#like you can connect him to so many parts of the story despite how small his actual role is just bc of his connections and abilities

[daz4i]

they need to release more ratio content so i can write more semi coherent theories and add more inconsequential details to the masked fool ratio evidence folder inside my head

[essycogany]

Small Things Can Make Big Differences 🩷

Hi, Fans Of Amy Rose!

This is my opinion and we don’t know what could happen between now and Sonic Movie 3. Anyone can disagree. I’m 100% fine with that and this isn’t going to tarnish my enjoyment of the film at all, but I’ve got to get this off my chest. I’d love to see Amy Rose in Sonic Movie 3 and would be disappointed if she wasn’t in it. Yeah, she’d probably not have a HUGE role or time to develop as much. I get it, but at the same time, I personally don’t think we should shy away from characters having small arcs.

Tails had one in Sonic Movie 2 and I wouldn’t say the movie would’ve been better without him. I don’t think we should have to justify a main character like Amy who’s existed before KNUCKLES (and debatably Tails) being in a movie about her own franchise. We shouldn’t have to wait a whole year for it either. Stuff takes time sure, but other movies with Pokémon, the Avengers, Mario, My Little Pony G4, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and many others did it and did it well for the most part. Most of these have tons of characters that they wasn’t afraid to show in one movie. Characters with smaller roles still impacted the movies and in a memorable way too. We shouldn’t be so timid in bringing Sonic characters in Sonic movies. They’re just as marketable as these other franchises. The successes of the Sonic trilogies proved that.

Without Amy or other characters it doesn’t feel as full as it could be. Not saying we should’ve got all of them from the get go but a little more would be nice.

I’m saying this respectfully but that doesn’t make sense especially if we have enough time to flesh out the human core characters/side characters who aren’t even part of the main franchise and not the ones most audiences came to see in the first place. I’m neutral and understand both critiques and defenses so you can decide where to go to on that.

Back to before, you don’t need long drawn out character development in order to be written well. Tails turned out fine despite his small role. Heck, Amy’s roles in the GAMES were usually small but not less impactful because of it. Amy practically helped save the entire world with her “small roles” and one for an emotional and impactful moment with Shadow. Even small things can make big differences and that’s one lesson you can learn from Amy.

Amy’s interactions with Gamma in SA1 impacted the robot to the point of him sacrificing himself to free a Bird he needed to stay alive.

Amy believed in Sonic when the whole world (or Silver) was against him in Sonic 06.

Amy showed kindness to Sonic as the Werehog and gave her closest friend encouragement. She still loved him regardless of how he looked.

There’s more examples, but these are the most well known. Do you notice how most of them were small actions or small moments of development in small roles. And still managed to make Amy a wonderful character while impacting the stories?

I’ll also just show this too.

Also, don’t worry about her stealing time from Shadow. The film’s called Sonic Movie 3 not Shadow The Hedgehog. He can share the spotlight. Knuckles did in SM2. There’s no excuse in my opinion.

The movie doesn’t have to have Amy and wouldn’t be worse without her, but I think we shouldn’t overlook her importance to the franchise even if what she does is small. Or feel bad for being more aware of what little we get in these movies. It’s okay to admit certain flaws. Nothing’s perfect and not above criticism as long as we’re respectful about it. And for the kiddies who would like to see a cartoony animal girl character for the first time in these films, Amy would be a fantastic way to start.

Amy debuting in Sonic 3 and interacting with the boys would be a lovely way of establishing that close connection between the core four of the franchise. They’d literally have the definition of love at their sides. Again, small changes can make big differences. That’s all I have to say. Now I’m going to continue to be excited for the 3rd Sonic movie.

[residenthughes]

coming home - connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem! reader

word count: 11k

tags/warning: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of alcohol/drinking, minor swearing

summary: your entire life has entailed having connor by your side, no matter where the universe carves your paths. back home for the summer leading up to your final year of university, there's much to ponder - even your own feelings about your best friend.

notes: this is genuinely a labour of love, the longest fic i've written in a long time 😭 i wanted this to be short and sweet, but it's long and sweet and i don't know how to feel about that lmao. but (!!!) i am really proud/happy about how this has come together and i hope you all enjoy this fic just as much as i loved writing it 😇 this is mostly proofread, but it is 5 in the morning, so I'll return to this soon! (apologizes for any errors towards the end!) more dewey content shall be coming soon, hehe! much love! <333

(also! this is very much in celebration of dewey's first goal as a leaf, teehee! 😁💗⭐️)

Summer’s always your favourite time of the year. Tan lines, midnight drives, fireworks, the beach. So much sweetness is in the breezy summer air and you simply can’t get enough. You wouldn’t admit it, but your favourite part of the season is when one of your closest friends, Connor, comes up from his gruelling hockey season and returns to the slow and laid-back lifestyle of your small town. Having grown up next door neighbours the majority of your lives, you quickly became two peas in a pod, always together with laughter following closeby.

Your friendship is something you’ve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as you’ve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.

Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, he’s achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how it’s meant to be.

And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judy’s doors any minute now.

Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”

Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. “Who said anything about worrying?”

She rolls her eyes, unamused. “You know what I mean,”

Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. “Besides, you know him. Knowing you’re here, he’s tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.”

A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. “He’s a law-abiding citizen, he’ll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. “Oh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!”

Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. It’s like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.

“Get a room, you two!” Connor’s brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as you’re reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.

You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connor’s pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes you’ve known your entire life.

“Hi.” you breathe, short and sweet.

He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, “hi.”

It’s a simple greeting, but there’s so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each other’s presence that’s long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, there’s a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connor’s brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.

“Come on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.” His brother argues, an eye roll your response.

Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?” Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.

“Hey! We’re well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I don’t think so.” Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. You’re severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,” concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.

Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyone’s faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. “Are you hearing this right now?”

“Look, Q - we’ve been over this,” you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. “You’ve been fed dolphin propaganda. We’ve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.”

Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. “Bro! A little help would be nice.”

A brief pause follows his younger brother’s melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadn’t been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.

“Hello?!” hollers Quinn.

You swear he loves to hear himself talk.

“They’re right,” Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. “Personally, I think you’ve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.”

“The promised land of dolphin propaganda.” mentions Charlotte.

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brother’s arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. “What happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They don’t have that in Minnesota or what?”

Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.”

Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. “I forget you’re my harshest critic.”

Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brother’s squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.

“You’re just mad I won’t kiss your ass.”

That earns him a shove off Quinn’s shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before you’re delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives they’ve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.

The cobalt sky dazzles with stars you’ve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owen’s back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connor’s as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, “Since when did you know about dolphin propaganda?”

You gasp, humour shaping your lips. “Well, you’ve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, so…”

“Hey, I’m just saying - was I wrong?” the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.

“Considering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didn’t think so.”

You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You can’t help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connor’s, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

You let your head fall to Connor’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.

-

Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didn’t know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, you’re knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.

What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, you’re exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your family’s backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.

“That was great and all, but that’s knocked me out,” Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. “That was more tiring than hockey practice.”

You’re tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. “Remember when we’d watch movies in that treehouse?”

A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. “Yeah, I’d always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.”

You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connor’s strong and firm one.

“Says the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,” you counter, “And, Let it Shine.”

Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, “kissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?”

Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connor’s chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. “My girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.”

To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend who’s so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. “Can you not?”

“You’re just hating 'cause I sing better than you.” He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.

However, the silence doesn’t last long before you’re speaking again.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you observe, fingertips dancing along Connor’s nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. “You should let me cut it.”

“Name a time and place, and I’ll be there,” he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. “Unless you fuck it up. Then, I won’t forgive you.”

You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard work’s start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.

“One of my friends from my team’s supposed to be coming up for a night or two,” Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summer’s day pecking your skin in an act of love. “Think…you’ll all get along with him quite well.”

His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connor’s. You don’t even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. “It’ll be good - the visit…and the rest of summer.”

Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.

-

Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler she’s used since the dawn of time.

“Up and at ‘em, kids. Dinner’s ready!” in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.

With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how there’s no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After you’ve done the washing up and Connor’s hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, he’s climbing into his car and wishing you well.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up from Mabel’s?” coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.

“I’m good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,” a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. “We all know how long that takes.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Connor simpers, says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and like it doesn’t demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.

You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connor’s car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. “Goodbye, Connor.”

“See you soon.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.

It’s when you’re strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.

She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. “So good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when he’s away.”

Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Mother’s day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?

“Can’t imagine how much more you miss him whilst you’re away.” she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.

“Well, we try to meet up when we can, so it’s not too bad,” your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. “…Is that why you called me down?”

Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.

She’s looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. “Maybe, I can’t really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. There’s a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.”

It’s a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadn’t been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. It’s a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbour’s golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.

Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before you’re tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judy’s, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.

Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.

“Beer not to your liking, sugar?” A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.

You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, he’s stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, you’d-

“Like what you see?”

The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.

Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.

“Coming from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,” you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. “How flirtatious you are.”

You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.

“Give me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,” he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you don’t know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. “Tequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.”

You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, he’s some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judy’s weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.

Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. “You don’t quit, don’t you?”

He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. It’s when he’s about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.

Connor’s voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judy’s cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.

“Dew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.” Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.

Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connor’s adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, they’re acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.

“The lady in bows is my best friend,” Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. “This is Brandon, or Dewey One.”

Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connor’s close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he can’t win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.

Of. Course.

“Dewey One?” you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.

Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.

“Brandon’s just fine,” he interjects, expression unassuming as Connor’s eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Normally, you’d wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.

“Come on,” Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. “Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.

“I ain’t no quitter, sugar.”

-

The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.

A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connor’s sage eyes. “You ready for Judy’s Line Dance?”

His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. “You say that like I don’t do this every time I come back.”

“Yeah, but if you were ready then, you would’ve brought your cowboy hat,” comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. “What? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?”

He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. “They're my favourite accessories.”

Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.

Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.

“Yeah, you’re almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. They’re real cute.”

For a fact you know so well, Connor’s confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldn’t have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and you’re struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.

You look away, even more flustered than before.

It’s just your luck when you hear Judy’s tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, you’re more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.

“If you ain’t shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.” Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.

Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. There’s always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, it’s never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. You’re still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. It’s a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and you’re not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.

“Kick butt out there, rockstar.” His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.

It’s small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.

As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.

It’s only when you’ve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.

When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, it’s your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man who’d bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.

Brandon’s expression is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Who says the night has to end here, sugar?” His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.

A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. You’re about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.

“Put this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?”

It’s so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but he’s trying and that’s what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.

You haven’t had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, there’s no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.

In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihanna’s ‘S&M’, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.

“You and Connor don’t do this much, do you?” he queries.

“You kidding me? Connie has two left feet, I’d be left for dead if it wasn’t for Charlotte.” You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.

“Good thing I’m here tonight.” jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because you’re tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.

Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, you’re caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotte’s) straw hat’s fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and you’ve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.

You’re looking in each other’s eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and it’s just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if you’re in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.

“One night and one night only.”

The sentence sends shivers down your spine and you’re pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You don’t really find their footing after that.

The rest of your time at Punch & Judy’s passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your group’s loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before he’s whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyone’s next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotte’s sentiment and if it isn’t enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, you’re yelling and shaking each other’s shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.

Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, you’re being squeezed into the back of Owen’s pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most they’ve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.

“How you holdin’ up, champ?” Connor’s low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.”

The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parents’ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.

You’re cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. “One of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. “You and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.”

A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because there’s an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone you’ve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.

“He’s nice,” you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as you’re subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. “You were right about him fitting right in with us.”

There’s a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you don’t know what to do with them otherwise.

It’s only when you’ve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. “Yeah..I guess I just didn’t know how well.”

You’re about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owen’s suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. You’re about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.

“I got it.” Brandon’s husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.

You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connor’s house.

How is it always the two of you left alone?

“Let’s head in, it’s chilly out here.” suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandon’s large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.

Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connor’s house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connor’s house, hallways and framed pictures you’ve committed to memory. When you’ve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.

“There you two are,” announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. “Everyone’s out back - apparently, Quinn’s out back too.”

You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connor’s doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage you’ve impulsively floated in. Once you’re outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.

“That boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?” Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.

“You laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, don’t come running to me.” responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.

You’re about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ve got your cider here,” alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. “Blankets are on the chairs too.”

It’s embarrassing how much you want to melt into this man’s arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.

Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst you’re mildly awake, you don’t miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didn’t exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didn’t look your way every time Connor’s hand would play with the bows in your hair.

-

Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than you’d like.

“Take care, Lady in bows,” Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. “Don’t give Dewey a hard time. He’ll come round.”

For a split second, you’re eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connor’s name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connor’s within earshot. Thankfully, he’s in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like he’s been told a secret.

It’s as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. There’s no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. “You think so?”

You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. It’s unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability you’ve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.

“I’d bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.” Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.

So, he’s serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thanks, Brandon,” you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. “Don’t go fighting no alligators.”

“We can only hope,” Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyone’s attention. “I’m hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connor’s house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.

The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. You’re distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that you’re so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.

Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.

He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, “I think I’ve finally out-conned the concessionaires.”

You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. “Thank you, Con.”

