't really been enjoying myself (nor have I been as active) in the yandere VN community. There was far too much infighting between devs, parasocial communities, and toxic anons that ruined so much for me — so I withdrew from it all and remained in my own small bubble. Even then, I still got belittled, harassed, doxxed, and even became the target of Tall Poppy Syndrome by others; most of which nearly made me want to leave altogether, but the overflowing amount of support from everyone in the 14DWY community made me want to stay.

And even now, after reading all those heartfelt messages... I think it's permanently solidified the little space I occupy here on the internet :3

So... Yeah, long story short (and a story that will likely end up as its own separate Tumblr post gjskskjd), I wasn't enjoying myself at all in the yandere VN community... but I did have the time of my life in the 14DWY community. And it's all thanks to you guys.

I'm genuinely sooooo proud to have such an endlessly kind, social, and talented community; and I'm glad to have brought such an interactive and friendly group of people together over our shared interest in such a nice concept. 14DWY is essentially a labour of my love — and although I'm ultimately creating it for me and my silly interests — it's still something that I want to make worthy of you guys as well. All the love and support you've shown me and 14DWY motivates me to do my very best, and y'all deserve nothing less. So...

Thank you all for finding a comfort character in my Totally Normal Guy and his Totally Not Eccentric quirks. Thank you for all the insanely talented creations y'all make and share with me. Thank you for sending in your silly (/pos) questions and turning them into inside jokes and AUs for the rest of the community to enjoy. Thank you for talking with me and making this space a genuinely fun place for me to be in again.

From the bottom of my heart; thank you all so much. I really hope everyone has had an amazing year so far, and I hope 2025 will be as kind to you as you all were towards me.

I also want to give a big fat massive huuuuuuuge shout-out to Ashe / @flaneur001 my love (/p) for organising the 14DWY letter event on Discord, and for contributing so much of their time and dedication to the 14DWY community. You say you've only been part of the community for a year, but to me, that was a year well cherished and appreciated. The 14DWY community (and me especially) have all been so lucky to spend this past year with you, and I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it as much as we have. You've done so much for me, the community, and the 14DWY Discord server, so it's only fair that you get the recognition you deserve. So thank you, Ashe!! And a big thank you to everyone in the 14DWY Discord who participated in this event as well!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some cryin and sobbin to do <3 /silly /pos

[floralscented]

the amount of times i've had to address this because she literally will not fucking stop is insane. @artyandink, for the last fucking time, leave me alone <3 stop coming in my inbox anonymously trying to get me to talk about your fics & promote them thinking i can't tell it's you. stop asking to use my ideas even after you've BEEN BLOCKED. stop keeping tabs on me to see what i'm writing for now so you can start writing for it. i'm dead serious it's about to give me a fucking aneurysm.

it is not subtle. and as stupid as you think i am, from the way you did all of this & are still fucking continuing, you sure do like the things i put out! i am noticing it. people are SHOWING me it. move the fuck on. find your own voice! stop trying to steal mine and what i'm writing about. i'm tired of speculating on why you are doing this and just want it to fucking END.

writing clark kent & making bots for him just because i started it is fucking mental. naming people in your fic bonnie & clyde after the au that i made that you asked to use, and still did anyways even if it was private, when i said no is MENTAL.

on this note, anyone that follows me that also supports or interacts with arty, please show yourselves out, too. if you want to know why, look here & here since i've had to address this publicly three times now. but i'm tired of going about my life & pretending that over on her side of the internet, she's not STILL taking my ideas, or using the ones that she already has, because she doesn't have a single original bone in her body.

no! i do not know about your bodyguard & president fanfic, arty! because i did not ever actually fucking read it!

and if by the grace of god, somehow, this isn't you ( which is highly doubtable ) i'm sorry to these anons that this two faced, five identitied grown woman has made me this weary to have to respond like this. i am not usually hostile, i don't think, but constantly having her shit in my dms, having her try to make me promote her shit, is INSANE.

i have moved on. you are the one that cannot keep my name out of your mouth to other people trying to salvage your fall from grace, saying that whatever i'm saying isn't true, and then coming into my messages the one other time within EIGHT MINUTES of me unblocking you, saying that you're so sorry that this is happening and feigning ignorance. go to hell. i tried to handle this civilly and privately and every single time instead you took to your tumblr feed to try and paint me as a bad guy, or discredit everything that YOU PUT ME THROUGH. so truly, go to hell <3 and actually fucking listen to me and leave me alone. i do not talk about you or think about you when you're not actively doing this shit, so stop monitoring my account and especially stop stalking my cai just because i cant block you on there.

and while you're at it, find some creativity on your own. it'd do you some good in the long run to actually make something yourself and not piggyback off of others & their success and THEIR WORKS.

[baronessvonglitter]

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 6

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring private investigator!Tim Rockford)

Word count: 3,761

Summary: You and Dave reconcile, but a heavy confession brings you to realize just how similar you are. And when an unfamiliar name slips off an innocent tongue, a professional is called in to get the truth.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for smut. Angst. Idiots in love but they're too blind to see it or are really good at ignoring it. Mentions of eating and drinking alcohol. Masturbation (m) while watching porn. Marital strife. Accusations of adultery. A certain broad-shouldered detective comes in to find out what's really going on. Reader has hair long enough to blow in the wind & wears a dress and makeup. No use of y/n. (anything I've forgotten please LMK)

Author's note: (at the end)

Series Masterlist

Your employees are gathered around you as you display your next creation, the dessert of the month at Fiction & Frosting.

"This is the perfect Mille-Feuille," you show them. "Puff pastry, cream, fresh strawberries.."

You tear your glance away from the glossy page in the cookbook and force yourself to gaze upon your own creation: the puff pastry is wilted, the icing is melted, and no amount of fresh fruit decoration can save it.

"So why doesn't mine look like that?" you pose the frustrated question to yourself.

Suggestions are made, recipe changes offered, and you listen to each one, still amazed at how you haven't mastered such a simple dessert. You don't even want to think about the macarons you had to dump out after they burned. ("Shit. They're utter shit," you murmured as you tossed them in the bin.)

With the bakery open everyone moves to their assigned spots and you're free to stay in the kitchen in the back, pondering why you're making so many mistakes. There's no doubt about it, you're not in your right mind. You haven't been okay since the night Dave kissed you.

A sharp twist of wistfulness lodges itself into your heart when you pull out your phone to see he hasn't texted or called. Two weeks of no contact. Then again, you haven't really reached out to him either, afraid of his icy demeanor.

When he'd finally come by to pick up his car, you weren't home. You'd hoped for at least a glimpse of him, but he probably timed it so that he wouldn't have to see you. You can't help feeling pity for yourself for that.

With a sigh you take a bite of the awful mille-feuille. It isn't that bad, just not very presentable, probably because you weren't paying attention. You were never this scatterbrained in your work when Javier was being his idiotic self, so why is this married man taking up so much space in your brain?

"Friendly? Is that what you want me to be? Just friendly?"

His words ring in your ears, a taunting tune. What if you'd said no? What if you'd given in to your true feelings and slept with him that night? Would you be swimming in guilty feelings now instead of wondering What If?

Could you just push aside your doubt and reach out to him? Even if it's just to selfishly calm the torment of being away from him?

Girl, you're talking like you're in love with him.

You push the thought away, not ready to peek inside that particular Pandora's Box. Avoidance is easy for you, you've perfected the art of looking the other way when Javier fucked every woman in sight.

You check your phone again, but the only recent text you have is from your sister, who's trying to talk you into doing a pastry course in Paris, part of her school's program that's doing an art course there as well over the summer.

Years ago you would have jumped at the chance, despite what Javier would do to get you to stay. But now you feel you have nothing to keep you here, even if it is only for two months. You've told her maybe for the time being. You still have a few weeks to decide.

Scrolling back to your texts with Dave, you feel a loneliness there that cuts deeper than your split with Javier. Led by your desire to do what's right, what you want more than anything is to renew your friendship with Dave.

Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, you shut your mind off and let your body take over as you mill about the kitchen, gathering bowls and utensils, turning on the oven and pouring ingredients.

Across the street, Dave's in a meeting with a potential client. Another scorned woman, another broken heart. Unlike with you, he feels a detachment from her. He's here for business, and he's damn good at what he does.

The new client, a young woman who's giving him lascivious looks from beneath her false lashes, is giving him obvious signals. She's leaning forward to show off her generous cleavage, and he should earn an Academy Award for pretending that he doesn't feel the slide of her silk stocking-ed foot under the hem of his pants, against his shin. She must sense his disinterest because she takes it up several notches when she places her palm on his upper thigh, practically begging for it.

He refers her to another lawyer, politely passing her off to his lucky cohort before going back to his office to reassess.

If he was younger and still in this same predicament with Carol, he wouldn't have given her blatant come-ons a second thought. But it's not his wife who keeps him from forsaking his marriage vows. It's you.

Sighing, he puts his hands in his pockets and goes to the window, seeing your bakery/bookstore across the way. He imagines you scurrying about, a dusting of flour on your face as you roll a rolling pin across a lump of dough, and straightening the shelves to showcase a new book coming out. He hopes you're not thinking of him, then he kills that hope and tells himself he wants you to think of him the way he's thinking of you.

He pushes down any second guesses about the situation you're both in, and puts on his jacket as he leaves the office, heading straight for your building.

You wrap your green sweater around you as you make your way on the crosswalk connecting your side of the street in his. An olive branch in the form of a cake in a mint green pastry box is in your hands. Your heart races as you wonder if he'll even see you after all that's happened, but those worries drop down and die when you spot him in the crowd walking towards you. There's a twinkle in his eyes as he spots you, and he smiles.

He's on his way to your place, to say hello and see if you're willing to talk to him. He wants to set things right, and the moment he lays eyes on you in that white floral dress and green sweater, your hair held back in matching ribbon, his heart (and his dick, if he's honest) react in a very positive way.

Both of you meet in the middle, the crowd rushing around you on either side, but neither of you take any notice of them. Time stops for a brilliant, beautiful moment.

"I was on my way to you," he says.

"I was bringing this to you," you tell him. "To say sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for. Really, I'm to blame."

"A lawyer accepting blame? Won't you get disbarred for that?" you joke.

He laughs at that, and the sound of it sets your heart alight. "So that's for me?"

"Yeah.. black forest cake. I remember you told me it's your favorite."

Maybe it's the way the breeze gently lifts the ends of your hair, or the luscious curve of your cherry lips, but he will think of this moment, this small act of kindness, for the rest of his days.

The crosswalk is empty and the light's about to change. And the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "I think Carol's cheating on me."

You quickly bring him back to the cafe where you pour him a cup of strong black coffee with a splash of amaretto added from your stash in your office.

He spills his guts to you: Carol's leaving at random times, more often at night to go to "work". He wonders how often a hospital director is needed overnight. He's called, on a whim, just to see if she's really there, but is always given the "she's here but she's unavailable" runaround.

You ask if she gets dressed up for these late night work shifts, if she wears perfume and makeup. (Yes to all.)

Does she shower right after coming home? Has she shown less interest in having sex? (That question really hurts to ask, but you can't help a little selfish joy when he answers that they haven't been intimate in a long time.)

