#more credit blog comming up

[aluaescreve]

♡ google docs template: VERSION UP

pt-br: Eu fiz esse template pra usar no meu blog de muses e já quis aproveitar pra compartilhar ele aqui. É bem simplesinho, porque é literalmente o primeiro template de docs que eu já fiz, ele é de uma página (se você escrever o suficiente pra passar de uma página, vai ficar estranho) para um personagem só. Para usar é só ir em arquivo > fazer uma cópia. E para trocar a imagem, é só clicar com botão direito > substituir imagem. Não remova os créditos. E, por favor, deixe seu like e reblog, caso vá usar.

eng: I made this template for my muses blog, and now I'm sharing it. It's very simple, because it's the first template I've ever made. It's a single-page single-muse template (if you write more than one page, it'll look weird). To use it, just click on file > make a copy. And to change the picture right click > replace image. Don't remove the credits. And, please, like and reblog if you're using it.

DOWNLOAD HERE (or click the source link)

[ljubitelj-sonca]

How to find your way around Joblr!

Hello! This is your first time on Joblr and you're wondering how this works? So relatable, been there, this website can be confusing!

But do not fret. We're happy to have you here and want you to have a good time.

So here's a guide on how to exist on Tumblr dot com and how to have a good time being a fan of Joker Out on this website.

Collectively written by the Joblr Discord Server.

Here you'll find:

what you are getting yourself into

a step by step guide on how this website works

spoken and unspoken rules of RPF on tumblr

First of all, what are you getting yourself into?

Pros:

So many talented artists, writers, editors, gif makers, meme makers, it's actually wild! And they all do this for free!!

Long rant posts with detailed analyses on whatever new photos Damon has taken of the guys

Pics, Gifs, vids and clips of gigs, interviews and their social media, also often throwbacks (with sources/credits if the original posters didn't take them themselves)

So many lovely and unhinged thoughts people leave in the tags when reblogging your posts (more on how that works later) so you see direct reactions to what you've made

A very chill environment with virtually no drama or arguments (and we really mean that <3), the only thing we're feral about are the guys

Cons (or something):

The "what is Kris's hair colour?" discourse pops up every couple months

So many polls (but are we really complaining about that?)

You're intrigued! Nice! How does all this work then?

Step 1 - your blog:

Create your blog and customize it.

Unfortunately Tumblr is dealing with a lot of bots that look exactly like new blogs. So if you keep your profile picture and header as the default one, blogs you follow might think you're a bot and block you. TO PREVENT THAT: change your profile pic and header to something you like and maybe add something in your description, even if it's just "Hi, I'm just here to lurk, do not perceive me".

That shows other blogs that you're a real person and they'll enjoy having you as a follower.

Step 2 - general tags:

Take a look at some tags you enjoy.

Tumblr is all about tagging, which is essentially nothing other than a hashtag, but they're only at the very bottom of a post, in a separate little section. (Writing "#joker out" in the middle of your post does absolutely nothing, but if you use the tag "joker out" in the tags section, your post will appear in the "#joker out" tag on tumblr)

For example, we have tags for each of the boys, as well as a general "joker out" of course. But there are also tags for ships (more on ships later!). Find some you're interested in and take a peep inside.

(You can also follow tags to find them easier again later.)

Step 3 - reblogging (and more tags):

See a post you like? Reblog it!

Reblogging is just about the best thing about tumblr, it's truly the easiest and quickest way to connect with other blogs.

A reblog is a little bit like a retweet on Twitter, it is not a repost! You are taking a copy of the post and slapping it onto your blog, kinda like a scrap book. But the fun thing: you can leave your thoughts!

Here's where tags come back into play: they're not only to file your posts and to have them appear in tags, they're the place to leave any little comments you might have.

For example: you see a post with a gif of Kris at a gig, he's wearing an outfit you like and fun sunglasses. So you click on the little reblog button. At the very bottom of the post, you have the gray bubble with the tag "#add tags to help people find your post" (or whatever it corresponds to in your language) (or just "add tags" on mobile). Click it, and write what you think.

#Kris i missed you!! #he looks so good in that jacket #and also thank you to whoever gave him those sunglasses #<3333 #Kris Guštin #joker out

Then when you reblog the post, it will appear on your blog with those tags at the bottom. The tags you leave on a post will only be on your blog. Someone in turn can reblog the post from your blog and leave their own tags.

The original poster (short: op) will see all the tags people leave on their post in their activity and other people can see them when they click on "notes". It's so much fun to click through what people leave in the tags, be it your own post or someone else's.

Of course you don't have to reblog posts, the like button is there too. But reblogs are the only way posts are spread throughout the fandom, as there is no proper algorithm (which we're all very glad about!!!), and they're the way for you to personalise your blog. So reblog liberally! It's how this website thrives!

Step 4 - following blogs:

Follow blogs you enjoy!

In order for posts to appear on your feed (your timeline), you have to follow blogs, that makes sense. So when you find a blog whose posts (or art or writing or whatever they blog about) you like, give them a follow.

Now, on other websites it might be seen as creepy to spamlike someone's account. Here it's like the biggest compliment ever to go through someone's blog and like and reblog a lot of their posts (especially if you leave your thoughts in the tags). It is absolutely flattering!

Step 5 - making posts:

Make posts if you want.

It's totally fine to just exist on this website and to like and reblog stuff, there is absolutely no pressure. But posting is fun!

You made some art? You took a photo or video at a concert? You have a question about something or just a cursed thought? We'd love to see it! Slap it into a post and share it with the Joker Out world.

Add tags about the people involved so others can find it, a little "#my art/video/pic" so we know you made/took it yourself, and even share some behind the scenes thoughts in the tags if you want.

Tags for a drawing can look like this for example:

#this took me so long #but I'm really proud of how it turned out!! #the shading was a struggle but oh welk #*well #tried a new brush #jure maček #my art #joker out

And then others can like and reblog your post with their own thoughts.

Keep in mind: do not (re)post someone else's art/Gifs/writing without their explicit consent! If you do (with their consent), credit them (you can add links to text by highlighting the text and clicking on the little link symbol, then copying the link into the bar. It looks like this.) (Here is a handy guide on how to repost Gifs on Tumblr while giving proper credit at the same time.) Same goes for sharing photos the band, their photographers or their friends have posted on social media: give credit when needed. 

There has been a serious issue with people stealing Gifs off of Tumblr and posting them on Twitter without consent or credit. That is not okay! People spend a lot of time and effort making them, having them get stolen like that is incredibly frustrating!

Step 6 - making friends:

Interact with other people.

Now, we totally get that this is scary. But think about this: everyone else on this website, in this fandom, is just some guy (gender neutral). We're all wimps giggling, kicking our feet at five slovenian men and their music. Honestly, there's nothing scary about us, even if it might feel like it.

But we love making friends! And that doesn't necessarily entail sliding into some DMs to talk to people (but you can do that, most blogs are super okay with that), there are many ways to interact with others on this website.

The tags are one way of course, for your own thoughts or to respond to something OP has mentioned in their post. Making posts and polls and asking people to interact with you is another way, then you can see their thoughts in the tags, how fun is that!

Another way is asks, which is a special bonus feature on Tumblr. When you're on someone's blog, some have a little bubble below their description with "ask me anything" or something along that inside (unless they have turned off the feature). Click that, and you can ask them a question which they can then respond to publicly (or privately) in a post.

People use this feature for writing or art prompts, ask games, birthday wishes, or just to ask random questions or share thoughts. You can even send anonymous asks if you're too shy (some people take advantage of that to send anonymous hate. Do not be one of those people!). But it's always nice to have a face behind the ask.

Keep in mind, not all artists/writers are open for prompts or requests. Some state it somewhere on their blog if they are or aren't, some reblog lists with prompts and explicitly ask for them. If you're unsure, send them an ask or a DM and ask about it.

Then there are also Discord servers of course. There are a couple different ones floating around. If you're interested in the Joblr one for example, feel free to send me a DM! :D

Step 7 - ignoring and blocking:

Saw something you don't like? No stress, just ignore it.

It's as easy as that. The best way to have a good time in fandom, is to focus on what you enjoy. So when someone makes a post you don't like or has a take you disagree with, just scroll past it.

If you feel like the blog and its posts you don't like keep appearing, block them. For real, the block button is your friend. And no one is going to be mad at you, promise.

Arguing on the internet is not fun for anyone involved (you, the person who made the post, everyone who sees your argument), especially when it's about personal opinions (that includes interpretations, ships, even kinks). So it's best to just. not.

There’s also the option to blacklist/filter tags, if you don’t like a specific ship for example, but it’s also really helpful for triggers you’d rather not see! On desktop, you do so by clicking “Settings” and then scrolling down until you see “Content you see”. There under “Filtered Tags” you can add tags you’d rather avoid, and under “Filtered Post Content” you can do the same with, well, post content. On mobile, you go to your blog and click the settings icon, then “Account Settings”, then “Content You See”. There you’ll find “Filtered Tags” and “Filtered Post Content”.

This way, posts that are tagged with the filtered tag or include the filtered word will be blocked with the message “This post contains filtered tags/content”. There’s also a button to view the post anyways, but you do so at your own risk of course! There’s content you’d rather not see behind it!

(Of course, if you see someone being bigoted, being particularly hateful or spreading misinformation, that's a different thing! It's totally fine to defend or correct someone. In most cases, the comment section or even DMs is the best place for that, to keep it about the people involved. Making posts about it, will let it get out of hand and is rarely necessary, unless it's really important.)

Spoken and unspoken rules of RPF (real people fiction) on Tumblr (and by extension: AO3)

(In no particular order)

1. They're real people.

Joker Out's members (and their friends) are real people we know virtually nothing about. We know that we know virtually nothing about them. And we are totally okay with this.

The people we post about, write fics about, draw are fictionalised versions of the real people (maybe with the exception of when we post pics/vids we've taken or share what they've shared on social media). Most of it is made up, because again, we don't know them. And in no way shape or form is anything we write/post/draw speculation about what they might be like in real life. We know this and are okay with this and that's exactly what makes RPF fun.

This way we can just make shit up! Wanna draw them in skirts? Give them random jobs? Trans their genders? Think about different dynamics? All of that is fair game, because it's all made up.

So when we call Kris a princess and Jan a babygirl, we are not reducing them to that or think that they're only like this in real life. In the next sentence, we might call Jan a hunky dude, and both are correct.

Same goes for ships. Ships like Jan x Nace, or Kris x Damon stem from the interactions the real people share with us, but in the end, anything we make of it is entirely made up and doesn't represent the real people at all. Be it an AU or something that could've happened during an event that really happened.

You'll often find disclamers like this (much shorter versions tho) in the beginning notes of fics.

2. Keep fandom in fandom spaces.

Fandom is not a secret, the guys are probably well aware of what's happening on social media in their fandom spaces (though probably no specifics). So far they have not expressed any discomfort with any of it, even encouraged it in some way or another.

If that ever changes, if they ever do say that they are uncomfortable with what is written about them, we will respect that and refrain from doing so. Their comfort comes first.