“Don’t mention it.” a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.

After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You don’t reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.

“Wait, isn’t that…?”

As Quinn’s voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connor’s ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.

They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you can’t look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because she’s still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like she’s won the lottery. In all fairness, her life’s been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because she’s such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.

You’re too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you don’t notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connor’s figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions that’ll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before he’s jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.

“What was that about?” Quinn just has to ask.

“Oh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,” he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you don’t dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. “She says hi, by the way.”

You don’t do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.

-

A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your master’s personal statement and running every errand you’ve been procrastinating. Your parents swear you’ve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.

It’s the first time someone’s pursued her with such sincerity and charm that she’s hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesn’t mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldn’t be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.

Emotional anguish and so much fear you’re not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you don’t want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before you’re finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.

He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.

Apparently, your shaky hands don’t make for good playing material.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?” notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.

“This is different.” you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didn’t mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life he’s lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didn’t send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.

“What d’ya mean?” he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.

So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. “This, Connor. Being like this…with you.”

That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and you’re forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth that’s followed you all these years and you’ve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, that’s all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.

You’re facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.

A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. You’re back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.

“Don’t you think,” you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. “-this summer has been different?”

His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. “Is this because it’s your last summer before you graduate?”

Connor’s got a point. When you’re trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules you’ll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things you’d like to cross off your list before you’re forced into full fledged adulthood. It’s a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.

“Partially, but,” you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. “This is what’s been on my mind more than anything else.”

Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as there’s daylight.

There’s a beat before you hear Connor’s voice again. “What about us?”

Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connor’s bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.

“Connor, I..” It’s as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. You’ve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.

“We’ve been friends our entire lives. I don’t know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,” his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. “Maybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I don’t know. But, what I do know is that I just couldn’t leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that means…”

You don’t have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isn’t worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk you’re not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times you’re second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.

A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh you’re undecided where it derives from.

“…Are you laughing at me right now?” You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, you’ve just been as vulnerable as you’ve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.

At your question, Connor’s huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. “God, no. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“You used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,” an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

He seems…happy? Relieved? You’re not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that there’s no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because that’s all you’d have to see to know where his heart lies.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes you’ve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that you’ve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.

“Good,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. “Because, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Not by a long shot.”

You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where you’ve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone who’s seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because he’s seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your lover’s lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his iris’ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because it’s long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.

The story of you and him, a tale as old as time.

[robinsegghead]

Danny's Daycare Part 4

 [Master List]

Mrs. Bianchi hadn’t been lying when she’d said he would see an influx in children. Within a week of visiting her, he had seven more kids, a total of thirteen. He definitely needed to hire some help- he couldn’t keep duplicating without exhausting his powers and despite Ember’s help, they wouldn’t be able to handle thirteen kids on their own. He could afford to hire help with all the money the Ghost King apparently had.

            “Danny!” A happy little shriek sounded from across the room, quickly growing closer. A small body crashed into his leg and a little ‘oomph’ came from the child who fell to the floor. “Danny! Look! Look, look!” Maru, an unusually energetic four-year-old, shoved a picture she’d drawn towards his face.

            The picture was of two stick figures, the smaller one was crying, and the bigger one was… comforting her? “Wow, Maru! It’s really creative!” He nodded sincerely. “Who’s that?” He pointed to the bigger stick person, assuming the smaller one was her.

            She sighed dramatically. “That’s you silly! Cause I was sad being left home alone all day but now I don’t have to cause mommy said you’re good!”

            He masked the frown that threatened to overtake his face when she mentioned being left alone all day. She didn’t want him to be sad, she wanted him to appreciate her art and reassure her that he’d be around for a while, so she didn’t have to be alone. So that’s what he did. “I like having you around too, Maru!” Her story was just like Marco’s. How many other parents left their children home alone all day just so they could afford to put food on the table?

            A little bell rang alerting him to someone standing in the entrance. He glanced at his watch (which he’d connected to the very thorough security system) and saw a couple of parents waiting to pick their kids up.

            “Allegra! Tommy! Your parents are here!” The two kids groaned, both totally immersed in their activities and not wanting to be dragged away. “Five minutes okay?” He smiled, opening the door for Mrs. Reik and Mia. “They’re finishing up what they’re doing, I’ll grab their bags.”

            They’d fallen into a routine, he, and the parents. They would show up, give their children a few minutes to finish what they were doing, and he’d grab their bags (which he often slipped a book, toy, or snack into without their knowing). Tommy’s bag was a little worn down and he made a mental note of the brand and color so he could replace it.

            When he made his way back to the two women they were each holding a child. “Danny are you still looking for help?” Mia asked, shifting Allegra on her hip.

            He nodded brightly. “Yeah, I haven’t had much time to look, and I don’t know many people yet, so it’s been difficult. If you’re interested or know someone who is, let me know!”

            Mrs. Reik thanked him, grabbed her son’s bag, and was on her way, but Mia lingered.

            “Do you have applications or…?” She trailed off, embarrassment clinging to her frame.

            He nodded, considering the tired look on her face. “I do. It’s mostly a formality,” he moved towards his filing cabinet and pulled out some papers. “and so I can run a background check and such. Do you have experience with kids?”

            She shifted Allegra pointedly. “Mama and- and papa were always working. I raised this one and Georgie too. Now that papa is… anyway, mama needs a little help with money and my schooling’s all online, so I was going to start working anyway.”

            “Well, fill this out, I’ll run the check, and we should be able to get you working real soon.” The bell rang alerting him to another parent. “You have my number if you have any questions.”

            After Mia left most of the parents arrived with the exception of only a few who worked much later. Danny’s daycare was open from seven thirty to six -which was, admittedly, a very long time. But he wanted to be as available as he could for families in need. With Mia’s help he wouldn’t feel so worn down at the end of his eleven-hour day. 

            And worn down he was. When he got back to his apartment he didn’t even realize it had been infiltrated. Usually he would notice something like that immediately, but Ancients he was tired. So tired he didn’t even react when his eyes finally landed on the vigilantes in his living room. He added two more to his list of people who’d managed to sneak up on him and also a mental note to brush up on his observational skills.

            “Oh. Hey.” He nodded slightly, dropping his bag on the ground and crouching to pet the cats, noting Curiosity’s energy. Good, the medicine was working. “Give me a second,” The vigilantes squinted, looking between each other in confusion. “I need coffee.” One of them nodded in understanding, the other sighed dramatically. “You guys want anything?”

            “Coffee sounds great.” The red one responded. Red Robin, his subconscious provided.

            “Agent A banned you from coffee, Red. “The purple one -Spoiler- groaned.

            Red shrugged. “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him- or me. Besides, he offered, it’d be rude to turn him down!”

            Deciding this argument had nothing to do with him, Danny began brewing a fresh pot, poured two mugs, and grabbed a water bottle. Returning to the living room he found Red examining his pictures of him and his Fraid, and Purple collapsed into his couch. “You didn’t ask for anything, so I got you water. It’s still sealed.”

            She looked touched, grabbing the bottle, unsealing it, and taking a tentative sip. Red didn’t hesitate when grabbing the coffee and taking a large gulp, not even wincing at how hot it was.

            “So. What can I do for you guys?” He collapsed into the armchair across from Purple and began sipping on the coffee. Gross, he should have added sugar.

            Red squinted. “You don’t seem terribly shocked about our presence.”

            Danny shrugged, tiredly. “Hey man, it’s Gotham. I would have been annoyed that you guys broke my four-month streak of not running into any vigilantes or rogues except Nightwing ruined that streak a few nights ago so…”

            “You ran into Nightwing?” Red asked.

            Before Danny could answer, Spoiler spoke up. “What the hell’s going on with your pants?”

            He glanced down, considering the right leg of his jeans which, he now noticed, was covered in doodles, and sighing. “I should know better than to wear my nicer jeans to work, huh? Allegra probably did that while I wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, as fun as this is, I’m sure you didn’t come here for refreshments and conversation?”

            “Actually, that’s exactly why we’re here.” Red Robin placed his now empty mug on the coffee table (seriously, how did he drink it that fast? It’s literally a thousand degrees!) and sat beside Spoiler. “Just wanted to get to know the new guy in the Bowery.”

            Danny snorted, taking another sip before closing his eyes and tilting his face towards the ceiling. “More like, you wanted to get to know the guy who is doing a good thing for seemingly nothing in return and wondering if it’s a front or if he’s a rogue in the making. Am I right?” He slid one eye open and took in their surprised faces. “I’m not an idiot, I know what I’m doing is going to raise some questions. It took forever to get anyone in the community to trust me.”

            “So-”

            “Who’s your mystery donor?” Spoiler asked, cutting Red Robin off.

            He smirked. “You’re looking at him.”

            Tucker had added an egregiously wealthy relative to Danny’s backstory when recreating him. He’d forged a death certificate, a will, bank transfer’s, a charge for cremation and an urn, everything one could need to convince the world that his money was earned in a normal way and not through combat for a ghost throne. He even displayed the urn on a bookshelf in his living room.

            The two vigilantes stared, glancing at the run-down apartment, and back to him. “No really, who is it?” Red asked.

            Danny rolled his eyes. “I have a pretty big inheritance, just using it for something good. No one would trust me if I told them it was me though, definitely makes me seem like a rogue out to traffic their kids or something. Which,” He looked at them pointedly. “is not the case. I’m just doing what I can as a favor for a friend.”

            “Pretty big favor.” Purple whistled.

            “Yeah, and I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have free time. But after finishing my bachelor’s and not needing to work, I was getting bored.” Technically, that was only partially true. Danny still spent more than his fair share of time working in the Infinite Realms as their king. But they didn’t need to know that.

            The vigilantes looked at each other skeptically before Red spoke again. “You decided to open up an entirely free daycare, paying for everything out of pocket, as a favor to someone because you were bored?”

            He shrugged.

            “No matter how much money you have that’s not sustainable!” Red threw his hands up in the air.

Danny considered this for a moment, taking another drink. “You know Bruce Wayne?” The two froze only for a moment, so short that it would be hard to catch unless you had experience reading people’s micro expressions. Which he did. “The amount of money I have makes Bruce Wayne look impoverished by comparison. That’s not a brag, it’s disgusting, and I’m trying to get rid of it. So. There. I can keep this daycare running for the rest of my life without putting a dent in my inheritance.”

            “How the hell do you have that much money!?” Purple shouted.

            “Listen, Purple, can I call you purple? I’ve been calling you Purple in my head this whole time, you didn’t exactly introduce yourselves.” Sure, he knew her name was Spoiler, but she didn’t need to know that. “Anyway, Purple, I inherited the money, don’t ask me how I have so much, ask the guy who gave it to me- well, you can’t, I guess, cause he’s dead, but that’s not the point.” He paused, realizing he’d been going several sentences without breathing which was definitely suspicious. “I have a shit ton of money; my friend raised me better than to be a rich capitalist scumbag so I’m doing my best to make her not hate me for my wealth.”

            Maybe that would be enough breadcrumbs to keep them busy for a while and off his back. He was rich, he inherited it from someone who was dead, he had a friend who hated the rich, he might as well give them his social security number and childhood home address while he was at it! Tucker could find someone more mysterious with less.

            He heard the distinct voice of a woman coming from their ears (probably a comm?). “You two done with RR’s weird obsession? We have actual crime to deal with.” It was an amused but stern voice, and it reminded him of Jazz the few times she’d joined Tucker on his comms.

            Red was grumbling something, but Purple seemed amused. “Well… I’m Spoiler, but Purple is fine too I suppose. Aaaaaand while this has been -fun- and all, we should probably get going. Thank you for answering our questions and for the drinks. Sorry for breaking into your apartment.”

            He grunted in response, the exhaustion of the day seeping into his weary bones. The sound of his window sliding open and shut signaled their departure and while he had intended to take a shower and eat dinner, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. This daycare thing was a lot more exhausting than he’d thought it would be.

            The thought he’d been having on and off since opening the place up reappeared. How long was he planning to keep this up? He’d done it all on a whim and by the time he realized what he was doing, it was done. He was now the (maybe proud?) owner of a free daycare in the middle of the Bowery and also the king of the infinite realms and how long was he going to be able to do both?

            Hiring Mia would help (would he be able to explain Lunch Lady and Ember?) but he had had so many ideas on how to help Gotham, he wanted to do it all. While he wasn’t a true Gothamite, hadn’t grown up here, had barely been here a few months, he’d grown to like the rough city, this wasn’t simply a favor to Lady Gotham anymore. It was something he really wanted to do. The people here needed help; he could provide it.

            Teaching some classes at Gotham U could be interesting but he hadn’t decided if he wanted to or not. He already had so much on his plate, could he really add something as big as teaching college level classes? And if he did want to teach, would his teaching be better off at Gotham U or maybe a younger level? If he could hire enough trustworthy people to watch over the daycare and run it themselves, he could work on some of this other plans for Gotham.

            Their education was extremely lacking anywhere that wasn’t Gotham Academy (for rich snobs) and he’d double majored in Engineering and Biochemistry, surely his knowledge would be useful to teenagers?