"Maybe she's spending time doing something else," you tell him, your cake untouched on both your plates in front of you. "Maybe she wants time away from you and the kids and is too afraid to say it."

"That sounds like her. She's always put her job first," Dave says glumly.

You hate seeing the dispirited look on his handsome face. "You should talk to her about it. Come on, use some of those lawyering skills you're so famous for," you smirk.

"It's like talking to a brick wall," he quips, leaning forward to enjoy his cake. "I'm actually sorry I even brought it up."

"Don't be. If it's important to you, it's important to me." You pause. "Can I admit to doing something stupid?"

"Are you asking for confidentiality priveleges? Because that only counts if I'm still representing you," he smirks.

"Ha ha," you roll your eyes. "The night you left my place.. I ended up going to Javier's."

"Oh." He puts his fork down, jealousy nibbling away at his rational thought. "Did you..?"

"Yeah," you nod, lips pursed. "I got what I needed, but it wasn't really the same anymore, you know? I didn't feel anything for him."

You lighten the mood by telling him about poor Cindy, the way karma had played the Uno reverse card on her.

A little smile curls the corners of Dave's mouth. "I could write a book on how much I hate that guy."

It's a good feeling to spill to him the secrets of your soul. But what you refrain from telling, the one thing that could turn around and bite you, is that while you were in Javier's bed you were thinking of Dave.

Carol has been gone for a couple hours, the aroma of her perfume still lingering in the air of their en suite bathroom as Dave brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed.

Laying there alone, as he's used to by now, his thoughts drift to you. His heart is full now that you've reconciled, and even though he has a feeling there's always going to be complicated feelings, he takes the risk because you're worth it.

Your smile, the light in your eyes when you laugh, how your fingers always find a way to brush against his or your hand rests on his arm. The way you kissed him back that one night is burned into his brain. The taste of your mouth has become his new favorite flavor, at least until he can taste another part of you-

Stop it.

With a deep sigh he takes his phone from the nightstand and does a quick search. Not his first rodeo, what he's seeking is already colored purple as he's accessed it many times. When the porn site pulls up it offers every scenario anyone could possibly want, but he has something very specific in mind.

He searches by your features, looking for an actress similar to you, trying to avoid the guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. What would you think of him if you knew? But he's already getting search results, salivating over the thumbnails of women who bear a passing resemblance to you in various positions, scantily clad or even just naked.

Selecting one, his heart pounds in a drumlike fashion as he waits for it to load, the site's short theme song filling him with anticipation, his dick already raging hard. Getting lost in the unlikely scenario between the two actors, he strokes himself, pajama pants pulled down over his thighs. He turns the volume down as low as possible, the moans and sighs barely audible. But after awhile he doesn't even need the video. Just the memory of you is enough, and better than any video.

And then, as if she has a sixth sense for when her husband is trying to meet his needs, Carol comes in and he quickly puts his phone away and stops what he's doing.

"Were you watching smut again?" she sighs in exasperation.

Dave flushes with embarrassment, but he's not going to lie about it. "Yeah, I was," he shrugs, pulling his pants up. Carol just shakes her head and goes straight into the shower, another tally mark in Dave's mental stack of evidence against her.

She comes out later, freshly scrubbed, wearing her usual nighgown and applies some cream to her elbows, facing away from her husband. "If you're going to watch anything crazy just put your earbuds in, okay?" With a heavy sigh she gets into bed next to him and lays on her side, her back to him.

He doesn't even give her the satisfaction of answering. As if he could even get hard in this moment. He lays awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wishing himself anywhere but here.

Carol's voice, unusually soft, finds him in the dark. "I think you're having an affair," she accuses.

His heart jumps in his chest. Is there something she knows? Has he been careless? Has she had him followed and been seen with you? He sits up. "An affair? Are you serious? Why would you think that?"

She sits up too, ready to accuse him further. "We haven't had sex in weeks. You're always too tired."

He has no defense for that, but it's not as if things are entirely his fault. "I've just been busy. And tired," he adds. "Besides, your'e the one always running off to work at strange hours."

She huffs. "Are you really going to use my job as an excuse? You're never in the mood.. do you not find me attractive anymore?"

"Of course I do.. you're still the same gorgeous woman I married."

"Then kiss me. Right now."

He's taken aback by the sudden command, surprised by the directness of it. "What?"

Carol lays back down. "The man I married wouldn't hesitate like that."

A pang of guilt flares in Dave's chest. She's right, but as her accusations have gone no further he rests in the meanwhile safety. "I'm just tired," he mumbles, head falling onto his pillow, his back to her and her back to him.

"So am I," she answers, a cold finality in her tone.

The next evening while Carol's out of town for a conference. When he's called into the office on an emergency case, he asks if you're free to keep an eye on the girls. With nothing else to do, you happily accept, and spend the day baking chocolate chip cookies and watching their favorite movies.

By the time Dave comes home in the late evening, the three of you are watching the classic version of Cinderella. He smiles at the domestic little sight, heart warming at the brief fantasy that this could be what he comes home to every night.

As the girls fall asleep between you, Cinderella meets her handsome prince at the ball. "So This Is Love" plays while the fated lovers dance. Your hand and his find their way across, gently clasping.

And just like Cinderella, it's almost midnight and you have to go. But not before cleaning up, even though Dave insists he's fine to do it on his own.

From her bedroom, Alice calls out for her daddy, and you both go up to see what's the matter.

"I want a glass of water," she mumbles. Dave smiles at her groggy little voice and goes to fetch her a cup. While he's gone you sit on the edge of her bed and she shows you her stuffed animal collection, her favorite one is a purple unicorn named Mr. Fluffy.

"Where's Mommy?" she asks when her dad comes back with a cup of water for her.

He ruffles her hair. "She's just working late tonight, kiddo. She'll be home soon."

"Is she with Uncle Joel?"

Dave's heart drops but he covers his surprise just in time. "What do you mean, baby? Who's Uncle Joel?" Carol's an only child. The girls don't have any uncles on her side.

"He's Mommy's friend who comes to fix the pipes," she says, chugging her water before getting back under the covers.

He forces a smile, sitting between you and her on the bed. "Does Uncle Joel come over a lot?" he asks innocently.

"He comes when you're not here. Mommy tells him you can't fix them, Daddy. Only Joel can."

A thousand thoughts swarm his head but he's used to keeping his cool in unexpected situations. "What happens when he comes over, sweetie?" His voice is still calm and even, belying the fear constricting his gut.

"He talks to Mommy in private. She giggles a lot."

The dots are connecting and not in a good way. A man in my house, the house I bought because Carol liked it so much, shaking the mud off his boots like it's no big deal before doing god-knows-what with my wife.. His blood runs cold as he wears his facade once more. "Okay, sweetie, why don't you get some sleep. I'll make some cinnamon waffles for breakfast tomorrow."

Alice nods excitedly, then looks at you. "Will you eat breakfast with us tomorrow?"

Shaken by what she's revealed so far you do your best to give an answer. "Uh, we'll see, honey. Maybe." Your smile is strained but she doesn't seem to notice.

Leaving the bedroom door open just a crack he walks down the hall, running his hand over his face.

"Kids," you force some light-heartedness into your words. "They have such big imaginations, you know?"

He doesn't answer you, his back turned to you as he hides his face in his hands.

"Are you okay, Dave?" you place a tentative touch on his shoulder.

Finally he turns to you, face reddened with an anger he never thought he'd have to feel. "My youngest daughter just told me that my wife has been having another man over to the house behind my back. Alice is a bright girl but she wouldn't invent a story like that."

"Hold on," you tell him gently, your hands on his biceps, willing him to loosen up, even just physically. "You don't know anything for certain. Just hearsay. Right, Mr. Big Shot Attorney?"

Your attempt at humor only gets you a bitter laugh from him.

"Is it possible Carol's just friends.. with a plumber?" you speculate. But of course you don't believe it either.

Dave narrows his eyes at you for a moment before realizing nothing about this is your fault and you're just trying to help. The moment that you step into his arms they immediately close around you. He marvels at how you fit together so perfectly.

"You should talk to her when she comes home," you suggest, not moving an inch from his embrace. The last thing you want to do is give him marriage advice when it's a real possibility that his wife could be unfaithful.

"Somehow I doubt she'll be amenable to an honest discourse on her fidelity," he grumbles, not wanting to think about her, shutting the bad feelings away while you're in his arms.

You inhale the scent of him, the warm spice of his lingering aftershave. The spark between you only intensifies. You're tempted to press your lips to his strong, soft neck, you can already imagine his pulse point racing beneath your lips.

When he pulls away it snaps you out of your fantasy, and you are acutely aware of the heat blooming between your legs, the slick pooling in your panties.

"How about a private investigator?" you ask.

He shakes his head as if he's already thought of it. "The only ones I know are in a professional regard. I don't want it bandied about that I've had to resort to surveilling my own wife."

"In that case it's your lucky day. I know a guy."

After emailing the pertinent information to your contact, he's at Dave's address within half an hour.

Clad in a classic tan trenchoat, white button down with hastily done striped tie and black trousers, Tim Rockford looks every bit what Dave had expected. The former detective sizes up his prospective client from behind thick black eyeglass frames before turning to you with a soft smile. Tim often does background checks for your employees, and you trust him with an even more personal task like this.

"Are you David York?" the man asks, a to-go cup of coffee that's going cold very fast is in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

"Yeah, I am," Dave answers. "Come on in."

The three of you settle in the living room. "Now, tell me about why you want me to surveil your spouse," he says, getting down to brass tacks.

Seated next to you, Dave explains his situation, the late nights that Carol's had to go in, the mention of "Uncle Joel" by his daughter. He leaves out the part about him spending much of his time with you possibly contributing to the lack of affection in his marriage, and you keep quiet as well.

Soon Tim has all the information he needs to move forward. He has Carol's work address, and will do some digging on the Joel fellow. "It'll take a couple weeks to get some basic information, given they're still meeting each other. I advise you not to start any arguments or accuse her of anything in the meantime or it'll risk ruining the investigation. If she catches wind that you're onto her, she may change her plans or even call it off with him altogether. For the time being, just play dumb."

Dave nods, even though he doesn't like it.

"There is a fee, of course," Tim adds. He writes the number on a scrap of paper and Dave, sighing, accepts.

"He was on the force for over a dozen years," you tell him. "It'll be money well spent. Even if there's nothing going on."

"Whatever is going on, I'll debrief you at our next meeting once I've collected the proper evidence," Tim says.

It's a plan set in motion, and Dave isn't really sure what he wants the outcome to be. If Carol's fucking around, he gets his heart broken. If she's not, it's even worse. Because now he knows he'd leave her for you.

A/n: So yeah, two more Pedro boys in the mix.. yes it is that Joel 👀One of y'all needs to come get your man because he's filling holes that aren't his 🫢And Tim! I've been waiting to bring him to the story ❤️

dividers by @strangergraphics and @saradika-graphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647 @milla-frenchy

@everybodylovedcontractors @misstokyo7love @ppascalq

[nonphoto-blue]

Lucky Lucky ꕤ Cho Hyun-ju x Reader [1/?]