Still, we don't want them to accidentally stumble across something they haven't been actively searching for, so we keep it on Tumblr and AO3, where it's unlikely they'll just randomly find it.

So please refrain from sharing art/fics on sites like Twitter or Instagram, which we know they frequent, if the artists don't post them there themselves. 

3. Don’t like? Don’t read.

This rule goes for basically everything on the internet and corresponds with Step 7 - Ignoring and blocking, but it’s helpful to repeat it here again.

You might enjoy being in a real people fandom differently than others. Maybe you don’t like reading fics about the people involved, or don’t like some interpretations others have of them. That is totally okay! Everyone enjoys different things.

But if you don’t like something, simply don’t read it - or scroll past it, or block the blog, or filter the tag, you get the gist. Receiving comments like, “this is so weird, why does this exist? Why are people like this?” is incredibly hurtful and will gain the commenter absolutely nothing (apart from others thinking they’re a super shitty person), so don’t leave them. Just go on with your day.

Tldr: Be respectful, be mindful, be creative, be open, and if need be, take a step back. That’s really all it takes.

Alrighty! Now you know a whole lot more about how Tumblr works and how we're existing in the fandom here.

We hope you're staying for longer than just to lurk about what it's like here, and that you're having a good time. We’re looking forward to going feral about Joker Out with you!

If you have any questions, the comment section is a good place to leave them, there others can find them and the answers as well. Or feel free to try out the ask button on my blog <3

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in. 

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 

You’re fine. 

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it. 

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed. 

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment. 

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off. 

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut. 

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race. 

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride. 

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips. 

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated. 

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture. 

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote. 

 “Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan. 

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you. 

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him. 

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.” 

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into. 

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside. 

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room. 

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction. 

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom. 

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection. 

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no. 

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution. 

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption. 

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat. 

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match. 

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath. 

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips. 

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore. 

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine. 

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further. 

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do. 

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one. 

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie. 

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence. 

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you. 

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him. 

Strike two. 

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him. 

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you. 

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry. 

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier!” 

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly. 

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels. 

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence. 

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict. 

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch. 

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care. 

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you. 

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder. 

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot. 

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you. 

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there. 

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed. 

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying. 

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time. 

Strike three. 

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief. 

Denial. 

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on. 

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly. 

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths. 

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter. 

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps. 

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell. 

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it. 

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat. 

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly. 

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you. 

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you. 

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met. 

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread. 

You hate that you don’t hate him. 

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out? 

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head. 

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension. 

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.  

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms. 

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you. 

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk. 

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.” 

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?” 

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily. 

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking. 

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…” 

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.  

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help. 

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!” 

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings. 

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.  

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it. 

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on. 

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…” 

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone. 

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.  

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you. 

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you. 

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up. 

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter. 

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation. 

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space. 

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika. 

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders. 

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table. 

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly. 

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name. 

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe - 

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.  

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine. 

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky. 

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page. 

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean. 

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you. 

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe. 

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it. 

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other. 

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body. 

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it? 

“I can’t believe you two.” 

This is the moment. 

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door. 

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face. 

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis. 

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you. 

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap. 

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers. 

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it. 

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry. 

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him. 

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.  

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable. 

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray. 

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future. 

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from. 

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out. 

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens. 

“You’re lower actually.” 

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.  

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them. 

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.” 

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will. 

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no. 

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him. 

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it. 

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat. 

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!” 

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.” 

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell. 

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin. 

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out. 

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away. 

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done. 

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign. 

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve. 

Easier than breathing. 

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do. 

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy. 

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.  

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down. 

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you. 

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds. 

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

 “Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt. 

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in. 

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back. 

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been. 

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world. 

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips. 

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath. 

“You liked it.” 

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower. 

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love. 

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

[discowheelsau]

🛼 Disco Wheels: a WH AU! 🪩

ㅤㅤㅤa famous and beloved rollerskate rink from the 80s, brought alive by its colorful cast of puppets and live entretainment. a safe place for anyone and everyone, no matter who or what you were.

ㅤㅤㅤa story following Wally—nicknamed Roco—and his experiences working at a roller rink, until everything went wrong.

！﹘ Index

About the AU

The Cast

Boundaries

Tagging Guide

Important Links

1. ﹕ About the AU

ㅤㅤㅤit's the 80s, and all you can hear being talked about is the latest rollerskate that opened not so long ago. neon lights, disco music, a cast of colorful puppets and live entretainment bring the building to life all day and all night long. ㅤㅤㅤa place where everyone is free to be who they are, free to have fun however they want; sounds like a dream come true, doesn't it? come in! the doors are open for you, everyone is waiting. ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤwill you join the fun…? :o)

2. ﹕ The Cast

Roco :: Wally (he/it/roll)

the main mascot of the roller rink; he appeared the most in commercials and other promotional material, and could be seen present in the rink at all times either dancing, singing, or rolling around. - Actor: Renny

Blades :: Sally (she/he)

the "chill friend" of the group; she could be seen frequently in roller skating and roller skates ads, hanging out near the speakers, or rolling around the rink. - Actoress: [REDACTED]

Cherry :: Julie (she/he/cherry)

the most cheerful one out of the whole group, always ready to be the center of attention and the life of the party. she was always dancing and singing along the disco music of the rink. - Actoress: [REDACTED]

Beetle :: Frank (he/they)

possibly the most grounded out of the whole group - although certainly not any less fun! they could usually be seen skating around the rink helping those that needed it. - Actor: Mateo

Dee :: Eddie (he/dis)

a popular drag queen in town; like Julie, he's always ready to be the center of attention, frequently dancing alongside her during the later hours of the day. - Actor: Ken

Mr. H :: Howdy (he/him)

with a more "rich jock" attitude, he was the most admired by the rink's attendees out of the whole group. he was always ready to help anyone that needed it! - Actor: [REDACTED]

Pop' :: Poppy (she/her)

the mother figure of the group, she used to appear most frequently in health/ safety PSAs videos in the rink. she usually worked during child-friendly hours of the day. - Actor: [REDACTED]

B.B :: Barnaby (he/him)

the clown of the party - he was always up to making everyone present smile and laugh along. he had more party tricks up his sleeve than stars on his fur, or so he said. - Actor: [REDACTED]

3. ﹕ Boundaries

What is ok?

Fan art, edits, cosplays, fanfics, anything creative!

Character interactions of any kind!  In any medium!  I’d love to see them!

Memes or things alike!

Hurt/comfort!

Fanon AUs of the AU

Edits! All of this, as long as you tag/ credit me of course!

What is not ok?

Selling mass produced merchandise.

Sexual interactions, both explicit and not explicit.

Ignoring a character's sexuality for shipping purposes.

Redesigns, recolors, tracing, etc. without my permission.

Any type of com-proshipping content; this includes Wallycest.

Any kind of AI content. Please respect these boundaries, if not you will be blocked and blacklisted.

4. ﹕ Tagging Guide

#disco wheels au — general tag for the AU! #lore — general lore/ important posts. #ask — all answered asks made to the blog! #golden disco years — all posts related to the roller rink. #watcher mansion — all posts related to Watcher Wally's Mansion and other interactions with other AUs in it.

5. ﹕ Important Links

Spotify playlist

fanart folder!

... it's best to not live in the past, isn't it?

are you willing to hear the truth…?

[batsplat]

breaking a blog policy of non-engagement with active discourse unless explicitly asked about it,, below the cut,, I intend this to be a one-off thing, look away

seen some snarking about this article on the race dot com about where marc fits into the current title fight, and specifically this paragraph:

because ofc it's some kind of grievous sin to equate the current two title contenders with the two title contenders in 2015, one of whomst was well past his prime and the other who in many ways had a deeply untidy season. the argument might be that the current spec ducati has a bike advantage over marc, which. you'll never guess how the 2015 yamaha measured up against the 2015 honda. and yeah, it sure is embarrassing how the current title contenders chuck away bucket loads of points through sheer stupidity. after all, when racing in the wet in misano, it's unforgivable to pit at the wrong time and emerge with only one point - why not simply crash and emerge from that weekend with zero points instead? imagine finishing second behind marc in those conditions, when you could instead swap bikes far too late and finish a lowly fifth

it's worth putting that paragraph in context of what the piece was actually saying:

all of this is categorically true. it doesn't mean marc might not still win this year's championship if both jorge and pecco make enough mistakes, but quite obviously those two are closer to the 2015 title contenders than 2017. in the former, marc could not bank on a consistent pace advantage, in the latter he could; this feels like quite a straightforward point to be making. dovi's phillip island stinker did kill his championship momentum - and given the sheer consistency of performances jorge and pecco have put in when it comes to their pace, it would be very surprising to see an equivalent from those two. don't even get me started on whatever the fuck maverick vinales was doing that year after like,, the first five races, which lack of a dominant bike is quite frankly not enough to excuse. the rest of the article assesses marc's chances entirely fairly, essentially expanding on the argument that you just wouldn't expect that kind of consistent performance edge that he would need to overturn the points deficit. (I personally think marc is a little more likely to be a title threat than the author of the article does, though I also don't fundamentally disagree with anything specific being said; mainly I just feel vibes-wise that sprint races have made title fights insanely volatile.) he could still win - but in terms of how he compares to the opposition, there is no argument whatsoever to be made that this is not closer to 2015 than 2017. even if you believe this is only due to bike difference, in which case I think you are possibly giving 2017 dovi and vinales a little too much credit, the points raised in the article still stand up to scrutiny

it is perhaps inevitable that people will deify the greats of the past - even more so if they dislike the top riders of the present and feel that they are undeserving of their current success. it does, however, seem to come along with a skewed understanding of the actual greats in question, of where they were strong and where they faltered. valentino and lorenzo had two title fights, both of which were error-strewn affairs and hardly their best seasons. sprints have helped further distort perceptions of how error-prone these current riders really are, because at the end of the day neither martin nor pecco are on course for a radically different error rate than the title contenders in 2009. lorenzo lost his head in jerez when he was the pre-race favourite and ended up crashing trying to overcompensate for his surprisingly poor pace, valentino had an absolute howler at le mans that makes misano this year from martin look like a paragon of good decision-making and composure under pressure, jorge practically handed the championship to valentino with back-to-back dnf's at donington and brno, valentino incidentally also crashed at donington and got extremely lucky to have a bike that was still rideable to fifth, then proceeded to just chuck it for absolutely no reason at indy with a mistake that was so obviously stupid and needless he showed up to misano with a donkey helmet. valentino followed up misano with a poor fourth in estoril because he got lost with the set-up that weekend - and buddy, if you think the gp24 bike advantage is bad, let me tell you a story about how yamaha/ducati/honda were doing back in the day compared to the field. fourth might as well have been last. (I don't love single manufacturer domination either, but let's not pretend like the gaps between bikes aren't way, way, way smaller than they were in '09.) then jorge, with momentum and opportunity on his side, gets so spooked by valentino's pace in practise he bins it on the very first lap of phillip island, essentially ending the championship fight then and there. neither of them deliver a particularly dignified performance in sepang. during this title fight, there were three instances of crashing out of the lead and one from a very close second. jorge martin and pecco bagnaia eat your hearts out