            Great. If he followed his usual pattern of following through on whatever whims he had, he was likely to build a whole Ancients damned school in the Narrows next. Although…. It would help with the exorbitant wealth thing….

~~~

            Danny had definitely prepared for messes. He’d stocked his cabinets with different cleaning supplies and tools for all kinds of spills. He’d expected food, drinks, and bodily fluids, but he didn’t have a cleaning product to get melted crayon out of carpets- he didn’t even know how Allegra had managed to melt the crayon!

            It hadn’t been that big of a deal, honestly, but the carpets were new, and Danny liked when the place looked organized (the same could not be said for his apartment or bedroom) and the large dark red stain on the light blue path of the carpet looked suspiciously like blood which was not a good look for the daycare.

            That was how Danny found himself searching the convenience store down the street for some kind of cleaning product for melted crayons. It was only after he’d gone to three convenience/grocery stores in the area that he decided he would make the trip across the river to the Upper East Side and search one of the ‘nicer’ stores.

            Despite his desire to get rid of his wealth, he didn’t like shopping at the fancier stores in the area, for the same reason he didn’t live in a penthouse in the Diamond District. He couldn’t help Gotham without putting himself in the shoes of her people. And while he wasn’t truly in their shoes (being an incredibly wealthy king meant he’d never truly understand their suffering) he also refused to live lavishly.

            But he really wanted to get the red crayon out of his carpets. There were… so many cleaning products. Staring at the shelves, Danny began mentally crossing out each one he knew wouldn’t work before picking up individual bottles and checking what they were meant for. It took a long time. He was only halfway through the search when he felt someone approaching.

            An older man in a suit of some sort (who goes grocery shopping in a suit?) stopped a few steps away, picking up a couple of cleaning products and placing them in his cart. He began to move away before stopping once more.

           “I noticed you seem unsure about the cleaning products. Perhaps I could be of assistance?” His tone was polite, but Danny felt a blush spread across his cheeks anyways. He was supposed to be a responsible adult, but he couldn’t even find a cleaning product correctly.

           Nodding appreciatively, Danny faced the man. “I need to get melted crayon out of a carpet and apparently my closet of cleaning supplies wasn’t prepared for that.”

          The man nodded. “That sounds like quite the mess.” He plucked a bottle from the shelf that Danny had yet to look at. “This will do the trick. Pour a generous amount onto the affected area, let it sit for fifteen minutes, then scrub it out, repeat, and rinse.”

          Danny grinned. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’m Danny.” He offered the man a hand.

          “Alfred Pennyworth, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

          They shook hands before Danny stepped away. “Well this is all I needed and I’ve gotta get back to take care of this as soon as possible. I really appreciate your help Mr. Pennyworth.”

          “I’m glad I could help you. Have an enjoyable evening, Mr. Danny.”

          And an enjoyable evening he had. Once he’d gotten back to the daycare, Danny managed to scrub out the stain (Thank you Mr. Pennyworth) until the carpet looked almost good as new and definitely not like blood had been spilled on it. Afterwards he made his way home with a bit more energy in his step than he was used to.

           Jazz had insisted on Danny having one of those large family calendars due to his crazy schedule and tonight being a Thursday night meant it was time to plan out the following weekend and week after. Things were generally the same every week- Daycare from seven thirty to six, Monday through Friday, the evenings were spent recharging, Saturdays he slept in and went to the Infinite Realms from eleven to eleven, Sunday mornings he got brunch with Jazz, Sunday nights was the group call with Tucker, Sam, Val, and Jazz, and then it repeated.

           But he hadn’t made it to the soup kitchen in a while and he had really enjoyed volunteering there while the daycare was under construction so tomorrow he was going to get up early, go to the Realms from six to six and make it back in time to help with the dinner crowd. He hadn’t seen the two brothers in a few weeks but there were few days he didn’t think about them.

~~~

            Mia was an incredibly helpful addition to the daycare and Danny thanked the Ancients she was so reliable. Although he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her entirely alone at any point throughout the day, he did get to take a few hours in the afternoon to get paperwork done in his office while she watched over the kids. On busier days he wouldn’t even do that. They had eight kids every day, guaranteed, but there were many families with less regular schedules that would drop their kids off once or twice a week and on those days, Danny wouldn’t leave Mia alone for even a moment.

            The best part about her was that she didn’t ask questions. She’d taken one look at Lunch Lady, paused, looked at the menu, nodded, and didn’t say a word. When Ember introduced herself Mia acted as though it were a completely normal situation, completely ignoring the green/gray skin and getting to work.

            She didn’t work the entire day, he couldn’t (and wouldn’t) ask her to stay for an almost twelve-hour shift. She came in around nine in the morning and left around three, taking Allegra with her. When he told her how much he’d be paying her she nearly had a heart attack, but working with children was a difficult and demanding job and he refused to underpay her for her work.

            “Hey boss, you looking for more help around here?” She asked in the middle of cleaning up for naptime on an unusually busy Friday afternoon.

            He dumped his armful of toys into the bin and pushed his hair out of his face. He really needed a haircut. “Yeah. Your help has been great, but I’m hoping to eventually have enough people here that I don’t have to actually be here all day every day anymore, you know?” She nodded thoughtfully. “You have someone in mind?”

            She wiped down the tables still covered in crumbs from snack time and took a moment before responding. “I have a friend who mentioned an interest. He doesn’t live around here but he’s a friend. I’ve known him a long time, he’s good people.”

            He shrugged. “Give him an application and I’ll look it over. And if you’ve got more friends like that, feel free to give them applications too. Like I said, I’m looking to hire quite a few people. Although, I’d like to hire people slowly, make sure everyone gets trained well and gets along before hiring another person.”

            She hummed in agreement and at the end of her shift took three application packets, stuffing them into Allegra’s backpack before picking the girl up and toting her away. Mrs. Reik was the last person to pick her son up that day and she ended up staying a bit to chat.

            “I can’t tell you how helpful your daycare has been for our family.” She started, a sentiment that many of the parents had conveyed to him many times. “I was wondering if you’d like to come by for dinner sometime, so we can properly thank you?” Her offer was shy, slightly guarded, but definitely genuine.

            He smiled, hoping to put her at ease. He’d been told that his smiles could be unnerving (too many teeth) so he channeled all the appreciation he could into this one while still keeping it small. “I would love to, Mrs. Reik.”

            “Oh please, call me Diane. Would next Friday work? My husband will be home all day with Tommy, and he makes a mean lasagna.”

            As long as his food didn’t come back to life, he wasn’t too picky about it. “That sounds great. The daycare is open until six, is seven all right?”

            “That’s perfect. Thank you again, Mr. Nightingale.”

            “Please, if I’m going to call you Diane, you can call me Danny.”