Read on AO3 Masterlist Summary: After your previous manager runs away to America with the funds meant to kickstart your debut, your band 4tune is left to pick up the pieces in an impending scandal. The new manager, Cho Hyun-ju, says she’ll do everything to ensure your debut is successful, but it’s a long road until she gains your trust, especially when her own secrets come to light. Or, the kpop/krock/band AU no one asked for.

Warnings: Slowwwww burn. Kind of an inherent power imbalance but reader isn't taking bs from anyone, and reader is 20+. Reader is AFAB and uses she/her. She's implied to be Korean/from South Korea but no physical description is used.

A/N: So I've had the horrible idea of a kpop au for Squid Game since the first season came out. Originally I'd thought of a Sangwoo x Reader fic but it felt in bad taste at the time. Season 2 came out and I can't stop thinking about Hyun-ju so uh. You're getting this.

Five years. You’ve been in trainee hell for five years, learning the ins and outs of PR, songwriting, language, appearances, how to fucking smile at a camera when all you wanted to do was sing and play guitar and look out at a crowd with more people than you can count on your hands. All for your dreams to be stolen away, packed up in bags and expedite-shipped to the United States. 

If you could go back in time to tell your past self to save herself the trouble and give up music altogether, you’d consider it. Or at least tell her to flip off the agency scout the second he approaches. Sure, you’d still be busking on the street, but you’d be spared this bullshit and continue life with hope still. You don’t want to be an idol. You want to be– you are a musician, and the evidence was going to be your debut.

Your band, 4tune, is slated to record your debut in a month, and begin promotions just a couple months from now, but thanks to your no-good-money-stealing-piece-of-shit ex-manager, the money set aside for appearances and advertising is no longer in the company’s bank account. With grim faces, you, your bandmates, and a few members of the company higher ups gather around a table in an emergency meeting.

��It’s ridiculous,” Se-mi crosses her arms across her chest, huffing her bangs out of her eyes. “What a coward.” She stands, crossing to a floor-length window and staring at the skyline of Mapo-gu, disbelief written on her face. 

Your mouth forms a thin line. “Who just… takes the money and runs? How was he allowed to take all of it anyway?”

“That’s all we know,” the CEO, Hwang In-ho, murmurs. He laces his fingers together and scans the rest of the band’s faces as you take in the not-quite-death-sentence he delivered your group. “We’ve got the police in South Korea and the United States investigating, but they haven’t found him yet.”

“So what does this mean for 4tune? I mean, are we… still going to debut?” Young-mi asks. 

“We don’t have a manager, we don’t have money, we don’t have a debut.” Jun-hee puts a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes in exasperation. 

“Actually,” In-ho raises a finger. “We do have a new manager for you. She couldn’t make this meeting, but she’s coming up from Busan after lunch. You’ll meet her tonight or tomorrow.” He leans forward in his seat, and rests both arms on the table in front of him. “Rest assured, you will debut.”

You can’t help but feel your lips curl into a sneer. A new manager? Who’s to say this one won’t make off with whatever scraps of money are left? You hear Se-mi scoff from the window, her thoughts echoing your own. Jun-hee looks hesitant, but Young-mi looks up at In-ho with hope.

“What’s her name? What’s she like?”

“Cho Hyun-ju. She’s an old acquaintance.” Looking over the group’s faces, In-ho stands, and begins to make his way to the meeting room door. “I’ve known her for a long time. She’s a good person.” Hardly glowing praise, but you suppose anyone would be better than the ex-manager. The other company members follow In-ho out of the room, meeting adjourned, leaving just your group members with their thoughts.

Your gaze lingers on the frosted glass door they left from. “Great. A manager, but no money. She can drive us around and shit, but we have nowhere to go. What’s the point?” Your words are bitter, spat in sorrowful resignation. 

Young-mi, ever the optimist, takes your hand in her’s. “Let’s give her a chance. In-ho sajangnim vouched for her, I say we see how she clicks with us before giving up on her.” She smiles meekly at the other members. None of you share her optimism, but with a shared side eye, the rest of you begrudgingly hear Young-mi out and agree.

“Fine,” you offer. “But if she does anything remotely shady I’m clawing my way out of this contract.” ꕤ

Despite the sudden wrench in 4tune’s future plans, you all have a schedule to uphold, so you go through the motions as if nothing was wrong. After a short break for lunch, language classes, pose training, you finally make it to the only part of training that doesn’t feel like a chore: rehearsal as a whole band. 

The rehearsal space is intimate; a small room with warm wood-panel flooring and a three-person couch in the corner. Se-mi’s drum kit is already set up on the drum rug, as is Young-mi’s keyboard and three amps, one for Young-mi’s bass, one for Jun-hee’s guitar, and one for yours, as well as a vocal mic on a long arm. Stepping into the space brings an energy you thought would be lost following this morning’s bad news, and you place your guitar’s hard case down with a determined vigor.

You unlatch the case, and pull out your guitar, a Fender Lite Ash Telecaster. The strap rests perfectly on your shoulder, the neck fitting perfectly in your left hand, a guitar pick in your right. The quarter-inch cable plugs into your guitar with a satisfying click and the amp hums to life when you switch it on. You set upon tuning your guitar, but it doesn’t take much adjustment for any member of the band, and soon your group is playing the first notes of what will be your title track for your debut.

It’s an upbeat song, and the lyrics are inherently hopeful and optimistic. You feel the stress pouring out of you as you hear how well the band plays together. From the wailing of Jun-hee’s guitar, to the machine-like precision of Se-mi’s drumming, to the effortless jumping from keys to bass by Young-mi, pride fills your heart knowing that you’re collaborating, and creating something beautiful in spite of everything going wrong.

You play rhythm guitar and sing. Closing your eyes, you pour your heart and soul into the high-energy chorus, the softer verses, and everything in between. As the outro plays out and you all play your final notes, a soft applause that crescendos into a quick flurry of claps breaks through your reverie. 

You hadn’t noticed when she came in, but at the door stands an unfamiliar woman. She’s tall, and seems a bit younger than In-ho. Her hair is cut at her shoulders with blunt bangs reaching her eyebrows. She’s dressed well, and she’s not standing timidly per-se, but there’s an awkwardness to how she holds herself, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed in this space.

“I’m sorry,” she smiles at the band. “I was told you were in this practice room and I heard you playing. You all sound amazing.”

Young-mi smiles back. “You must be the new manager! It’s nice to meet you! I’m-”

“Young-mi, right?” Young-mi nods. The woman turns to the drumset, “You’re Se-mi,” to the lead guitarist, “and Jun-hee,” and then she turns to you, and says your name so tenderly, so kindly, every fiber of your being is shouting at you to give her a chance. “And yes, I’m Cho Hyun-ju, your new manager.” ꕤ

Rehearsal stagnates after Hyun-ju’s arrival as the band seems more interested in the new arrival than playing, but you keep your guitar plugged in and guitar strap on. Young-mi puts down her bass and steps away from her keyboard to approach Hyun-ju immediately, Jun-hee following soon after. You pluck out a few notes here and there, trying to at least try to get through your part of the next song, but after Se-mi stands up from her drumset, you give up trying to continue rehearsal.

Hyun-ju seated herself on the couch in the corner. Jun-hee and Se-mi stand in front of her, and Young-mi sits beside her. “I’m excited to work with you all,” Hyun-ju half-bows in her seat. “You sounded amazing playing just now, your debut will be a hit, I can just feel it.”

“We’re happy to have you here too. I’m sure you’ve heard but our last manager flaked out on us.” Se-mi explains. Hyun-ju hums a condolence, eyes casting down to the ground. “We’re almost ready to record our album, so I’m sure you’ll have a lot to do coming up.”

You clear your throat, walking over to the group. “What experience do you have managing?” You don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does. It’s supposed to be a light conversation about her work history, not an interrogation into her credentials. Hyun-ju’s face falters at the stern tone, and you kick yourself internally.

“Managing specifically, I've done most of the tasks individually before. That is, things like schedule management and driving and the like. I do have experience in the music and idol industry outside of management.”

You try to school your expression, you really do, and you pull your lips into a not-quite-smile that ends up looking more like a grimace. “Well then,” you push out, “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

[the-teufort-nine]

My TF2 Fic Rec List [ Fanfics I've Read That You Should Too]

*cracks knuckles* right, let's get started! X Reader fics are not included bc I already did a list of them for an ask. Mind the tags and ratings, as always. I'll add to this as I collect more, but its decently long as is

Symbol Key:

** = Incomplete

~~ = Personal favourite

++ = Under 10k

SpeedingBullet:

~~Running Blind by TheTriggeredHappy

(( Scout's eyes are badly damaged in battle and for some reason, Medic's gun can't fix him. Until they figure out how to heal Scout, he needs someone to look after him and keep him safe.

Sniper is given the job.

[3rd person limited, Scout's POV, some character development done on a whim] ))

The SpeedingBullet fanfic. If you like Scout X Sniper, and you haven't read this one yet, I don't know what to tell you. You are severely missing out on not only a great romance story, but also fantastic team dynamics. Also has an available Podfic!

++From a Hospital Bed by SlightlyLessThanAnon

(( Jeremy wakes up in the hospital, his brain struggling the find coherent thoughts as the world churns around him, in and out of consciousness.

He finds the team may care about him a little more than he thought they did. ))

Short but sweet. More whole team fluff than strictly SpeedingBullet. Very cute.

~~Golden Brown, as well as its sister fic, Take Me Out by Ali_Ker (Alina_Kerrin)

(( After seeing his co-worker in a new light, Scout is faced with unknown feelings and a new, distracting perspective on things. ))

This lovely author can be found here under the handle @alikerao3

Grouped these two together because they are they same story, but told from the perspectives of Scout and Sniper respectively. Definitely a bit of a heavier read, especially for anyone who has dealt with Catholic guilt or internalized homophobia, but my God is it worth it. Don't just read one thinking it isn't worth it to read the other fic. Read both. Also, check out the song that inspired the title.

~~Going Through The Motions by AussieBookworm

(( Working under RED can be repetitive at times - but nothing like this. After a curse is fired his way, Scout is forced to live through the same day over and over and over again. It should be easy for someone as perfect as Scout to break the curse, right? As long as he doesn't have to confront the things he's been feeling towards Sniper it should be a piece of cake! ))

Possibly my absolute favourite TF2 fic right now. Scout gets character development out the ass, Demo has a prominent, important role, and there's a plot twist so good it had me tweaking out. TW for Suicide as a method used to get out of a time loop. Absolutely incredible, and it needs more love.

Gills and Gunpowder by popkeeki

(( Monsters are becoming increasingly rare. Between getting pushed to the periphery of society or being targeted by traffickers, life is hard when you are not (entirely) human. Like many others, Scout tries to keep his true form a secret. It has never really been a problem. That is, until a nosy teammate catches him mid-swim. ))

SpeedingBullet Mermaid AU!! Good luck finding a fic with this premise that also reaches this level of quality.

**~~Pet by Anonymous

(( Sniper's terrified of losing the one person he has in his life. It turns out there's a convenient solution to that: just make sure he has no way out, and the rest will follow.

Scout wakes up in a van he knows all too well, loopy and hungover, and Sniper's waiting for him.