and 2015? the season that was actually being referenced in the championship? valentino was only in that championship fight due to his relentless consistency, a handful of starring performances and an ability to not completely fuck it when a few rain drops started falling. his pace was flat-out not good enough to be a title contender - if anything, on raw pace he was more competitive for a big chunk of 2016 than he had been the year before. he was qualifying abysmally in an era where the gaps between bikes were considerably larger, reflecting a far poorer performance than equivalent grid positions would nowadays, and certainly would have nothing to counter the consistency in qualifying the two title contenders this year have demonstrated. jorge had to work hard to come as close to losing that championship as he did, going through a bizarre and borderline embarrassing set of helmet visor issues early on in the season that he should never have allowed to happen. he was peak metronome that year, able to dominate and win from the front but otherwise rife with limitations, repeatedly performing poorly when he was put ever so slightly off-balance. in many ways, he got very lucky to not be penalised more for his horrendous silverstone performance. he was also helped by the gap between the factory yamahas and hondas to the field being so large, because otherwise some of his inconsistency would have cost him a hell of a lot more. both of their seasons had laughably obvious flaws that just about managed to offset each other's enough to make a title decider possible - but if you ever so slightly change the formula, if the qualifying format had still been different or the bike disparities larger or smaller or any of that, it would have probably tipped it quite strongly one way or the other. a battle of the titans it was not

none of this is to say that valentino or jorge are shit riders, or that marc is a fraud for letting himself be so thoroughly beaten by them in 2015 on what was ultimately still a competitive bike. at a certain point, however, you are comparing the current athletes with versions of the past greats who quite frankly did not exist 90% of the time. if you are sufficiently motivated, you can come up with pretty decent slander for anyone. it is also presenting an idealised version of the sport in the past that, again, did not exist. while the gp24's advantage over the field is substantial, if we are talking in terms of raw lap times, it is substantially less so than the gap the top few factory teams had in the past. the aliens did not dominate from 2007 to 2015 to the extent that they did because they were just so brilliant - they were performing at a high level, yes, but also nobody else really stood a chance. as hard as it may be to accept, when you have riders who so consistently have a pace advantage as pecco and martin do, including over the fellow riders on the same machinery, it is possible they may simply be doing an actual good job. and the more pecco adds to his resume, the more difficult it will become to not consider him in the same tier of rider as at least some of the aliens. yes, I am talking about lorenzo here - a man who incidentally did not convincingly pass the 'only good with one manufacturer' test that's already being dangled in front of pecco. if we really want to go into the weeds, it's worth pointing out that pecco's luck has also not been particularly fantastic this year, from mechanical gremlins at the le mans sprint to being wiped out by binder at the jerez sprint to the qualifying position at aragon working against him and losing out quite severely in what are at worst 60:40 racing incidents twice this season - sometimes, you do get punished a lot for relatively minor missteps. so yeah, if you want to compare the current trio of title contenders with anyone, then 2015 feels as good a place as any. sometimes the greats of the past did suck, idk what to tell you. they would be a hell of a lot more boring if they hadn't

[just-some-trans-nobody]

Yautja x Trans reader during a period.

Actively suffering from cramps so this is very self-indulgent. Reader is implied to be a Trans man or Nonbinary but no prounons will be used. Just some big old fluff. I know at least one other person has done this idea so I'm not taking credit for it at all.

It's fluff but Minors don't interact!! This blog is not for you!

Warnings: talk of periods, bleeding, crying, cramps, swearing. If you think I should add more warnings let me know and I'll add them.

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

Male Yautja

He first notices somthing is wrong when he saw you wince from across the room. Not sure if it was one of those random ooman pains or something serious, he's not taking a chance oomans are so fragile. Of course he asks about it wanting to know what was wrong with his little mate. You were confused it was just some stomach problems nothing to worry about.

It wasn't nothing, over the next few days he noted that you were wincing and grabbing your stomach more often. Not only that but your behavior was different, you seemed more irritated or sad at the flip of a coin. He watched you cry over a commercial about soup. Even though he noticed a lot of strange things going on he didn't bring it up again.

That was until he smelled the faint sweet smell of blood comming from you. Rushing to your side he immediately looked you over for wonds. Confused you asked what he was doing, he was even more confused that you hadn't seemed to care. He once saw you whine for hours because of a sore hang nail. Explaining to you he smelled blood he noticed your face change from confusion to realization.

"Oh it must be that time of the month." The nonchalant way you said that had him absolutely reeling.

You just bleed once a month???

And not die??

Holy shit his heart is pounding, he's worried as hell but also some how more in love knowing how strong his mate is to not be bothered by bleeding every month.

He soon realized that it wasn't something you were unbothered by when he found you curled up in a ball whimpering and crying due to the shere amount of pain you were going through.

This doesn't change how he feels about you though your still so very strong in his eyes and he's more than willing to help you during this painful time. Your his mate after all he wants to help.

Picking you up off the floor he brought you to your shared bed and tucked you in. Following your orders he grabbed some food, a pain pill, your heating pad though he thought he could do a better job than the pad could, and absolutely anything else you told him to get.

He's by your side constantly and anything you said in the angry part of your mood swings bounce off him. He knows your suffering and lashing out he's not affected by it. Honestly he's more worried when your sobbing and whimpering when holding your stomach. He had no idea that oomans delt with this, he feels pretty bad.

Surrounding you in pelts and stuffed animals he comforted and cuddled you when you allowed his touch. Even when you bleed through and onto the bed he cleaned it up and changed the sheets out. Each time you tried to apologize for bleeding he shot that down telling you it wasn't your fault and he's a hunter he baths in blood for fun this is nothing to him.

Purring he'll cuddle you for days until the cramps stop and the blood dries out. He'll cuddle you a few days extra for good measure, that and he loves cuddling you. His big warm hands on your stomach definitely was a great help with your cramps. If you had stopped using your heating pad in favor of using his hands instead he's so very smug about it flashing prideful smirks to the pad before going back to snuggling.

He will comfort you every single time you have your period. If he's out hunting and you have your period he's kicking himself for being gone unable to comfort and help you. Secretly he'll plan his hunt around you having your period so he can be there to comfort you every time. He's gotten good at telling when it will start soon, you have tells even if you don't notice them all. Your an open book to him, he likes that though he knows exactly how to take care of you.

Expect many many kisses. If he can cook the foods you like then he's cooking for you constantly. Anything to make your life easier for you.

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

Should I make a second part with a female Yautja?

[sundazeing]

How may I be of service?

♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧

Requests?

I can do icons(flags and graphic), name/title/pronouns(npt) ideas , moodboards and userboxes

Everything is free to use though credit, likes and reblogs are appreciated though they are not required

Non-requests asks are encouraged, feel free to say whatever you wish

BLACK/WHITE LIST HERE

How you may do so...

Icons-

-Full name of character and source

-Flag or graphic theme

-If they are from both a anime and manga, please specify which version you want

^I will not do the following

Radqueer/transid or endogenic flags

Themes of sh

Real people(live action shows, streamers, etc)

favorite person , equal person , etc flags

hypersexuality or sexual trauma related things (nothing against those who suffer from hypersexuality , I hope you all are doing well<3)

NPTs-

Give a theme/character, what you would like(names, pronouns, titles or all) and if you'd like them to be masc, fem or neutral

//I will state immediately anything related to a specific culture I will not do as I do not wish to be disrespectful

Moodboards-

Give me any character/kintype/aesthetic (that follows the same rules as in the icon section) and what the media they are from, and what you would like the board to be based around

//I will do any theme besides-

Self harm

Thinspo

Traumacore

Sexual/suggestive/NSFW

And anything I do not wish to do, which will be added onto here

//MOODBOARDS DO NOT HAVE GIFS !!! THEY ARE STILL IMAGES

Userboxes-

Give me a character or theme

What you would like it to say

Color scheme and any graphics or decoration

♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧

Apologies, this is not a realm for you...

DNI-

Racists, homo/transphobes, TERFS, etc

Radqueers and transids

Pro-Israel

Pro/com/dark shippers

Narc/pd abuse believers

Endo'genic', tulpas, willows and their supporters

Anti-therains / alterkins, etc

Those here to start discourse

BYI-

I am a minor

I will not partake in any discourse or fighting

I do have dyslexia so please be mindful with typing quirks(I'd prefer none at all if you cannot provide a translation) and I apologize for any mistakes when typing/reading

Any rude or weird treatment of fictives will not be tolerated, and fictives are more than welcomed to request and interact( I am a fictive heavy system )

♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎♤▪︎♧▪︎

You wish to know of me?

About modsun-

You may call me mod, modsun, moddaze, etc etc but my actual names are Ozzie/Sunday + some others

I am NOT a Sunday(hsr) fictive I just think he's pretty and I like his name

You may refer to me however you like but my pronouns card is here

If you'd like to give me a title, anything revolving royalty, spiders or machinery is lovely

I an a spiderkin and a TVhead robotkin, I am not a human

I am a fictive heavy system, though the only other who will be posting on this account is Sake(for now atleast)

My main blog is @rab1darachn1d , though I will give a fair warning I am much different on that blog(I have a theme I'm trying to keep up here yk yk) please do read my intro before interacting

My main hypes are bungo stray dogs and honkai star rail

My posts will have the tag "mod.sun"

About modsake-

modsake, modzai, moddaz or mod2 are all good though my name is Sake(or Dazai) and I'm a 16!Dazai Osamu fictive from bsd, I'm the co-host and will be the primary maker of any moodboards ^_^ I'll also do any NPT that intrests me or whatever modsun doesn't wanna do

they/them and he/him for pronouns :3

name is pronounced like the expression "for gods sake" and not the alchohol btw

my post will be tagged with "mod.sake"

Thank you for reading ~☆

[hyperfixation-fix]

Hello friends! Here's a quick rundown of how to navigate my blog/blogs :)

This blog is: @hyperfixation-fix

(credit to @gamelpar for the meme, it made me cackle)

This blog is a dedicated space for my current ADHD hyperfixation, which means it may/will change! Feel free to come and go as you please ❤️

As a note!! I am a Certified Adult (unfortunately). My posts include swearing, the occasional drug/alcohol reference, and sometimes mild sexual content (nothing explicit). You're welcome to stay if you're a minor, but just a heads up :)

Wanna get to know me better? My main blog is: @gabby-i-guess

Tags I use and current hyperfixation (if you can't already tell lmao) below the cut

Currently, my hyperfixation is Percy Jackson and the Riordanverse.