            Apparently, Jazz was right, making friends wasn’t so difficult. The formula was as easy as opening a free daycare, putting yourself out there, befriending every person you meet so they spread the word about you and your business, and working twelve hours a day five days a week chasing after energetic demons. Easy.

~~~

            The good part about being able to open portals to the Infinite Realms was that he didn’t need to wake up extra early to get to work. He rolled out of bed (which he’d actually made it to before taking one of his power naps, thank Ancients) at 6:02 in the morning, ripped open a portal, transformed, and BAM! He was at work.

            Stepping directly into his office (seriously he needed to get rid of a few offices how did he have so many?), he settled in for a few hours of paperwork before taking a break. He had quite a few requests to schedule a time to spar which he scheduled first- putting those off only meant his rogues would come find him and he didn’t want to explain to Gotham why he was fighting ghosts- before moving onto other matters.

            The Observants knew not to bother Danny in his office after an incident where Danny had refused to do work for a day for every disturbance he received. It was a three weeklong strike that finally ended in them leaving him alone and Danny eventually catching up on his paperwork.

            Three hours later he experienced a moment he thought he’d never see. There wasn’t any paperwork on his desk. He was free! Free! Standing up in the hopes to leave the Infinite Realms early, a pile of paperwork materialized in front of him.

            “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

            Collapsing back into his chair, Danny regretted every moment of his miserable life. He just had to stop Pariah from destroying the world, didn’t he? But guess what, Danny? No world, no paperwork! He could be nonexistent right now, oblivion, dead, but instead, he was half dead and one hundred percent responsible for copious amounts of paperwork.

            There would be no rest for the dead it seemed.

Prev. Next

[merakiui]

thinking about yandere!scaramouche & somnophilia.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, non-con)

it starts small at first. feeling your heart through the soft cloth of your clothes. tracing your pulse through your wrist or your neck. sometimes you’ll stir under his careful touch, and he’ll draw back briefly, wondering if you’d be unnerved to see him looming over you in the dark, indigo irises glinting. but then you’ll resign yourself to deep slumber once again and he’s free to continue counting your heartbeats. he does this every night (or he tries to do it every night). the nights in which you travel are often restless. you’ll stay up late tending to the fire, assembling resources you gathered throughout the day, drying your clothes if you happened to get caught in a rainstorm and couldn’t get to shelter quick enough. scaramouche’s favorite nights are the ones spent in the serenitea pot because there are no outside interruptions. it’s just you and him inside this comfortable slice of space. 

at some point, feeling your heartbeat and knowing of when your dreams are good and bad isn’t enough. he’s heard many stories while traveling alongside you, passing through bustling cities, quaint villages, lively ports, where he happens to eavesdrop on bits and pieces of scattered conversations. he overhears stories of marriage, stories of the miracle that is childbirth, and the grousings of weary sailors, fishermen, and merchants. perhaps these glimpses of human life are what make him think of the future and what such a thing looks like with you by his side. 

scaramouche browses the many books a merchant has to offer and opens one to a random page. it details a mystical kiss that woke someone from eternal slumber. it’s a childish notion—the mere idea that a kiss could hold such power is unbelievably foolish. still, scaramouche finds himself purchasing the book with you in mind. he admires the pretty cover while you haggle prices with a fruit vendor. he’d like to try kissing.

and when he’s certain you’ve fallen asleep and he checks your even heartbeat, he leans in to press his lips against yours. the first few times are merely experimental. you don’t wake like the character in the novel. in fact, you hardly stir. scaramouche feels incredibly let down. the book lied and raised his hopes for nothing. so he kisses your cheek and then your forehead, but neither have the same effect. nothing feels as intimate as lip-on-lip connection. so he kisses you again, awkwardly, sloppily, and when you stir he retreats so fast he kicks himself for acting so silly. 

the next night he kisses you it’s with more confidence. your lips are always so soft and warm. you look so peaceful when he studies your sleeping expression. sometimes your lips are parted; sometimes you drool. sometimes you lay sprawled. sometimes you’re hugging a pillow. despite the many positions you assume, despite whatever you look like while sleeping, he still manages to kiss you. 

and at some point he finds himself growing bolder, falling into a risky habit. he wants to see how far he can go before you wake. so his lips trail down to your neck next, and he presses the softest, sweetest kisses along your pulse, feeling it thrum under his mouth. sometimes his teeth graze your flesh and he considers biting hard enough to leave a lasting mark, but he knows that would certainly wake you. so he rewards your sleeping form with plenty of gentle kisses. he’d never do such a thing if you were awake. you’d certainly think he’s grown soft around you, which is most certainly not true (a grand lie he tells himself, mind you). 

scaramouche wants to kiss your heart next. his fingers work deftly to slide your shirt up, cold hands holding your hips down, and he places his ear against that special space where your heart is enclosed, and he listens to your steady heartbeat. he’ll kiss that place a dozen times, cherishing every beat under a single kiss. and sometimes, without realizing it, his hand will entwine with yours and he’ll spend an hour above you, kissing nearly every inch of you: your heart, your throat, your shoulder, the space between your ribs. 

scaramouche learns rather quickly that your body reacts pleasantly to his lingering touches. and when he learns that your heart rate picks up when his hands wander and his kisses become more intimate and he slides his tongue along the softest spots on your body, he realizes your heart does more than simply pump blood and give life. it provides answers to unspoken questions.

the next time he kisses you it’s on your most private area, and he bullies this area the most with kisses and licks, his hands holding your thighs apart, while he listens to you whimper and whine softly in your sleep. he’s certain your dreams will always be pleasant if he’s constantly touching you every night. scaramouche loves every inch of you, down to the very heart that beats for him. only him. after all, there’s no one else who could possibly elicit such sweet sounds from your pretty, kissable lips. not that there would ever be anyone who could do such things to you. scaramouche won’t allow it. 

the next time he kisses you, your eyes flutter open. scaramouche has finally mastered the kiss that will wake his sleeping sweetheart. 

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Foresight (Daemon Targaryen x Reader) 

Summary: The only time modern reader actually uses her intuition and hits the nail right on the head. 

Warnings: I barely know by now. Smut. Fingering.  Oral sex (F receiving) Non-con/ Dub con. I mean, reader consents, but you have read this series. Pregnancy. 

A/N: And… It’s a wrap, folks! My first series. Think of this as the epilogue. As always, you can shout at me in my asks. 

Previous parts here.

There is a certain irony in this, you think. You were once someone of no importance in a world filled with millions of people. Then, you were a servant in the Middle Ages. Now, you are a Lady of a noble house, married to a Prince. 

Yet, it’s the first time you are held in such a way. A slightly longer chain than the one for your wrists connects your ankles together. Despite being in one of the highest positions a woman could be in these times, you have never had less freedom.  

Now it’s a new girl, delivering your food. No matter how hard you try, she never answers your questions about Mina or what is happening outside your rooms. You discover it is because she doesn’t have a tongue. And she is terrified of even looking at you, too. You wonder what Daemon has done to her. 

Was she born like that? Did another Lord punish her? Or worse. Did Daemon take her tongue? Trying to guess what happened to her is good entertainment. Unfortunately, you soon realize it frightens her too much when you speak to her. You wouldn’t want to cause her a heart attack, and so, you have to quit it. 

You feel like an asshole. But you are desperate for company, to get someone to speak to you. The hopelessness you first felt has started to feel much like realization. You are not leaving. You are stuck with Daemon. 

To keep your mind occupied, you try to remember as many details of the time you are living in. You start with the cutting of tongues as your inspiration. Someone did something similar in the show. You didn’t pay as much attention to the story as you would have if you had known it was going to become your life.  

But someone had. Surely. What was it, with Westeros, and the forceful taking of the organs? They cut hands, tongues, fingers, eyes. God. 

If you remembered something else, it could be useful. Unfortunately for you, you had been too fixated on how hot some people looked to follow subplots. The exercise is useless, but you start writing what you can remember on parchments and hiding them from your captor. 

You feel like you are going insane. The only thing you do is pace and read, pace and read, all day. Something is wrong with you. You feel strange, like you are wearing clothes a size too small. Uncomfortable. Cranky. Sensitive. Lonely. 

You read once, that human beings have more needs than just eat, sleep and shelter. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. People need to own things, they need friends and intimacy, they need purpose. Otherwise, bad things happen. 

Oh, but what? Could all your symptoms be explained by it? If you had a phone, you could look it up. Hell, even if it was the sixties, you could search it in a book. Not in the Middle Ages. Or well, Westeros. 

You long for Daemon’s company. He comes every afternoon and sits near the fireplace. You talk to him because there is nothing else to do. From time to time, you repeat that you are not a dreamer. He laughs. 

“You wouldn’t be this perfect for me if you weren’t.”

He is very cultured, and interesting. It's something you are desperately attracted to. It’s not only that you are now in what it’s effectively solitary confinement, no. Deeper than that. Just like Rhea, Daemon is one of the few people in the Runestone that can read. His mind is more open, he is less superstitious. Talking to him makes you less lonely. 

There is no way you can rationalize it, though. What you are doing is wrong. It’s a betrayal to Rhea, to someone you loved more than you could ever love him. But you are weak, too broken down by grief and fear to oppose him.  

You need someone to tell you everything will be alright. And Daemon makes sure he is available for the job. He fights off your loneliness when you ask him to. 

Sometimes, Daemon sits next to you on the bed and talks about Valyrian history or traditions. His tone is soft, and calming. His face lights up when you show an interest in the topic or ask questions that prove you are following his monologue. It’s like seeing an entirely different man. 

Before, you would have resented being babied in the way you are. Daemon treats you as if you were a little girl, one he entertains with tales and praises when she is good. Now, you crave the comfort of it. 

You still bathe together. Daemon never touches you, though. Not after the night you tried to escape. Sometimes, he just looks at you. You sit there, basking on the freedom of being able to move without the cuffs. You are no longer embarrassed of your nakedness. 

The chains frightened you, at first. You are not stupid. You are married to him, in chains and in a room bare except for the bed. What else would you think, if not rape? But Daemon was smarter than that. Insidious. Slowly, he had been coaxing you to let him touch you. At first, you squirmed like your pants were on fire when his hands were on your skin. Then, you had slowly come to accept it as part of your routine. And lately, to crave it. 

He had been conditioning into it, you are sure. First, the offers to tend to your wounds, then, massages to your sore ankles and wrists. It was a merely chemical thing, you tried reassuring yourself. Your brain had come to associate endorphins with his touch, and so, like an addict, you sought more. 

But you knew, it was no long now before you weren’t able to resist him. It was not a thing of physical strength. He wasn’t going to grab you and force you down. No. It was more complex than that. 

Daemon had acquired himself a dreamer, according to him. He was not keen on alienating you, but seducing you. He intended for you to be the one to come to him. Worst thing? You were so touch starved, and so lonely, it was working. Stockholm syndrome, surely. 

The next chain would be a child. It was the obvious thing to do, to keep control over the Vale and you. You would never leave if you were pregnant. What would you do, in your world, with a child that could potentially tame dragons and whose legal existence you couldn’t prove? It would surely be too late for abortion, and most probably, time would have passed. How to explain your disappearance? 

And of course, there is the fact that your body is rioting against your brain. No matter the phase of your cycle, you are perpetually horny. The smallest of touches or looks make your mind spiral, you daydream about sex and feel the urge to jump Daemon’s bones almost daily. 

Maybe there is some truth to whatever they are serving you. The milk and wine are always laced with spices, to make you more agreeable to his advances. At first, you thought it was silly, but by your current state, they seem to be working. You are desperate to be able to masturbate. But bound hands are not particularly useful. Besides, you have an inkling that’s not really what you want. 

Every night before bed, Daemon takes the cuffs off and lets you walk around your room. You make small laps around the room, sometimes he tries teaching you the dances people do at feasts. Then, he gets you ready for bed. 

Daemon rubs salve into your wrists and ankles. You don't ask him, but you know it has to have some aphrodisiacs on it. When his hands touch your skin, it feels electric. You knew aphrodisiacs existed in your world, even if they were fickle and old wives tales. But in a world where there is magic and dragons? Why not? 

Even if not, the whole thing is an assault on your senses. The room filled with incense and candles, the baths, the soft silky clothes. The silence. Usually, when people are not busy enough, they get horny, right?

Perhaps it's the mirror. There is one placed in your room for baths, once you are not on suicide watch. You see yourself for the first time in months, and nearly don’t recognize your reflection. Your hair is longer, falling messily down your back. The sheer shifts you wear, specially tailored for you, make you look put together and sensual.

Collarbones exposed, accentuated hips, bare arms. Botticelli’s Venus comes to life. The image arouses you. You feel naughty in all the right ways, sexy, desirable. 

Each night, Daemon’s hands rub the salve slightly higher. You find yourself yearning for his touch, anticipating the moments you will get with him. He massages your calves. Your forearms. He kisses your shoulders. You mewl, desperate. But Daemon doesn't do anything. 

You share secrets like they are oozing out of your pores. Aemond's birth. Criston Cole and Rhaenyra fucked. Lucerys. Joffrey. Harwin Strong. Alicent and the rat looking man. Daemon dutifully repeats them to Viserys. 

Were you meant to feel this way? You had never expected it, not in a million years. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff. Any second now, and you could plummet down. But what a fall it would be. 

Tonight, he is on his knees. Despite being in a dominant position, sitting on the edge of the bed, you don't feel powerful. Daemon has a way of entering a room and just making anyone else fade into the background. He overpowers anyone easily, by sheer presence alone. 

Daemon grabs your ankle and gently rubs at it, spreading the salve. He has said he doesn't want you to scar, or hurt. But your newest cuffs have padded interiors, making this whole act pointless. Neither of you voices it. 

You shiver. His hands massage your calves. 

“Daemon.” The first mistake. You have never, not once, called out his name before. It comes out soft and whiny, in a sweet whisper. 

“Should I stop, dreamer?” He gives you a coy look, as his fingers go higher and higher. Ankle, calf, back of the knee. His hands are warm against your skin. Daemon seems to have a fascination with touching you. He cannot keep his hands to himself, no matter how hard he tries. 

You say nothing. Daemon kisses your ankle, then your leg. He mouths along your knee. You feel so aroused, you think you are about to pass out. You shouldn’t give in, you know, you know. But it’s the sweetest torture. 