*

Or: Learning to live with claustrophobia in small spaces Or: Making the best of assisted living Or: You can’t outrun a fucking bullet ))

Are you like me? Do you enjoy Scout whump and Yandere!/Possessive Sniper? SpyDad? Do you want more of it in your life? If the answer is yes, than Pet is for you! No NSFW, just pure, delicious kidnapping and one-sided love.

General Fanfic Recommendations:

++Something's Up With Respawn by Camelot_taurus, Old Works (HarveyDangerfield)

(( Respawn starts to glitch, and the Administrator sets Engineer to work fixing it.

It doesn't take long for him to find out exactly what's going ))

Super funny, weird little oneshot. Basically, Respawn starts glitching and producing fucked up, Paperjam Dipper-esque clones of the Mercs.

++Mask Off by MatryoshkaDoll413

(( Scout is sick. Really sick. 'If we can't get this fever under control it's the hospital or the morgue' sick, and Respawn can't help him this time. They'd already tried that. He's gotten so delirious he's fighting Medic every second he's awake, not really lucid enough to remember so much as his own name, much less that of any of the team. Medic is ready to put him under full sedation and try and work things out from there, but Spy has an idea. ))

Wholesome SpyDad fic. Spy actually acts like a dad for once, for his sick little bunny.

~~++Scout, Respond by MatryoshkaDoll413

(( Scout wakes up in a dark, unknown place, with rocks bearing down on him and a spotty recollection as to how he ended up there in the first place. The only thing that keeps him sane is the voice of his team in his ear, telling him to talk, to breath, and, more than anything, to stay awake. ))

Scout gets trapped beneath a collapsed building, and receives comfort from his team over his headset while they race to dig him out. Super cute, definitely a must read, and I've done so more than once.

pick it all up (and start again) by bugbee

(( The clues had always been there, he had just never wanted to see them. Maybe neither of them had, instead content to deny the truth before their eyes for the rest of their days because it was better than confronting the alternative. Except Scout had died, and Spy wasn’t able to keep on pretending for his last moments. A part of Jeremy was glad for it, despite the simmering rage and betrayal and hurt. So when he tried to look God in the eye and tell Him that Tom Jones was his father… He couldn’t. Not really.

(Scout discusses his parentage with God, and stays dead for a little while longer. Well. A lot longer. On the plus side, he gets to attend his own funeral reception.) ))

An alternate take on Scout's death from the comics. Very Scout centric, obviously, and ends happily.

~~A Little Bird Told Me… by the_soup_specter

(( Medic learns a secret— something personal, powerful, big enough to cause a rift in the team of mercenaries that could tear two of them apart. And for once in his life… he’s not sure how to proceed.

With no better ideas, Medic decides to ask his fellow mercenaries for advice. But as dueling viewpoints begin to pile up, will he be able to make a decision before the team is changed forever? ))

Medic learns Spy is Scout's dad, and spills the beans. Everything turns out ok, but man the aftermath initially ain't pretty.

~~seven times he has to explain (and one time he doesn’t have to) by conner_is_alive

(( the trans scout obsession has me in a vice

also if i don’t vent my trans sadness i will literally rip a government building down brick by brick lmao ))

The fic that made me a trans Scout believer. If you're on the fence about that headcanon, maybe give this fic a read.

**~~Kith And Kin by BOREDGrace23

(( Mick never thought much of the BLU team. They were just clones, after all. Designed to be their opponents in a meaningless war.

That's why when he woke up, his vision blurry, his brain blistering from a headache like he'd just woken up from a hangover, and several burning questions about what had happened, he thought it was strange that they hadn't killed him already.

//

Or, BLU are clones and RED are decidedly not. They’re then forced to work together when their teams disappear. ))

If you like Emesis Blue, or horror in general, go read Kith And Kin. And when you finish, go give @boredgrace23 some love for such an incredible fic.

**++Der Junge by UpInFlamesWriting

(( Everyone on the team knows that Scout & Medic do not get along. They're like Sniper & Spy, except less bloodthirsty about it. Medic scares Scout, & Scout doesn't give Medic a reason to like him. When the two of them start being more than friendly all of a sudden, the team starts to worry, especially when it becomes obvious that Medic & Scout are keeping secrets from them. Scout & Medic are not about to tell the rest of the team that they are a pair of transsexual men, especially when Medic agrees to help Scout in his transition. For all the weirdness that goes on in the base, the world is not kind to queer people, & they aim to keep the reason behind their friendship a secret, even if it kills them. ))

Trans Scout and Trans Medic solidarity fic. I need more of this.

Eight Mercenaries and A Toddler by ChaosandMayhem

(( When Respawn malfunctions and their annoying Scout is turned into something far more precocious, it'll take all of the RED team's wits and patience to look after him. At the same time, Engineer must find a way to turn Scout back into an adult before the BLUs-or anyone else-realizes what's happened. No pairings, just a bunch of exhausted trained killers and one hyperactive child. ))

An Ancient Text from 2012 and the only FF.Net fic on this list, EMaAT is a classic for me. Lot's of Spy backstory, if memory serves. Quotes from this live rent free in my mind.

PracticalEspionage:

++Under the Lake by Her_AngelEyes

(( Engineer goes fishing. Hilarity ensues. ))

Don't let the description fool you. This is a non-con/mind break fic. If you like darkfic stuff, than this is for you~

[captain-astors]

Finished up my attempt at Deuce within @where-does-the-heart-lie's fighting game AU! Feeling a little iffy about it but I might've just been staring at this for too damn long. Anyways thoughts, symbolism explanation, and sketches I made in the attempt bellow the cut.

Okay! So in general I worked with a rule of 2's when it came to Deuce's hearts with the exception of his camera, but that's supposed to pair with the pen with the little heart cap, I just didn't remember to keep that in my final drawings somewhere. Trying to strike a balance between "Just a guy" and "fun stylized outfit" was hard and I don't think I quite got it, but it was enjoyable nonetheless!

Heart glasses- Representative of how he loves observing the world and aspires to adventure through it. The cracked lens represents how the damage he's received from people he loved has caused him to look at others cynically at times. Meanwhile the unshattered lens sort of represents his tendency to look at those who earn his love with extreme levels of internal praise, half of Ace's first novel is just him waxing poetic about how lovely Ace is and I think that's hilarious.

Hearts on the gloves- He shows his love for the world and for people through the writing he does with his hands! But they're somewhat damaged because they've been utilized for the medicinal legacy that was forced upon him.

Heart on the camera/pen- A specific love for journalism and writing and telling a story, credits to Whery for the first one.

Spade on the shirt- Not technically a heart but it's a little play on how he keeps the Spades close to his heart/tends to be kind of pokey if you try to get close.

Spade/heart on the back of the shirt- Symbolic of the whole life-devoting love within him, so it's large, but it's kept guarded and tethered by the camera strap and can only be seen beneath a layer and if he trusts you enough to turn his back. It's mostly upside-down to look more like a heart if I'm honest, but that as well as that it's on his back and so guarded is all representative of how the family that he presumably once loved shamed and pressured him, making a sort of "weight on his back". It's spade shaped because that's who his devotion and love belongs to, but also when counted with the other one, Deuce!

One of my scrapped ideas was having the coat be a doctor's coat with the only hearts on it being scorched edges because something something fire set him free but he still uses his medicinal abilities to benefit people in his new life, but I couldn't get it to look right so I went with the summery looking thing he's wearing now. It's fine but it kind of lacks a personality, I think that's the main thing I'd try to revise if I redid this but I've already overthought it to hell so. Another day.

Ace in Dr. Robotnik's outfit from the sonic movie is there for facial reference and emotional support I guess, I made that a while ago.

And in one last vaguely related tangent, yours truly has a very distinctly heart-shaped birthmark on my foot. It symbolizes that I'm tired. (Jokes aside I think it's cool, afab actually stood for Assigned Fighting game character At Birth)

[wrenbowkitten]

Okarun in full wolf yokai mode from chaotic_quibit's AU fanfic series Gaze Into The Abyss. This AU has had a vice grip on my brain since I read it and it inspired me to break my six month long art block to draw my rendition of wolf spirit Yokarun. He's not quite this wolfy in the series itself, but I couldn't help myself from making him a bit more werewolf.

Click the readmore if you wanna read some sappy shit.

For my resolution this New Year I promised myself that I would start being more authentic about my niche fandom interests and stop being afraid of being "cringe." For a long time, I've been cagey about my interests even here on Tumblr, and I think it was a result of spending my teen years on this website during the Superwholock era, immediately followed by a rejection of authenticity in favor of avoiding ending up on another YouTuber's Tumblr Cringe Compilation. I feel like we're all mature enough at this point to concede that we live in a post-cringe era now, and at this point in my life I feel like being inauthentic is just not worth it anymore.

I'm finally letting myself be that excited 15 year old again who just found out that there's other people on this magical website who like the same things I do.

Thank you to all the members of a certain Discord server who encouraged me to be my genuine self and post some silly fanart. <3

[yourfellowhuman07]

Hello, my fellow Entrapdak shippers!

I am happy to say it is once again time for Entrapdak Positivity Month, a fandom event created by the always lovely @maireadralph, who works tirelessly to put on all the major events, zines, and is currently running the Entrapdak Community here on Tumblr.

Now, like last year, I have decided to make another Ask Game for those who don't plan on drawing or writing anything but still wish to participate in the event this year.

The game is simple, just open your Ask Box and reblog this post so fellow shippers can ask you one of the questions I have written for this year. I will also link the Ask Game from last year if anyone wants to answer those (I know I'm willing).

Now without further ado, the questions:

What were Entrapta and Hordak’s first impressions of each other?

Who fell first, and who fell harder?

When and what made them realize their feelings for each other?

Who proposed first and how did they do it?

What’s the first Human/Our World AU that comes to mind when it involves Entrapdak?

What is the worst take on Entrapdak you’ve ever seen/heard?

What part(s) of their relationship made you fall in love with the ship?

How long have you been shipping them for?

Which of Hordak’s various designs throughout the series is your favorite (Season 1/2, Season 3/4, Season 5, or the flashback design in the finale)?

What is one thing they don’t like about each other that they can look past?

What is an interest/hobby they each have that you have no evidence for, but you know in your heart they love?

What is a weird crack headcanon you think about for fun?

What would happen if Entrapta joined the Horde before she was offered to join the Alliance?

What does Hordak wear now that he is out of the Galactic Horde?

What kinds of movies/TV shows/books do you think they like?

If you have/hypothetically had a playlist for them as individuals and/or as a couple, what is/would be on it?

For my writers and imaginers, what is an old story idea you had about or involving Entrapdak that you abandoned?

What was Hordak’s reaction when he met Wrong Hordak?

In your mind, what happened to Entrapta’s parents?

What was (x character)’s reaction to finding out Entrapdak was a thing?

How long did it take for Entrapta and Hordak to get into a relationship after season 5?

Who’s the most likely to tell the other about their feelings first?

How do you think Entrapta’s hair works (Robotics, Genetics, Magic, etc.)?

 What type of music would they listen to?

Who’s bringing the stray animal they found on the street home?

What do they find the most attractive about each other (besides their mutual intelligence)?

 What, in your mind, is Hordak’s punishment, and how does he feel about it?

 Could you tell me about any potential kids they might have?

 What’s something random you wanted to talk about regarding Entrapdak?

Your own SFW question?