Some tags I use/will be using moving forwards:

(I'm trying to go back and put them in as many old posts as I can, but for now only #riordanverse is up to date... Just fyi)

#riordanverse for everything Percy Jackson related

#marauders for Marauders stuff

#stardewvalley for everything Stardew Valley related

#myposts for solely my own posts

#reblog for reblogs I've added something to

#shippost for ships

#personal is more about me and my life (but still kinda hyperfixation related)

I won't tag spoilers, but I will use a "read more" thing and put warnings in

Wanna know your godly parent? Head over to @godly-paternity-testing-dot-com

[barbaracleboy]

Etrian Odyssey Series: Compilation of Archetypal Town Characters

I really love the NPCs that show up in each Etrian Odyssey game, in the town you keep coming back to between dungeon visits. Unironically, I'm always excited to see the new shopkeeper, innkeeper, barkeeper, etc. of any given EO game. Because of that, just for fun, I decided to gather official art for all characters of the archetypes: guildmasters (whom you speak to when growing and organizing your guilds), innkeepers (whom you speak to when resting at an inn or storing/taking back items), shopkeepers (whom you speak to when buying goods and armor/weapons), barkeepers (whom you speak to to get and report sidequests), and...mission givers? (officials whom you speak to to get or report important story missions).

Now, some of this art was a bit tough to find, mainly for Etrian Mystery Dungeon 2 and the Mobile game, since neither was released outside of Japan and the latter is more or less lost. For EMD 2 I went to some Japanese articles on 4gamer talking about it (https://www.4gamer.net/games/375/G037512/20170720039/ and https://www.4gamer.net/games/375/G037512/20170622014/) and for the Mobile game I went to this Japanese Article that that talked about playing it a little (http://dihyhi.blog.fc2.com/blog-entry-47.html), which to my knowledge is one of the only documentations of that game, so credit to those sources for the art. I also machine translated those sites for info on the Characters' names and whatnot, so take it with a grain of salt. I know machine translations are rarely very helpful but it's all I had right now, sorry.

It should also be noted that there will be light spoilers for some of the games here, mainly Etrian Odyssey 3. Nothing too egregious, at worst it's for something you find when you beat the second Stratum, but I still feel I should mention it.

One last thing, I will be listing most games as EO plus their respective number (so the first game will be EO1), the Mystery Dungeon games will be listed as EMD and EMD2, for the first and second respectively, the Mobile game will written EOM, and even though in America it's called Etrian Odyssey Nexus I will write that game as "EOX", simply because that's more distinctive as an acronym. I've seen others on here do that so it's probably not so weird but I still felt I should clarify.

But enough talk! It is time to meet the guildmasters, some of the most important NPCs in any Etrian Odyssey game! Mostly rather well-armored looking (except for in EO3, EMD2, and Mobile), these tend to be pretty cool characters, and while we don't always get to see them fight much it's welcome when the chance does arrive.

My favorite of these is probably Marion, with Asuka and Egar as runner ups.

[The rest will be under the Keep reading, otherwise this post would just be way too long by default]

And now, for the group that, to be real, is a big part of why I wanted to make this post: the Innkeepers! Friendly, helpful folks that run the inns where your characters can rest, healing up and saving progress. As some likely remember, I already listed most of these characters in that meme I made some time back, featuring characters I like that have constantly closed eyes (https://barbaracleboy.tumblr.com/post/722662911985778688/forgive-me-if-ive-posted-this-here-already-but-i). I intentionally tried to list every Innkeeper from the Etrian Odyssey series (minus some whose eye aren't closed all the time, whom I will get into later), and I largely succeeded!...except it turns out that there's a unique innkeeper in the Etrian Odyssey Mobile game. Granted, I can't really get on myself for that, it's a Japan-only mobile game that barely anyone seems to have played or heard of and is also not available anymore. Still, that was a slight bummer for me. But look! They're all here now!

My favorites of these is probably Hanna, with Jenetta and Dalla as runner ups.

And now, I can truly have them lined up together.

Look! They're friends!

Next up are various shopkeepers! Fun fact! Napier is not only the Shopkeeper to have run the shop in two separate games (not counting remakes), but one of, if not the only one of these NPCs to have hosted a facility in two separate games.

My favorite of these is probably Shilleka, with Edie and Wynne as runner ups.

This group consists of characters in similar, if not identical roles to the prior group: if I'm correct, in Etrian Odyssey One medicines and equipment were sold at different shops, and at medicine shops you could also revive characters and cure petrification (EO2 brought medicine at the main shop but kept the revival at the hospital). Hoffman, Stiles, and Muse(?) here ran their respective games medicine shops/hospitals, Angie supported Dr. Stiles, Don Chano supported his daughter, Elizabeth (from the prior group), and Lizley and the Merchant of Darkness(?) acted as merchants you coukd run into within the dungeon itself. Also, apparently Hoffman, Stiles, and Angie are (based on) characters from Trauma Center, which is neat.

My favorite of these is probably Don Chano, with Lizley and the Merchant of Darkness as runner ups.

Another big favorite of mine, the Barkeeps! It's always fun chatting with these friendly types, hearing them cheer you on before many quests and compliment you for having completed one. They're so pleasant!...Though. yeah, Kvasir can be quite suspect with some of the things he says.

My favorite here is probably Kirtida, with Niralda and...either Missy or Mukkoran as runner ups...I love them too much, ha.

I don't know what to call this group really but they give the story missions and are about all in some position of power. Some are more involved in the story than others, but overall you will be seeing them often...Also, for some reason I couldn't find anyone that fills this role for Etrian Mystery Dungeon 2? Maybe I just did a bad job at looking but I don't know, I just couldn't find anybody. It's odd.

My favorite here has GOT to be the Outland Count (massively fond of his face, his moustache, and his dog), with Flowdia and Persephone as runner ups.

Last group here, being a variety of characters that act as alternatives or support for some of the other ones. This also has spoilers for Etrian Odyssey 3 (the thing being spoiled is discovered after you beat the second Stratum but still).

Visil is a character you'll occasionally see during tbe story of EO1, Quona is Hannah's daughter who will sometimes greet you at the inn instead of or in addition to her mother, Gradriel is someone you'll see a bit throughout EO2's story, Gutrune is the Princess of Armoroad whom you'll see and/or hear about throuought EO3's story, Seyfreid is the Abyssal King whom you'll speak with and get Subclasses from in the Deep City of EO3, Napier's Sister (who, unfortunately, seems to have no confirmed name) runs the shop of the Deep City in EO3, Angie (who I would presume isn't the same one from EO2 but is based on the same Trauma Team character? I think?) runs the inn of EO3's Deep City, and finally, Yobo is Traoré's brother in Etrian Mystery Dungeon 2, and I...think he assists Mukkoran in giving out quests?...Him being a recolor is pretty lame, tbh.

My favorite here is probably Visil, with Napier's Sister and Seyfreid as runner ups.

HOO! THERE WE GO! Hope you guys liked this little trip down memory lane I guess, ha. I love many of these characters, and if and when EO6 happens I can't wait to see who it introduces that'll enter my heart just like many of these have!

[yesireadbooks]

Writeblr Intro

*Edited I am still bad at introductions haha

Hello! Ayubowan! Konnichiwa!

So, who am I? What does it mean to live? What does 'I' mean? Calm down… Wrong community, ah idk…

The name's Riveen, just Riveen. That is my real name.

Pronouns are he/him and a teen.

MBTI says I am INFJ but it said I was ENFJ too, I am a customisable personality, haha. (Buy one get one free)

Bookie and nerd.

STEM student (the Astrophysics kind), but also into literature and other stuff of the mortals.

Content in my site or here (as in Tumblr)

Side-blog for WIP world @scalmropia

I am crazy and WILL NOT limit my blog for writing. I will post random stuff or repost irrelevant stuff. And I stole post templates from people so credit to them!

I am also open for asks and tags.

If I am not boring enough yet, you can read more below the cut.

I am Sri Lankan and speak Sinhala so I might and will rant 'how good it is'. Like for example, it has 60 letters (18 vowels, 2 sounds, 40 consonants). මේ භාෂාව ඉගෙනගන්න, එතකොට හොඳයි!!!

Also, I am weird. So, if you need to talk about the end of the universe, quantum model, how rubies and sapphires are related, why 'conversation' had a weirder meaning in old English, or what the Montevideo convention is, I am your guy.

Also hit me up if you find a random body or gets possessed by a ghost. But beware of me, I like to day dream a lot.

So, my work…?

I tend to write some dark stuff, mostly horror. But I also write some 'nice' stuff too. Prose and poetry. Much of works are here, but I would also update a list at the end of this.

My current WIPs include The Star Child, a story about a father and his adopted daughter; an unnamed political rom com set in Sri Lanka and a Sherlock Holmes fan fiction.

I love myself a big fictional world and I have some ideas, will update when that becomes a thing

Hopefully I will get published.

What have I put out?

[rukbat3]

Babylon 5 Rewatch - Legacies

This is a post I originally wrote several years ago for Mark Oshiro’s Mark Watches blog. I don’t really plan to edit them before posting, so there may be some references that don’t make sense. If you see words that look like gibberish, they are actually rot13, which was our way of discussing spoilers. There are plugins you can install to decode the text (Cryptext is the one I use), or you can copy/paste to rot13.com, or just ignore it.

I like this episode fine in concept, but there are a few problems with the execution which make it a frustrating exercise to actually watch. On the other hand, it does have a few features which become more interesting on a rewatch, so…

My first problem is with the actress who plays Alisa Belden. She’s just … not good. I don’t know what it is about her line delivery, but everything she says sounds so fake. And speaking of fake, what was up with those cliché smudges of dirt on her face in her first scene?

Then there’s all of the Narn bashing that goes on. Like, I can chalk some of it up to Alisa’s youth and immaturity, but then why is Ivanova so hostile to Na’Toth? You’d think she’d jump at any alternative to Alisa joining Psi Corps, but instead she’s actively discouraging Alisa from considering Na’Toth’s offer. Naq jung jnf gung yvar nobhg gur Anea znxvat fynirf bs gurve ivpgvzf? Jr arire urne nal ersrerapr gb gung naljurer ryfr va gur fubj. It feels icky. Even this early in the show, we have seen enough of G’Kar and Na’Toth to know that there is more nuance there, but suddenly this episode is treating them like outright villains with no redeeming qualities.

Switching over to the main plot now, I have a couple of minor quibbles and one major one. First how does Sinclair not know by now about the Minbari tradition of approaching with gun ports open? The war has been over for 10 years now; you’d think that this little cultural difference would have come up before, and been widely circulated in the military in the interest of avoiding misunderstandings. After all, you wouldn’t want anyone to re-start the war because of a mistake. This feels very much like manufactured drama just to have a cliffhanger before the credits.

Second, after Delenn clears up the misunderstanding, Sinclair is still suspicious. He tells one of the people working in C&C, “If their tracking system so much as blinks in our direction…” “Understood,” she replies. But what does she understand? If their tracking system so much as blinks in our direction, contact me right away? If their tracking system so much as blinks in our direction, open fire? This seems like the kind of situation in which you would want to make damn sure your orders were clear.

Third, and most seriously, what was Delenn’s actual plan here? How did she think this was going to go? She definitely comes across in several scenes as looking like she blames humans for the disappearance of Branmer’s body. In fact, she is the first one to suggest Home Guard or those like them might have had a motive. And she does this in front of Neroon, who it should be obvious is angry enough to do something foolish. Just how long was she planning to wait before coming forward with her “mystical transformation” story?