He stops right above your knee, looking at you with mischievous eyes. You pant, looking at him like you are about to murder him if he dares deny you now. 

“My poor little dreamer, have I neglected you so?” Daemon smirks, and parts your legs, making room for himself. “Don’t worry, we will fix this right away.” 

“Stop it.” You mutter, but before you can start explaining to him why this is a bad idea, you feel a sharp sting on your thigh. You moan, feeling utterly confused. In your aroused state, the sting of the bite feels almost pleasant. 

“It doesn’t sound like you want me to stop.” Daemon soothes the hurt with his tongue. He looks hungry, pupils blown and hair mussed just so. “Besides, I have been very patient with you, have I not?” His fingers dig in more harshly. He is right, of course. He could have fucked you already if he wanted to. It's not like anyone would come to your defense. 

“You have.” You agree, shakily. His tongue draws little ribbons over your inner thigh. You cannot stop moaning, for some reason. And you are no stranger to sex, not as Daemon thinks. You were not a virgin when you got here. Despite knowing this screams of consent issues and that he is trying to manipulate you, you cannot help it. 

You wonder how Rhaenyra and Laena ever stood a chance, being mere girls when they met him. If everyone told you this was wrong, but the first time he touched you felt this pleasurable, would you believe it? 

No. You are more than enough proof of it. 

“I will make it good for you, little one.” He kisses higher, this time. Along the juncture where your leg meets your hip. “It's a kindness most wives don't get.” 

“I know, but…” You stop talking and melt into a sight when he rubs a finger over your labia, spreading the wetness there. You know if you keep talking, he will be able to hear exactly how much his touch is affecting you. 

“I just want to look at you. And kiss you a little.” Daemon says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. His hands rub soothingly along the outside of your thigh. “I won’t take your maidenhead… Yet.” 

Maidenhead. What’s that supposed to mean? You try to remember, certain that you have heard it before. Rhea mentioned it? Or was it the girls? Maidens. They called maidens women who were virgins. God. He thinks you are still a virgin. 

He won’t fuck you, tonight. You hope that his plans for just touching and kissing include an orgasm because you feel like you will go mad if you don’t come tonight. 

You could tell him the truth. But what would you gain? Daemon only believes what pleases him. You have told him time and time again that you are not a dreamer. You even tried telling him you were from the future. His words still ring in your ears. 

“A world where men and women are equal? And there are no Kings? Oh, my poor confused little thing. You have been reading too much again.” 

So telling him would be no use. He might believe it another attempt at getting him to let you go. Or he might actually believe you and try to eviscerate any previous lover of yours. Or gauge their eyes out. Perhaps cut a hand. That’s who Daemon is at his core. 

No, it’s better this way. Playing along will get him to be gentler, and he won’t even be able to tell the difference. 

“Won’t it hurt?” You ask, and it comes out just the right amount of shy to be believable. It’s easy, leaning on the lingering fear of the fact that this is Daemon you will be going to bed with. Your body reacts to him like it has never reacted to another lover before, yet you shouldn’t be doing this. He is skilled at it. Whoever he was fucking before, she has trained him well. 

But now that you have allowed yourself to think, your hesitance takes hold. This is wrong, in so many ways. You shouldn’t be doing this. Yet, you want him so much, you feel like you might burst into flames if you don’t get him right now. 

The lure of the forbidden, in all its glory. 

“Not tonight.” He kisses your inner thigh, open-mouthed. You tense in anticipation. Daemon can be giving when he wants to be. 

“I don’t want it to hurt.” You close your legs, trapping his hand between them. Your lower lip lightly sticks out, playing the part of the disgruntled little girl. 

 Daemon chuckles. One of his fingers rubs teasingly over your clit. Being a brat always seems to rile him up, and you feel smug at knowing him so well. 

Oh, god. What are you even doing? Are you seriously contemplating ways of manipulating him during sex? You shouldn't even be thinking of fucking him. It's disgusting. 

It’s not. Not when Daemon’s hands are on your thighs, not when his lips are on your skin. You are just too needy for it. Too many nights have passed since the last time you had been touched in such a way. 

His hands knead into your thighs. The touch is greedy, possessive. He makes a tsking sound, and rubs a tight little circle over your clit. 

“I’ll warm you up to it. Don’t worry.” 

“I don’t… We really shouldn’t…” You plead, weakly. You are trying hard not to succumb to the pleasure. 

“Why not?” He asks, pressing his finger over your hole and making you nearly sob in pure neediness. He is not entering, just threatening with it. Both holding you in place and feeling you flutter around him. 

Daemon waits for your response, but when you don’t answer as quickly as he hoped, he starts sucking a bruise on your inner thigh.

“Because it’s wrong! You killed Rhea. You have no morals. And… Besides, it’s not me. I don’t want it.” You try to scramble away, suddenly regaining your senses. It must be the oils. Or the food. Or whatever he puts into your wine. 

“Oh?” Daemon presses your hips down with an arm, and rubs around your clit again. He makes a show of taking his fingers away from you and admiring them in the light. Your arousal shines on them, sticky wet. “If you don’t want it, why are you dripping all over the bed? What is it, if not arousal?” 

“The oils! The incense!” You complain. His hand, soaked in your juices, comes to cup your face. 

“Oh, sweetling, no.” Daemon laughs. He presses his thumb on your lower lip. Despite your best judgment, you open up and taste yourself. “They are not meant to warm your blood. This is all you.” 

Your whole body feels hot with embarrassment. He has to be lying. It can't be. You can’t be this… This… No. No. He has to be lying. 

Daemon laughs even more at the face you make. He kisses your neck, then your collarbone. He pushes at the strands of your shift, kissing all over your breast. You feel too ashamed, still reeling at the realization that this is, in fact, all you, to push him off. You are the crazy woman who is begging to have sex with a killer. 

He takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking slightly. You moan, arching your back to offer more skin to kiss. Daemon does so, greedily. 

He kisses your sternum, then your belly. He bites at the curve of your waist, making you squeal. His lips go lower, kissing over your womb. Then, your mound. And finally, your labia. 

Daemon pulls your lips apart and gently nips your clit, taking it between his teeth. Despite how gentle he is being, you jolt. It’s too much stimulation at once, and it’s bordering on the painful. Yet, he shows he can read your body well, because he quickly recovers and chooses to kiss your clitoral hood instead.

You moan again, all high-pitched. The vibrations of his laughter feel very pleasant against your sex. 

“That's it. Melt into it, little dreamer.” Daemon says, before going back to eating you out. This time, he sucks slightly harder. You tense in his arms. You can feel the pleasure rising and rising. Never has a partner driven you this fast towards an orgasm. 

It's too much and too little. 

“I… More, please.” You plead, petting his hair. 

He gets up, and kisses you, for the first time in months. You sigh into his mouth. It's then that he pushes his finger inside of you. Immediately, you tighten and tense around him, all sense of embarrassment gone. 

“This was just what you needed, wasn’t it?” Daemon whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe before speaking again. You buck your hips, trying to get him to move his finger. He complies, making a come and hither motion. His other hand rubs circles on your clit. “Yes, you needed someone to show you who you really were. My needy little dragon.” 

You try to swallow down your scream, muffling it with your hand. The praise, mixed in with the raspy, hungry tone it's delivered in, makes your head swim. 

“Come on, don’t fight it.” Daemon encourages, and bends down to take your nipple inside his mouth. It's enough to send you over the edge. This time, you actually scream, tensing under him. White, hot, blinding pleasure. And he strokes you through it, making everything more intense. 

As you pant there, coming down from your high, it occurs to you to return the favor.  It had been one of the best orgasms of your life, you wouldn't mind pleasing him in exchange. Your mouth watered at the thought of what else he could do. 

You place a shaky hand on his thigh, but Daemon pushes it away, gently. 

“You will learn to please me too, Wife. In time. But not tonight.” Daemon kisses your cheek, sweetly. 

“When?”

“We have the rest of our lives to figure it out.” It’s then when it sinks in. Daemon is never planning to let you go. You start to cry. What have you done? 

Daemon sighs. He starts rubbing soothing circles on your back, as if you were a child.  That night, he stays. You fall asleep in his arms, warm and relaxed. For the first time in weeks, you do not dream of Rhea. 

A few months go by. The season changes, from warm summer to harsh winter. And just as the season changes, so do you. 

You wake in your chambers, the bed next to you cold. Your ankles hurt. 

You put on a light dress, and go in search for your husband. As you pass the servants and guards, they give you respectful nods and greetings. 

Daemon sits on the Iron Throne. Viserys’s health has been worsening, lately. He looks up at you, taking his eyes from the parchment he is reading. His eyes greedily trace your figure. 

“I swear you get more beautiful every day.” He says, as you let your dress pool at your ankles. 

“Everyday I look rounder, more like it.” You complain. At the door, the guards discretely look away. If you want to parade around naked, so be it. It’s up to them to avert their eyes, if they don’t want to lose them, Daemon has instructed. 

No one dares oppose him. Not anymore, with you by his side. Viserys’s reign might just go down as one of the bloodiest in history, with how hard the two of them have been working to rid the realm of any future enemy of Rhaenyra. 

He laughs. 

“You do not. You look like my dreamer.” 

You roll your eyes at him, cradling your belly. His breathing hitches, minutely. There is arousal in his expression, once again. The more obvious your pregnancy becomes, the more he wants you. Daemon likes how your body has changed, how there are stretch marks on previously smooth skin, how your breasts are fuller. 

“My ankles hurt. Make it better?” 

What was life before him? You can barely remember how you functioned before, having to make all the decisions and thinking. Trusting him is easier. Daemon loves you. He wants the best for you. 

You don't hate him as much as you thought. You might even love him back. No. You love the pleasure he gives you, you are hooked to it. You need him like a heroin addict needs her next fix. 

Before, you used to be a good person. You cared about others. Now, you care about yourself, the baby and him. In that order. 

You had plans. You had a future, a career. Now, you live the day. If you think too hard about tomorrow, you feel like you can't breathe. So you don't. It's easier, this way. 

Daemon likes you more like this. Not a little girl anymore, but a woman. One he molded into his perfect partner.  Strong, but never stronger than him. Smart, but not enough to escape him. And a little broken. Still with a bit of fire, still a little rebellious. But never trying to get away. 

He says you are more of a goddess than a woman. Special. Holy.  Before, your courses aligned with the moon, your pregnancy timed just right. The baby should be here just when spring turns to summer. What could you be, if not a little goddess? 

The mysteries of womanhood fascinate him. It’s made even worse with your knowledge of the future.  He seems to think all you know about pregnancy is part of your powers as a dreamer. Once, you made the mistake of telling him the baby could hear him. Daemon has never skipped a day of talking to them since. 

You barely think of Rhea, these days. Daemon keeps you away from Runestone and occupied with other matters. Matters that are much more pleasurable to think about than your past. 

“Come, Lady Wife.” 

And you do. 

You wear other kinds of chains now. 

[mariberrycake6058]

Hiii, I present to you my Gravity Falls AU: We'll Meet Again AU (I'm still thinking about whether to change the name or leave it as is)

To tell the truth, the lore is very long, so I hope that whoever is interested reads it completely and can let me know if they like it, I may make a comic about this.

If there are any mistakes, I completely apologize, my English is not very good and I used Google Translate for this, anyway, you can correct me if I'm wrong about something! I hope you like it and that someone sees it :]

⚠️TW: Mental disorder/problems mentioned!

CHARACTER DESIGNS:

WE'LL MEET AGAIN - A GRAVITY FALLS AU

In this alternate universe of Gravity Falls, Bill returns to town in a physic form after a long time of being in some therapies, but now with some changes in it, the most notable being their great loss of many of their powers, among them is the difficulty of to be able to levitate in the air, wanting recover this little by little. Seeking revenge within, returns to the village to put an end to what it started, but due to a fault "unknown" ends up reaching a Gravity Falls very similar to where he comes, but feels that there is something different.

Someone shakes hands with a triangular statue with only one eye in the middle of the forest, hoping to see it again, but there is nothing. He sighs and when he is about to give up, the atmosphere begins to get heavy, the breeze of the wind becomes strong and slight tremors begin on the ground, some small animals run around, and what he thought would never happen, finally gives results.

The one-eyed triangular entity appears in front of him, at first wondering what is going on, and upon recognizing that place, he begins to laugh and look around, he had finally been freed again, all thanks to... Stanford!?

But this was not the Stanford he knew, this one looked more tired and worn out than the one he had seen last time, how long had it been since he had done his job? Something was wrong!

Stanford, for his part, couldn't believe that the creature he hadn't seen in years had finally appeared before him, but... More different than he remembered.

—

STORY

In the past, at the age of 19, Stanford suffered an accident (which remains unknown) along with his family, in which only he and his brother, Shermy, were the only survivors. This caused him to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, leading him to live with guilt for the rest of his years.

Stanford, seeing that only he, along with his brother, decided that better, according to him, was to get away for a while time since he was not in a good state after what happened, also with the excuse that he did not want to be a annoyance for him and that it was time for become independent. Despite the Shermy's insistence, finally he understood what his brother wanted, being so they never saw each other again after that his family's funeral.

Stanford tried to continue with his normal life in a town called Gravity Falls, where many types of anomalies occurred, which were of complete interest to him since he was seen as a phenomenon due to his extra fingers on both hands, and these creatures connected well with him.

He met Bill after seeing a stone engraving during one of his investigations and, not believing enough in the existence of a certain creature, that same night it appeared in his dreams, it transmitted a lot of confidence, it was very kind and flattered him in a certain way, the nights continued like that and both came to have a very great friendship.

Until one night, Ford in one of his many crises for remembering his traumas from that accident, Bill appeared before him, letting him know that in the same way that he had also lost his family in an accident in his dimension. For this, Bill offered him his help to be able to create something unmatched that could "bring his family back alive", as if it were a time machine to avoid everything and be able to save his family, and this could also "bring Bill's family back", Ford who was still very naive, desperately accepted the deal to remedy everything and leave behind the guilt that gnawed at him daily, without knowing that what Bill really planned was to create a portal to be able to take over that dimension. (The canon thing)

Stanford worked with Fiddleford on the project, however, McGucket did not know very well what the purpose of this was, but he did not hesitate to help his friend. But the pleasure did not last long, because months after so much work, the truth came to light, although Fiddleford did not say anything at first, with the passage of time he reflected on the project and how dangerous it could become if it altered time, so in the end he ended up facing Stanford, telling him that he was so obsessed with his family and Bill, that he should give up and accept that they had died, and that he felt that this Bill was not trustworthy. After that, Fiddleford abandoned the project and they never saw each other again. Stanford finished the project by himself and as he could.