And for those who would like to use it, Last Year's Ask Game:

[hythlodaes]

and then came june

emile/leofard 9.2k words [read on ao3] explicit summary: modern AU. when leofard becomes friends with benefits with his university's star quarterback, he never expects to fall for him. (also ty @scionshtola for letting me borrow cori!! ♥)

Chapter One- Spring

Leofard has every reason to feel alone in this world.

He doesn't remember his parents, doesn't know what happened to them, only that he was left to grow up by himself. He used to wonder about his relatives—when other children would talk about grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, and he'd think, Where are mine? Why couldn't they take care of me?

He's long grown out of those thoughts. 

At nineteen, he loses the one person that he could call family. Not related by blood, Raimille still loves him as a son, still leaves him everything she has with only one request: that he graduates college. At nineteen, he moves across the country with the car he loves with all his heart, speakers blasting Nirvana the whole way. Years in foster care have taught him never to feel sorry for himself, only to chase the freedom that he finds out here. After watching Raimille waste away with sickness, he chooses life. 

And he never feels alone. He meets Stacia at orientation, and she instantly becomes the sister he always wished he had. Over the years he meets friends in classes, at parties, at work, and it becomes a new kind of family—silly, loud, and his. 

Then, early spring of his junior year, he meets Emile. 

—

It starts with a half joke between Leofard and Stacia at two in the morning, curled up on the couch of their apartment and barely awake after marathoning their favorite movies all day. We should throw a party, Leofard murmurs into the tv flashed dark, and Stacia—his usual voice of reason—doesn't say no. 

Their apartment ends up cramped with dozens of college students the next weekend, loud and messy and the kind of thing that makes Leofard laugh until his stomach hurts. He shines under the extra attention, his body warm from alcohol, and it’s the kind of happiness that feels just real enough. 

He runs into Stacia as the front door opens again. A bunch of tall, bulky guys spill through, and Leofard may not follow their school's football team the way Stacia does, but she's dragged him to enough games that he recognizes a few of them. 

She always says she comes from a football family, and well, that includes Leofard now too. 

"God, they're huge," he comments, and he's about to turn his attention away when his gaze catches the last of them ducking under the door. He’s a little taller than the rest, and dark brown hair falls to his chin but he tucks it behind his ear, big eyes searching the room before someone claps him on the shoulder. 

The guy smiles, eyes curving into half moons, and Leofard feels the corners of his lips threaten to raise. 

Stacia shakes her head. "Leo, I swear if you try to sleep with anyone on the football team..." 

"Who said anything about that?" he asks, but this time he lets his mouth pull into a grin. "I'm just appreciating the view." 

The night drags on, the music blurs from one song into the next. Leofard feels only slightly hazy—that sluggish kind of drunk that makes the room spin a little slower. He gives into it, hearing his own laughter as a loud and distant sound in his ears. 

He finds himself in the kitchen again, a full drink in his hand. Utata sits on the counter, singing along to the music at the top of her lungs, and Leofard keeps his focus on her for a moment too long. In hindsight, it's funny that he doesn't see it coming, but Leofard turns away, knocking into the person behind him, and the entirety of his drink spills onto their shirt on impact. 

He has to tilt his head back to meet wide brown eyes, shock evident in the gaze that looks down at him. Leofard recognizes him from when he came in, but he's even cuter up close, where he can make out the freckles on his cheeks, the pout of his lips as he glances down at his shirt. 

"Shit, sorry," Leofard says, wincing at the red splotch that trails from collar to hem. 

"It's okay," the guy says quickly. His voice is softer than Leofard expected and a little hard to hear over the music. He looks up over Leofard's head and into the kitchen. "I'll just rinse this off." 

Leofard almost laughs until he realizes he wasn’t joking.

"Hate to say it, but that's not coming out, baby," he yells over the music. "Come on, I'll get you a new one." 

"You'll—" he starts, but Leofard claps him on the back as he walks past him. He leaves no room for argument, and the guy follows him to his room. The door shuts behind them, quieting the party to a dull roar in the background. It grounds Leofard for a moment, steadies him against the blurriness of the alcohol in his system as he goes to his bureau. 

“You called me baby,” the guy says, and when Leofard glances over his shoulder, he’s looking around the room, pausing at his desk to pick up one of Leofard's records. He meets his gaze. “This is your apartment.” 

“Right on both counts," he answers, and the guy smiles at him. There’s a warmth in Leofard’s chest that has nothing to do with being drunk. "What's your name?"

"Emile." "I'm Leofard." 

"I know," he says, and clears his throat. "I've heard about you." 

Leofard’s hands still. "Really?" 

"Well...I've heard about your car." 

"Even better," he says, letting his lips split into a crooked grin. He turns his attention back to the bureau. "Given the obvious, I'm not sure if I have anything that'll fit you." 

"You really don't have to, I'm sure this will wash out." 

"As much as I enjoy the mental image, do you really want to walk around in a wet shirt the rest of the night?" he challenges, just as he finds an old band tee that's always been way too big for him. When he turns around, he has to smile at the pout on Emile's lips. It doesn't last long, but he continues to stare at Leofard for a moment before his shoulders slump in defeat.

Then he takes his ruined shirt off. 

Leofard has to bite down on his tongue—he should look away. He doesn't. His eyes roam along the thick muscle of Emile's chest and up to the line of his broad shoulders, back down the bulk of his arms. Lifting his gaze, he meets Emile's, who watches him watch, something not quite discernable in his eyes before he smiles shyly—it's the tilt of his chin, the curve of his lips... 

"Baby, you're something else," Leofard breathes out, and hands him the clean shirt. 

Emile rolls his eyes before he puts it on. It stretches around him—where it hangs loose on Leofard, it clings to Emile, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Thank you.” 

"Don't mention it," he says, and he shifts his weight between his feet, unwilling to let the moment go. "So what’s this you heard about my car?”

“Oh,” he says. “Some of the guys were talking about it on the way over—said you could hear it halfway across campus.”

Leofard raises his brows, grinning helplessly. “It’s not that loud. Shit, I thought it would be something good.”

"Like what?" 

"Like what? I've worked on that car for the last six years of my life, it's perfect. A thing of beauty."

Emile laughs, watching him for a moment longer before he asks, "Will you show it to me?”

That single question sets his mind racing. For a moment, he can see it so clearly: Emile's long legs in the passenger seat, Leofard's hand on his thigh. He'd roll the windows down, stealing glances at his loose hair blowing in the wind while the Shins play over the speakers.

He thinks he’d show Emile anything, if he asked. 

"Play your cards right," he says. "I'll even take you for a ride." 

Emile laughs again, something closer to a giggle. He must be just as drunk, but he's so cute in Leofard's shirt, his big eyes bright with amusement. “You're flirting with me.”

“Well, you’re the one wearing my shirt.”

“You spilled your drink on mine!”

Leofard grins. “And I almost wish I did it on purpose.” 

A blush colors Emile’s cheeks as he turns his head away. “I wouldn’t say no,” he murmurs, and when he looks back, he doesn’t hide the way his eyes cast down Leofard’s body and back up to meet his gaze. He clears his throat. “You know—to a ride.” 

Leofard swallows hard. Everything in him says to move closer, to reach out, to touch him, but he holds himself back. “Come on, let's get another drink.” 

The sound of the party passes over them as Emile follows him out of his room. They walk down the hall together, but as soon as Leofard makes it to the kitchen, someone wraps an arm around his neck and yells into his ear. Leofard makes out half of the words, but as he looks behind him, it seems that Emile is similarly lost in the crowd. 

The stab of disappointment lasts longer than he expects it to. 

The night grows weary, the music still plays. Leofard is definitely drunk but it only makes him tired. There are a few times throughout the night when Emile catches his eye across the room, and a small smile crosses his lips. It feels like something secret exists between them—something merely waiting for the right moment. 

They collide again. 

This time it’s Emile’s hand on his shoulder, holding himself steady as his body sways closer, as he leans down. Distance is a second thought when he fixes those brown eyes on Leofard, lips curving up at the edges in a shy smile.

“I thought you were going to show me your car," he says, his soft voice loud over the music, but all Leofard can focus on is the strength of his grip on his shoulder, and as he blinks at him through the blurry lights of the living room, the only thought on his mind is touch him. 

This time he doesn't hold back.

He reaches out to wrap his arm around Emile's waist, hand grazing along his own shirt clinging to his body. He bites down on a grin at the way Emile shifts into his touch, the way his eyes widen when Leofard inches his fingertips beneath the hem, teasing at his warm skin. With their faces this close, Leofard just has to tilt his chin towards him to be heard, keeping his voice deep, quiet. “All you have to do is ask, baby.” 

“Please?” Emile murmurs against his ear, and Leofard closes his eyes for a moment. That single word sets the room spinning, keeping in time with the way his heart pounds in his chest. He turns his head towards him, noses brushing for a moment, breath ghosting against each other's lips, and he swallows hard as he pulls away. 

“Come on.” Fresh air sounds like a good idea. 

He turns his gaze to the door, and Emile is a step behind him as they head outside. There's a few people smoking on the front steps, but in the fuzzy dark they hardly pay Emile and Leofard any mind as they slip around the corner. The streetlights barely reach them here, washing the yard in gray light while everything sits muted and quiet. Only the distant sound of music from the house can be heard, a beat that sinks under the surface of the night.

It's cold, but Emile's body is warm as he crowds him against the side of the house, the excuse of seeing his car all but forgotten. Leofard touches the hem of his shirt again as Emile's head bends towards his, and there's a certain sway to them both, something hazy but desperate, lingering at the boundary line between them. 

Leofard crosses first, reaching up to wrap his arms around Emile's shoulders and pull him down into his space, where he meets his mouth with his own. Emile tastes like sugary punch, and he kisses him softly until he parts his lips. Leofard gasps against him, tangling his fingers in his hair as he deepens the kiss, a sound caught in the back of his throat as Emile's hands skim down his back and pull his body against his.

It's the right kind of messy—lacking just enough control to satisfy that desire in his chest. It says I need you without holding back, and Leofard hates how much he wants that from a stranger familiar enough to give it to him. 

He pushes further, hands seeking the touch of his skin beneath his shirt, and he moans when Emile slots his thigh between his, as a rhythm begins to build, heavy breaths warming the air between them, and—

"Hey, Emile, are you out here?" comes a voice from the dark.

They break apart. Leofard doesn't recognize whoever calls out towards them, but he keeps his eyes closed as he catches his breath. Emile’s touch shifts to his waist as he leans back in, his voice just above a whisper. "That's my ride home." 

Leofard cracks his eyes open. "You're kidding." 

“I wish I was.”

He has the thought to offer to take Emile back himself, but he's too drunk to drive. His next thought is to offer to let him stay the night, but he dismisses it the second it comes to mind. The thought of Emile taking his hands off of him is unbearable in this state, but he can't think of another way out. 

“Okay, Cinderella,” he relents, and he can see the stretch of Emile’s smile even in the dark. "This was fun."

"It was," he agrees, and for a moment Leofard thinks he's going to kiss him again, but he just shakes his head. "Goodnight." 

Leofard watches him walk back towards the lights of the driveway, where the silhouettes of his friends wait for him. Leofard just stares, his head in a daze as he blinks into the night. Emile opens the door to the passenger side of an old jeep, throwing one last look over his shoulder before he gets in. 