But as I said, the episode isn’t all bad. For me, one of the most interesting things about it is the glimpse it gives us into the continued tension between (at least some) Minbari and humans. Before this, the only Minbari we have really had contact with are Delenn and Lennier, neither of whom seem to have any trouble getting along with humans. It becomes easy to forget that it was only 10 years ago that the Minbari almost destroyed Earth. But here, the lingering resentment on both sides is on full display. Sinclair is having full-on flashbacks to the Battle of the Line, and Neroon seems to be just looking for an excuse to start the war all over again. It’s a valuable reminder that just because Delenn seems patient and understanding, doesn’t mean that every Minbari is willing to let bygones be bygones.

And it’s not just interspecies relations that are challenged in this episode; intraspecies relations get examined as well. The disagreement between Delenn and Neroon about best to honor Branmer’s service is apparently a sign of a much deeper disagreement between the warrior and religious castes of Minbari society. [season 4] Vg'f na rneyl vaqvpngvba bs gur evsg juvpu jvyy riraghnyyl yrnq gb gur Zvaonev Pvivy Jne, naq pbafvqrevat gur cneg Arebba cynlf va gung pbasyvpg, vg'f sha gung ur trgf gb onfvpnyyl vagebqhpr gur fhowrpg urer.

I do wonder about that final scene between Neroon and Delenn. Is she telling the truth about speaking for the Grey Council, or is it only the truth from a certain point of view? After all, she is the Grey Council’s representative on B5, and could thus be said to be speaking for them all the time, but has she actually consulted with them on this matter? I tend to think not, but I could be wrong.

As for the parts which become more interesting in hindsight…

[season 4] Bu, url thlf, Arebba vf urer! Ab bar urer vf rknpgyl jung ur nccrnef vaqrrq. Arebba unf fhpu n ybat jnl gb tb sebz urer, ohg vg'f fhpu n fngvfslvat wbhearl.

[season 3] V jnf guebja bhg bs gur prerzbal ubabevat Oenazre sbe n zvahgr jura V abgvprq gur Zvaonev sbyqvat gur synt nf vs vg jrer n uhzna zvyvgnel shareny, naq gura V gubhtu, ab, jnvg. Guvf znxrf cresrpg frafr, orpnhfr bs pbhefr Inyra zhfg unir gnhtug gurz guvf evghny! :-P

Favorite scene: Neroon’s apology to Sinclair. Surprisingly, he seems to be taking his assignment seriously, and not just paying lip service to an apology. The tension isn’t entirely gone, but a step towards understanding has definitely been taken. I especially like that Neroon does that Minbari bow (don’t know what else to call it), and then reaches out to take Sinclair’s hand. [season 3] Cyhf, bs pbhefr, “Lbh gnyx yvxr n Zvaonev, Pbzznaqre.” Guvf vf bar bs gubfr zbzragf gung oyrj zl zvaq gur svefg gvzr V er-jngpurq gur fubj! xD

[naesarangyunho]

Kiss Me, Hyung- Yoojung of OnlyOneOf x male reader

[I don't own these images credits to the original owners]

SFW

(gets *slighty* spicy at the end though)

Synopsis: There is some romantic tension between the reader and Yoojung but Yoojung's best friend keeps getting in the way. Reader decides he's had enough.

Contains: Some angst, fluff and a little suggestiveness (Is that a word?) at the end.

[Word count: 4.7k]

He hadn't had many close friends at university so, after the only two friends he had on campus both moved overseas to study elsewhere, he was left alone.

He didn't mind it at first. It meant he had more time to himself and work since he didn't need to spend so much of his time fooling around and talking but he eventually grew to feel rather lonely, missing his friends' laughter and conversation and hating the silence that had replaced it.

It was for this reason that when a few weeks into classes a girl asked him to sit with her and her friend at lunch that he'd gladly jumped to accept the offer.

Her name was Yeseul and she was studying food sciences. She was short, talkative and adorable in every sense of the word. Her friend that came with the package, however, was what sealed the deal with him becoming part of a new friend circle.

His name was Yoojung. He was studying music and he was breathtaking, to say the least. His hair was blond and fell past his chin in soft, loose curls. He had the most beautiful brown eyes and the brightest smile.

He was quiet for the most part at first, a little shy around him but once he had adjusted to the new addition to his friend group, his true personality was revealed. He was talkative, had the greatest comebacks and was very invested in campus gossip. Y/n wouldn't be surprised if it was Yoojung secretly running the campus gossip blog page. Yoojung also laughed a lot and that was something that Y/n really liked about him. Needless to say, the attraction had been instant. Sometimes it felt like it was mutual but Yoojung had never spoken about it and so neither did Y/n.

Two months after the formation of this new triog, Yeseul had boldly asked Y/n out on a date. She had asked early in the morning before class and Yoojung had been there. Y/N had hesitated before responding to her question. His gaze had shifted to Yoojung in an attempt to gauge his reaction but Yoojung had said nothing and had averted his gaze, seemingly suddenly finding the paving beneath them very interesting. With the lack of response or reaction from Yoojung, he had simply shrugged and said "Why not?"

They had gone bowling and admittedly the date went well. They had a lot of fun together even though they both sucked really badly at bowling. But that was all it was to Y/n; some fun with a friend. It wasn't anything serious. At least not to him. Yeseul was a nice girl but he just didn't see her in any romantic light.

He had known that Yeseul had wanted to kiss him when he dropped her off at her home afterwards but he had avoided it at smoothly as he could. It wouldn't be fair on her. Especially when all he could think about was kissing her best friend.

He felt like a horrible person because of that but try as he might he couldn't help the way his thoughts and eyes would always stray to Yoojung.

Especially now as he looked over at where Yoojung was sitting down across from him next to Yeseul on the grass.

Yeseul had decided they get together in the park when their schedules were clear since she had been meaning to try out a new dessert recipe and wanted to share them with her friends.

Yoojung looked great. He was dressed casually and his hair was up in a bun, a few strands falling free and framing his face. As if in some cheesy rom-com, the light that shone down from between the leaves of the trees illuminated his face beautifully.

He saw how Yoojung squinted as the sun rays hit him in the eyes and couldn't help the laugh that left him. Both Yoojung and Yeseul looked over at him questioningly.

"Enjoying the sun?" He teased the blond.

Yoojung huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes, "Totally."

"I'm going to the restroom quick," Yeseul piped up, standing and brushing her skirt off.

The boys nodded in acknowledgement and watched as she began what would probably be a five-minute walk to the public restroom.

Yoojung had gone right back to eating. He was making happy sounds every now and then, clearly enjoying the desserts. He didn't speak, solely focused on the flavours. He was so focused that he didn't even register the chocolate smear at the corner of his mouth.

Against his better judgement and in a horribly cliché move, Y/n reached across the space between them and gently swiped his thumb over the corner of Yoojung's mouth, collecting the stray chocolate.

He shamelessly maintained eye contact with Yoojung as he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked the chocolate from it. He carefully watched Yoojung for a reaction and was pleased to see the way Yoojung gulped. He seemed flustered by the sight.

Y/n had felt a growing tension between them as time passed but he hadn't had a chance to confirm it properly. He wanted to be sure of the way Yoojung felt about him but didn't really know how to go about it and, to be honest, he was nervous. He had a perfectly good relationship with him as things stood and he didn't want to risk losing a friend.

He suddenly remembered that he had a work event that weekend and needed a date. Perhaps that would be a good start?

"Yoojung?" He spoke up, intending to try to ask him if he maybe wanted to go with him.

"Yeah?" The blond boy looked at him expectantly.

"I was wondering if-"

"What did I miss?" Yeseul interrupted, joining them again.

Yoojung cleared his throat borderline awkwardly and broke eye contact with Y/n and Y/n tried to hide his scowl.

"Nothing," He replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. How did she always manage to interrupt things or push herself into them?

She just gave him a funny look and nodded.

"Oh!" She placed another treat on his paper plate, "I heard you need a date for an event this weekend."

Y/n frowned, "How did you know that?"

She smiled, "Wookjin told me."

Wookjin was their mutual friend and his work colleague. He cursed him in his head.

Yeseul gave him another smile, "I can go with you if you'd like?"

He took a quick glance at Yoojung who had hung his head a little before looking at her again, "Oh, actually, I planning to ask-"

"Good, that's settled then. What should I wear?"

She hadn't let him finish his sentence. It didn't even surprise him anymore.

He shrugged in defeat, "Anything semi-formal."

She frowned at him, "Are you alright?"

He nodded, "Yeah I'm fine. Just remembered I need to go do something."

He got up and gathered his things.

"Thank you for the food and," He looked over at Yoojung, "The company."

Yoojung just gave him a weak smile in return.

"Oh, okay but-" Yeseul started but he was already gone.

♡♡♡

The day of his work event had finally arrived and to be honest, he wasn't exactly thrilled.

He didn't really enjoy his current job. It was a boring desk job that he'd have to endure until after he had his degree and could finally start his desired career path. His co-workers and boss were nice enough but most of them only really liked to talk numbers and sales and he felt he already did enough of that on work days.

So yes, the night was already off to a bad start before it had even begun. He had hoped to have a handsomely dressed Yoojung by his side to brighten things up with his stunning smile but he had to take Yeseul who had basically invited herself instead.

He really didn't have anything against her. She was friendly, funny sometimes and loyal- all the qualities he looked for in a friend. He kept trying to tell her this but she made it impossible. He had started to have a growing suspicion that she was well aware and doing it on purpose.

He had been pleasantly surprised when he gone to pick her up at her home. She looked good and it was a nice change of pace to see her dressed semi-formally instead of her usual trendy minimalistic look.

"Hi!" She greeted him with a bright smile and the scent of her flowery perfume hit him as she opened the door. He once more missed Yoojung as he thought of the way his musky cologne would contrast against her perfume.

"Hi. You look nice," he responded with a smile of his own. She chuckled and looked down at her outfit.

"Oh, this? It's nothing. Just something I threw together, really."

He could clearly see she did not just throw it together.

He gave her a tight smile, "Let's go. We don't want to be late."

"Oh, yes, of course."

♡♡♡

The event was going well. Everyone liked her pretty much instantly. Some of the men and even the one female receptionist even flirted with her before realising she had come with Y/n. They had asked him if she was his girlfriend and he had responded honestly with 'no'. He had felt kind of bad about the twinge of disappointment that flickered through Yeseul's eyes at his words. He wasn't lying though; they weren't an official couple and had only gone on one date. Well, two if you counted that evening.

The night progressed smoothly but as it did so he thought progressively more about Yoojung.

He wondered if Yoojung had caught on and realised that Y/n had been meaning to ask him instead. He wondered what he was up to. Was he still in his shop? Yoojung never really got a chance to actually work at the bookstore he had inherited from his mother since he was studying at the same time but he had a guy named Kyubin who ran the store for him when he was unable to.

Y/n had always been curious about the nature of their relationship. Anyone could tell that they were really good friends and could see that they were quite comfortable with one another. Yoojung had never mentioned a boyfriend or girlfriend nor had he said anything about him dating Kyubin either. Kyubin was a decent guy but Y/n really didn't like the idea of Yoojun dating him nor did he like the idea of Yoojung dating anyone else in general. You could call him selfish all you like, he supposed, but it was true.