Having everything finished, he was ready to tell Bill about this, but as he approached him he could hear a conversation that he was having with other creatures which were laughing out loud and calling Ford insults and humiliations, in which Bill also participated, this being the way in which Stanford would have found out about Bill's true intentions, going immediately to close the portal and get rid of anything that could activate it, however, Bill had noticed his presence before, making himself present later to confront him and tell him the truth about everything, betraying Ford in the cruelest way with illusions and promises so he could see his family back. Full of anger, confusion, disappointment and even some hope that it was all a very heavy joke on Bill's part, Ford refused to believe what was happening, but in the end Fiddleford was right in that Bill was really not to be trusted.

Ford closed the portal before anything else could happen, Bill for his part became upset and cursed him, promising to return one day to accomplish his plan, he left leaving Ford alone, and he quickly got rid of most of the things that gave power to the portal.

Stanford fell into a slight depression because of Bill's abandonment, since he was the only one who could make him feel special and feed his ego. In a certain way he was still obsessed with Bill and with his promise that of course, would never come true. He made a stone statue in the shape of Bill and abandoned it in the middle of the forest, with an engraving on one side of the statue where you could read the lyrics of the song that Bill used to sing to it (We'll Meet Again), from time to time he would visit it and take the hand of the statue, hoping to be able to see him again, for what? Even he didn't know, despite the fact that Bill had betrayed him, he still felt that need to keep seeing him, he was going crazy.

Years later, Dipper and Mabel come to visit, they are under Stanford's care for the entire summer and have some adventures with the town's anomalies.

Some time later things happen and Bill from another dimension arrives in this different one.

Stanford has knowledge about the multiverses, and he knows very well that this Bill what has appeared there is not the Bill that he knew, and vice versa, this Bill knows perfectly that this Stanford is not the that he knew, however, he knows nothing about this one's past, and seeing it in that somewhat vulnerable state, "takes pity" slightly from it and gives the opportunity to meet him again, even if it is someone different but similar at the same time, in addition to the fact that by Axolotl's obligation, is obliged to improve his conduct and act for the good.

Stanford doesn't know what this Bill's intentions are, but seeing that he doesn't have many powers, he doesn't care, which makes him invite him to stay with them at his cabin. Bill initially refuses, but then agrees when he sees how useless he has become without powers, and sees the advantage of taking advantage of it to find out how to return to his "original" universe and plan his revenge against the other Pines (something that won't be possible for him), but of course, he doesn't say anything about this to these different Pines, although Ford has his small suspicions.

FUN FACTS

Here, Dipper and Mabel are already 13 years old.

This Pines family does not know what Bill has done in the dimension he comes from, that is, wanting to get rid of his-selves, them- from that dimension (The Weirdmageddon).

Dipper has had free access to Ford's journals, even reading the pages Bill had written before the whole conflict happened, so this Dipper doesn't trust Bill very much, but tries to live with him (forcibly).

This Bill is nicknamed "Dori" (from Dorito) or "Chip" by Mabel, she is more relaxed than Dipper and is even the one who spends the most time with Bill, she sees him as so dumb and vulnerable that she doesn't believe that one-eyed thing is evil, but Dipper still insists that she doesn't trust him too much. Mabel makes mini sweaters for Bill, she even usually puts band-aids of different designs and colors on the cracks/scars he has, so that they don't look so horrible, in her words.

Bill is bitter, but he tolerates the twins a little since they don't spend their time yelling at him. His only question is where Stanley is, however, when he asks about him, he doesn't get an answer from anyone.

Bill takes on human form from time to time, at Mabel's request because she thinks he looks less silly that way.

Bill gives Ford cute/embarrassing nicknames, and of course he also calls him Fordsy/Sixer, the first one leaving Mabel curious.

In a certain part of the AU, Ford sends Bill away because it's not free to stay at the shack and because the positions there are taken (he tried to fight with Wendy for her place but ended up losing). So here Waiter!Bill is born, as in that Gravity Falls the Weirdmageddon never happened, nobody knows Bill and they just take him for one more creature of the town, so it's normal for them and it wasn't difficult to get hired by Lazy Susan, although his attitude isn't the best, he tries to do well so they don't fire him and Ford doesn't get upset with him. (Last photo at The beggining)

Another fact that I didn't mention is that yes, the Mystery Shack does exist as such and is also a tourist place, but Ford is the one who usually gives the exhibitions of the things that are there, and when he can't attend, Soos is the one who helps him (only there are no scams here)

WHAT IS BILL'S RELATIONSHIP WITH THIS PINES FAMILY?

Dipper Pines.

A 50/50 between the two, Dipper prefers not to get directly involved in anything Bill is present at, he doesn't trust him, but he has to live with him at least a little, he tolerates him, although he thinks Bill has a very high ego and is kind of conceited, despite not having powers. He prefers to stay away from him at certain times. Bill also prefers to be away from him.

Mabel Pines.

What can you say? Bill, aka Dori/Chip is like a pet for Mabel, she likes to do it small outfits, their coexistence is good, but there are times when she should also moderate her personality with him, at Dipper's request, so that her wouldn't trust him so much. Bill likes him Mabel's creativity is like a very colorful chaos, but it is embarrassing to wear the outfits that he does it, but he has to agree so as not to hurt their feelings and to try to gain trust of others (which seems to be the case which will not be achieved at 100%)

Stanford Pines.

Their relationship is good but not at all 100%, because Ford has matured from all the events from the past with his original Bill, so which in any case tries to don't trust this Bill so much that appeared. He usually does investigations with this Bill and his human form that it usually adopts, making theories and expanding their knowledge. Bill gives himself the opportunity to listen whatever Ford tells him about his past to get to know him better. They may both have a better and good relationship after.

Wendy Corduroy

They both have a certain respect for each other, but they are not directly related.

Soos

They are not directly related, but Soos spends his time making theories about Bill that he only tells Dipper. Even so, he has a certain respect for him. Bill, for his part, notes that Soos is a bit dumb, but what else can he say if not having powers also makes him a dumb person.

[lamialamia]

We have a problem: why am I watching this sex scene again?

Ah. Sex scenes. You wild wild beast. The crossroad of many discourses and analyses and opinions and essays and now, here I am, a mere casual ww2 rpf fan, throwing my own hat to the ring. In this blog post I'm going to talk once more about sex scenes -- two in particular -- and why the eff one of them matters, making the ww2 rpf more compelling and the other did not.

Disclaimer: Whether or not sex scenes are needed in media in general or the right way to implement them across the vast spectrum of art is not part of this discussion. Please keep in mind I'm trying to complain about the writing decision in the small scope of the HBO War shows.

I have discussed the problem with the Crosby/Sandra plot line in a previous analysis here. But I think the problem with it requires another (and maybe a third) write-up. Here, I want to talk about why the tiny sex scene between Crosby and Sandra in episode 7 is a waste of screen time.

So, we have the sex scene in MOTA episode 7. It is somewhat explicit and it was clear it is consensual and that the people who are fucking is very into it. In comparison to other sex scenes in HBO War fandom, it doesn't exactly stands out to me with just the imagery of the act (of course this is a personal opinion, whether or not I find a sex scene hot or bad or corny or lovely or [insert adjective here] is not universal).

However, my problem with this sex scene between Crosby and Sandra is that it doesn't matter to the story.

After getting it on with Sandra, and then after she left him, Crosby never talked about this affair in anyway. Not over the narration, expressing some kind of sentiment over it, not with Rosie or any other guy, so me, the audience, have no idea what he think about it or how he might be affected about it. We didn't know what Sandra think or feel about it either because her scenes are about her spy works and that's it.

You might say: well he doesn't have to tell us how he feel if the show can demonstrate to us the same thing.

Yet, MOTA never did that. Furthermore, the show never portray the sex between them matters to the characters beyond getting their rocks off. And then, the sex doesn't matter to the theme of the episode nor the overall theme of the show either. It's just something that happened.

(Sad to say that maybe this sub-plot distracts me from the rest of episode 7 and 8)

This might be consider 'realistic'. In real life, people can have sex just for the joy of it. Which is true, but in a drama mini-series, the choices to include or exclude details must take in consideration whether what is on screen is valuable to the story the show is trying to tell. Why are they including this sex scene instead of the hundred other real life details that don't make the cut? We don't have a training montage for the pilots, we never learn how Quinn and Bailey get back to base from Germany, we never have the D-Day invasion sequence,...

Let's have a comparison to another sex scene.

In The Pacific episode 3, Sidney Phillips met Gwen in Melbourne and started a romance with her that ended in them having sex before he got shipped back to Pavuvu. Personally for me, it wasn't an awesome sex scene either. Both Gwen and Sidney were awkward, they kissed and the entire thing ended with him kissing her bare shoulder.

But what truly matter happened latter. When Eugene arrived in Pavuvu and reunited with Sidney, he asked Sidney about what combat was like. And to answer this, Sidney mentioned him sleeping with Gwen not to brag about his sexual conquest but to make a comparison with the brutal battles he survived.

Despite the fact that the two of them grew up together, in just a small amount of times, Sidney have been through things and done things Eugene hadn't. All of that (both combat and his brief romance with Gwen) had changed Sidney to the point that Eugene could not longer connect with him. There was now a chasm between them. Eugene looked at his friend and tried to understand him but couldn't. There were things that must be experienced to be understood.

And then, Eugene himself went through life-changing events. The war changed him so much that when he returned to Mobile, he once again couldn't connect with Sidney

Or his brother (who was in the Army and was in the euro theatre) -- another person who had gone through the war himself.

Both Sidney and Eugene's older brother had returned home before him while Eugene had just came back, fresh off the board with his mental wounds, and it showed the chasm had formed between him and these two men who supposed to shared this brutal experience with Eugene.

In fact his brother specifically mentioned how Eugene is still a virgin, which highlight further how he was 'missing out' on that particular experience that both these men have.

And this all started when we were still following H company and witnessed Sidney and Gwen having sex. That small thing compounded over time. It snowballed into all these differences and distance that Sidney would have with Eugene, and then Eugene would be having against his own hometown, his brother, his family, and his best friend. It served to show how war had did its number on Eugene in many ways.

The sex scene between Sidney and Gwen mattered to the story, it served a narrative purpose eventually.

Crosby and Sandra's sex scene did not. And to include it meant there would be less screen time for any other story line, leaving not just the sub-plot of Crosby's arc weaker, but the other ones as well. Overall, this creative decision left MOTA a weaker show in term of its writing.

[harryshomebaby]

it's hard to find the right words to say and i truly never thought i'd ever be writing something like this. and i apologize if this doesn't all come out the way i want it to.

i hate that i have to preface this by saying that i was not a fan or a supporter of Liam in recent years and do not condone anything that he did. the victims of his actions still deserve to be heard and find closure that they'll now sadly never see...

but if you were anything like me, Liam Payne was a significant part of who you were growing up. 1 of 5 individuals that we looked up to as role models, and that created some of the online communities we're still a part of today. that built friendships we probably still have to this day.

a mature but loveable boy that we all fell in love with in the very early days of One Direction, or even later. with video diaries, music videos, and behind the scenes clips that shared a glimpse of his personality with us, and tweets that some of us will never forget (it's a snake habitat, turn around!!), we watched him grow up alongside the boys while we were growing up ourselves.

we even had the privelege of seeing a small part of where he grew up and the people who raised him in This is Us and the "Story of my Life" video. we got to know a little bit about his life before One Direction, with small stories and anecdotes from his mother, Karen, and his father, Geoff. we got to see how loved he was by his family, by the band, and by all of the fans that adored him just as much as we did.

i still remember when i first learned about One Direction in 2012 and couldn't tell Liam or Harry apart because their hairstyles were so similar. and the shock the fandom had when he buzzed his head.

we got to see the good in him... even if it was only for a brief moment. five years of a band that carried so many of us through dark periods in our lives and that connected all of us to one another in a way that many of us had never experienced before.

we watched him grow up, live through the prime of his career, and saw the subsequent downfall of who he used to be. after One Direction split up, he opened up about his struggles with addiction during their tours and it was clear that despite what we all saw, it was never as pretty as their management had made the band out to be.

it's completely devastating that he was still struggling with substance abuse in the end. that he was never able to get the help he needed. and i am deeply sorry to all of the people who became victims at his hand. to maya henry who only recently opened up about her relationship to Liam and who is going to receive even more hate than she already has because of this tragedy.

i am sad that he wasn't able to get better. to get sober and attempt to rewrite some of his wrongs. that his addiction caused so much harm to him, but also to so many others. i am sad that he was so deeply troubled in his youth that he turned towards drugs and alcohol, and was never able to truly get his life back. i am sad at what fame did to him at such a young age. and i am sad for every single person that he hurt.

the entire fandom is on my mind today. all of those victims are on my mind today. his family is on my mind today. his 7-year old son is on my mind today. Niall, Zayn, Harry, and Louis are on my mind today.

this is heavy. and it's hard. and if you're struggling with the news, you are not alone.

my 15-year old self is in mourning today at news that i never thought i'd hear only a decade after One Direction's time. i may have never been a true fan of Liam in his solo endeavours, but he was still a big part of my childhood and the band that partially shaped who i am today.

this isn't how his story should have ended. and i'm sorry that it did. we'll never know the true intent of what happened today, but i do hope that he is in a better place and can find peace, and i sincerely hope that everyone he hurt is able to heal.

rest in peace, Liam Payne.

we'll all remember the good times we once shared every time we hear a One Direction song.

-

if you're struggling with your mental health, addiction, substance abuse, or thoughts of suicide, please consider reaching out to someone. everyone deserves a chance to get better. ♥

Suicide Hotlines & Support Below ↓

USA:

Suicide & Crisis Hotline - 988 Crisis Textline - text HOME to 741741 Youth Helpline - (877) 968-8491 or text 839863 

Canada:

Suicide & Crisis Hotline - 988

Suicide Hotline - 1 (833) 456 4566 Kid's Help Phone - 1 (800) 668 6868 Tran's Lifeline - 1 (877) 330 6366 First Nation's and Inuit Hope for Wellness Hotline - 1 (855) 242 3310

Australia:

Suicide Lifeline - 131 1141 Suicide Callback Hotline - 135 247 Beyond Blue Counselling & Helpline - 1300 22 4636

Argentine:

Centro de Asistencia Suicida - 11 5275 1135 , 800 345 1435 Servicio Gratuito de Atención Médica y Urgencias - 11 5050 0147

Ireland:

Suicide Hotline - +4408457909090 Samaritans - 116123

United Kingdom:

National Suicide Hotline - 0800 689 5652 Mental Health Crisis Support - 01708 765200 Hopeline247 - 0800 068 41 41 UK Supportline - 0 (170) 8 765200

For a full list of hotlines & support in your country:

Or find a Helpline Here:

[carionto]

Wisdom is to seek the experienced

Your typical dimly lit bar, closing hours. Few folk still remain, fewer still conscious. The door chimes to a sprightly young man, though his eyes echo decades of witnessing the grim reality. He orders a beer, sits down next to a passed out man in his late 50s, hand still gripping his last shot glass.

The young man prods the old guy awake.

"Tell me, what do you know about Old Man Henderson?"

"What? That's an urban myth. A fairy tale. Ain't no such person ever existed. Scram, kid."

"We believe the contrary. Correction. We don't believe anything. We know he is real."

"That story is over a thousand years old. Wouldn't be the first time some fools mistake a work of fiction from three apocalypses ago as fact."

"There's more to it than that. We know that you are connected."

At this moment, the young man takes out a small binder of documents and splays it in front of the old guy. Images of excavations of an old town hall. Unidentified dirt and ash samples. A heavily damaged pilot's license. Used cigarette butts.

And a list of names, dates of birth and death, addresses throughout their life, occupations, relatives. Seemingly, no connection. And at the end of the list a Mr J. Drenshaw - the old guy.

"We know you know these people, all of them. Ever since the incident Old Man Henderson was involved in, there has been an unbroken chain of people who studied and learned everything about him and what occurred. And you did your best to erase everything from all records but your own.

Well, the one thing the first to whom this knowledge was passed on to did not do was to cremate their mentor. Instead, they received a burial at sea. Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific from a plane. Forever lost to the world, beneath endless waters and unknown beasts of below.

Or, so it would have remained, had it not been for that little explosion that has doomed our world. Among the debris the OCC cleared was a tiny, damaged microfilm. Unable to restore its contents at the time, it was stored alongside the innumerable relics recovered from the disaster, and promptly forgotten about.

Until my superiors learned of something... odd, and we got to work searching for the loosest of ends. The rest is technical details. In short - you, Mr Drenshaw, have known about the reality of the Old Ones ever since your mentor exposed you to this secretive knowledge you've been safekeeping for the last twenty eight generations. It is no longer your exclusive club.

We need your help understanding what Cthulu is, what it wants, what it can do, and most importantly - what we can do about it."

After a long pause, J. Drenshaw looked at his empty shot glass, at the young man, to the floor, and sighed.

"The reason we kept it from everyone is because you can't do anything about a being like that. That's the point."

"Old Man Henderson did do something about it."

"He was a nutjob. One of a kind."

"Still just human."

"Bah. It wasn't even the full might of anything Greater."

"Even a fraction was still a part of it. We can expand upon that."

"What do I even get out of this? Cuz I'm telling you, it doesn't matter how many Supernovas you throw at Cthulu. The material realm doesn't bother them in the least."

"It doesn't have to be a hostile relationship. Our experiences with the Galactic Coalition, despite a rocky start, show we can communicate with anyone."

"Aliens and Old Ones are not comparable. Can an ant negotiate with the Moon? That's a bullshit idea and you know it."

"We found an individual who contradicts your belief."

At this statement, the young man shows Mr Drenshaw a picture of a young woman, barely out of her teens, but even through a simple image Drenshaw can see in her eyes there is... knowing.

"Okay? That your girlfriend? Good for you."

"That is Cintra Valkeim. Though it proved difficult to ascertain, we believe she made contact with Cthulu."

"Thought you didn't believe in anything. Couldn't get her to confess?"

"We're still working on the specifics, but we do know she died several times. Either by negligence or lack of interest in us 'nothings', her resurrections left marks on the cellular level."

"Nothings..." Drenshaw slowly repeated the word, as if something finally clicked.

"That is how They view us, yes?"

Mr Drenshaw finally looked back at the young man, took a deep breath and simply said:

"Yea...

Fine. I'll talk to this Cintra. Alone. After that I'll decide if it's worth a bother to help you lot."

"Those are agreeable terms. Shall I take you to her now or...?"

"Fuck no. I got a raging headache and I need a nap. Just cuz you got my curiosity don't mean this hangover is suddenly gone. Leave your number, I'll call you in a few days. Gonna do my own investigation."

"Understandable. Here are my contacts."

Mr Drenshaw takes the card, looks at it, and bemusedly puts it away.

"Fuckin' hell. Bunch of jokers you are. Alright, I'll be sure to ring you up, Mr 'John Smith'. Now get outta here, you've ruined my nap long enough.

HEY, BARKEEP! GET ME SOMETHING THAT'LL KNOCK ME RIGHT BACK TO SLEEP!"

[dreadfuldevotee]

very glad I follow so many loumand enthusiasts like you. there will always be idiots detracting from what they had together but louis & armand liked each other! that is a very important part of the story! they had intelligent conversations and clung together to escape loneliness the way all vampires do and tried their best to take care of each other despite being way, way too fucked up to even care for themselves.

Ha, thank you! It saddens me that I feel like im out here fighting demons over them, but not that much because I love talking about them. If Loumand has no fans, I am dead and there is no afterlife because I would be scratching my feelings out on them on all the walls in Rolin Jones's house.

And, yes! It's really easy to point out all the ways these two didn't mesh that I feel like we don't spend enough time talking about how they fall together in the first place!

Louis is trying to find what it means to be himself, now with Lestat seemingly dead and the growing distance between him and Claudia, and is attracted to Armand's allure. Their courtship is a lot more classically romantic in their long walks along the river and philosophical conversations over smokey Parisian backdrops. It's not really touched upon, but Armand is vastly educated (a grumbling acknowledgement of a rare MDR good move) and willing and capable of engaging with Louis in ways Lestat wasn't (Season 1 conflicts sprouting in no small amount out of Lestats unwillingness and inability to understand Race). Coming off that explosive dynamic of Loustat, Louis finds Armand as a more easeful experience. I think it certainly helps that even Claudia, judgemental of Louis' romanticisms, is unthreatened by Armand's advances on Louis until he quite literally puts his hands on her.

For Armand, Louis is a breath of fresh air. Once again- hating his job and the role he plays, Armand is so attracted to Louis' independence and connection to humanity. He's not only curious about Louis but also feels safe with him. Its easy to misunderstand the bench scene, but that moment is about Louis speaking to that scared child Armand revealed to him and saying "I am staying here with you, you aren't alone", and Armand's metaphorical sigh of relief that he can share this burden with anyone else. If i had to describe their relationship in one word, the answer is easily "Safety"

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hello! I have a request. It's a reader X Ace from One Piece story. It shows the aftermath of Ace defeating Blackbeard and the reader caring for him as he recovers from his injuries. Ace didn't fight alone. The reader was at his side, and it changed history. The reader has the Crew Crew fruit, which has similarities with Bolo Betty's Kobu Kobu no Mi. They're empowered by, and empower others, by the depth and quality of their bonds. The connection they had with Ace pushed them both through to victory. The reader truly believes Ace can become pirate king, and is thankful to have the opportunity to save him, as he saved them in the past. Here's the song.

The Great War x Portgas D. Ace ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :

First of all, I just want to thank you for requesting this and trusting me with this beautiful idea. I apologise if it took a while - I literally got so lost in it. This was such a wonderful idea, so kudos to you! I hope this meets your expectations - I loved writing it and I love the idea of Ace being alive and well, loved and surrounded by people who cherish him. This felt like therapy, this boy deserves the world and I love him so very dearly. Enjoy!

1.6k words | gender neutral | usual one piece violence | mention of IVs and hospital stuff.

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee.

Running your fingers through his raven locks, you watched as Ace rested by your side. If it wasn't for all the patches and bandages covering his body, it almost seemed like one of his usual peaceful naps. Yet, in the cold of Marco's hospital room, Ace continued his battle and this time, the only help you could give him was sleeping next to him in an uncomfortable chair waiting for him to wake up.

The battle with Blackbeard was one of the most atrocious battles the world had ever witnessed: for Ace, it meant everything. He would have either avenged his dear Pops or died trying - and no one could convince him otherwise. Blackbeard was the living representation of his failures - if only he had been a better son, a better commander, a stronger pirate.. things would have been different. Defeating him meant more than simple revenge: it was Ace's way to honour Whitebeard's legacy, it was Ace's way to remember all the friends and comrades who lost their lives to protect his. For this exact reason, Ace wanted to it alone; he didn't want to lose anyone else - not Marco, not you.

"This is not your fight."

He muttered in response when you and Marco explained your plan to him - you had meticulously studied Blackbeard's devil's fruit and history, you had traced his past routes and the most likely route his ship would have taken to reach the next poneglyph. But Ace didn't want to listen, he didn't want to put your lives at risk - he couldn't tolerate the mere idea of losing you, he didn't want you anywhere near the battlefield regardless of how strong you were.

The months that preceded the battle were intense. Ace trained relentlessly under Rayleigh's careful supervision, pushing his body to its limits and doing his best to awaken his devil fruit's power. When he wasn't training and his body ached from the strain it had to endure, Ace wanted nothing else that spending time with you. His rest days were his excuse to kidnap you from the rest of the crew - he wanted you all for himself, savouring every second he got to spend with you. Despite his confidence and training, he knew his enemy wouldn't be an easy one to face - Blackbeard had the blood of many on his hands, and Ace feared his could only add up to the list. When he wasn't training, blinded by rage and determination, a small part of Ace couldn't help but be afraid.

What if this fight was the big fiasco of his life? What if he wasn't able to defeat Blackbeard, wasting the life his loved ones have protected and traded with theirs? These questions pounded Ace's head constantly, they haunted his sleep and hammered his mind during the day. Ace could only feel peace when he was around you. With you around, Ace felt as if he could conquer the world. The first time he felt like this, you were drunkenly opening your hearts to one another.

"You'll be the king of pirates one day, Fire Fist. And I'll be there, first row."

You slurred, raising your beer to cheer it against his hat, as if it was his crown. That night, the blood in your veins was probably being replaced by the booze you and Ace had chucked down - yet, he knew your words were sincere. He knew you meant every word because as you pronounced them, it felt as if they were being directly engraved onto his heart. This was partly the reason why he decided to get Blackbeard's head - seeing the way you believed in him, the rush of adrenaline he felt every time you reminded him of the immense potential he had.

Drunken talks became slow afternoons in which you just enjoyed each others' company, casually lying in each other's arms and falling asleep in a bed that was way too small to hold two people. Waking up to you peacefully resting on his chest, sharing kisses behind the closed door of his room - these were all things Ace wasn't willing to risk.

"If I make it out alive, I swear I'll marry you."

He whispered in your ear as you softly snored the morning away, lying against his warm body.

Despite Ace's reprimands, you and Marco trained just as much as he did. Your help could have been decisive in battle, and regardless of Ace's approval, you would have done everything in your power to fight by his side - after all, your help could have been decisive. Up until then, you always believed that your devil fruit was useless - it didn't give you any special powers nor any type of supernatural strength. It was hard to really grasp the utility of a devil fruit that strengthened others and not its main user. Your devil fruit wasn't one you could really rely on - you had noticed how its effects were not linear or equal, the boost you were able to give was always spread unevenly among your fellow comrades.

As with any other devil fruit, you had to learn by doing - uncovering any underlying functionality of your peculiar power and eventually awaken the devil fruit. So when the day of the battle finally arrived, you weren't exactly ready - of course, your skills on the battle ground were impeccable, but you weren't sure that would be enough.

"We'll have your back, whether you like it or not." Marco said to Ace, shrugging his shoulders. Before Ace could argue against it, you and Marco had already jumped off the ship, making your way into the island.

The horrors witnessed during the battle between Ace and Blackbeard were for the history books - their fight was intense, infinite, and had immense repercussion on everything and everyone around them. No type of training could have prepared Ace's body to the pain and strain he had to endure, punch after punch, every low sweep and unfair move after the other. The fate of the battle seemed to be decided when Ace's fire became weaker and weaker, the powers of his dear devil fruit slipping out of his control and not responding to him anymore - allowing every blow to land exactly where it was meant to, slowing his movements and nullifying his attacks.

Something shifted inside him when he finally heard your voice, screaming his name at the top of your lungs. Ace's back was now against the floor, his throat giving up under Blackbeard's heavy boot pressing against his neck.

"ACE! PLEASE!" You screamed again, your voice breaking as you watched him helplessly laying on the floor, air leaving his lungs as Blackbeard pressed his whole weight against his airways. A shiver run down your spine as your felt your devil fruit powers rushing through you - a shot of adrenaline running all over your body. Marco quickly glared at you in amusement, immediately regaining his strengths and jumping into the battle once again - even his phoenix looked brighter.

What happened afterwards felt like a blur - Ace's flames responding to him once again, flickering and roaring against Blackbeard. In moments that felt like an eternity, a new age of piracy began.

Winning didn't come without a price, and after the sudden rush of adrenaline and strength that allowed Ace to defeat Blackbeard, he fell to his knees, letting his body crash against the cold soil underneath him. The state of his wounds was more critical than imagined, so when you and Marco finally reached him, you feared there wouldn't be nothing you could do to save him. Despite the temporary recovery of powers, even Marco was now feeling dreaded, exhausted from the battle - and his healing abilities were simply not enough.

"That was you." Marco finally spoke, lifting Ace's body and carrying it on his shoulders.

"Don't tell Ace, but this is your win."

Marco giggled, making his way towards the ship.

"That sudden rush of energy.. I've never seen Ace fight like that - a man in his state could never bounce back the way he did. Even I regained a lot of energy, and that scream wasn't definitely for me.. sounds like something your devil fruit could do."

Marco continued, noticing the confused look on his face.

Ace's recovery was slow - he had been asleep for more than a week now, always under the careful eyes of his trusted doctor and friend. His entire body was wrapped in bandages, IVs and all sorts of tubes coming out of his arms to keep him stable - and he was. Marco kept repeating that his vitals looked fine, but Ace just didn't wake up. So you stayed by his side, spending each day next to his hospital bed, waiting for him to come back to you.

"Hey.." Ace whispered, his words quickly being interrupted by a cough. Hearing Ace's voice almost made you jump from your seat, the biggest smile forming on your lips as your eyes quickly scanned over his face.