Headlights pass over the yard and then disappear down the street. Leofard tilts his head back against the house, willing his body to calm down before he goes back inside, where the party slows to a stop. Stacia raises a brow when they meet in the kitchen, but he merely shrugs a shoulder at her despite the disappointment in his chest. 

When he finally makes it back to his room, he has to laugh at Emile's stained shirt left on his bed. Cinderella indeed. He tosses it into his closet and crawls under the blankets. The room still spins even when he closes his eyes, but he thinks about the warmth of Emile’s body along his, the press of his lips, and what could’ve happened if they had a little more time. 

He lets his hand drift down his stomach—an echo of Emile's touch—but almost isn’t quite enough. 

—

It doesn’t stay on his mind for long. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t keep an eye out for Emile on campus—he’d be hard to miss, anyway—but a week goes by, then another, and Leofard lets go of the idea of running into him again. He never mentions it to Stacia, who would only make fun of him for it anyway, he merely chalks it up as a missed opportunity, something that wasn't meant to be. 

Where he's content to let it stay, until a few weeks later. 

Utata invites him and Stacia over on a Friday night. She says she's throwing a small party, but they all know better. She's one of his only friends that lives with her family off campus, which means whenever her parents are out of town, they have the whole house to themselves. 

Leofard walks over with Stacia—they meant to show up early but they're both perpetually late, and the party is in full swing by the time they get there. Cars line the street and the yard, and inside the lights are low, skimming over the crowd in a blue haze. It smells like smoke and like someone spilled punch, which makes him think of a stained shirt, and—

"I'm going to grab a drink," he yells over the music, and Stacia nods at him before she disappears into the packed living room. 

He navigates through the crowded hall, and it’s funny how everyone feels a little familiar at this point, strangers faces that he can pick out from classes over the years, from this same party he's been to time and again. It's always the same and yet they keep doing this, keep repeating it because it's the smallest break from the stress of school, from the stress of figuring out what they're supposed to be doing with their lives.

At the end of the hall, he runs into Cori. 

They’re bent down in front of Utata’s dog—Pickles, a fluffy collie that's currently nuzzling his face into her lap as they scratch behind his ear. Leofard’s used to seeing them at school, their similar majors all but guaranteeing shared classes over the years, but they've become something like friends at this point. 

Mostly they share the same love of cars, which—and he would never admit this to anyone, not even Stacia—Cori is far more knowledgeable of. 

"Hey," he says, and a wave of hair cascades over their shoulder when they glance up at him. 

“Hi,” they return. "No one was paying attention to Pickles." 

“It's a good thing you're here, then," he says. "I was just going to grab a drink, do you want any—“

His voice cuts off as he glances into the kitchen, where his gaze lands on the one person he thought he'd never see again. Big brown eyes curve into half moons as he smiles, loose hair curves around his chin as he talks, the light of the kitchen makes his skin golden. 

Emile is here. 

“Leo?” It’s Cori who says it, and Leofard barely registers his own name.

"Sorry, I—" he starts, but then Emile looks over, brows lifting when he notices Leofard. A small smile crosses his lips, but someone grabs him by the arm, pulling him out of the kitchen. He lifts his drink towards Leofard for a moment and then he's gone again. 

"Someone you know?" Cori asks. 

"Yeah," he answers, and he clears his throat, forcing himself to look away. "I'll catch up with him later." 

He tells himself that he'll let it happen naturally, that if they run into each other again then he'll talk to him, but it's just a few minutes later that he finds himself fumbling over an excuse to Cori before heading in the same direction that Emile left in. 

The music has definitely gotten louder, and the sound of laughter and conversation has risen to match it. The living room is a mess of people dancing and silver balloons that get thrown into the air, skimming along hands raised from the crowd. Emile shouldn't be hard to find, but Leofard doesn't see him anywhere. Maybe he left already—

"Looking for someone?" Emile asks, and Leofard turns towards the sound of his voice. There's something so bright about his brown eyes as he grins. "Hi, Leofard." 

"Hi," he returns, and he catches himself smiling back. "I didn't think I'd see you again." 

"Me neither. I owe you a shirt." 

"Don't worry about it," he says. "Looked better on you, anyway." 

Emile glances away for a moment before huffing out a laugh. "You're so..."

"What—charming?" he suggests. 

"Something like that."

"Come on, let's dance." 

He immediately shakes his head. "Oh, I'm not much of a dancer." 

"No one's judging, baby," he says. "Besides, everyone's too drunk to care." 

"Are you?"

Leofard didn't even stop for a drink. "Not yet." 

"Me neither," he says. "I have a meeting with my coach first thing in the morning, I shouldn't even be here." 

"Miss me that much?" 

Emile laughs. "Yes Leo, I've actually spent all this time looking for you." 

"Well here I am," he returns. "May as well make the most of it." 

Leofard watches him press his lips together, the way his gaze shifts over him as he considers it. His shoulders lower the slightest bit and Leofard smiles, knowing his answer already.

"Fine," Emile says. "One song."

"Before you turn into a pumpkin, yes I remember," he says, and he takes him by the hand into the crowd. 

He was right, hardly anyone even looks over at them as they begin to move to the music. The beat is fast and heavy, pulsing through him as he keeps his eyes locked on Emile. They move closer and closer and impossibly closer, and  Emile puts his hands on Leofard, long fingers pressing into his waist. 

More.

Leofard raises a brow before he turns in his embrace, moving back until he fits against Emile’s chest. Emile’s hands skim down to rest low on his belly, and Leofard covers them with his own as he rolls his hips against him. 

Blue dimmed lights, the kiss of balloons against the ceiling, he blinks in and out of a dream. There’s something possessive about Emile’s touch, and Leofard lets his head fall back against his shoulder as the music beats through him. Are both of their hearts pounding? Emile’s head lowers to his neck, and he can feel the warmth of his breath as his lips ghost against his skin—

The song ends. 

For a moment, neither of them move. 

"You know," Leofard says, turning to face him. "We have unfinished business, Cinderella." 

"What do you mean?" he asks, but his hands are still on Leofard, and they inch the slightest bit lower.

"I mean," Leofard starts. "I never showed you my car." 

Amusement makes a home in Emile's gaze. “I don’t think that’s what we were doing.” 

“No? Maybe we’ll have to try again.”

Emile glances at his lips for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. The next song starts but they don't move, still standing too close, faces angled just right—all it would take is the slightest effort to kiss. 

It's been weeks, but it's the same feeling crawling up Leofard's chest. 

"Come on," he murmurs. The music drowns out his voice but Emile's hand finds his as he leads them through the crowd. Going outside didn't work for them last time, and he knows Utata would kill him if he took Emile to her room. Still, they go upstairs where the house is emptier, the music is still loud but the sound of voices dims to the background. 

They slip into the bathroom. 

Silver blue light streams in through the window, echoing across the tiled wall. The silhouette of Emile steps ahead of him, and they stay in the dark, bodies moving closer. Emile is so big and solid and yet he yields to Leofard, lets him crowd him against the sink. It's quiet enough that Leofard can hear the hitch in his breath, the small sound in the back of his throat when Leofard puts his hands on him. 

In the dark, their lips meet. 

It's better than his drunken memory, sharper without the haze of alcohol blurring the lines between them. His heart races as they rush into it, his own desperation climbing as they continue what was cut short. He kisses Emile's jaw, lips brushing along warm skin as he works down to his neck, and he has to hold back a grin as Emile's hands bunch at his shirt, pulling him closer. 

"Isn't this," Emile breathes out, "a bit of a risk?" 

"Maybe," Leofard returns, but he lets his hand skim down to Emile's jeans, tugging at the waistband. "I can stop if you want, baby." 

Emile pushes his hips into his touch. “Keep going.” 

Leofard bites down on another grin before he presses his mouth to his shoulder, hand reaching lower to undo the button of his jeans. Heat surges through him at the sound of Emile's shaky breath, at the crack of his voice loosening into a moan as Leofard finally touches him. 

It’s like the rest of the room disappears. Leofard pulls back enough to watch his face, to see his brows push together, his lips part, the way his eyes shut as his head tips back. He does not hide his pleasure, and in the ghost of the moonlight, Leofard is transfixed. 

"Wait," Emile murmurs, and Leofard looks up in question when he puts a hand on his wrist to stop him. "I want to—with you." 

Leofard is about to ask what he means when he reaches over to tug at Leofard's jeans, a small smile on his lips as he looks up to meet his gaze. His hair is a mess, lips still parted, his big eyes wide as he watches him—Leofard doesn't stand a chance. 

He's already close, and he groans openly as Emile takes them both in hand. Somehow they find each other's lips again, and they kiss as their hips work together, the sound of the party all but gone as they pant into each other’s mouths. For a moment, all that matters is the rush of warmth through his body, building with each stroke until his breath catches in his throat.

They’re still kissing when they come. 

Leofard tilts his head back, eyes squeezed shut until the feeling begins to fade. The world comes back to him in pieces: the distant sound of music playing, Emile's hand steady on his hip, the room shifting into focus when he opens his eyes again. 

He catches Emile's gaze, and they both laugh.  

"Utata would actually kill me if she knew."

Emile shakes his head. "I won’t say a word." 

And then it's just the two of them in a dark bathroom. They clean up, taking turns washing their hands and fixing their hair and clothes. Leofard almost wants to put the lights on just to see the flush of Emile's skin, but once they're both ready, they slip back into the empty hallway, where a rare question leaves Leofard's mouth: “What if I asked for your number?”

Emile blinks at him for a moment. “Oh, I don't really date. It's kind of hard with my schedule, and I don't want to commit to anything if I'm not sure about it—not that I don't like you! I just don't know if it would be a good idea, or if I'm even in a place to figure that out..." 

His voice trails off and his brows push together as he watches Leofard for a reaction. 

Leofard laughs. 

"Relax baby, I'm not exactly boyfriend material either," he says. "I just wanted to hook up again." 

"Oh," Emile says, and he begins to laugh as well. "Sorry." 

"It's okay," he returns. "We can leave it like this, too." 

Emile bites his lip. "No—no, I'd like to see you again." 

"Yeah?" He fishes his phone from his pocket and opens his list of contacts before handing it over. He watches the way the light flashes against Emile's face as he enters his number. It makes his freckles stand out, and it's hard not to stare at the way they cross over his nose. He clears his throat. “I don’t date either, you know.” 

“Okay,” Emile says, and he lets their hands brush when he gives him his phone back. “So no expectations?”

“No expectations," he confirms. "We can just be friends."

Emile smiles. “Just friends.”

—

If Leofard knew, in that moment, that Emile was in love with someone else, he probably still would've gone for it. 

If he knew how easily his own heart could break, how this conversation would be the one he'd come to regret—

Well. 

Maybe that would've made him pause.

—

He sleeps in too late the night day, the sun bright behind his blinds and warming him even as cool air seeps in through the cracked open window. His blanket is in his fist, curled up beneath his chin as he takes in a deep breath and stretches his body out for a moment before relaxing back into his pillow.

He gives himself a few more minutes; it’s been a while since he's felt this good. 