He really needed to do something about this. He needed to come clean to both Yoojung and Yeseul.

♡♡♡

The drive to Yeseul's home afterwards had been silent for the most part. She had tried to make small talk with him here and there but he was stuck in his head and also horrible at small talk. After a while she had simply stopped trying.

When they arrived outside of her home he had opened the car door for her and walked her to her front door all the while wondering how to go about telling her how he felt. He wondered if perhaps the window to talk about this issue that evening had already passed but when she gave him a coy smile and invited him inside he knew he needed to say something.

"Yeseul-ah," he called out softly but firmly as he stayed put, not accepting her invitation.

She turned back to face him with a small frown, "What's wrong, oppa?"

She insisted on calling him that often despite being a year older than him and, to be frank, he hated it and it was not the term he wanted to hear- especially not from her.

Was he just being an asshole? He was trying not to be which was why he was standing there at that moment and trying to talk to her about this before he even so much as comsidered confessing to Yoojung.

"I'm not your boyfriend."

Horrible way to start he realised but he had never really been in this position before so he pretty much had no idea what he was doing. How do you let a girl down gently?

Her frown deepened and her smile faded entirely, "Yeah. At least, not yet, right?"

He could see a slightly hopeful look in the eyes and he tried to avoid groaning. She was annoyingly persistent.

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?"

He took a breath, "I mean that you're a nice girl but I don't want to be your boyfriend. I just want to be your friend, Yeseul."

He felt bad as he saw his words register in her eyes.

"What do you mean by that? I thought you liked me?" Her bottom lip quivered.

"As a Friend, Yeseul. I'm sorry but... I like somebody else. I respect you and your feelings so I'm trying to do the right thing and be honest with you."

She stayed silent for a good long moment before she looked up at him again with a dejected gaze.

"It's Yoojung, isn't it?" She asked softly, the question pretty much rhetorical.

His heart jolted at the other boy's name.

"Yes."

He wanted to apologise as soon as he confirmed her suspicions but reminded himself that he wasn't doing anything wrong and that his own happiness mattered too.

Her jaw tensed and he saw her eyes shine with unshed tears.

He groaned internally. Oh god, please don't let her start crying. He never knew what to do when people were crying.

"I knew this was coming," She admitted and now it was his turn to frown.

"You did?"

"Yeah, I was just trying so hard to pretend otherwise. Gaslight myself I suppose."

Bingo. He had been correct.

"How did you know?" He inquired and she scoffed.

"Even a blind person could see your attraction to one another."

His heart skipped a beat.

"I- Do you really think he's attracted to me as well?"

She gave him an incredulous look, "Are you stupid? Of course he is. Have you not seen the way he looks at you? He talks about you even when you're not there, Y/n. It's been a little annoying, to be honest. He's my best friend- I know him well enough to know when he's falling in love."

Falling in love... Y/n was slightly stunned. He had a feeling that Yoojung liked him too but to have it basically confirmed like this just...

Why was she suddenly telling him all of this? And if she knew this all along why did she still push for herself to date Y/n instead? Assuming Yoojung trully was falling in love with him, wouldn't that be selfish of her? But who was he to judge he supposed.

"I'm sorry, Yeseul." He couldn't help but feel bad that she had to see the way he and Yoojung were attracted to each other while she herself had a crush on him. Hadn't Yoojung been in a similar position though?

She waved her hand dismissively at him but he could see the way her tears were threatening to fall, "Don't be sorry. You can't help who you are attracted to."

There was a few seconds of almost deafening silence before he spoke up.

"Will you be all right if I pursue him?"

She sighed, "Yeah, you're my friends so I want you guys to be happy."

"We're still friends right?" He tried to clarify. He had been honest in saying he wanted her as a friend still.

She paused before responding, her voice a little quieter, "Yes. Just give me a little time, okay? To get over you and to... adjust. I'll probably be a little off with you guys for a while but it'll pass eventually."

He nodded; that was understandable and he respected that. He owed her as much.

"Thank you," He offered her a small smile.

He felt a lot better after getting this off his chest despite the lingering feeling of guilt.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"Break my best friend's heart and I'll break your neck."

Typical best friend speech. He supposed he really did have her go-ahead.

"I won't," He promised.

"You better not."

He waved goodbye with a smile and she tried to return it. He didn't take her feeble smile to heart. She said she needed time after all.

On to the next and final task of the evening: confessing to Yoojung.

♡♡♡

He'd thought to leave his car at home and walk to Yoojung since Yoojung's home was only a few blocks down from his own but half way there the sky had cracked open and rain began to fall.

By the time he finally arrived at the bookstore that Yoojung both owned and lived above, it was pouring with rain.

There wasn't much of an awning over the entrance of the building so even while Y/n crowed under it, he could still feel water hitting his back.

It had to be nearly eleven p.m. by now and Y/n prayed that Yoojung was still up. He knocked hard on the front door of the bookstore and after a while of not getting a response, he pulled out his cell phone and dialled Yoojung's number.

It rang a few times and just as Y/n began to lose hope, Yoojung answered.

"Hello?" His voice was slightly husky and he sounded as if he'd just woken up.

Y/n's heart fluttered at the sound of his voice but he felt bad that he may have woken him up.

"Hey, I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

He heard a chuckle on the other end, "Honestly? Yeah, you did but it's alright, I hadn't been asleep that long. What's up?"

"I'm at the door, could you let me in? It's raining."

"Why are you- Yeah, sure, I'm coming. Just give me a minute."

"Okay." Y/n hung up and looked through the big glass window and into the bookstore expectantly. After a moment a light was flicked on and he saw his friend make his way down the staircase at the back.

"Hey, come in," Yoojung said after unlocking the door. Y/n gladly stepped into the warmth of the shop and out of the rain. Yoojung locked the door again after him and turned to look at him.

"Hey," He said with a small smile and Y/n couldn't help but return it.

"Hey," He responded and Yoojung smiled at him a little brighter before stepping forward to help Y/n take off his soaked suit jacket, only to discover that his white button-up below was absolutely drenched too. So drenched that Yoojung could see the outlines of Y/n's muscles through his shirt where it stuck to the front of him. He couldn't help the way he gulped and his cheeks flushed the slightest.

Y/n scratched the back of his neck, "Maybe leaving my car at my house and walking here wasn't the best idea."

Yoojung snapped his gaze back up to his and snorted, "Ya think?"

He laughed and Yoojung rolled his eyes.

He stepped out of his shoes and found that his socks were at least for the most part dry. Couldn't say the same for his pants.

This was not how he'd expected the night and his confession to go.

Yoonjung nodded his head in the direction of the stairs, "Come up, I'll give you something to change into."

Y/n nodded along and pretended that when Yoojung took his hand to lead him upstairs, his heart rate didn't pick up. It was a small action but a bit bold for the usually shy Yoojung.

Yoojung let him into his reasonably sized flat and disappeared down the short passage to his room, leaving Y/n standing cold, wet and awkwardly in the open-plan kitchen/living room.

A minute later Yoojung popped his head out of his bedroom doorway, "Sorry, I meant for you to follow me."

Y/n laughed and went to him.

Yoojung's room was tidy and quite cosy, everything in muted colours. He had been to Yoojung's home only once before but he hadn't left the living room last time and hadn't had a chance to have a good look around.

"Here," Yoojung handed him sweatpants and a t-shirt, along with a towel.

"You can dry off and change. I'll go make us some coffee."

By the time Y/n left the room, mostly dry and changed, the coffee was finished and Yoojung was leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a warm mug in his hands, staring off at nothing in particular.

"Hey."

Yoojung jolted slightly upon hearing his voice suddenly and he turned his head to look at him.

He felt his heart skip a good few beats at the sight of Y/n in his clothes, the t-shirt he'd given him a little tight on him.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at him and Yoojung realised he'd been staring.

"Sorry, here's your coffee." Yoojung put his cup down to hold Y/n's cup out to him.

He stepped forward and accepted it, taking a sip. He was pleasantly surprised.

"This is pretty good. How'd you know how I take it? Lucky guess?"

"No. You mentioned how you liked your coffee once and I remembered it."

He didn't miss the way Yoojung's cheeks flushed and he decided that it was now or never.

"Yoojung," he called out and Yoojung looked at him questioningly.

"Yes, hyung?"

The sudden term had Y/n's stomach doing a flip.

"I- Earlier this week, when I was talking about needing a date to the event I'd actually... been meaning to ask you, not Yeseul."

He was trying to act nonchalant despite the way his heart rate had picked up and it was a battle.

Yoojung's eyes widened a little. That wasn't what he had been expecting him to say.

"Why exactly did you come to see me, hyung?" He said after a moment.

Y/n put his coffee mug down on the counter, "Yeseul is a nice girl. She really is and I know she wants to properly date me but I... I don't want that with her. I've tried to tell her but she never lets me finish what I'm saying."

"And what is it that you want, hyung?" Yoojung questioned, his voice soft.

He wondered if Yoojung was calling him hyung all of a sudden on purpose.

His eyes traced Yoojung's delicate features, his deep brown eyes, his soft, chin-length blond hair that Y/n absolutely adored and his eyes finally settled on Yoojung's pretty mouth.

He dragged his eyes back up to Yoojung's, "You."

Yoojung froze for a second before dropping his gaze. Y/n didn't miss the pink tint of his cheeks.

Y/n stepped closer to the other boy, "I couldn't stop thinking of you tonight. I wanted to see you all dressed up. I wanted to introduce you to my colleagues. I wanted to have drinks with you and see you laughing and having fun."

His heart was hammering away in his ribcage as he reached a hand out and tilted Yoojung's face up to look at him.

"I can't stop thinking about you. I need to know you feel the same, Yoojung."

Yoojung just looked at him with big brown eyes and flushed cheeks and his pink lips parted.

Y/n wanted to kiss him so badly. He tucked Yoojung's soft blond hair behind his ear, "Please? Do you?"

Yoojung gulped and took a deep breath, "Yes, I do."

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/n's lips and he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Yoojung's lips.

Yoojung couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"Hyung," He murmured when Y/n pulled back.

"Since when do you call me hyung?" Y/n asked and Yoojung blushed again. They were only a few months apart.

"I- "

Y/n kissed him quickly, "I like it."

He kissed him again, harder this time, "I like it a lot."

A realisation struck Yoojung as when Y/n pulled back a little to look at him, he clocked in the growing intensity in Y/n's eyes. He felt warmth pool in his belly.

He gripped Y/n's shirt and pulled him closer, "Kiss me, hyung."

Y/N's breath hitched before he did just as he was told, tangling his fingers in Yoojung's hair and connecting their lips again.

It didn't take long for the kiss to become heated, months of tension finally snapping and taking control of them.

He held Yoojung close to him as they kissed, appreciating the feeling of his warm body against his. A part of him still couldn't believe this was happening. He wondered if Yoojung was having similar thoughts.

He lifted Yoojung by the waist, perched him on the edge of the counter and stood between his legs before pressing his lips to his once more.