"Hi."

Was all you managed to say, trying to fight back the tears that were already clouding your vision. Taking his hands into yours, you left a soft kiss on his knuckles.

"How's my pirate king doing?"

You teased, causing Ace to giggle in response. Freeing his hand from yours, he quickly reached for your face, leaving a gentle caress on your cheek. A shiver ran down your spine as you leaned into Ace's touch, melting against the palm of his hand.

"I gotta ask you something." Ace smirked, the slyest of smiles painted on his lips as flashback of that morning ran just before his eyes. Proposing on an hospital bed wasn't ideal nor romantic, but to Ace, it felt right. He vowed he would always be yours if he survived the war against Blackbeard - and now that he did, there was only one thing left to do.

[vermilionsun]

Time to yee the haw

Boothill

aka Pom-Pom

➢ Braids Boothill is surprisingly good at it. Since he decided on growing his hair, he had to find ways to keep it out of his face, and braiding was one of them—well, not something he thought of himself, but friends and family liked to do it for him and it just stuck. Now, he occasionally braids his own hair, though his metallic hands make it increasingly difficult.

➢ Hair His hair in general is a topic of its own and it needs to be talked about. Originally, his hair was raven black, but when he was undergoing the lab tests and maintenance, due to different factors, most of his hair turned white. He once looked at a mirror and aside from the dysphoria caused by the metal, the thought that he kinda resembled his dads flashed in his mind. He never looked in a mirror again.

➢ Kids He’s so good with kids. They just love him and no one knows why. Boothill, as the type of guy he is, will try to pretend to be annoyed, yet failing miserably as small hands would cling onto him. (If he could shed tears he would.)

➢ Swearing He actually doesn’t like to swear, thus the weird alternatives he uses. It’s a habit he picked up from having many younger siblings and friends—not wanting to swear in front of them—and one that he kept, no matter how ridiculous it might seem to others. When he adopted his little girl, he would barely not kill anyone who would swear in front of her, despite her being too young to understand.

➢ Nicknames If he happens to form any kind of bond with anyone, he will give them a nickname. They range from random words, a characteristic of the person, to inside jokes, to sweet pet names. And every person has multiple different ones. The only one who remembers them all is the one responsible for them.

➢ Flirting He isn’t the type of guy who will hit on anything that moves under the sun, but he does enjoy some casual flirting and bantering. It’s also his weak spot. If he gets back a more–than–equally flirty response he’s gone. In improbable cases he might even actually faint—if all his remaining blood leaves his brain to reside in his cheeks (a good smack will bring him back) (if you dare).

➢ Stars He and his family used to stargaze together, pointing out constellations and sharing stories. Now, he finds solace in the familiar twinkling lights above, feeling a sense of connection to his loved ones despite them being gone—a bittersweet comfort nestling in his lonely heart.

➢ Zoning out Sometimes his mind is just… elsewhere. He gets lost in thought easily, often planning stuff. Other times, he's simply reminiscing about days lost. It's like he's constantly searching for something that he can't quite grasp, leaving him feeling disconnected from the present moment.

➢ God He had always believed in justice and righteousness and that a higher being was watching over him and his loved ones, yet the destruction of his home shattered his faith in the universe's inherent goodness. He struggled to make sense of the chaos and devastation surrounding him, questioning how such tragedy could be part of a greater plan. Now, he finds himself grappling with the concept of fate and whether his life was truly guided by a divine force or simply subject to random chance. He sometimes prays, not for himself, but for the ones he lost, hoping that somehow his prayers may reach them in the afterlife, and the ones he still has.

➢ Skills Despite popular belief, Boothill is quite skilled in many areas. He is particularly adept at problem-solving and has a keen eye for detail. He can recognize disease and illness in animals with just a quick glance. As a cowboy, his experience working with livestock has honed his resourcefulness. Plus, he's a talented craftsman. The bullet earring of his? That's a real bullet casing that he fashioned into jewelry himself.

➢ Touch Boothill always adored physical touch. He thrived on hugs, cuddles, and any form of affectionate contact. Even a simple pat on the back could make his day brighter. With the only thing remaining of his original body now being his face, he craves the sensation of touch more than ever. The memories of warm embraces and gentle caresses are all he has left to hold onto.

➢ Songs If he hears anywhere a song that reminds him of home, he will subconsciously murmur it, maybe tap along to the beat. If he hears someone he knows singing it, then KABOOM! It’s karaoke night and some bring him a fudging guitar already—

➢ Wheat He likes to munch on it like gum. It's a strange habit, but it seems to satisfy his cravings for something chewy and subtly sweet. Sometimes he even chews on it while…ehm, working to help him concentrate.

➢ Hat When Boothill was young, Nick had promised to give him his hat one day. The day he did was the day Boothill found his girl. The hat was destroyed in the explosion, but Boothill made a replica, going as far as damaging it to have the same tears and bumps as the original.

➢ Survivor's guilt. Wishes he was with his family.

[weirdkpopgirl]

Courage | Renjun Imagine #3

Title: Courage

Genre: neighbors to lovers

Warnings: kissing, and it gets a little intense 😅

Word Count: 784

Author's Note: This story was originally supposed to be part of a group scenario for 7Dream as your neighbors. But after finishing Haechan's, I realized these might be way too long for one post. So I decided to just make them individual stories with the same theme. Also, this is a chance for me to post something for Mark and Renjun on this blog. Hope you guys like it ^ ^

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

He had been living in the same apartment building as you have for a few months now. While he occupied the unit right above yours, and though you had crossed paths many times in the hallway or elevator, your interactions stayed limited to polite greetings and occasional small talk. At first, Renjun wasn’t aware of the quiet attraction growing between you beneath the surface of these casual encounters.

However, one morning things shifted when Renjun was performing his skincare routine in the bathroom. Below him, he suddenly caught a faint melody drifting through the air amidst the sound of running water. Standing still as he snapped on the lid to his toner, Renjun listened a little more carefully. It didn’t take long for him to discern that the heartfelt voice singing beneath his feet belonged to you.

A secret smile formed on his face, as he slowly picked up his next product to use. Just when Renjun thought he couldn’t be more captivated by you, he was proven wrong. As the days turned into weeks, Renjun found himself looking forward to those mornings when you sang in the shower. He would purposely adjust his morning routine to coincide with your sweet melodies.

On one restless night, Renjun was kept awake by the thoughts of you swirling in his head. Despite knowing so little about you, there existed an inexplicable connection that made him believe that you two were meant to be more than just neighbors. After tossing and turning in bed, Renjun decided that he couldn’t bottle his feelings anymore. 

Without allowing room for second thoughts, Renjun swiftly rose from his bed and slid into his white sneakers. Not wanting to disturb the other tenants who were likely asleep, Renjun quietly made his way downstairs to your unit. He stood outside your door, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. Gathering all his courage, he knocked softly.

Seconds later, the door cautiously opened to you in your thin-rimmed glasses and cozy gray pajamas. Although you were usually awake past midnight, it wasn’t like you expected people to come by during this time. Your eyes widened at the sight of Huang Renjun, clad in a beige cardigan and black pajama pants, standing right at your doorstep.

When you noticed the slightly unsettled expression he was wearing, your eyes flickered with concern. You’ve never seen him look so…anxious.

“Renjun, is everything okay?” you asked, keeping your voice hushed.

The boy let out a deep sigh, struggling to keep his nerves in check. “No…I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about you,” Renjun admitted, his words carefully forming as he realized he should have planned this better.

You stared at the boy as if he just spit out some outrageous fact. “Me? What about me?”

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Renjun made the decision to pour out his feelings. He started to express how he had heard you singing in the morning and instantly fell in love with your voice. Your heart raced as you silently processed what he was saying.

“I know it might sound weird, and I promise I wasn't stalking you!” he hurriedly clarified. “But your voice... It's so beautiful. Even though we haven't spoken much, I can tell you’re a lovely person, and—”

Before Renjun could finish his sentence, you gently cupped his face and smashed your lips against his. Typically, you were a very reserved person— especially around someone who was just an acquaintance. However, maybe it was because you had also been secretly crushing on Renjun for ages, his confession ignited something within you.

He quickly melted into the moment, gently pressing his hand on your back as he responded to the kiss without hesitation. Gradually, your fingers became tangled in Renjun’s hair. Your lips moved together slowly, tenderly, consumed by the unspoken longing that had lasted for far too long. 

The two of you pulled back, both breathless with reddened lips and tousled hair. Renjun’s eyes locked onto yours, his heart soaring like a rocket. “So…I take it that you like me too?”

In that moment, you were conflicted between wanting to cry, laugh, or roll your eyes. Trying to maintain your composure, you nodded lightly. 

“Huang Renjun, you have no idea.”

Renjun smiled again and pushed the door open further before reconnecting your lips in another passionate kiss. Kicking off his shoes, the two of you stumbled towards the couch, your lips never parting. You collapsed onto the soft cushions, wrapped up in each other, and the outside world faded away.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

[strqyr]

Tbh I think an issue the rwby fandom has when it comes to analyzing the story and making theories n stuff, is that they forget to include what DOESN'T happen.

Like you can make a million assumptions based on what did happen! And that stuff is obviously important. But it's really easy to miss the stuff that doesn't happen, despite that being just as important.

Cause like,, let's throw an example out there. Some people say Oz is bigoted, and on the surface, if you only look at what did happen (Oz interrogating Blake and thinking she could be White Fang still, and thus be connected to Salem). But there's many things there that DIDN'T happen; Blake never pointed out Oz being bigoted (she would've done so had she felt he was), she never complained afterwards of Oz seeming to target her, and Blake wasn't intimidated at all. All she criticized him for was for 'not trying hard enough' to clean out Vales systemic racism, which was pretty fair. Not only that, but the story doesn't say Oz is wrong for thinking this, nor does Blake seem to blame him for being cautious.

There's many more examples of what did happen vs what didn't happen but I can't think of any atm lol. Essentially you can't rely on just one side of a story. Plus the framing is important, as well as what purpose something might serve narratively (and Oz being bigoted... serves absolutely no purpose).

Sorry for rambling in your inbox for the millionth time, hope you like it lol

yup. it's very easy to cherry-pick scenes and what parts of them to focus on to make it fit into whatever conclusion you've come to, or theory you're crafting. like, it's a thin line to walk and confirmation bias is one hell of a thing, but there's a difference between making up your mind and then working backwards to make everything fit into that conclusion (selective, if one must) vs looking at scenes, analyzing them, seeing what is being portrayed, how it's portrayed, and then if it forms a pattern that keeps repeating, you very well might have something there.

using the ozpin & blake scene as an example: yes, ozpin questions blake. yes, some of it comes across as accusative. but look at the end of the scene when ozpin tells blake that if she ever needs to talk to him, she shouldn't hesitate to ask, with this look on his face:

ozpin isn't just being cautious over the possibility that blake is undercover for the white fang / possibly salem, he's worried; "you wouldn't have been the first," he tells her when blake claims to have just been "at the right place at the right time." in regards to the white fang's presence at the shipyard that night.

this is not ozpin's first rodeo. blake is not the first troubled teen who may be involved in something she'd rather not and is looking for a way out but doesn't know how; she's paralleled with the branwens the most for a reason, me thinks lol

it's a small moment right at the end of the scene, and because of it it may not leave a lasting impact in the same way as the rest does, but it still exists, shining a new light on the rest of the scene.

[r3n0-5]

About Bungou Stray Dogs

I’m happier than ever now that I found a new husband, damn, Asagiri really can write… despite some things, I feel like there are things he still needs to polish, and at the same time I find myself gasping, crying, smiling, having all sorts of feelings I’m not supposed to be able to feel -or recognize ‘cause I have alexitimya- thanks to him, I love his work so much that it doesn’t matter how many words I write, it won’t ever come close to what I actually think about it, it was so good that motivated me to write again, to paint, to draw, I can’t stop creating, he inspired me in ways I have never seen before, maybe it’s because we’re so alike, I noticed that through his work, we’re so besties even when we don’t know each other, I would even dare to say that we were through some similar things in life, he said that his work is not for the ones that are outside and live their lives and don’t need stories like these to feel like they are actually living, he was so right with that one, yes, I really do need stories like oxygen in order to live, and he’s the same, he knows it, he’s aware of it and doesn’t plan to change it, and why bother? Books became an obsession for me from such a young age, and they still are for me and thousands of introverts on the world, his storytelling touches my soul for a reason, ‘cause even when we never met we share likes, experiences, interests, suffering, we live in the same planet, it's amazing when literature can make you feel for an instance you’re not alone, happened to me when I read poets and writers from hundreds of years ago, specifically with Dostoevsky, I could feel his pain, I was feeling so out of place before, Poe was there for me when I had no one, so many critique their words, but it’s because they write about the cruel reality of life that everyone’s loves to ignore ‘cause living in their little happy bubbles is more comfortable, happiness can’t exist without sadness, How would you appreciate those moments when you smile next to someone you love if you haven’t cried your eyes out before? How are you gonna appreciate life if there’s no death? What would be your purpose in living then? That’s when stories like these come to hug you, to tell you you’re not the first one to experience this or that, you’re human, you’re just being alive, and it’s completely ok to feel desperation, terror, madness, loneliness, hate, whatever it is, you won’t be the last feeling those either, isolate if you need to, let your body process what consequences breathing brings, and then rest, heal, and then live again, to anyone reading this, you’re not alone, doesn’t matter how much it looks like you are, an the end, we’re all connected through this thing we call life.

And that’s why I can connect with him and his characters, he writes them in a way that feels alive, he lets them have actual feelings, and that lets me know them more, like their motives, their way of seeing life, and I can empathize with them and feel like I’m living with them, that I’m also a part of the story, and there’s counted works that made me feel that way, so I’m thankful that I decided to watch/read, this series, I understand why, even when Bungou Stray Dogs has a small fandom, they are loud and dedicated enough for it to be noticed by other fandoms, I understand now why they love it so bad, and they made it reach someone like me, I have stopped consuming anime for a long time, I didn’t find it entertaining anymore, but this was a different one, a unique one, a work I want to consume and know more about, the anime wasn’t enough, I’m planning to read the manga, and most of all, I’m excited to read the novels, please Asagiri keep painting a world I want to be part of