It's noon by the time he gets up, and he shuffles into the kitchen with his blanket still wrapped around him. Stacia's at the table with a steaming cup of coffee and an open book, but she stares blankly at the space in front of her. It takes a moment for her to look up at him, and the looming afternoon light only highlights the dark circles under her eyes. 

“You good?” he asks. 

“Hungover,” she returns. “You?”

He bites his lip for a moment as he recalls last night, the phantom memory of Emile's hands on him, the new phone number in his contact list. “Just tired.” 

It’s a testament to her hangover that she doesn’t notice the tone of his voice—light and entirely too pleased with himself—but he leaves her to her coffee while he makes breakfast. Though he is prone to burning most of the food he cooks, he is more than capable of eggs and toast, and he pours himself a cup of coffee to sip at while he works. 

Sometimes it's like this: bare feet on the cool kitchen tiles, warm sunlight on his skin, the smell of coffee in the air—moments of the smallest, most simple happiness can happen so unexpectedly. 

When he sits back down, he takes a breath and asks, “What do you know about Emile?” 

Stacia's head pops up from her book. “Jenidaut?”

“Maybe?” he says, lifting a shoulder. He doesn’t have a clue what his last name is. Through a mouthful of toast, he says, “He’s on the football team.” 

“Yeah,” she answers. “He’s the best quarterback this school has ever seen. He’s a sophomore and there were already rumors of a Heisman this season.”

Leofard just blinks at her. 

“You've seen him play. Do you remember that playoff game last year?" she tries. "They put him in at the last second and he caught the game winning pass—I lost my voice from screaming."

See, he remembers actually going to the games, but as far as what happens during them? “I thought Emile was the quarterback...”

“Well not at first, but Varlineau injured his shoulder and Emile took his place,” she says. “You really weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“I pay attention,” he argues, but quickly relents at the look she gives him. “Just not that much.”

She shakes her head. “Why are you even asking about him?”

Hands on his body, head tipped back with a groan, the heat of his skin—Leofard clears his throat. "I might've hooked up with him last night." 

"What," she exclaims, and he has to laugh at the way she sits up, eyes wide, her hangover all but forgotten. "The hell, Leo, why wouldn't you start with that? Tell me everything!"

It starts in their own apartment, it starts with a stained shirt, it starts with kisses that lead nowhere in the dark. It leads to last night, to their dance, familiar enough with each other to push them over the edge. He brushes up against the details, skims past them, but he fails to hide his smile at the memory of the two of them slipping away from the rest of the party. 

He can tell that she notices, but all she says is, “So, what—are you going to call him?” 

“Probably,” he says, lifting a shoulder. The truth is, he can’t imagine passing up another opportunity to see him, but he just smiles before he takes another sip of coffee—

“We’ll see what happens.” 

—

He gives it a couple days. 

It crosses his mind while he partakes in his favorite activity—laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, music playing too loud while he ignores his homework. He can't seem to focus, mind spinning between thoughts but unable to land on one, and he turns his attention to his phone laying at the other end of his bed. 

Emile would make a better distraction. 

Still, he stares for a long moment without moving, and the second he wonders if he's nervous, he gets up and makes himself call. 

It rings a few times before the soft sound of Emile's voice comes through. "Hello?"

Leofard smiles. "What's this I hear about you being a hotshot quarterback?" 

There’s a beat of silence, and then: “Leofard?”

"Who else?"

He hears him laugh. "And you call me a hotshot."

"Am I wrong?" he says. "My roommate was just talking about some play you did last season, thought I'd see if it’s true." 

“Yes, it's true,” he says. "Is that the only reason you called?" 

"No," he returns, biting down on another smile. "Let's go for a drive, I'll pick you up." 

"In the infamous car that I still have yet to see?"

"The one and only." 

"Alright," he says. "Give me a half hour."

He tells him where his dorm is, and Leofard gives himself approximately twenty minutes to look nice before he has to leave. One glance in the mirror, he ruffles up his curls and takes off his old sweatshirt and replaces it with his favorite beat up denim jacket. 

Stacia is in the living room when he comes out of his room, and she takes one look at him and raises a brow. "Off on a date?" 

"It's not a date," he says, grabbing his keys. 

"Off to get laid?"

This time he laughs. "I'll catch you later." 

"Be safe, have fun!" she calls out after him. 

Early evening means the campus is quiet. Leofard lived in the dorms his freshman year before moving in with Stacia, so he's familiar with them. He navigates across campus to Emile's building, biting down on a grin at the sight of him waiting on the front steps. 

Emile looks unfairly good, simply in a sweatshirt and jeans, hair falling loose from his ponytail. He looks up and waves. 

Leofard is in trouble. 

"Hey, gorgeous," he says as he gets in the car. 

“Hi,” Emile says, smiling in that shy way. His attention turns to the dashboard. "So this is it."

"This is it," he says. "What do you think?"

"It's nice." 

His voice tips up at the end, almost like a question, and Leofard can't help but laugh. “You sure about that?”

“I don’t know anything about cars,” he admits. “But it's pretty." 

"I've always been obsessed," Leofard says as he pulls out of the parking lot. "I got my first job just so I could buy it."

He worked every day after school. Raimille wanted to pay for it for him but he wouldn't let her, convinced he needed to prove that he could do it himself. Part of him regrets it, if only for how much time he unknowingly lost with her. 

"I like that,” Emile murmurs, the sound of a smile in his voice as they take to the tree lined streets, headlights coasting over gravel. "You know, I never actually learned how to drive." 

“Shit, baby, I’ll teach you,” he returns. "Why not?"

"I was just busy with football, I guess," he says. "And my friends were always willing to drive me." 

"So football is your thing." 

There's a long pause, but then, "Yeah, I guess." 

Leofard's brows dip down. "Not your thing?" 

"I don't know," Emile answers, and there's a slight laugh in his voice. "I don't love it anymore. Not the way I used to, at least." 

"Stacia says you're the best quarterback this school has seen."

"Stacia?" 

"My roommate," he says. "Which is an understatement—she's more like an annoying sister. And my best friend. She's the biggest fan in the world, drags me to your games sometimes." 

"You've seen me play?" 

"Don't get too excited—it's kind of like you and my car," he explains. "I don't know anything about it, but it's pretty to look at." 

Emile laughs. "You're such a flirt."

"And you've got a nice ass," he returns. "Are we just stating the obvious?" 

"Leo."

"Yes?"

In his peripheral, Emile shakes his head. "Where are we going?" 

"I don't know," he answers. The evening begins to settle into night, deep hues of the sky bleed into the orange sunset peering through the spaces between trees. Leofard smiles to himself. "Don't you ever just want to get out for the sake of getting out?" 

"That's usually when I go for a run." 

He glances over at Emile, getting the feeling that there's far more to him, but he won't ask. "Then let's see where it takes us." 

It takes them across town for ice cream, which takes them to an empty park. It's too cold to get out, so they sit in the parking lot, music playing softly while they talk. He learns that Emile's from Maine, that his eyes light up when he talks about his sisters, and that he's a music major. He brushes it off when Leofard asks, but he sounds more excited about playing guitar than he does about football. 

He learns that Emile is a good listener, even if the spoon at his lips is distracting, and Leofard ends up talking the night away. Everything from school to work to his car. He doesn't mention Raimille, doesn't mention family at all, because he never wants his loss to define him.

And then it's sugar sweet kisses in the dark, Leofard fumbling over the console to settle in his lap. It's cramped against the roof of the car, but nothing else matters when Emile's lips are on his, when his hands roam up his thighs as his heart picks up a beat, breath growing heavy as their kisses deepen. 

Emile reaches up to tangle his fingers through his curls, pulling him that much closer, and Leofard rolls his hips against his, grinning when he moans into his mouth. At twenty two, he feels like a teenager getting off in his car again, something secretive and exciting about it. Emile kisses his neck and he can't help but let his head fall back, giving into it as it overwhelms him. 

He stays in Emile's lap afterwards, head on his shoulder, face tucked into his neck. Neither of them say anything for a moment, but Emile's hands linger on his back, smoothing over him in an absent rhythm. It doesn't last long, but it's nice. 

When Leofard pulls away, they smile at each other as he reaches up to pat Emile's hair down, and they clean up the best they can before he scrambles back into the driver's seat. 

He turns the music up as they drive back to campus, the windows cracked and leaking in cool air. Each time he looks over at Emile, he's staring out the window, and Leofard can't tell if he's okay or not, but maybe he just doesn't know how to accept something peaceful. 

He pulls up to Emile's dorm, but Emile stays a little longer, looking over at him with a soft expression.

"You should call me again."

Leofard grins. "You can count on it, baby." 

—

It begins in a bathroom of a crowded party, and what starts as intermittent, becomes frequent.

They learn each other's schedules, and between classes and Emile's workouts and Leofard's job, they find time during the week to hang out. Since Emile lives in a dorm, they always meet at Leofard's apartment—Leofard either picks him up, or Emile will walk over—and in the privacy of his room, he finds out just how much better it can get. 

That first shirtless glimpse of Emile the night they met couldn't have prepared him for the sight of him stretched out naked in his bed. Leofard can hardly look away, can never keep his hands to himself, always tracing his fingertips along warm skin. They learn the ways their bodies fit together, how to say more and now through touch, through breathless gasps, through the way their eyes meet, tangled up and not letting go until they're whispering jokes and giggling into the small space between them. 

Whenever they finish, Emile doesn't leave right away. He never stays the night, but they always end up talking for hours, about school and friends and life, video games and tv shows, or stories about Leofard's job at the pizza shop down the road. One time they watched a marathon of Saved by the Bell while they ate leftovers from the fridge, and Leofard ended up driving him back to his dorm at three in the morning, Elliott Smith playing softly to fill the tired quiet between them: I’d say you make a perfect angel in the snow. 

Leofard has had friends with benefits before, but this is the first time it feels like they're actually friends. 

It's nothing more, despite what Stacia says. She's only run into Emile a few times in the apartment, but she always raises a brow with a smirk, always teases Leofard the next day about his boyfriend coming over. 

Leofard just laughs it off. 

He's too young to be tied down, too selfish to be good at a relationship. The thought of trying to make this romantic sounds exhausting, like a performance neither of them know the steps to. What exists between them is the easiest thing in the world—he couldn’t be happier with this arrangement. 

No expectations, they’d said, and it was a good idea. 

It begins to change with this:

Early May means finals, and with one year left of school, one year left of his promise to Raimille, Leofard needs to make sure he passes these classes. The only one that gives him trouble is his English paper—he's never been good at planning or gathering sources, and he keeps putting it off until he has ten pages due the following day, and maybe two done, at most. 

It becomes a marathon to finish on time, surrounded by stacks of books and a perpetually full cup of coffee at his side, but he gets frustrated with himself again and again as he loses focus. He stares at his laptop for so long that his vision feels a little blurry, so when his phone rings, he accepts the distraction for what it is. 

"Hello?"

"Hey," says Emile on the other end of the line, voice soft.

Leofard bites his lip as he stares at the ceiling. "What's up?" 

Emile is quiet for a moment, and then: "I was wondering if you're free tonight." 

Leofard spares a glance at his laptop. "Shit, I wish I was, but I’m going to be stuck working on this paper all night." 