He loved the way Yoojung's kisses felt. They found the perfect rhythm quickly and Y/n had to admit that Yoojung was an amazing kisser and that this was probably the best kiss he'd ever had.

Yoojung cupped Y/n's face in his hands and slowed his kisses down until he eventually pulled back from the kiss with Y/n's lips chasing after his for a second.

Yoojung just rested his forehead against his, feeling his warm breath on his face. Y/n gave him a gentle kiss before stroking his hair out of his face.

It was best they stopped, he silently agreed. He was too into this and if they continued it would probably end up with clothes strewn everywhere.

There's a time and place for everything and now was not the time. He had come here to confess and tell Yoojung how he felt with complete honesty- not to sleep with him.

He lifted his head and his eyes traced Yoojung's pink cheeks, closed eyes and puffy lips and his heart fluttered. The knowledge that Yoojung felt the same had him feeling warm all over. Was he melting?

"Yoojung," He held his face gently in his hands.

Yoojung opened his eyes to look at him, "Hm?"

"Go out with me? Like officially?"

Yoojung looked hesitant for a second, "But Yeseul-"

"She knows."

"How did she take it?"

"Well, she's a little hurt and pretty disappointed. She really did like me after all. But she'll come around eventually, she just needs a bit of time."

Yoojung remained silent and panic rose in Y/n's chest.

"You don't have to. I can wait or-"

Yoojung kissed him to shut him up.

"I just needed a second to process. I've liked you for a while now and it's almost hard to believe you feel the same."

Y/n huffed out a laugh, "Have I not been obvious the past few months?"

Yoojung thought for a moment before responding, "Yeah, I suppose. I'm just a chronic overthinker."

He gave him a small smile and he returned it, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy's figure and holding him tight.

"So?"

Yoojung's smile widened. Y/n thought he looked the most beautiful when he smiled. Had he mentioned that yet?

"Yeah, I'll go out with you."

Y/n grinned and kissed Yoojung again. He never wanted to stop.

"I have another company dinner in a few weeks. Come with me?"

"You still just want to see me dolled up."

He gave him a cheeky smile, "Of course. I bet you look absolutely dashing in a button-up"

"Dashing? What am I, a prince?"

Y/n shrugged, "I mean, you've got the looks."

"Are you always such a flirt?"

"No, I guess you just bring out the best in me."

Yoojung scoffed, "That's debatable."

Y/n laughed and kissed him again, "Yoojung?"

"Hmm?"

"You have a beautiful smile."

"Flirt."

Y/n tucked Yoojung's hair behind his ear, "I'm serious."

Yoojung blushed lightly, "Thank you."

There was a moment's silence before Yoojung spoke up again.

"You woke me up-"

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, it was worth it. The point is though that I am tired."

"Oh, do you want me to leave?"

"No. Stay but behave yourself."

"I can't make any promises."

Yoojung slapped him lightly, "I'm being serious here, Casanova."

"As am I."

"I'm regretting my decision."

"No, please don't. I'll shut up."

Yoojung laughed and kissed him (Y/n didn't think he'd ever get tired of kissing him), "I'm just teasing you, idiot. But really, I'm fighting to keep my eyes open."

Despite offering to take the couch, Yoojung insisted Y/n sleep in bed with him. Which might have been a mistake because even then Y/n didn't shut up.

Just as Yoojung was finally falling asleep Y/n spoke up again.

"I'm so happy, Yoo."

Yoojung huffed but kissed Y/n's hair, "Me too, hyung. But sleep now please."

"Okay."

Y/n held Yoojung tight the whole night, clinging to him as if he was worried he'd disappear but Yoojung didn't mind. He definitely didn't. Not after months of pining after him.

A/N: Could've probably ended that better but I'm on new medication and I can't think as well as I usually do.

[barstoolblues]

ok anon who followed up with 2 long messages despite my response:

im sorry it came across that way to you but again, i post a personal vent on MY BLOG! about my personal frustrations . and a difference in credit load of 46 or more credits translates to OVER A YEARS WORTH OF CREDITS at my university. i think im allowed to say that the intensity of the courseload is fucking different jesus!!!!!

OF COURSE I USED EXAMPLES OF THINGS IVE OBSERVED AT MY UNIVERSITY, BECAUSE I AM TALKING ABOUT MY EXPERIENCES AT MY UNIVERSITY

also, seriously? you’ve extrapolated from my gripe about MY UNIVERSITYS COURSELOAD that i dont think arts studies are as vital????? every time ive tried to criticize university arts education for whatever reason im always hit with the “you think arts are inferior!!” meanwhile at my university so many arts courses are locked from nonmajors that i couldnt even take fucking INTRO GUITAR as a music minor. so yeah, i have fucking gripes about how MY UNIVERSITYYYYY manages courses. anyways, my stem department has artist residency programs qt field laboratories and on research cruises because we agree that art is, yknow, vital. and i never said my degree was more vital or important GODDDDD . sorry i had a long day and bitched on fucking tumblr dot com.

[oozeandgoo-art]

Links, tag system, and additional info.

I try to avoid reblogging things to this account - that's what my main blog is for. If you see a reblog on here, feel free to let me know so I can delete it!

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Rules of Engagement:

This is a sideblog. I have a lot of people blocked from my main blog, none of which are blocked from this blog. It's okay if you've been blocked from my main for you to reblog from this sideblog - I have genuinely thousands of people blocked, for reasons that are arcane and sometimes really stupid even to me, and if you behave in a rude or unpleasant manner I'll just block you from this blog when it comes up. Go nuts.

This blog contains quite a bit of adult-oriented art, all of which is both marked "mature" using Tumblr's content settings and tagged accordingly. Please browse at your own discretion, and remember to use filtering options where necessary.

In general, off-topic commentary in the reblogs, tags, and replies is totally fine and I like seeing what you guys have to say even when it's not directly about the art. That being said, please do not talk about either how much you hate the character in the art or think the art looks bad. "If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything" is a good rule to live by, and also it's annoying and rude. Likewise, don't put discourse on my posts. I don't want to hear about it. If you have an opinion about the characters or art that is negative, feel free to make your own post! You can even add my art to it (with a link to this page) if you really want to talk about the art in particular.

Please repost my work only with credit (a link back to this page). Use of my art for avatars, header/sidebar banner images, edits, remixes, collages, and related is entirely okay as long as credit is given. My canon character redesigns are also completely free to use and no credit is required as long as you've done the actual drawing yourself. If you're using my art for something, I'd like to hear about it, but it's not required - it's just really flattering. Please do not remove my captions, however. Just make a repost.

If you want to print one of my pieces for personal use, feel free to reach out to me! I will happily re-color/re-balance the colors so that it will print nicely if I have the time, free of charge. If you want one of my pieces tattooed, go for it, consider this blanket permission. I'd be surprised and I'd love to hear about it, and also I have no qualms at all. Go for it.

Everything is okay to tag as kin/id/etc or claim as muse references. Have fun with it, I don't care. This goes for my ocs too, I really couldn't care less. However, if you disagree on characterization from what I've drawn, please don't tell me about it.

Obligatory "don't be bigoted." This is a racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, xenophobia, religious discrimination, and everything else-free zone. I'm not perfect, and therefore if I've created something that comes over wrong, you are more than welcome to voice your opinion on that, but please approach me in private first*, and message me on my main blog rather than the sideblog as I actually check that account.

Feel free to ask me to tag for more than I currently tag for- either for search reasons or to be able to more easily filter things. I may refuse to use certain tags at my discretion.

-

Tags:

content warnings: all content warnings begin with the phrase "contents" to help disambiguate them from generic phrases.

#contents: a little raunchy for tumblr - not quite dirty, but still running on adult themes. Rated pg-13 instead of nc-17.

#contents: not safe for Tumblr - the Naughty stuff. All should be marked mature already.

#contents: blood - has blood

#contents: gore - has organic/meat gore

#contents: robogore - has robot gore, presented like something other than organic flesh

#contents: death - someone's dead on screen

#contents: flashing - something in the image flashes in a way that may not be safe for photosensitive viewers.

#contents: dubious or nonexistent consent - there is sex or sex acts of dubious or explicitly nonconsensual nature happening on screen.

#contents: all edge and no point - general assorted tag for finding things that are just really edgy for no good reason. suicide jokes and torture and that sort of thing.

fandom-specific tags:

#transformers - transformers art, including humanformers. At this time I don't tag continuity.

#macaddam - safe-for-work transformers art (for search discovery)

#valveplug - spike and valve NSFW transformers art

#plug and play - cable-play NSFW transformers art

#sparkplay - spark-play NSFW transformers art

#humanization - a character that isn't normally a human, depicted as one.

#rukaan and #deer - Fields of Valhalla (deviantart ARPG) art, mostly depicting fantasy deer creatures. (#deer is there for search discovery and being easy to remember; "rukaan" is the actual name of the fantasy species.)

#dragon - there is a dragon. everyone likes those

#scalie - anthro reptiles - in this case, basically all dragons.

#oc - original characters. Everyone's got em, right?

[character names] - tagged as needed for search purposes. Characters with multiple names may or may not be disambiguated at essentially random. OCs are also tagged by name.

personal navigation:

#red redesign g1 stunticons - my stunticon fan redesigns. sometimes you don't want to see fan redesigns, so now it can be filtered - without having to filter anyone else's stuff, even!

#au: androidformers - the specific humanoid-android designs for the transformers G1 "humanformers" au I have lying around.

#fursona - this character is one of my fursonas. Typically this just refers to Taz.

#mass post - if there's a bunch of pictures in one post because I don't think they can really stand on their own merits or are part of a sequence, this lets you filter that away.

#closerverse - art for a personal original universe.

#self-reblog - posts I've reblogged from this account to this accuont again. Sparing at most.

art navigation:

#background - art with a significant focus on the background or scenery. This may include photo overpaintings where the background is significantly relevant even if I didn't paint the background by hand.

#monochrome - art in monochrome - may include duochrome (two-color) work. This tag used to be "black and white" - older pieces may still be tagged with that instead.

#lineart - art that is just relatively clean lines

#doodle - unfinished art with a focus on round, smooth lines and cute shapes

#sketch - unfinished art with more jagged shapes and realistic proportions

#traditional media - art made in "real life", typically with some element of digital color or retouching anyway.

#3d - art that uses some element of 3d renders in it, either as part of a painting that was then painted over or as a whole 3d render without painted-on effects.

#photo overpainting - art where I saw a cool photo and painted something into it without repainting the entire photo from scratch, so large chunks were not made by me.

#animation - animated work (typically short looping gifs), stuff where the characters move

#animated effects - animated work where elements move, but the characters are static - flickering light effects, stuff like that.

#meme redraw - art made in the style of a meme. Sometimes this is entirely redrawn and sometimes it's a photo overpainting.