"That’s okay," Emile says, and there's something distant and strange about his voice, but Leofard can't tell whether or not he sounds disappointed. "I don’t want to—we don’t have to have sex.” 

Leofard frowns at the ceiling. They've never hung out for any other reason. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just…” he trails off again. “Sorry, I’ve been having a really hard day, and I don't want to be alone. My friends ask too many questions and I—I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“So I’m an option because I don’t care?” he jokes.

“God, no, that sounds terrible,” he says quickly. “You’re just…easy to be around, Leo.”

Leofard’s left with the sound of his heart beating in his chest. For a moment, his thoughts blur together and it feels like he only hears himself say, “Come over." 

Emile lets out a soft breath. "I promise I won't distract you."

Something in Leofard's stomach twists uncomfortably, and he wants to tell him that that doesn't really matter. What comes out instead is, "Do you want me to come get you?" 

"No, I'll be okay," he says, and pauses. "Thank you." 

Leofard has a hard time focusing on his paper after that, unsure of why it bothers him so much. He gets a single sentence done by the time there's a knock on the door, and Leofard gets up to answer it before he can think better of his appearance. 

He regrets it when the door opens and Emile’s expression shifts into a grin. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

Leofard scrunches his nose as he looks down at his outfit—an old baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. “Sorry I didn’t get dressed up for you, baby.”

“No, I like this,” he says as he steps inside. “You look comfy.” 

It's difficult not to be affected by those brown eyes steady and warm on him, the softness of his smile. “Don’t get any ideas, I will indulge them.”

Emile laughs. “I’ll be good. Look, I brought my books so I can study too.”

He holds up his bag. Leofard shakes his head. “Do you ever get tired of being so cute?”

He lets him inside, and he ignores Stacia’s grin as she glances up at them from the couch. Emile stops to greet her while Leofard goes to his room, where his laptop is still open, books spread out everywhere. He cleans off a space for Emile on the bed, who merely raises a brow before settling in beside him. 

It feels oddly intimate. They work separately but they're merely inches apart, brushing elbows and passing books and stray comments. Leofard wasn't sure he'd get anything done with Emile here, but he finds it easier to focus with someone beside him. 

For the most part, Emile seems fine. Leofard finds his thoughts drifting towards what could've happened today that he's having such a hard time, but he can't ask—Emile specifically came to him because he won't ask. Still, it doesn't stop him from worrying. They know each other but they don't, their intimacy is limited to the physical, and that's all they wanted, right?

He doesn't know why he can't stop thinking about it. 

It becomes more obvious as the night goes on. Emile doesn't move for several minutes at a time. Leofard gets through half a page of his paper without Emile turning a single page of his book, and when he looks over, Emile’s gaze is fixed blankly at the space in front of him, worrying at his lip with his free hand. It takes too long for him to notice Leofard watching, but he offers him a closed lip smile when he does. Leofard smiles back.  

With two pages to go, it creeps past midnight. Leofard is ready to throw his laptop out the window when Emile's book slips from his hands onto the bed. He looks over to the dull light of the lamp casting shadows over his face pressed into his pillow, eyes closed and chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm as he sleeps.

Leofard stares for far too long. 

He half asses one more page, makes the margins and the spaces between lines bigger so that it goes onto another, and closes his laptop. Emile shifts but he doesn't wake up, and Leofard debates for a moment what to do. To wake him and send him home seems cruel, especially if he's having a bad day. To let him stay here feels...too close. 

Carefully, he gets up to brush his teeth, but by the time he gets back he still hasn't decided. He stands in the doorway of his own room, watching the late night shadows cast over the shape of Emile in his bed, and something tugs in his chest. He closes the door with a soft click and crawls back in beside him, pulling the blanket over them both. 

This time Emile stirs, eyes blinking open slowly. "Leo?" 

"Hey," he says, his voice whisper soft. "You fell asleep." 

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

"Just stay—it's too late to walk back and I'm too tired to drive." 

He doesn't think that either of these things are true. 

Emile is quiet for a moment, but then, "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice drifting off. He reaches over to turn off the light. "Of course, baby." 

He can't remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone—maybe not since his second foster home, when the other kids would come to his room at night and he'd tell them stories until they fell asleep. He takes a deep breath at the memory, and watches the ceiling until his eyes grow used to the dark. Judging from the sound of Emile's breathing, he falls back asleep quickly, and Leofard lets his head turn towards him, foolishly wondering what it would be like to reach out and touch him. 

He closes his eyes and waits for all of it to pass. 

—

The sun spills into the room through Leofard’s cheap blinds, paled light that still stirs him awake. There’s a weight around him, something solid that seeps warmth into his body, and his brows furrow for a moment before it comes back to him.

Right. Emile stayed the night.

Leofard knows their size difference well, but for the first time he lets himself catalog it—the way Emile’s broad chest spans past his shoulders, his heavy arm curled around his waist, and his cheek pressed to the top of his head. Each point of contact says you’re safe, and to Leofard’s surprise, he doesn’t mind.

He’s never needed anyone. He’s never wanted anyone like this, but he isn’t awake enough to overthink it as he lets himself inch further back into Emile’s space, sliding his arm along his to cradle it against his chest.

Blinking through the dust dazed light, he breathes in time with him—something steady to pull him back under as his eyes fall closed.

Distance will be easier in the morning.

—

Except—then he's alone. 

He wakes faster this time, but the only evidence that Emile was here at all is the rumpled blanket beside him. Something in his chest pulls at the sight, but he refuses to call it disappointment. Leofard wouldn't have woken him to say goodbye either, if their roles were reversed. 

Putting on his glasses, he glances at the clock to see that he still has a couple hours to submit his paper, and he chooses to ignore his laptop in favor of coffee. 

He stretches out his back as he gets up, but there's a crick in his neck from spending all day working on his paper yesterday. It's forgotten the moment he opens his door and hears the sound of voices trailing from the kitchen. He frowns to himself, but when he turns the corner, Emile and Stacia sit at the table eating breakfast, so deep in conversation that neither of them notice him. 

"I trust you saved me some coffee?" he asks, interrupting. They both look up, and there's a sly smile on Stacia's face and an earnest one on Emile's. He doesn't know how to process the way it makes him feel. 

"Sorry, you're on your own," Stacia says. 

Emile laughs. "There's some left." 

Leofard still just blinks at both of them before he goes to pour himself a cup of coffee, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation, and for once in his life he's quiet as he listens to them talk about football. Stacia's voice is bright and more excited than he remembers it ever being, and Emile indulges her, going back over specific plays and explaining the story behind them. 

“That pass from Estinien,” she says, and apparently it’s all she needs to say. Leofard watches the twitch of Emile’s mouth, the way he looks down at the table as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“It was his idea,” he says quietly. The memory seems to come to him, and he smiles a little to himself before he looks back at Stacia. “We used to practice those kinds of throws together all the time—it only worked because no one was expecting it.” 

But before Stacia can say anything, he continues, "I should probably go, though. I have a final at noon." 

"I'll drive you back," Leofard offers before he can think about it. 

Emile glances at him, his expression soft. "Thank you. I'll go grab my books." 

Leofard just nods as he gets up and leaves the kitchen. He wants to ignore the look on Stacia's face but it's impossible with the way her lips curve into a smug grin. 

"Your boyfriend stayed the night,” she says the moment he’s out of earshot. 

"Stacia," he returns, not quite a warning but more of you know it's not like that. "He fell asleep, I wasn't about to kick him out." 

"Of course not." She takes a sip of her coffee, and just when he thinks she's going to let it go, she says, “I’m assuming you were the little spoon.”

“Stacia.”

She laughs, but then her voice turns a shade softer. "He's a sweet guy." 

"He is," Leofard lets himself admit, and he stares in the direction that Emile left, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to tell her we didn’t have sex last night.

Because there's a limit to their relationship. There is a defined boundary, and last night doesn't fit within that. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. A moment later, Emile bounds back into the kitchen, bag slung over his shoulder and surely way too energetic for this early in the morning. Leofard just smiles. "Ready?" 

The drive back to his dorm takes only a few minutes, but Leofard can't help but sneak little peaks at him along the way. The windows are down because they’re always down, and Emile’s hair blows with the wind while music plays softly, morning light along his profile. Leofard tries not to think about his body curled around his, different from the way they usually touch, and ignores the thoughts that creep into the back of his mind. 

He parks outside Emile's dorm, and Emile turns towards him. 

"Thank you," he says, his voice so earnest that, for a moment, Leofard can't return his gaze. 

"Of course," he returns, and he thinks too hard about what to say next, settling on, "Did it help?"

"It did," he says with a nod, and he leans in close, sliding a hand along Leofard's jaw as he pulls him in for a soft kiss. Leofard gasps against his mouth but leans into it, letting his lips part against his and lingering for too long. 

“As a promise for next time,” Emile murmurs against his mouth.

“Next time,” Leofard echoes, opening his eyes as he pulls away. “Let’s celebrate when finals are over.” 

Emile smiles. "Good luck!"

He gets out, and Leofard is left to watch him go. Something stirs within him, a feeling that is both unfamiliar and unwelcome, and as the door to the dorms closes behind Emile, Leofard stares for a long moment before he looks back at the road. 

Under his breath he mutters, “What the hell...”

He goes for a drive. 

[daily-odile]

AUGH I’d love to see more time looping odile if possible,,,,, how do you think she’d like; “devolve” over each of the acts as compared to Siffrin over time :O

ok im gonna be honest i did like portrait edits months ago and just never finished them. so here you go

act 3:

act 5:

[mrs-gauche]

I beat Veilguard.

It's 4am. I'm a mess. I'm in tears.

[black-and-yellow]

Ingenue

Reel it in.

(NB even though this reads right to left, the pages are ordered so that they will be in order when scrolled through on full screen)

[good--merits-accumulated]

going through some old left-for-dead projects and just found this one where I was like. INTENT on dissecting jeff's brain on the operating table (i.e. google docs) but only from todd's weird skewed pov

[professor voice] it's about brothers as eternal combatants and it's about being so convinced of your own goodness you excuse your shitty actions. it's also about comparing yourself to a dog because you feel less fully formed than your brother. lol.

[hershelwidget]

IT'S EMMA ANGST HOURS

you know, I've written an awful lot of female/feminine characters that are treated harshly or without respect from their male/masculine counterparts. Emma is probably the biggest example of this, where she, the "only girl" in her Gup group, is often scolded like she's a child or protected from the outside world because she's too "fragile" and "weak". boy I sure hope this doesn't mirror past experiences i've had as someone who's grown up as a girl and OH WAIT IT DOES

The most tragic part of it is, no matter how much Emma tries to hold her own, she's just not able to get to that level of independence that other characters like Rosemary and Polly have, or hell, even Dashi and Tweak from the actual source material

Emma's the most held-back character I've probably ever written, period, and ESPECIALLY the most held-back lady

She's held down by her own self-confidence some of the time, but most of that is direct result of the constant misogyny, babying, and general disrespect by the people she's closest to. Regardless of if them mean it or not, it's still disrespect

[lady-alayne]

Hello darling! It's been a long time but I just want to say hi and I hope you're well! I'm starting my masters program in two weeks and I just wanted to share that! Sending much love! 💕💕

Omg that's great! :) Good luck with your studies! 🎉