#gift art - art made for other people for free or with minimal direction

#commission - art made on commission with significant input from the client

#favorite - something I've done that I personally particularly like

*Why do this in private? There are a number of reasons: the first, and most relevant, that it means other people aren't going to randomly jump in and change the subject, so we can have an actual conversation rather than something that comes over more like a random accusation I may not fully understand out of the blue. Secondly, I have a solid handful of followers that I expect would probably defend me, and you don't need people jumping down your throat for "attacking" a person they like, especially if you're right but even if I think you're wrong. I also don't want to deal with that. Finally, I don't like being stuck between trying to understand more and feeling like I have to "save face" because the latter is bad for actually learning and growing as a person. I - of course - still do my best to learn in public, but without the pressure of a significant amount of outside observers it's easier for me to form an initial response and have a normal conversation. You can always take it public later, if you're convinced I've done something wrong and won't make amends. At that point I'm sure we're just going to be enemies so asking you not to is gonna go nowhere lmao. I take bigotry and my own biases seriously, but it's possible that after we discuss and I do some of my own research, we may come to different conclusions as to the relative problems with a certain depiction, discussion, or behavior. This is a normal part of socializing. Please give me the grace of holding a conversation with me first before jumping to getting on my case publicly. (If you're scared of reprisal, first of all, don't be because I don't like to do that, but secondly, you can just make a throwaway account to message me with. It's easy.)

[blacklilyqueen]

Pretty in Black (Rexsoka Week 2022)

Prompt: Rexsoka Week 2022 Day 4: Soulmates/Seduction

Summary:  Ahsoka has a special surprise for Rex when he returns home.

Pairing: Rexsoka

Word Count: 1713

Warnings/tags: smut, (light) bondage, blowjob, vaginal penetration, lingerie

Tagged Blogs: @officialrexsoka​

Read it on AO3

Rex looked at the com in his hand, which had begun to blink and beep. The only person who could try to reach him was Ahsoka and so he answered her call.

"Hello, cyar'ika."

"Hey, do you know when you'll be back?"

"Just got the last few things off the list, heading back now. Why, do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm good. See you later."

Before he could say anything else, she had already hung up. That was weird. Normally he would have worried about it and wondered what it was all about, but today he was too exhausted for that. He would be with her soon anyway and he might as well ask her about it then.

By the time he arrived at their ship and current home, he had almost forgotten about the strange conversation. It was quiet inside and he assumed Ahsoka was meditating or engaged in some other quiet activity, but he still wanted to make sure.

"Ahsoka?"

"I'm in the fresher. Give me a moment and I'll be with you."

He put down the bag of errands and sat down on one of the chairs. It had been a long day. He'd spent all day looking for new jobs for himself and Ahsoka, in order to get enough credits to buy the spare parts for their ship, that they needed to finally repair it. Ahsoka had spent the day taking care of whatever repairs she could without the missing parts. Presumably she was washing herself after her work. Rex leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and tried to relax.

"Tough day."

"Yeah, I-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence because what he saw left him speechless.

"Is something wrong?"

Ahsoka stared at him with innocent eyes, as if she didn't know exactly what was going on. Rex tried to regain his speech, but was too distracted by her. She stood in front of him wearing nothing but some black lace lingerie. He could hardly form a clear thought as he looked at each of her curves. Her breasts were held in perfect position by the bra. Her hips and legs were adorned with a pair of straps and her most intimate area was covered by a pair of thin panties.

"I really didn't expect this today."

A grin spread across her face as she moved closer to him.

"Good, I was hoping to surprise you and was afraid you might be here too soon."

The phone call. It suddenly made sense now.

She was now standing directly in front of him and before he could say anything back, she had positioned one leg to his right and the other to his left and was now sitting astride his lap. Her breasts were now at his eye level and he had to look up to be able to look into her face.

Her hands wandered to his hair, which by now had grown out so far that she could easily grab a handful of it and jerk his head back a little. Now that his head was back, she bent down to him and began to kiss him. Her tongue kept entering his mouth and he began to moan into the kiss.

She loosened her grip on his hair to instead grab his shirt and pull it over his head. As soon as it was gone, he instinctively reached for her ass and began to squeeze it, but only a few seconds later, she had grabbed his wrists and was pressing them against the armrests. He looked at her in surprise, but she only grinned.

"Wait and see. You got everything from the list, didn't you?"

Rex just nodded, still unsure what exactly she had in mind.

"Good," she reached out for the bag of errands and levitated two ropes towards them with the help of the Force, "Then this will be even more fun."

As soon as she had the ropes in her hand, she began tying Rex to the chair. He had no intention of protesting, because he liked the direction this evening was heading into. Her hands wandered over his naked torso as she began to kiss him again.

Her chest was pressed against his, while her hands went back to his head. Every time parts of her uncovered skin touched his, he felt the urge to free his hands and touch every part of her, but the ropes made it impossible for him.

Ahsoka noticed his arms twitching whenever he tried to touch her. She grinned to herself and began moving her hips. She rolled them over his lap again and again, making him twitch beneath her. Through the fabric she could feel a bulge building in his pants. Her mouth wandered from his mouth to his neck, leaving kisses all over his skin. A whimper escaped his mouth, when her hips pressed down particularly hard one time.

“Soka, please.”

His voice sounded hoarse as pleaded. She kept placing kisses on his body as she wandered lower. She left kisses on his shoulders, his arms, his chest and his belly all while her hands traced over the outlines of his muscles that were tensing beneath her touch. Once she reached the hem of his pants, she looked up to him. She was now kneeling between his legs, her mouth only inches away from his hardened, but still fully covered cock. He looked at her with pleading eyes and she gave him the relief he so desperately waited for by pulling down his pants and taking him in her mouth.

He let out a loud moan, as her head started bobbing up and down his long shaft. She took him in again and again, taking more of him every time. His cock was already deep down her throat and yet he wished he could grab her head and just pull her closer a bit more, making her take him in even deeper. He cursed the ropes for preventing him from doing so, but tried to accept it and focus on the pleasure she was currently giving him.

She took him in as deep as she could and her hand was stroking the part that she couldn’t take in, while her other hand was playing with his balls. While she was moving up and down, her tongue ran along the sides of his dick and played with his tip, whenever she took him out. She circled around it and flicked her tongue over it, before she took him in again.

Her pace varied from slow to fast and slow again. She knew him, knew what he liked and knew what she had to look out for to see how close he was. So, she adjusted her pace accordingly. Whenever she thought he was close, she slowed down a bit, used less of her tongue or took more time to take him in again. Nonetheless his moans grew louder and she knew she could keep going like that forever. She sucked him one more time, before completely letting go from him.

“Wha-? Why did you stop?!”

He looked at her baffled, but she just laughed and went back to kissing him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to stop for a long time.”

She straddled his lap again and pressed her core against his throbbing cock. For the first time this evening, he could feel her there without his pants on, making him realize that the string she was wearing, had a hole at the bottom. This way he could feel her wet pussy rubbing over his dick. Rex groaned and moved his hips, wanting to push himself inside of her so badly.

“You’re really eager, aren’t you?”

“Soka, I swear if you’re going to keep teasing me like this, I’m going to pay it all back to you.”

“That actually sounds more like a promise to me. Should I be excited?”

He had no time to answer, because she had already moved and pushed herself onto him. His cock went all the way inside her, filling her out completely and giving her a good stretch. Both moaned out loudly, enjoying the feeling of each other.

Ahsoka digged her nails into Rex’s skin and tried to push herself down to get even more of him inside her. She moved her hips up and down, relishing every time he entered her again. Her current position allowed her to adjust herself in a way that made sure, he would hit her g-spot with every thrust.

Her movements were slow at first, but soon he started moving his hips up to meet her movements and they both quickly quickened up their pace. Her hips slammed down on him harder with every new thrust, hitting her in the right spot again and again. She closed her eyes as she focused on the warm feeling building inside of her.

Rex eyes wandered all over her body, thinking of all the ways he wanted to touch her right now. Especially her breasts drew his attention to them. They were tightly squeezed together by the bra and bouncing up and down, while she rode his cock. He leaned his head forward and began kissing and sucking her tits. If he couldn’t squeeze and fondle them, he would at least touch them this way.

Ahsoka threw her head back, moaning his name while his mouth played with her tits. The warmth inside her had turned into a staggering heath. Her walls clenched tightly around his dick as her orgasm his her. Her back arched and she grabbed Rex’s head and shoulders for support. The tightness of her cunt made him finally cum as well. His cum splashed inside of her, while she moaned out his name.

As her climax slowly wore off, she slumped down, still holding onto him. Her head was resting on his shoulder and she felt his chest rising heavily below her. Once she managed to put herself back together a bit, she reached for his bound wrists and opened his restrains. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer to him. They just sat there for a while, neither of them speaking. Rex was stroking her back and occasionally placed a small kiss on her forehead.

[touhoutivations]

backlog and housekeeping questions 6/1

backlog and housekeeping discussion~ however if you are someone that wants to contribute to the design or accessibility of the blog or know how tumblr works, i do have some questions that i'd love answered

backlog: -ringo ask -a very lovely positive ask that i want to honor with answering properly (if you are reading this please know it made my week ;v;) ---------------------------- current/upcoming posts: -hina 7/1 -kasen 8/1 -iku 9/1 -momiji, kisume, yamame 10/1 ------------------------ quickie to do/blog tidy: -delete previous backlogs -implement tagging system outlined in /taglist -fix mobile links in blog description -change resources text to crisis hotlines ------------------------------------------------ larger things to think/implement: -i'm not a fan of the main text font in the theme, especially since i can ramble. try to find text that is easy on the eyes and ask if people like it -is there a way to implement polls that don't have a time limit to see peoples thoughts? maybe a separate page for a suggestion box or for people to contribute their thoughts at any time -icon sizes- do I require consistent icon sizes, and what is the best one for both mobile and laptop visibility? should I put read mores under every post that's a specific length? -implementation of creditted art: should i put hyperlinks to sprite/art sources in every image i use? a small text under or in the alt description? note: spriter's resource appreciates a link to the page the sprite is on, not the image directly. if using game and/or official art, include both the source of the image and the content the image is from. if art, link directly either the link of the OP image post, or if unavailable to the artist themselves. -separate credit page for assets eg theme images. include sources from commonly used sprites like mystia's izakaya, touhou lost word, the official games -future and also just for ease of my access: potential taglist or compilation (or maybe even a separate page for resources) of infographics/posts related to stretching, nutrition, dopamenu, breathing practices, cooking, etc refs -formatting dear GOD i need consistent formatting how do i set that up -optimal posting time and/or other tumblr quirks (11am my time is the commonly talked about 'peak posting time' for most (which is yesterday in the us/other places)- but that is in the afternoon, can't really have reimu day if it's only reimu evening? aknerjdkj) other tumblr quirks like i remember years ago only the first 5 tags got read or find out about other things to keep in mind whilst posting on here nowadays,,,how do i find that stuff??? urghhgh tl;dr of larger things: -main theme font text change- !!! -way for people to chime thoughts in, probably a subpage -icon sizing -credit page- !!! -crediting art not covered by credit page eg pc98ers- !! -read mores for longer posts? -taglist/comp for resources -consistent formatting holy shit- !! (but long :'( -optimal posting/other tumblr quirks to research ---------------------------- secret fun stuff: -post about the upcoming mascot! -com a friend to draw a pfp for the upcoming mascot!